The Master's Apprentice, page 14
part #1 of Faust Series
Johann smiled. Evidently, the wife thought he was a gentleman or at least a scholar. Sometimes professors and students traveled from town to town, earning money as scribes. Those students were usually university dropouts who thought they were superior, but they actually were the most educated people many of the rural villagers would ever meet.
Johann picked up the boy’s hand and studied it closely. His Head line was very strong indeed, but the bright eyes had already told Johann that Rafael wasn’t silly. He was about to speak when an odd feeling startled him. It was like a gentle, warm throbbing coming from the boy’s hand, as if the lines lit up underneath the skin for a brief moment.
And then he knew. The realization hit him like a blow.
The boy didn’t have long to live.
It was nothing more than a dark premonition; the glow beneath the skin had long gone, but Johann sensed it very strongly.
The mother seemed to notice that something was wrong and eyed him suspiciously. “What is it? Is he going to become a farmer after all? No higher school? Speak up!”
“No, no.” Johann shook his head. “It’s . . . it’s nothing.” He tried to smile. “The priest is right. Your Rafael is going to become a learned cleric, perhaps even an abbot. The Lord is smiling upon you.”
The wife clapped her hands excitedly, then she hugged her youngest son tightly. “You see, I told you, darling. God has great plans for you!”
Johann felt sweat running down his forehead, and his throat was bone dry. He didn’t understand what had just happened. This had nothing to do with anything he’d read in the books or heard from the master. He thought of Tonio’s words from two days ago.
It’s important that you find your own way to yourself.
Was this what the master had meant? Johann hoped fervently that he was simply tired and had imagined the throbbing. He stood up, said a hasty good night, and climbed upstairs. In the chamber, Tonio was sitting at a table, writing on a piece of parchment in the light of a candle. Jerking shadows danced across the walls. The master looked up and eyed Johann expectantly.
“So? Did you read their futures?” he asked.
Johann nodded.
“It’s not always pretty, is it? Now you know what it means to walk on the third, dark path.” Tonio turned back to his parchment and drew strange-looking figures with his scraping quill. After a while he spoke again, but without looking up.
“When we reach our winter quarters, I will teach you more. More than you like, perhaps. Be patient, my little Faustus.”
Johann dropped into his bed and fell asleep almost instantly. His dreams were gloomy and as sticky as spiderwebs enclosing his mind.
6
THEY LEFT EARLY the following morning. The farmer had been very pleased with his horoscope—not least because it was written on real, expensive parchment. In return for his services, the famous and honorable Tonio del Moravia had received a smoked leg of ham, a keg of wine, and two small sacks of flour. In addition, they’d purchased nuts, dried fruit, salt, honey, cheese, and salted meat.
As they slowly rolled through the snow-covered alpine foothills at dawn, Johann’s thoughts kept returning to the uncanny feeling that had overcome him when he’d read Rafael’s palm. Could it be possible that he had foreseen the boy’s death? The master hadn’t said anything more about his protégé’s first experience as a chiromancer, but Johann thought he could feel Tonio’s eyes on him. When Johann had turned around to look at the farmstead one last time, Rafael had stood in the window, smiling and waving. Johann had turned away with a shudder, unable to return the wave.
They had left the imperial road the previous day and were traveling west along a narrow path. It became increasingly difficult for the horse to pull the wagon. The track was steep and in some places ran along a sheer drop into the valley below. Once, Johann caught a glimpse of a city by a wide river behind the crests of several hills, with a castle sitting on a peak above the town. But it soon disappeared from view. Snowdrifts blocked their way again and again, and each time Johann had to climb down and clear the track with the shovel. Each drift delayed them for over half an hour. Meanwhile, Tonio sat on the box seat, cursing and cracking his whip impatiently.
“We’ll never get there at this pace,” he groused. “Do you want to freeze to death so close to the end? Come on, move it—it’s snow, not cement!”
But to Johann, every shovelful of snow felt like a shovelful of lead.
