Escape from the Past

by Oppenlander, Annette

  “We needed to eat,” their mother said. “It was shortly after your father…I never expected this…” Her arms dropped as tears spilled across her cheeks and she slumped on the bench.

  Tired of crying women, I pulled Bero by the sleeve to follow me. “We need to talk.”

  We walked into the yard next to the stall. The pigs were lolling in a mud puddle, grunting with anticipation of another excursion. I took a seat on the cutting block used for wood splitting.

  “I saw that rat, Miranda’s son,” I said. “Juliana cannot return to them. They’ll kill her or Ott will rape her and get her pregnant.”

  “What can we do? Miranda is a lady. We do what they tell us.”

  “We must find another place for Juliana—somewhere safe.”

  Bero shook his head. “I don’t know how.”

  “What about town?”

  “Heiligenstadt? Nay!” Bero said. “I visited once. It’s dirty. Rats the size of my sows. People get sick.” Bero picked up a chunk of wood and hurled it in the dust. “You don’t understand. A lass has no choices. She does what she’s told until she gets married. Then her husband tells her what to do.”

  “Listen to yourself.” I jumped away from the block, nearly stepping on one of the pigs. It squealed and took cover behind its friends. “She’s your sister, for goodness sake. Don’t you want to protect her?”

  Bero shrugged. “We’re serfs. It’s life.”

  I stared at my friend. “How can you give up this easily? We have to find a way. I’ll help her even if you don’t.”

  “How?”

  “Don’t know yet, what concern is it of yours? She’s just a lass and doesn’t have a choice,” I jeered. I wanted to punch Bero. Why was he such a dickhead? I sat back down. It was useless. Who was I anyway? It’d take hundreds more years till they had decent laws.

  Bero stared at me. “I’ll help you if I can,” he said in a small voice. “It’s just—you show up and do all these feats. You know things… It messes with my head.” Suspicion had crept back into his eyes.

  When I didn’t answer, Bero turned and walked toward the hut.

  “Bero, wait.” I climbed across the barrier to catch up. “Sorry. I need your help. I think if we work together we can find a solution. She’s too good for them and…” I ran out of words as I thought of the rat.

  Bero nodded. “Let’s get a piece of bread. Sows need grazing. We can talk if you want to come with me. That is unless you want to squeeze my sister some more,” he smirked.

  I punched him in the arm. “Jerk.” But I couldn’t quite wipe a grin off my face.

  At the edge of the forest, we plunked into the grass, Bero’s pigs happily sniffing for bugs and roots. Grunts and slurps emanated from the old sow and her new offspring. Half a dozen piglets squeaked happily while lining up along her belly to suckle.

  “How about she serve at the Klausenhof Inn? Take care of the guests?” Bero said, jumping up. “She could sleep at home every night, help Mutter with the house. We sure could use another cook.”

  No kidding, I thought. “What if the barkeep sells her to his guests?” I said aloud. “Just think of all the men getting drunk and then…”

  “Then you come up with an idea.” Bero slumped back down. He sounded angry again.

  “What about the dressmaker? She could learn to sew and visit with the ladies when they need something made.”

  “He’s too stingy. Besides, he has two daughters who do his sewing.”

  I felt deflated. No idea was good enough, not to mention getting money to pay back Miranda.

  In the west, a wall of clouds darkened the sky. A low grumble echoed across the meadows. The pigs, suddenly nervous, began to squeal. Luanda had been right, I thought. The wind picked up, raining acorns and leaves. Still without a plan, we sprinted back to the village. I felt discouraged and anxious as if the sudden storm had appeared to warn me. Heavy raindrops pelted the dusty path as we approached Bero’s hut.

  “I hope you’ll compete at the festival,” I said, holding the gate open for Bero and his flock. “I heard the winner is chosen to serve Lord Hanstein as a squire.”

  Bero who had whistled a low tune stopped to let the last pig into the stall. “I’d never succeed. There’re too many stronger lads in the village. And they come from all over to take part.”

  “Promise me you’ll try.”

  “You sure are a loud-mouth.” But then Bero grinned. “Heiliger Wendelin, if you cheer me on.”

