Superstitionology

When the third black goat of the local farmer, the third-born of his family, unexplainably died that night, under the light of the crescent blood moon, everything became as clear as day. Even the most obstinate and close-minded of the townsfolk had to admit: the last of the signs had come to fruition, the Terrible Prophecy was undeniably true, and it would be but 33 days before the inevitable coming of the Valgrug. This otherworldly fiend would surely spawn just to "reap, slaughter, destroy and otherwise bring all manners of terror upon us," in the words of Crane, the doom-sayer, who for the first time in his life felt his efforts to disturb the populace had not been in vain. "There is no place to run to. And nothing anyone could ever do about it."

A special committee was formed, composed of the greatest and most respected elders of the town, dedicated to finding out what exactly about it could be done. Peli obviously did not end up amidst the chosen, vocally dismayed as he was. A lanky, hot-tempered, twenty-year old commoner did not exactly fit within the popular definition of a 'wise elder.'

His mother was not eager to disclose the rumors going around the town hall, where she aided with her labor; however, a few desperate 'pleases' somehow sufficed.

"Well, they talk of... defenses, building up special walls, against the direction the monster is believed to arrive from, trenches and such. They talk of drafting the more able-bodied of the folk, training them on how to use pitchforks as effective weapons. They're really moving with this, you know. It has been but a few days since the committee's inception, so I'd consider this good progress and a most effective use of the elder's valuable time," she said, trying to sound as optimistic as she possibly could.

Peli nearly spit out the banana he'd been munching on.

"Mother, but this is awful! This is barely anything! Do they not understand the gravity of the danger we're facing? They surely know the prophecy better than anyone, do they not?! A bunch of wooden walls against a demon from hell's depths..."

"Well, a couple of the walls might end up stone... if budget allows...," she chimed in. He wallowed in response.

"These people are idiots! Frauds, acting like they're smarter... holier... They wouldn't even let me in! Me! They won't listen... Would you tell them, oh would you tell them please - the threat is supernatural, beyond our understanding, we need to engage all the help we can get! We ought to call upon the superstitioner!"

"Oh, that bloodied... Listen, we do not need to mingle with such filth, such... affront to basic decency that is that man. Peli, honey, if you want to help the town, maybe you shall join the newly founded forces? It would be of great use, you know, if your bravery was to inspire other kids as well. Oh, it would be so great indeed. With the strength of the human spirit, we might prevail after all."

The next morning, come dawn, Peli sneaked out of town, down the winding eastern path which led past the Sour Hill. He crossed the familiar pond, ventured into the forest and tried to remember the exact route he had so often been told specifically not to follow. It led him deep within the woods, right past where the path intersected with a refreshing stream. It was of use to him, for the journey, though short, had already made him parched. He found himself facing a cabin, its foundations made of rough, uneven stone, and walls of worn down pinewood. If he hadn't known any better, he would've thought the resident of the cabin both former and entirely non-magical.

He knocked, to no answer. Once, twice, he got his hopes up a bit at the third time, but to no avail. This whole ordeal reminded him of some old stupid rhyme he'd heard as a child:

"Three times you have knocked, and yet silent is homestead,

direct your fourth knock straight at your own forehead"

He laughed to himself. Sure, why not. Not like anybody's looking.

Still amused at his willingness to follow childish logic, he formed a fist and knocked gently above his eyes. He made a silly face, so that the world might be aware of the irony he'd coated his actions in.

"Deary me, I did not expect anybody to still remember that one!"

Peli jumped. From beyond the tree, a figure emerged, as if summoned. He'd heard of descriptions, most of them less favorable than the reality of the superstitioner's appearance. Nevertheless, this unremarkable, robe-wearing, older gentleman, with a short white beard and thick circular glasses, was sure to be him.

Having been cordially invited inside, Peli decided to cut to the chase.

"I'm here..."

"Lemme guess. The third goat's gone, isn't she?" He took Peli's surprised silence for confirmation. "Figures. Figures the only reason anybody from the town would visit the dear old me would be the bloody Valgrug..."

"So you know of the prophecy! You know the danger we're..."

"Do I know it? Boy, most of your folk are probably sharpening pitchforks as we speak, but not for the daemon. They blame me for it!"

"So you're the one who created it?!"