In the early afternoon, they left the track near a small village and turned onto an even-narrower path, which was bumpy, covered in tree roots, and only just wide enough for the wagon. It wound through a patch of forest with dark firs and sharp boulders, some of them as tall as trees. The snow was knee deep in places, and while Johann labored with the shovel, clumps of snow and ice rained down on him from the trees, soaking his clothes. Finally, when the wagon was stuck once more and a fallen tree blocked the road ahead, Johann threw the shovel aside angrily.
“Damn it, where is this journey supposed to lead?” he railed. “To hell? There’s nothing but rock and ice here!”
The master grinned. “Well, it’s a little too cold for hell. The devil doesn’t like to freeze. But let me assure you, we’re nearly there.” Instead of grousing and cracking his whip, the master jumped down from the wagon and helped Johann shovel the snow. Together they were much faster. After another hour, they’d even managed to drag the tree aside. Tonio grabbed the horse by the reins and pulled mercilessly. The old black nag whinnied and shook the ice from its mane, exhausted nearly to death.
When Johann had almost stopped believing they’d ever arrive, the trees suddenly opened up and revealed a hilltop sticking out of the forest, with the tall peaks of the Alps in the background. Atop the hill stood a single stone tower, defiant as a castle, with a derelict stable beside it. The tower looked ancient, its stones polished by countless storms. Several of the battlements had broken off like rotten teeth. Black windows stared at Johann like the eyes of a huge beast. From up here they could see far down into the valley, where gathering clouds warned of the next storm.
To Johann, the tower on the hill seemed like it marked the end of the world.
“We’re here.” Tonio gestured at the building and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. “I can tell you now—I wasn’t even sure I’d still find the tower. It’s been a long time since I was here last.” He trudged up the hill while Johann stayed where he was, gaping at the building in front of them. His breath formed little clouds in the icy air. This pile of rocks was supposed to be their winter quarters? He’d expected a hut, or an old mill, perhaps—but this was nothing more than a ruin! Probably an old watchtower that hadn’t been used for centuries. How were they supposed to live here until the spring?
Dejected, he followed Tonio up the hill, which was sparsely overgrown with shrubs at the top. The tower, roughly square in shape, was built from solid granite. Johann could tell by the windows that it contained three stories with a platform on top, which might have been roofed in once upon a time. Now the battlements were crumbled and the walls cracked. When Johann came closer he noticed that some of the windows had shutters that didn’t look as old as the rest of the tower. And there was a solid wooden door, almost completely buried in snow. Tonio scooped the snow aside with his arms.
“Apparently, the Romans lived in this area a long time ago,” he explained as he cleared the entrance. “The Via Claudia Augusta, an old Roman road, leads across the Alps not far from here. Soldiers and their families built this tower as a fortification against hostile tribes on this side of the Alps. There used to be lodges and a small town as well, but at some point the Romans abandoned it all. I’m guessing they were simply overrun—there was great bloodshed. Men, women, and children were crucified, burned alive in huge wicker baskets, or flayed for some forgotten deity.” Tonio winked at his pupil. “They say you can still hear their screams in this tower today.”
“What a pleasant place to spend the winter.” Johann shuddered and helped Tonio clear the snow in front of the door.
“At least it’s a place where we’ll be left alone,” Tonio replied. “Folks believe the tower is cursed. They avoid it, and if we’re lucky, not much has changed since my last visit.”
Johann noticed only now that a hastily scribbled black pentagram had been drawn on the door. “What’s that?” he asked.
“A protection against travelers and other nosy folk,” the master said. “Most people turn around and run when they see that symbol. Now all we need is the key.” He walked back and forth near the door until his foot hit a stone slab hidden by the snow. “There we go!”
Once he’d kicked the snow off the slab, he pulled out a large, rusty key from underneath, stuck it into the lock, and turned it. The lock creaked loudly, and then Tonio kicked the door until it swung open. He nodded after his first glance inside. “I think we’re in luck.”
Johann blinked a few times to get his eyes used to the dim light. He could make out some furniture along the walls: a chest, a table, several stools. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, but apart from that, it all seemed to be in good order. A steep set of wooden steps led upstairs.
