The Entrées Part 2

Translation of latin:

When the accused are confounded,
and doomed to flames of woe,
call me among the blessed.
I kneel with submissive heart,
my contrition is like ashes,
help me in my final condition.


Of Men and Devilry

A Short Story by Cory Kutschker

I had never known much of anything hinting of diabolical existence in my youthful years. I sought out all that was visible. Albeit I had once or twice involved myself with reading some stories of intrigue that told of a beast or some phantasm yet remaining more amused and annoyed by the superstition with such tales. For fancying or placing disaster as otherworldly clearly disregarded any sense of responsibility as a part of mankind, or perhaps thought of man as far too faultless. I, on the other hand, regarded man as distasteful, ruinous and adverse to himself and his surroundings. Perhaps I have some deep burden of cynicism for such a thought? This being the question because I have some lack of optimism towards man's direction generally.
My brother often involved himself with the foolishness of superstition and of some invention, a game of sorts with a token and a board with letters and a yes and a no. He was a precise shadow of me (that is if I am to be so dualist with black and white terms). And while I was the dutiful son, he was the recalcitrant one and yet more dearly loved than I. So then you will understand why I was the more academic one and he, the adventurous sort. And also then it should not surprise you then of his numerous encounters with the town constable. You should be informed then that my father was not a loose fellow. To the contrary, he was an austere man (you likely consider this as a truly uninspiring and trite telling of familial relations, but despite you I shall continue). His activities resembled my own but in this stood as a harsh critic. While I adhered perfectly to my studies he fine combed my methods and heaped upon more things, or more particularly, more activities that I should be involved with.
First, I should become quite versatile in the fine gentleman's game of chess. His second imperative, that I should become well acquainted with the art of tasting wine. His third was toward learning the old sport of fencing. It was this imperative that I took most seriously, for I noted my father's prowess in the area and the time that he had devoted to it and knew that this, of all his imperatives, was principle. I then took steps to become extremely proficient in the styles of foil, épee, and the saber. So, while my odious brother was being involved in seances and foolish revelry, I was ardently involved with parrying, thrusting and countering (to name just a few of the things involved with the fine sport of fencing). Upon reaching an intermediate stage, father took steps as a personal interest on my apparent "skill" as a fencer and a swordsman. He took it upon himself to personally teach from the style of Capo Ferro, a kind of family tradition.  And thus began a rigorous regimented learning with the rapier. Father was most insistent that I master the rapier and it took considerable time and firm instruction from him to do so and many a session fraught with many arguments. But, in truth, I greatly appreciated the exquisite art of it. And father's twin blades were nothing short of true renaissance beauty. The blade that I held sang truly when it went through the air and the swept hilt curled beautifully as hair around the hand that bore it. Its seven ringed basket gave good omen to he who would handle such majesty with fine tuned weight that ended at an onion-ended pommel. It was with this beauty that I learned on the fine cut lawn of our manor.
Our manor (if not already guessed) was in the country. The property sprawled a span of acres that included a nearby lagoon and several trees which offered shade in the summer months. So then you may see that our property afforded us a great deal of privacy and therefore much of my training involved us sparring in the outdoors. However, his tutelage would not last long.
It was in early autumn when father's health took a downturn and was bed-ridden for several months and had a partner handle his business for what he considered "the time being." And it was in these months that my brother returned for some time. Albeit, he had not heard the news but still spent many hours at father's bedside upon learning his condition. Then in the onset of October, our father was taken from us. My brother was severely demoralized from his death. I took it less so but nonetheless was disturbed by his passing as though a massive cornerstone had been withdrawn from the foundation of my life. I regularly lost sleep and often found myself pacing the various, now still and quiet, hallways of the manor.  It was a few weeks later that the arrangements were made for the funeral. Father was to buried in the family plot and later in the evening a time of conversation and consoling was arranged and set to meet here at the manor. And so it was, the solemn procession consisted of myself and my brother as the premier pallbearers and two of father's most trusted clients. The service was endured for two hours before it ended at the final last rites and therein a long convoy departed to the country to meet at the manor. It was a long evening of almost unbearable and long suffered conversations regarding father's clientele. It was a terrible caricature of death. For while death loomed over the crowd, his shadow present with the drab and black cloth worn by the attenders, death was not in their conversation. For their faces were not downcast in a sense of propriety but instead bore smiles! How ridiculous! the very sight of it struck my soul with every sense of loathing that could be managed. And the many visitors that had served my father in some fashion or another doled upon me their artificial sympathies and apologies. The chiefest of their sort was Mr. Ozymandias (a man with whom my father had been most cautious in his dealings)  who had calmly whispered in my ear, "We shall watch your career in great interest."
It was at this time where I withdrew from the crowds and took with me father's rapier. In stealing away from the group I hoped that I would gain my own personal time of reflection for I was sorely tired of the sycophantic babble that was produced by the crowd. I did then make it away from the group and took in a bit of sleep before departing. And thus upon sitting up, retrieving my cloak and hat and fetching a lantern, I then proceeded outside.
A thick white miasma hugged the ground as a creamy soup. And every step stirred it about and made it dance as wispy spirits playing about my feet inviting me into an eerie and ill-bidding party. The trees reached out with curled fingers and in some fashion nearly bowed as to a servant, the branches sweeped out into the path. Indeed the night greatly transfigured the property and I found my mind somewhat disturbed. I held up my lantern to make out the path in front of me. And it was in that moment some yards ahead of me that I spotted the figure of a man (somehow familiar in stature). In a few steps I was at a communicative distance from the man, although his countenance was covered by a masque of macabre features. In a show of noble courtesy I removed my hat and gave a bow and gave utterance to a "good evening, sir." He only responded though with a short nod. I thought it boorish of such a fellow to not at least remove his hat but then quickly dismissed any ill feeling. In a swift and smooth motion he withdrew his blade from the sheath and performed a firm salute, to which I responded in like manner. He took on the en guarde position, and so I mirrored. Swiftly and with a piercing cry he leapt with a fierce lunge causing first blood at my high outside. I was remarkably surprised by the savagery of such a foe and his persistence was of some strength that was nearly inhuman. On though he persisted and with several more lunges to which I made quick footwork to avoid. Then, as though at the scent of blood some wicked winged creature took stead upon a branch of a neighboring tree. This hideous creature just sat perched atop of this nearby branch leering at me. It was chanting, no, cheering. It seemed to cheer for my foe. Although, this cheer was not so much heard but felt. But it spoke thus in a malignant and harsh whisper:

Crush, Crush, Crush him! Squelch, Squelch, Squelch him! Quench his fire! Feed the self, self, self serving desire!

And on occasion it would swoop down and swirl around my head causing me much disorientation and distraction to which my foe took as opportunity to land more piercing blows to my beleaguered body.
lunge after lunge and parry after parry I had been inflicted with grievous wounds that bled out at every moment and brought upon my countenance a cringe at every one of my personal efforts to break through what seemed an unswerving foe. Amidst the clamor I struck luckily with some force by the ear and exacting a twist of the wrist caused his masque to be removed from his head and land some feet away on the ground. Therein his identity was revealed. For behind that ghastly covering was something of a greater horror; a severely gaunt and jaundiced visage with sunken eyes and a mouth missing teeth was, Me. I knew it well that this mirror that stood before me was in fact every wicked act and every terrible malady upon my character made exact, set in flesh.
I then heard a mortifying groaning sound emitting from just beyond my foe. I peered left. There, behind him a grotesque and jagged chasm had opened up and sat as a yawning and cavernous mouth. In we both fell and joined and were one and the same person. So down I fell into that abyss and there I landed with a hard termination that stole away all breath. And looking at my body, I observed the onslaught of some esurient worms that sought to devour my flesh. And in the same moment felt the agony of a flame that dwelled in this place. Upward I looked and observed that which I am not able to describe. But what I knew was its personage. And in His breast beat a heart that loathed a wicked man but also somehow loved as with a severe longing to restore. So there He stood in full glory and I in wretchedness and despair. So there exuded from my palpitating heart such a magnificent chorus of a requiem that I knew well.

Confutatis maledictis,
flammis acribus addictis,
voca me cum benedictus.

Oro supplex et acclinis,
cor contritum quasi cinis,
gere curam mei finis.

It was as a full choir burst from my chest in solemn tune towards Him. And although I knew that, in my position, my sin had more than assured me of my fate thus removing me from the hope in the second verse, I cried all the more and begged mercy of Him whose power I knew to be more terrible than any wound inflicted upon me by blade or fiend. And in the moment of direst sorrow and pain, I awoke. Surely this all could not have been a dream? But I knew in all truth that it had been, although not one to be cast aside and surely not one of mere fantasy (and you dear reader, you must also hearken to my words for they are full of truth). For I knew my brother had been found in tears upon recovering a page from that holy book that I threw in the hearth some weeks prior to father's death. And it is from the jubilation that exuded from his face that three words were produced from his mouth. And it was these three words that I know I must discover the meaning of. And those three words are: Jesus is Lord.