Stargazing

  ( Papalogious )

  Papalogious extended a stiff, achy limb, reaching through the shaggy shroud that enveloped him. Handling lit candles was no easy task with such wild hair. Only when the flickering light was secured within its glass cage did he breathe a sigh of relief. With lantern outstretched, he hobbled through his potato cottage.

  Few in Tuberly awoke as early as he did. Most chose to practice their forbidden faith prior to sleeping. Papalogious, however, preferred to do things quietly and at his own pace.

  He unhooked his ceremonial bag and several smaller pouches from the starchy, spud walls, and headed outside. An old bench awaited him, its worn groove perfectly suited to cradle his aged rump. Within seconds of groaning and creaking his way down to sit, a familiar nocturnal community assembled. From spined squirrels to velvet voles and feathered flyfoxes, all manner of hungry critters approached.

  Papalogious loosed a quiet, raspy laugh. "Seems to be more and more of you every night. Are you sure you're not talking? Hm? Hm?"

  Frustratingly feeble fingers struggled to pinch the fine strings of the smaller pouches. Once upon a time, such tasks had seemed so simple. When he had finally managed to ease them open, he gave each one a shake. A mix of seeds, nuts, dried berries and desiccated insects scattered across the ground. It did not take long for them to vanish, scoffed and gobbled by his forest friends. The snaps and crunches that followed were music to his ears.

  "Make sure to share," he whispered. "There's plenty for everyone."

  Animals had occupied his heart since he was a wee rascal. It was one of the many reasons he'd chosen to stay in Enchanted Forest his whole life rather than migrate up to Rainbow City, despite the safety it offered. He couldn't imagine dwelling somewhere so bright and noisy.

  Can they even see the stars?

  Papalogious cast his gaze up from the feasting fauna and looked to the sky. Even through ethereal auroras, the constellations were as unnerving as ever. From Gibellula's winding clusters, to Cymothoa's curved bands, and even the dual paths of Paradoxum, every celestial body twinkled most maliciously.

  With the crowd of creatures occupied, Papalogious unpacked the ceremonial bag. He laid the asterism-adorned bowl, bone needle and mouldy vegetables beside him upon the bench. Finally he placed his palms over his eyes and turned his unseeing face skyward once more.

  "O' Baneful Beyond," he rasped so softly he could barely hear his own words. "I beg thee permit me prayer. I beg my whispers not disturb thee, and I beg my words never offend. I cower before thee eternal, forever fearful and seeking naught but mercy."

  Papalogious may no longer remember his parents' faces all that well, but the lessons they had taught him remained perfectly clear. The unfaithful had judged his people for their beliefs for generations. They misunderstood the true purpose and great importance of cosmic worship. Even the name those of his faith had been branded with, Stargazers, was grossly inaccurate.

  Only after lowering his head back down did Papalogious dare remove his hands, for to look upon the constellations during ceremony was the gravest sin of all. One by one, he picked up the fungus-ridden foods and placed them into the bowl. When done, he covered his eyes and raised his hairy chin once more.

  "O' Baneful Beyond, I beg thee permit me tribute. I beg my subservience satisfy thee, and I beg mine offerings always suffice. I cower before thee eternal, forever fearful and seeking naught but mercy."

  There were many theories as to why Queen Titania prohibited their practice, yet zero certainty. Some claimed the monarch desired the status of a goddess for herself, and as such, ostracised all other idols. Others speculated she subscribed to an adage as ancient as it was foolish. One that had caused his fellows grief for centuries. 'Gaze too long into the night, and the night shall gaze back.' It was utter nonsense, of course, for The Baneful Beyond was always watching.

  Papalogious tilted his head down and uncovered his eyes once again. It took him several fumbling attempts to grasp the bone needle, for it was thin and fiddly. He pressed its sharp tip to a finger until a crimson pearl emerged, then smeared the bowl's rim with his weeping essence. Finally, he covered his vision and craned his neck one last time.

  "O' Baneful Beyond, I beg thee permit me sacrifice. I beg my pain please thee, and I beg my blood slake for as long as it flows. I cower before thee eternal, forever fearful and seeking naught but mercy..."

  With that, the preparations were complete. All he needed to do was take his offering to the onion-hidden shrine at the centre of the village, but that could wait until after his forest friends had finished feeding.

  "Take your time, little ones," he said. "Dawn isn't due for quite a while."

  There had been friction amongst his fellows as of late. Rumours were rife. Some villages deemed them dangerous, whilst others had taken them as revelations.