Old ashes still lay in the fireplace built into the deep wall. It was bitterly cold. Inside, too, pentagrams had been drawn on the walls, in a color that reminded Johann of dried blood. A cup stood on the table, beside a tinged pewter plate holding something tiny and mummified.
“How long ago were you last here?” asked Johann with disgust. “A hundred years ago?”
“Possibly.” The master grinned. “Like I said, it’s been a while. Let’s take a look at the second floor.” He climbed up the creaking stairs, and Johann followed. The second floor was also furnished and adorned with pentagrams. It even contained a bed, but the straw inside was rotten.
Once Tonio had looked about for a few moments, he said to Johann, “We’re leaving the wagon at the edge of the woods, and the horse goes in the stable. You bring everything into the tower.” He pointed down the stairs. “We cook, eat, and study on the first floor. The second floor is yours.”
“And the third floor?” asked Johann, noticing the master hadn’t checked above them yet.
“That’s mine alone, and you’ve got no business up there.” Tonio gave him a stern look. “If I catch you in my room, I’ll skin you like a rabbit—just like the barbarians used to do with the Romans. Understood?”
Johann nodded. He walked outside and started to lug the many crates, chests, and sacks up the hill. The master immediately carried the sack of books upstairs.
As Johann cleaned and swept the worst of the dirt and rotten straw from his room and the first floor, he wondered what was hidden in the uppermost chamber.
For the next few days they were busy fixing up the dilapidated tower. They found lengths of timber in the stable to close off the open windows. They found, hidden under the straw from Tonio’s last stay, a stash of tools, including a hammer, a saw, and nails. The master turned out to be quite handy as a carpenter, and they made good progress. They reroofed the stable, and Johann cleared out the worst of the trash.
The chimney finally drew properly once Johann had removed several dead birds and mummified rats, and they were able to cook and get some warmth into the old walls. Johann stuffed his bed with fresh straw and covered it with furs. He filled the small chest in his room with his few possessions. He also had a table, where the master permitted him to study selected books. But the third floor remained closed to Johann.
At the end of the day, they’d sit by the open fire—the warmest place in the tower. The cage with the raven and the two crows dangled from the ceiling, the birds eyeing their new home curiously and flapping their wings. Bear and wolf skins served as cushions, and the large table was covered with books, parchment scrolls, bits of cheese rind, and half-empty cups of wine. Tonio had even built a shelf, which was now filled with neat rows of books, like soldiers of knowledge.
Johann soon had to admit that the tower wasn’t as inhospitable as he’d first thought. But when the wind whistled through the cracks, howling and moaning, he thought of the tortured Roman souls Tonio had told him about. And sometimes, at night, he heard a soft murmuring and chanting from the master’s chamber, together with heavy footsteps pacing the room. It sounded almost as if the master was speaking with another person, as if someone else was in the room with him, someone very large.
Several times Johann thought Tonio was by his bedside, holding his hand like at the Black Eagle Inn.
There is a time for everything, he heard the master’s voice say. A time to be born and a time to die. A time to heal and a time to kill . . .
But when Johann awoke the next morning, nothing remained but a vague memory, and he told himself that it had been only a dream.
When they sat together by the fire in late afternoon, Johann finally received the long-awaited lessons. At first he learned more about palm reading, and then they turned to the subjects of pyromancy, hydromancy, and aeromancy, which were all elements of the art of divination. Johann took a particular liking to pyromancy. The master threw a handful of salt into the fire and gestured at the dancing flames.
“Learn to read them,” he said. “Watch how the flames crackle and lick. You can learn much from the color, too: Are the flames bright red, or blue, or perhaps purple? Do they climb high or are they dying down? Does the smoke rise in a column or is it a cloud of stinging fumes?”