"No, not created. I'm not a superstitioner. I'm a superstitionist. I don't create, I research and discover. A difference sorely ignored by your elders when they cast me out. When you spill salt into your coffee and your favorite cousin dies, he would've died even if I hadn't warned you against it, would he have not? I'm just the messenger, the messenger of the laws of the universe. Creating superstitions? Nonsense!"

"But you must surely know some way to stop him!"

"Sure. Pray. Choose one or two deities per day and pray your butt off, maybe that'll work. Otherwise, boy, we ARE doomed. I made my peace with that a long time ago." He took a sip of his tea, sneezed and immediately proceeded to pour the rest of the drink into his fireplace and lazily jump three times. "Bloody hell... damn centaurpox..."

"Train me then."

"What?"

"You said you discover. Maybe together, we can discover some... law, as you put it? There has to be something! Oh, I just have a feeling!"

"Train you? Inscribe upon you my vast knowledge within but four phases of the moon? Boy... what the hell, sure, not like I've got much else going on. But I don't think you'll find out much that will not disappoint you. Also, you shall NOT wear my slippers."

The circumstances naturally necessitated that the superstitionist course be as hastened and general as possible, with no time to ensure Peli was keeping up, understanding or remembering any of it. Nevertheless, he tried his hardest and earnest, and most of the knowledge he did seem to retain.

They started with the basics. The common language had separate names for prophecies, superstitions, omens, et cetera. Those differences, as far as a proper superstitionist had to be concerned, were wholly irrelevant, and described the same phenomena. Furthermore, there was no consensus as to exactly why such stuff happened as it did. For instance, everybody knew that once you kick a rock hard enough that it ends up scaring a white horse, misfortune shall befall you around three o'clock the very next day (though it was defined rather vaguely and could possibly range from a stubbed toe all the way to a hurricane that would level your whole neighborhood). It was common knowledge, but as Peli would discover, even the researchers who'd devoted their whole life to studying superstitions, had in fact no idea whether such a rock, or the horse with its whiteness, were but a warning of what was inevitably coming, or some sort of cosmic requirement for it to occur, or maybe even the entire source of the event. Chicken or the egg, the superstitionist said with a sigh, noticing Peli's blank stare. The only thing a scholar could hope to know for certain was the various conditions and effects they brought about, and the duty was to discover, formulate and register them as clear-cut rules for others to heed.

"So how do you discover them?"

Week two was spent on just that. "You'd be surprised on how much we don't yet know. These laws, whatever they are, they govern everything, everywhere, at all times. Most consequences are tiny. You wouldn't notice a single grain of soil in your garden ceasing to exist, so you don't even know to stop yourself from standing on one leg while coughing. Even if such a correlation is by some miracle discovered, we generally don't tend to bother writing it down. Some even make sense. When you stare at the sun, do your eyes not begin to ache?"

"But that's just..."

"Is it?"

Peli had no answer and no way of telling whether he was being made a fool of. Alas, it was cognitively easier to declare he was not.

The first level of research turned out to be as mundane as one might have feared. It consisted of doing seemingly random, unrelated things, at the same time and seeing what might happen.

"At academies, we do tend to relegate these tasks to the fresher of our recruits, I reluctantly admit. The strides we have made, it would be foolish not to have someone engage in it. Alas, the results might be... unpredictable. Poor Long Sparrow, might his soul forever be at peace... were was I?"

"So... like that?," Peli sprung from his desk, proceeded to stand on his head and sing the national anthem while counting on his fingers the amount of figs he'd eaten that year.

"NO, NOT THIS-"

Wooden cabins were not known for being particularly lightning-resistant, so instead of studying, the rest of Peli's evening was spent hauling buckets of water from a nearby pond. They both deemed the process inadequate for the task at hand, which required specificity over randomness.

The second level was somehow even more tiresome. One had to sift through old volumes, roughly written knowledge of the past that might have gone forgotten throughout the centuries. This did not typically yield great results (mainly due to the average pace of such research), but was something that had to be done nevertheless, just in case. Having already peaked at the superstitionist's vast library, Peli's hopefulness wrestled against his inertia. He was almost relieved to hear they had all already been sifted through. "What exactly do you think I've been doing all this time? Much entertainment here there is not, let me assure you."

And the third way? "Meditation," said the superstitionist, with unreadable emotion on his face. "You sit around, not think of anything at all, and wait for some sudden burst of inspiration to strike you. That's how I realized of the Valgrug, you know. Attuned to the cosmos, I sensed his presence."

"I never promised miracles, boy," he added, upon seeing Peli's dissapointment.