  “That’s the spirit,” I said. “By the way who’s this Wendelin?”

  “The patron of shepherds and peasants. He performs miracles.”

  I nodded. Bero would need a miracle all right. I slapped Bero on the back, even though I suspected he wouldn’t have a chance and would herd pigs forever. Juliana would be ravaged by the rat and little Adela would be next. Where did that leave me?

  I didn’t have the faintest idea what I was supposed to do. I was stuck in a game I didn’t understand, whose rules hadn’t been explained. I was just as screwed as they were. Except I recognized it more clearly. Not to mention that I didn’t have my family—my mother—Jimmy, school, my computer…life as I knew it.

  “What’s the matter?” Bero watched me. “You look like someone died.”

  I shook my head. How could I explain that it felt like dying when your life had disappeared? I had to find a way home. I had to help my new friends. And I had four days to figure it out.

  Chapter 9

  Every day I accompanied Bero into the meadows around the village. Sometimes we took the pigs a few feet into forest, but Bero soon became nervous and drove them into the open. I knew that whatever little chance Bero had at the festival, he didn’t want to risk losing a potential spot as a squire, no matter how remote the chance. Every evening, I was no closer to having a solution for Juliana. Her leg was healing well and she first hobbled, then walked around the house and finally accompanied us.

  I’d shown her how to collect and cook various plants. In my real life, my mother had taken me on hikes and pointed out edible plants, herbs and mushrooms.

  “The dark leaves in the grass are sorrel. You can cook them like vegetables.” I pointed at the nettles along the path. They reached to his shoulders. “And these taste like spinach.”

  “What’s spinach?”

  “A vegetable. Has lots of vita—Never mind. You cook it.”

  Juliana nodded and I helped her collect baskets along with dandelion leaves, mustard greens, rucola and wild garlic for salad.

  “How do you know so much?” Juliana’s eyes, full of admiration, had attached themselves to my face.

  “From my mother. Promise me you’ll eat lots of this stuff, instead of the gruel your mother cooks. It’s much healthier.”

  “Where is your mother?”

  I shrugged. How could I explain that she was right here? In some other dimension or hundreds of years into the future. Heck, I didn’t understand it. The silence between us grew and I was thankful she didn’t push for an answer.

  “I’ll have to go back soon.” Her voice quivered. “The harvest festival begins tomorrow evening. Miranda will make me suffer if I don’t show in time. And Ott…”

  I looked at her. She was so sweet and now that she’d had time to be outside, her cheeks had turned a healthy pink. I didn’t want to think about not having her around. I stepped closer and took her hand. “Tell me more about Lady Clara. You mentioned you like her.”

  Juliana shook her head, but she left her hand in mine. I tried concentrating on what she said instead of her body close to me. The linen dress was crudely woven and reminded me of a potato sack, but I could tell the shape of her breasts underneath.

  “When I served her before, she took care of us servant girls. We had plenty to eat and sometimes got a trinket or ribbons for our hair. It was a merry time. After her husband, Knight Hans, was blinded she became sad. He nagged all the time. I think they have trouble honoring Lord Werner. Master Hans can’t serve the Lo
rd or take care of the manor.”

  “Lady Clara went missing last weekend when I visited Knight Werner,” I said.

  “You visited the Lord?”

  “Not on purpose, but he asked me to join him for a meal.”

  Juliana stared. “I don’t believe you.”

  I nodded. “I didn’t mention it, because I knew you wouldn’t. Bero won’t believe it either.” I scanned the hill. Bero leaned against the trunk of a tree, making a point to look the other way.

  “You’re full of tall tales, Max,” Juliana said, her voice guarded. Then she pulled her hand out of mine. I felt it like a cold void. “Nobody goes to visit the Lord and is invited to the meal. Not the likes of you or me. We’re serfs.” Her eyes were growing dark with anger. “Just because I’m a poor lass doesn’t mean you can make fun of me or my brother.” She turned her back and limped toward Bero.

  “But I…”

  I felt helpless. How could I blame them for not believing me? After the few days, it seemed doubtful even to me. I hadn’t heard from Werner and wondered if he’d returned and what had happened to Lady Clara. Bero’s world evolved around pigs, the daily grind of finding enough to eat—staying alive without getting sick or having an accident.

