The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,239

time. Two masked men solemnly carried the vessel to the altar and passed it to Tonio. The master held out the drink to Johann with both hands.

“You came to us of your own free will and decided to accept the black potion,” he declared. “Know that it is for your best. Three painful sacrifices you must give, just like the accursed Son of God gave his sacrifice. The drink will expand your spirit and you will understand.” Once again he raised up the chalice, and the congregation took up a prayer-like murmuring.

“O Satanas, O Mephistopheles, O Phosphoros!” The chanting echoed through the crypt. The master bowed to Johann, then Tonio gave him a nod.

Johann reluctantly accepted the cup, which felt cold and foreign. It was filled with a foul-smelling liquid.

“Drink,” said Tonio.

Johann hesitated for another moment. He knew there would be no going back after the first sip.

For Greta, he thought. For my daughter. May she lead a happier life than her father.

He brought the vessel to his lips and drank. Like the last time, seventeen years ago, he retched immediately. The potion tasted like fire, burning his throat and spreading through his insides like scorching lava. Johann stood still for a while with his eyes closed, and then something seemed to explode inside him. An intense numbness spread through his body and he swayed; every sound suddenly seemed enormously amplified.

“Follow me, Johann,” boomed Tonio’s voice through the hall. “I am going to show you the truth. Only very few are granted this privilege.”

The sorcerer led him to the baptismal font beside the altar, and Johann struggled to stay on his feet. He stumbled and caught himself by putting his hand straight into one of the braziers, but he hardly felt the pain. A very big masked man came up behind him and picked him up. Effortlessly, as if Johann were a bundle of kindling, the giant carried him toward his fate. The man conversed quietly with Tonio, and Johann thought the two were speaking French. But the words sounded strangely distorted, as if he were underwater.

The basin in front of him was a roughly hewn rock with notches and runes chiseled into the sides. Within, a dark liquid gleamed at him like a monstrous eye.

“Look into it,” said Tonio.

Johann leaned over the baptismal font with great difficulty. He blinked and squinted, struggling to focus his eyes. After a while he realized that the liquid was red.

As red as blood.

Then he understood.

He was gazing into the blood of all those children who’d disappeared over the last few months.

“Quite a peculiar juice is blood,” said Tonio. He dipped his finger into it and licked it off. “The tricky part is stopping it from curdling—it must remain fresh.” He licked his lips with relish. “We need a lot of blood for the big day. The beast hasn’t drunk in a long time. But I think we have enough now.”

Tonio’s lips suddenly looked a little bit fresher than before, his pale skin rosier and with less wrinkles. The red surface in the basin rippled, and Johann saw his own reflection. Then the image disappeared, and blurred forests appeared instead, partially hidden by wafts of mist. Muscular warriors wrapped in furs, their faces painted with blue streaks, stormed out of the woods, raising their swords and lances against an army on horseback. Horses neighed in panic; knights with helmets came crashing to the ground. Burning in the trees of a forest of oaks were wooden cages holding people who screamed as they hurled themselves against the bars like human torches. More warriors appeared, followed by burning pyres, blood, mouths opened in screams of agony, crying children, blood, houses on fire, ravaged fields, blood . . .

Blood everywhere.

Johann blinked. He knew it was the potion creating the illusions in his mind, but still—the images seemed as real as if everything were happening right before his eyes. He reached out with both hands and dipped his fingers into the surprisingly warm liquid. The images vanished and were replaced by a familiar face. It was Tonio and yet it wasn’t—he looked younger, more handsome, almost seductive.

“Welcome, Johann Georg Faustus,” said the younger Tonio with a smile. “Are you ready for the first sacrifice?”

Now Johann saw the whole figure in the basin. He was a knight in full armor on a magnificent horse, and he had the most beautiful eyes and fullest lips Faust had ever seen on a person. His mouth and cheeks looked red and healthy,