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IN BIRCHEN GROVES NEAR BABINÁ, THE NETHERWORLD MAGNATE HAS BEEN
APPEARING TO US
(Late October sun slowly sets above the town, a strange orange gleam lingers over the bushes and
shrouds the view above surrounding hills in a dolorous ambience, in which there is present also
something devilish. We are entering together, our dear reader, into the region of Krupina during
late 17th century. A region, where the old belief survives in secret fellowships of peasants, in which
though many times an esteemed townsman is conspired under the veil of night. We thereby ask the
reader for discretion, as things forbidden and explicite horrific shall be revealed to them in this
history.)
In birchen groves near Babiná
the netherworld magnate has been appearing to us
Once as a goat with black fur,
otherwile in the form of a lad
in red Hungarian garments
His feet were made of stone and eyes were like fists
In his name we were witching in the vicinity,
as well as other of his servants
Under different names they have been introduced to us:
Tartareus, Nikhardus, Black Field-Marshal
Tartareus, Nikhardus, Black Field-Marshal
On the Nativity of the Lord, Walpurgis Night
and the Birth of the Virgin Mary we held meetings
To renounce the Nazarene and his celestial father
And to enter into service of the archdevil
Tartareus, Nikhardus, Black Field-Marshal
Tartareus, Nikhardus, Black Field-Marshal
Dressed in precious Burgundy brocade was he
and reveal did he the secrets of the night to us.
(In the middle of a remote nocturnal meadow, a pittoresque gathering shoals in ungodly dance,
which to readers adept in aesthetics would surely evoke the characters of The Temptation of Saint
Anthony by Matthias Grünewald, residing on the famous Isenheim Altarpiece in Alsace.
Goblinesque phantasms, expelled by the very goddess Fauna from her domains, they rattle with
drums and bagpipes and mock all of God's creation. A donkey, a raven, a black dog and a maiden,
they all trample in a circle and fornicate in unnatural unions, accompanied by the guffawing gargle
of furry devils.)
In sodomitical fashion we have sinned
Saint Matthew's Hosts from the church we have trampled on
From pouches the horned captain has sprinkled golden ducats to us
A noble lord we have called him
The witches had candles thrusted in their behinds
and so they illuminated the eerie dark blue night.
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FROM THE SEMEN OF THE HANGED, A MAGICAL ROOT ARISES
(From this scenery we are transferred further towards more sinister places: in dim corners behind
the town, the gallows hill is towering, generally avoided by waggoner carriages, as long as they are
able to sidetrack it on a more merry path. Not by witch covens though, as they are well aware of the
surrounding forbidden ground's magickal qualities. Below the stiff feet of the dead, they search for
the strangest root in shape of a tiny man; the root that unlocks the hidden nightly pathways through
the sky, through which fetid he-goats and bats carry them towards the secret gatherings of heretics.)
From the semen of the hanged,
which they discharge in death throes
Arises the earthly mannikin,
known as the devil's candle to farmers
and as mandrake to learned men
Upon the gallows hill we have harvested it,
as the coven leader has advised to us
At night, on the first Monday
after the vernal equinox
it emanates a light alike that of a lantern,
which infatuates the fireflies
White and bluish flowers,
thrice we have encircled with a sword
Nearby we have tied a dog,
starved for three days,
in front of which a piece of meat was thrown...
(The witches, unmoved by the ghastliness of the place, preserve the root carefully in a piece of
canvas and their silent procession through moonless landscapes carries on towards the Krupina
kirkyard, where they have to duly place the mandrake according to ancient instructions, before it
will be ready for their further sorceries and magickal operations.)
...so he would pull the magic root out
and we would avoid its screech,
which summons lunacy and death
In the middle of the cemetery we have buried the root,
and watered it for thirty nights with milk
in which bats have been drowned
Until finally we have exhumed it from the grave
and folded it into a cadaver's shroud
So it would serve us for witching
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UPON A BLACK HORSE WE RODE THE FIRMAMENT
(A forlorn windy day spreads above the Krupina Plain. Upon the Butcher's side, over the Rocky Sea
and Krupinica meandering through the boulders, the witches are gathered. They look up to a burly
figure, whose head is surrounded by a blue flame – similar to St. Elmo's fire, often observed by
seafarers in faraway lands. A reader acquainted with occult sciences might also wander off with his
thoughts to the teaching of Paracelsus, wherein elementals, notably their fiery species Salamanders
are mentioned.)