  And I, Max, operated in a vacuum without any news. They didn’t have smart phones, Facebook, texting or the Internet, not even a newspaper. Information traveled by word-of-mouth. Surprising how effective and fast that worked. Luanda, the old bat, had known about me despite her working in a different village. Maybe I should visit the witch and see what she knew about Lady Clara. I wasn’t exactly afraid of her, but the woman was creepy. Maybe she had an idea what to do with Juliana.

  Better act before I lost my nerve. “I’ve got to take care of something,” I shouted in Bero’s direction. See you at the house.” Ignoring Juliana’s reproachful stare I raced downhill. Half way to the river I remembered that I didn’t know where Luanda lived.

  A sharp wind blew across the open fields and I was glad to take shelter among the oak trees. The air was filled with the spicy aroma of fallen leaves. I imagined being home in my own woods. But these trees were the size of skyscrapers, their trunks fat as buses. I was definitely not back home. Jimmy’s father had created a very convincing world. The worst thing about it was that it felt absolutely real. Which left the other alternative—that I had somehow traveled back into the Middle Ages.

  I jogged to create some warmth. My T-shirt would be no match for the approaching cold and I’d have to come up with something to wear. Who knew how long I’d be in the game. What if I had to spend the winter? My breath caught. What if I could never find a way out?

  By the river I followed the path I’d seen when I went swimming. Framed by thick undergrowth, the Werra kept meandering. It was impossible to see past the next clump of bushes and tall grasses. Elderberry, hawthorn and holly formed walls of dense thickets, not the neat forest and mowed lawns modern-day farmers and cities maintained.

  The path narrowed and disappeared between twelve-foot hazelnut bushes. I stopped briefly to pick a few. They were brown and still stuck in their green hulls. I’d have to come back with a bag to collect a bunch. They’d be a pain to open without a nutcracker—still a welcome addition to the meager offerings at Bero’s house.

  They’d not complained about feeding an extra mouth, but I was sure I presented additional hardship for them. The least I could do was help with ideas. I shoved past the undergrowth and was surprised to find an open area, a sort of garden.

  All kinds of herbs and flowers grew in patches, many I didn’t know. Beyond the garden squatted the most warped structure I’d ever seen. I thought of Hänsel and Gretel who’d been taken prisoner by the old witch. This house wasn’t made of candy, but the wooden beams and stone walls looked like a mismatched mosaic, leaning into the wind with the roof following their lead. Smoke curled in thin rivulets from a stone chimney. I slowly approached.

  “Hello? Anyone home?” I walked toward the front door made of oak planks, but before I could knock it opened.

  “Come in,” Luanda announced from inside. “I was expecting you. Tea?”

  I nodded absentmindedly while my eyes adjusted to the murkiness. On each side of the entrance, a tiny window let in some light. It wasn’t nearly enough. The ceiling was hidden under bunches of dried herbs and flowers. Assorted clay jars lined the wall, while much of the floor covered under burlap sacks, buckets and barrels. The place looked like a medieval warehouse except for a two-by-two foot table underneath one of the windows and a narrow cot in the back corner.

  It didn’t stink nearly as bad as Bero’s place—more like a mix of herbs, hay and wood smoke.

  I found my way to the window. “How did you know I was coming?”

  The witch smiled as her rain-cloud eyes drew me in. “One hears things.” She took a sip from her stone mug and pushed a bread-like slab across the table. “Eat.”

  I hesitated, wondering if she might poison me.

  “It’s safe,” she cackled.

  I broke off a piece and sniffed. It looked almost like a coffee cake, but instead of being brown, this creation was speckled green, purple and dark red. It smelled vaguely of herbs and something I couldn’t identify. I took a bite and immediately closed my eyes. This was the best thing I’d eaten since I’d landed in the game. I chewed, temporarily distracted by the explosion of flavor in my mouth.

  “What is it?” I managed.

  “I use the fruits of the forest. Nature provides if we know how to ask her. But I believe…” she smiled when I reached for another piece, “you came to ask me something.”

  I nodded, my cheeks bulging. I couldn’t get enough of the stuff.

