Blackwater Islands beg that I succeed

The beetles had added a new buzz to their cacophony, that eternal humming choir that beat iridescent wings through his chest.

Oh, oh dear mother. Oh how far you had fallen, and oh how high you would rise. Her hum was most beautiful of all. Oh dearest mother, how far did you have to go?

No matter. No matter at all, dearest of the dear mother. He carried you now.

Her voice hummed in his ears, carried on those buzzing wings, drowning the voices of the others.

You will return.

He had never denied his mother her wants, and so he gave his god wife a single goodbye, and slipped into the night, giving her the free rein she wished over their subjects. The god-king had work that had yet to be done.

The islands where he grew up. They hovered against that sunset like a bloated corpse in a shallow pool, water in its lungs, bloodshot eyes towards the sky. Pelagius stood on the beach for a mere moment, before he slipped into the waves, easy as a crocodile.

He pulled himself ashore some time later, drenched in seawater and all the better for it. 

You will call.

That he would, mother dear.

His voice rang high against the setting sun, setting the orange parts of him ablaze, but making his ocean dark eyes ever more mysterious.

@Abel Elam he had tucked away, safe under the care of his canary in her coalmine. She was all plastic smiles now, his daywalker; he indulged her nonetheless, fancying that they might play at husband and wife for a time. But Ptolemy was no husband. He was a Druid, a Speaker now by the will of his mother which he felt even now. It lingered on these islands; in the air, in the whispers of spirits from the black waters.

@Minuet, then, could be no one's wife. Broodmother; the future of The Druids.

When Pelagius called he rose, already grinning boyishly at the prospect of reuniting with his dear mad brother. Oh, he had done well for himself with that silvered tongue of his, of that there could be no doubt. Yet Ptolemy had always felt that his brother could be more. Perhaps mother agreed.

For here he was, and what could have brought him home but the will of The Listener? He heard her singing even now, telling him what must be done. A new Listener. A new era.

Ptolemy greeted him with an easy one-armed embrace. Pel! He laughed, green eyes sparkling. Just in time for the family reunion. I've found our little brother.

Oh his brother! How he had missed such a face. The two of them were a mirror to each others madness in the best of ways.

Ptolemy!

He emerged and Pelagius laughed a cackle, throwing both of his forelimbs into the embrace to drag his brother closer, before he would back away. His mad grin was lopsided, his coat still damp, but he was home. Even the gods were sloppy sometimes.

Oh, you have? He tipped his head to the side in an over exaggerated display of his thinking.

The white faced boy, correct? The Hierophant? He barely remembered them as more than odd little worms that mother had hated oh so much.

Enough to sell them on a lark. Pity, that. But, one was returned to them, ready to be molded anew and returned to the family that had missed him oh so dearly. Pelagius mused internally over how to twist the mind of a child into knots as he had done to countless adults among Godsthrone’s ranks.

Has he shown much promise? Should he not..well. There were three more among this putrid land’s rank and file. And there was always the possibility to create more if their little siblings failed to meet the mark.

Ptolemy nodded as his brother stepped back from their embrace, confirming The Hierophant's identity. But when the question of the boy's promise arose, a frown knit his brow. He is a child, He said cautiously. And too long away from the Druids. Only time will tell.

The others - I haven't found them, haven't looked, got a little... distracted, Another grin, sheepish this time, brother to brother. A daywalker. Pretty little thing. I intend to succeed where mother failed. And with this he straightened a bit, still feeling the lanky youth and pushing back against him, reaching for the man, the Speaker of Blackwater.

But we need the girls, He continued with a finality, turning to business again. They're her legacy. Accipitra and Anathema. I don't get it, Pel. How could she hate them so much? Because of Ingram? Ptolemy could not comprehend this final decision by their mother, and it unsettled him, frustrated him. Never before had he disagreed with her. And was she not here now, guiding him? Had her heart changed?

Or had it been poisoned, touched by some kind of madness unknown even to their faceless God of shadows?

His sigh was the ringing disappointment of a teacher whose students did not understand the lesson. Pelagius tipped his head back straight, lids lowering half over his eyes as he tutted gently to the question and to the memory.

Oh, dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. A few more tuts and a gentle tisk. Mother hummed inside his skull.

She was oh so not herself by the end of it, dearest mother. When I came to her, her mind was fractured, slipping away, away, awaaaay. She did not love them because she could no longer see. Lazy smile, hum of beetle wings, as many as a summer night’s cicada screams.

Unlike we. A buzz, frantic against the squelch of meat.

Mother is with us now. With me. Do you hear her, Ptolemy? Do you hear the choir?

Not herself; slipping away; could no longer see —

Ptolemy nodded solemnly when his brother asked if he heard her now. She's with us. It was her time to leave, He drew in a breath, aware that he was not ready. If only they'd had more time —

You are ready.

He nodded again, half to himself. Yes, mother. Now it's our time to rule. Speakers, you and I, He met Pelagius's deep blue eyes. And Morgra, when she returns. There's no one I trust more. Their sister would return, he felt; she must. Blackwater could not thrive without her, or without Pelagius, or without Ptolemy himself.

These islands belonged to them, as much as the three siblings belonged to the land.

They were to rule. But of course, this was their purpose in creation, was it not? When the shadows and mad gods had dipped their fingers into the primordial muck and shaped them, had they not created them with royalty in mind?

Pelagius watched his brother, for a moment. Mother and another of his favorite beetles, a mad god who whispered to him in an accent he did not understand, but loved all the same, hummed through his grey matter.

A perfect trio, us! It was hard to tell if he was pleased or simply smiled because that was his default expression, but everything about him screamed that he was ever so pleased to hold the spot made for him.

I left a bone somewhere upon this land. The upper half of a deer’s skull. It spoke to me, in whispers, while I was within the lands of Ingram. But I no longer need such a thing. He rolled his shoulders.

It should be used to invite the whispers upon the Listeners. Let them take in the knowledge we know. It was outside Mother’s den last I saw of it. He had meant it to whisper to the worms, tell them the stories of the islands, hiss secrets into their folded ears, but alas. Better late than never, as they say.