Sometimes, when the sky was clear to the north and the air icy cold, they went outside and studied the clouds, which were getting caught in the mountaintops like sheep wool in a comb. There was much to be learned from them. The master explained to Johann the various shapes of clouds and what kind of weather each one indicated. They watched the flight of a hawk, studying his wide, lofty circles above the forest. At dusk, when the sun disappeared behind the glistening snow and turned it as red as blood, Johann watched the play of colors, mesmerized, while the master explained the different hues of a rainbow.
“Everything has a deeper reason,” Tonio said in conclusion, gesturing at the trees, the mountains, and the horizon to the north. “Nothing is without a plan. And when you recognize that plan, the world lies before you like a naked whore.”
To Johann’s infinite relief, the master no longer asked him to practice the bagpipe. Johann suspected Tonio wanted to spare his own ears. And perhaps he was afraid the noise might attract prying eyes from the nearby village. The accursed instrument stayed in its chest; Johann hoped it would remain there until it rotted. He didn’t find much time to practice throwing his knife, either. He was too busy with other things now.
Saint Thomas Night—the longest night of the year—came and went, and soon it was Christmas. In Knittlingen, there was always a Christmas mass followed by a long, cozy evening together, singing and celebrating the birth of Jesus. Johann used to enjoy this day as a child. His mother had been a good singer, and his father—in a generous mood thanks to several cups of mulled wine—used to be a little nicer to him. Johann wondered how Tonio would mark the feast day. But the master didn’t look like he was going to celebrate at all on Christmas Eve—he neither prayed nor sang. Instead, he sat in his chair by the fire with a grim look on his face, leafing through an old tome full of tables and drawings. Johann could hear the bells of the village church from over a mile away. He guessed the people were on their way to mass.
Johann cleared his throat and addressed his master. “It’s Christmas,” he began awkwardly. “You . . . you aren’t particularly religious, are you?”
The master frowned and closed his book. “Just because everyone else sings and cries and turns all sentimental about a Jewish urchin doesn’t mean I have to join in with such nonsense.”
“So you don’t believe in anything?” asked Johann, incredulous. He’d never met anybody who spoke like the master. Such talk was a certain road to hell—and to a crackling fire beneath a stake, if anyone heard it.
“Oh yes, I believe.” The master grinned. “I believe in higher powers, much more strongly than you can imagine. Most of all, however, I believe in the power of stars. They never lie.”
“Then explain them to me,” begged Johann. “I’ve been waiting for so long.”
Palm reading and the other manticisms had been interesting, and Johann still didn’t fully understand what had happened when he’d sensed Rafael’s death. But he’d been eagerly anticipating the day the master would introduce him to the art of astrology. He had a thousand questions, and until now, the master had always evaded them.
Tonio sighed; outside, the bells continued to toll like a cry for help from afar. Eventually, he gave a chuckle. “The hell with it. Maybe today is just the right day to begin the study of astrology. After all, those three old fools also followed a star.”
He opened the book he’d been reading and pointed at strange circles covered with drawings and runes.
“The spheres of Ptolemy,” Tonio began and traced the individual circles with his long finger. “More than a thousand years ago, this Egyptian divided the heavens into hollow spheres carrying the celestial bodies, which circle around the Earth, producing some kind of lovely music. A load of nonsense, if you ask me—I’ve never heard any music coming from the stars. But Ptolemy gives us a good basis to work with. In actual fact, astrology is much older still, dating back to the Babylonians, who also used to practice many dark and desirable rites.”
“What do all these symbols mean?” asked Johann, leaning closer to the drawing.
“Earth and man are surrounded by celestial bodies.” Tonio counted on his fingers. “The sun, the moon, Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn—and each one is attached to a sphere. Those stars and planets are also known as the holy seven. Then follows the sphere of zodiacs, which is divided into twelve signs. Seven and twelve are magical numbers. Do you follow me?”
Johann nodded, and Tonio continued. “Each planet and each sign of the zodiac has an influence on man, on his destiny and his future. There are two kinds of horoscope: the nativity, which is about a person’s character, and the progressive horoscope, which tells us something about the outcome of a future event, like a battle or a business decision. This kind of horoscope is much more difficult and therefore more expensive.”