"So there really is nothing we can do?," said Peli on the last day before the day of doom, having already ruminated on the teachings and options for long enough. Meditation itself had not produced anything of value, though one might only wonder what might have happened, had he been able to focus on it for more than a minute at a time.

"At least now you know why. There is value in knowledge, you know, fleeting as it may be under our current predicament. Unless you can think of something outside the box, I suppose this shall be our farewell. Go spend some time with your folks, put your mom's mind at ease at least for a moment. I must admit, it was pleasant to teach a curious mind once more. Here, have some fruit for the road. Now off you go."

Resigned, he walked back to town. He had really thought this whole endeavor might lead to something. Outside the box, he said? What box, Peli wondered? But he'd been inside of it the whole time. Inside this cruel cage of inevitability. It must probably be true that only something from outside of it could attempt its breakage.

Inevitability. He could not be bound by it. The old man had said creating new rules had been impossible. So that was something that had to be done.

The goal was to stop the Valgrug. That much he knew. Whatever had to happen, had to involve the monster receiving some negative consequence, and as he had learnt and noticed, the bad would often befall the active party, or their proxy. And the action partaken, unrelated and unexpected. And the universe did seem to play favorites when it came to numbers. This was his foundation.

For a moment, at the grandeur, he forgot he was just a Peli. He felt the world, its cracks and crevices. He heard its echoes. He looked up, upon the blooming stars of the final night of man, upon the endless reality, and he whispered to it the impossibility he'd built.

A few minutes before the arrival of the Valgrug, the citizens had congregated on the edge of the town, in front of the hill, underneath which the demon was to emerge from. Four out of the twelve barricades had in fact managed to be built of sturdier material than wood, and a whole fifty young men and women were brandishing newly cast pitchforks, pointing it angrily towards the monster-to-come.

A sudden movement from behind the hill startled everybody, but they quickly realized, their anger redirected.

"Peli! Oh, Peli, I thought you'd run away... left your poor old mother... but you are here! Oh heavens, you're here! You should've run away!"

As he walked towards them, it looked as if something yellow had dropped out of his pockets, but he didn't seem aware of it.

"And go where? Don't worry, mother, I'm right where I should be."

"Right you are, young man! Grab a pitchfork, ye scoundrel!," shouted Elder Egret, up from where he was sitting, in the highest window of a nearby building.

But time for arguments had run out. The clock tower rang its bell three times, for the hour was three thirty-three. As foretold. An unholy screech overcame the citizens, silenced the bells. Crane rejoiced in his fear.

I / HAVE / ARRIVED

HEED / YOUR / DOOMBRINGER

A freakishly tall figure emerged from behind the hill, with bending horns the width of an entire street. Most of its form was drenched in shadows, except for the two flames it had in place of eyes. There was no mouth, and yet they had heard the inhuman voice so clearly in their heads, it seemed to overwhelm the entire realm. He wielded a devilish scepter, forged deep beneath whichever hell the monster had come from.

All the people, including the soldiers on duty, screamed and proceeded to run away, without any real escape plan in mind. The fiend took a step, and the earth beneath it shook violently. It took another, destroying barricades without even taking a notice of them.

I / AM / YOUR / END

CEASE

The devil swung his scepter to put an end to the first buildings' existence, and the people inside along with them. However, it hesitated at the last second, for it had noticed a puny insect running towards it, as if to... face it?

Peli had even left his pitchfork behind. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, but he was thinking clearly. The unholy creature was taken aback in confusion - never throughout its eternal, interdimensional existence had any being run in any other direction than away from it. The most curious thing indeed.

CEASE

It proceeded to swing its scepter regardless, to crush the unruly worm, but this time, in all the confusion, took a third step - back. Its enormous, hard as bedrock feet, did not register the banana peel that it had stepped on. The scepter fell out of its hand, crushing a singular building that happened to be underneath it. Its face, thus far emotionless, seemed to display surprise and deep thought.

The world stopped for what felt like eternity.

I / HAVE / DECIDED / OTHERWISE

It turned back, started digging, and wriggled its way back into whichever dark and evil reality it had come from. Peli breathed out loudly and fainted right where he stood.

He would never become the subject of songs. His heroism would be remembered only by those select few who understood.

But from then on, for centuries afterward, anytime anyone superstitious needed desperately to change someone's mind on something, they would always head to the food market for a beautiful, fresh banana.