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  Agitators claimed that the eruptions which plagued the Enchanted Forest were of Titania's own design. That ichor was a sickness purposefully spread so that the sole provider of faefire could not only maintain power, but herd the masses up to Rainbow City, or, as conspirators called it, the prismatic prison.

  Then there were whispers tailored for Stargazers specifically. Supposedly, The Moonchild, a sacred being that was destined to ward off The Baneful Beyond and grant peace to all people, would soon be upon them. Only, the rumours were a corruption of that prophecy. Inciters claimed The Moonchild would instead lead a revolution, championing the Stargazer's freedom, and overthrowing their oppressive tyrant.

  Papalogious could understand his people's frustrations. In his adolescence, he too had grown to resent their ruler. Not only did she forbid his faith, but she'd also taken his best friend. With age, however, came wisdom. He'd since come to recognise such feelings for what they were. The folly of youth.

  All young people were driven by a single, undefiable instinct. The need for purpose. Some found it in supporting their families. Others chose to pursue competitive or creative goals. In truth, all purpose was admirable, so long as it neither harmed nor intruded upon others. The issue lay with those who lacked the autonomy to decide for themselves. Such vulnerable youths were easily swayed to support another's purpose, and unfortunately, those who sought pawns rarely had their best interests in mind.

  Papalogious had tried his best to shield the villagers of Tuberly from demagoguery. Current circumstances might not be ideal, but if things were ever to improve it would be through acceptance and understanding. Violence would only make matters far worse.

  Up until recently, he'd not been alone in condemning the rumours. In fact, the elder of Thornweald had been even more outspoken than himself. That was, until the prickly village had met with the most unfortunate of fates...

  Papalogious flinched as something cracked amongst the distant trees. Sounds in the forest were anything but unusual, especially considering the Midnight Watch were patrolling at that very moment, but then he realised. There should be a dozen bright specks drifting throughout the dark trunks, yet he could spy only one.

  "How odd..."

  Then, before Papalogious' very eyes, even that light vanished. With the moon hiding behind creeping clouds, everything outside of his lantern's influence drowned in descending dark.

  "By Titania's sweet peach... Something's not right. Not right at all."

  Each of the watchmen carried a flare, yet not one had been launched. Of course, it was possible that Papalogious was just misunderstanding the situation. It wouldn't be the first time. The older he became, the more mistakes he seemed to make. Yet idleness was not a risk worth taking.

  I'd rather be seen a blundering fool than fail my people.

  "Scurry on home now. Stay safe," he whispered, wafted beard-draped hands.

  He took up the bowl and lantern and kept his pace steady to avoid rousing suspicion. If something or someone was out there and he started to run for the storehouse, they'd have little trouble catching up with him.

  Slow but steady now...

  Past the beetroot school and down parsnip streets he hobbled, clutching the lantern tight. Each fresh shadow the candle cast inspired further fright. His lungs wheezed as if aflame, but at last the onion storehouse was in sight.

  That was when the screaming started. Not just one or two voices, but dozens. All over Tuberly, his people were waking to find intruders in their cottages.

  I'm too late. They're already here!

  The lantern slipped from his fingers and shattered with a hiss of smoke. Mouldy fruits rolled as he tossed the offering bowl aside and broke into a run, or rather, as close to a run as he could manage without tripping over his own all-encompassing hair.

  The onion ahead loomed closer and closer. He was almost upon its timber door when something struck his spine with tremendous force. Something sharp and shredding, like a grapeshot of nails. Such a blow would've surely killed him if not for the cushioning of his thick mane. As would the splinters and stakes that penetrated his front as he crashed through the storehouse door.

  He found himself sprawled upon the pungent floor, gasping and lacerated. Shaggy hair weighed heavy with hot blood. He doubted he'd ever be able to stand again, let alone survive, yet he didn't look back. He couldn't afford to witness his killer.

  Titania and the Princesses have to know! To hel with my own blasted life. I've lived long enough. A single flare might save a hundred lives!

  He clawed forward desperately, ignoring the rattling, grinding and buzzing approaching from behind. Once again, he extended a stiff, achy arm. The tips of his fingers reached for the racking... only for dread realisation to set in. His panicked gaze rose as the droning song grew louder. With each shelf his vision passed, hope lessened, until he finally spied the flares resting at the very top.

  A soft, optimistic voice echoed through Papalogious' memories, the ignorant words now a death sentence. 'Maybe up here would be better? Safe from drippage.'

  Soon, he could see nothing but the erratic swarm.

  A man's voice sounded from within the cloud of flies. Hushed, yet gravelly tones, as if the growls of his throat were being shaped to a whisper. "Fear not, young'un. Thy faith shalt be rewarded. I 'ave come t' deliver thee great blessin's..."