Hailstorms, whirlwinds and frost we were invoking
when the deuce commanded us
From a black leather sack we have released
cold whirlwinds up to the hills of Štiavnica
There was no harvest in the vineyards that year
when we poured dew over them thoroughly
and carried ice in wooden watering pots
Perdition and wreck we have brought onto the whole Hont County
Children have gone blind and lame,
in feline shapes we have choked their families
(The witches one by one report their doings to a curious nobleman, dressed in the latest Aragonese
fashion, from whose velvet stockings there are but hooves sticking out. The damped auburn
chiaroscuro of the evening makes winter's proximity to be felt and lends dreamful features unto
those attending. Time stands still and these last moments of freedom belong only to them: followers
of an ancient faith, hidden among common folk – a faith from when the world was young and wild
Pan hunted under the stars in Arcadian forests.)
The cows we have hexed and withdrew their milk
Only those who anointed themselves
with the lard of a boar and wild succory,
buried a horse skull under the doorstep,
they eluded our malefic powers
On Red Mountain the devil had his evil ways with us,
with a ram's phallus he fornicated the witches,
with charcoal from the mines instead of ducats
he had paid for nefarious deeds
Upon a black horse we rode the firmament,
performing diableries under the curatorship of Luciper.
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WALPURGIS NIGHT ON THE ŠTANGARÍGEL ROCKS
(Facing a sylvan altar made of andesite, cast out from earth's bowels in time immemorial, Žofia
Krištofíčka raises her hands, Crooked Katruša's apprentice in witchery. Vernal stars light their
torches above Štangarígel, it is the great Walpurgis Night – a time of fertility and joy. Elementals
arise from their hidden abodes and the earth pulsates with an untamable life – summer is ready to
regain the sceptre.)
Allow my heart into the nights of summerlands
You who command the crepuscular reich
O' aristocrat of the chasms, emperor over beasts,
I long for the secrets of your hypogean halls!
All-penetrating eye in the green darkness
From the top of Sitno you gaze down,
in the form of an enormous bear
Illuminate the path of my sisters,
who by the hooting of owls wander
through crossroads, gallow hills and ruins
(A ray of green light bursts out from among the rocks.)
On this sacred night,
I abjure the foreign teaching,
which dulled our senses so much
Silver of the stars and fireflies,
be the guides on my path!
Tho' a dungeon and hangman's tongs may be at its end,
or the red glare of Elohim's flames!
Our mission persists through the shifting of times –
unmoved inside remote stone circles;
in shelter of the most miserable cabins
the spells of the past dwell
forgotten by the pigeon-hearted man,
who still turns his other cheek
to the kicking boot, that feeds him with mouldy bread!
(A robust horned man appears, with green skin and green hair, crowned with leaves. Upon the
naked body of Krištofíčka he casts a sign of their new union, thereby accepting her into his faith.)
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THE FIRES OF KRUPINA HAVE BEEN SET ABLAZE FOUR TIMES THAT YEAR
(Within the lightless corners of the town dungeon, among rats, in hay soaked with bodily fluids, the
witches lie waiting for the final judgement after manifold torture interrogations. Even the sturdiest
have in the end confessed that at nights they foregather with the One who walks in the shadows of
nature, and that he has taught them the forbidden Magia Innaturalis.)
Our nails they have torn down,
mauled the fingers,
constricted the forearms with ropes,
with straw bundles and candles
burnt the forspent bodies,
Spanish boots were applied to our feet
and the wooden horse was our painful throne.
Finally, the coven was put into iron cages
and burnt at the stake in front of the city walls,
some have been decapitated by the executioners
as a gesture of mercy.
That was in the year when fires burnt across Krupina,
in sixteen seventy-five
during the reign of Leopold of Habsburg,
Holy Roman Emperor.
The fires of Krupina, four times set ablaze
Before the final judgement, the heretics stood
The fires of Krupina, four times set ablaze
Over the pyre, winds from Sitno have blown
Crooked Katruša, Žofia Krištofíčka,
Bohuš Ďuríčka, Piatková Doriša
Their bodies marked by the devil,
consumed were in flames
But not their ancient belief
in night's secrets and in moon of the hunters
It survived in clandestine tunnels beneath the city
in wild forests and lonesome cabins
The fires of Krupina, four times set ablaze
Before the final judgement, the heretics stood
The fires of Krupina, four times set ablaze
Over the pyre, winds from Sitno have blown
(Bound to the pyre, Crooked Katruša leaves the world with a final vision that brings a peaceful
smile on her wrinkled face: in the distance over a mountain, upon dragon's breath floats a green
light, which is but an emerald and this emerald has fallen from an enormous crown beyond this
world.)
Where the jealous light of Jerusalem's god cannot reach
Four times has been Krupina set ablaze that year
and lo – the first of the flames was a sign from the horned captain.
Remember their bequest, and carry ye on the torch of Pan:
the terrifying flame of knowing, which was handed to humankind at the dawn of time.
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released March 20, 2020