  “What is it you need to know?”

  I washed the crumbs down with tea that tasted like licorice.

  “I’ve got to figure out a few things,” I said. “Lots of things really, but I was hoping you’d help me with one.” Luanda didn’t move, not even her eyes, as she sat and waited. “You get around. Do you know what happened to Lady Clara? She’s married to the blind guy—Knight Hans something…I forget. Last Saturday, somebody kidnapped her. Lord Werner went to rescue her after he heard she’d been taken.”

  Luanda nodded. “I know who she is.” Her voice grew stern and gravelly. “You shouldn’t concern yourself. The beadle has her and he won’t give her up.”

  “Who’s the beadle?”

  “Duke von Schwarzburg, the tax collector.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s evil and powerful. He takes what he covets and destroys who stands in his way.” She sounded like an oracle again.

  “Where does he live?”

  “Stay away from him.”

  I opened my mouth and closed it again. Here I thought she’d help me. Instead I’d been thrown another roadblock. I remembered the men who’d sliced off the man’s finger. According to Bero they belonged to Schwarzburg. This ridiculous game was digging me into a deeper hole by the minute. I thought of telling the woman about Juliana. Instead I jumped up and hurried to the door. No use wasting any more time.

  “Thanks for the bread,” I said yanking open the door.

  “See me again.”

  What for, I thought. No point asking about Juliana. The woman was full of doom and warnings and not the least bit helpful. Except for the food—I swished my tongue where a pleasant aftertaste lingered. I’d go back for that.

  Chapter 10

  That night I couldn’t sleep. Somehow, I had to find Lady Clara. She was Juliana’s only chance for a safe place, to find protection from the rat. If it meant I had to visit this beadle character, so be it. Luanda had refused to tell me where the Duke lived. She obviously thought he was dangerous. Surely someone in the village knew. If I wasn’t successful, Juliana would have to return to Miranda. I had no doubt they’d take her by force or have her arrested if she didn’t show. I thought of witch-hunts and women burned at the stake. Who knew what Miranda would do? I shivered and pulled the crude blank
et closer to my throat. I was freezing. Bero’s family had to stretch the firewood through the winter. The coals in the fire pit had long fallen apart before I dozed off.

  After a piece of bread and three spoonfuls of gruel, courtesy of the mother’s fine cooking, I took off down the trail. I hadn’t told Bero or Juliana my plans. No need to get them all riled up. Bero would protest as would Juliana.

  I headed for the Klausenhof. With all the people coming and going, the barkeep had to know Schwarzburg’s address. The courtyard was empty, but the front door was unlocked. Behind the bar to my right, a man in an apron washed and wiped stone mugs. The room was no bigger than my living room at home. A couple of men in bright blue and green robes sat at a table, eating hunks of roasted meat and bread. I inhaled. I was hungry again.

  “Excuse me, sir,” I said, stepping closer.

  “What can I serve you?” The man said without interrupting his work.

  “I’m hoping you can help me. I have a question.”

  For a split second the barkeep looked up from his task as if to evaluate how important the inquirer was.

  “That’ll cost you.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t have any money, eh, coin.”

  “This establishment collects for refreshment and answers. We don’t serve beggars. Get out.” Behind my back the richly dressed merchants laughed.

  “It’s a simple question,” I tried. “It’ll only take a minute.”

  The barkeep slammed his mug on the counter. “I said, get out,” he growled.

  I turned and sauntered away, my head low. I wanted to smack the guy in the stomach which bulged underneath the filthy apron. I’d never felt this disappointed. I longingly thought of the present day owners of the Klausenhof who were not only friendly but positively cool. They’d let me look at the armor and swords when I was little and wanted to be a knight.

  Drizzle hit me as I entered the courtyard. My legs slowed and soon I stood, unsure where to turn or what to do. My purpose had evaporated. I was ready to give up this game, this impossible endeavor. Yet I couldn’t. Like the peasants in this village I was stuck in this life. The lump in my throat grew and swelled into my eyes. I sagged on the stone trough in front of the building, a place I’d been with my parents—in another world. My tears mixed with the increasing rain. That was probably the doing of the old witch. She’d sent me rain to maximize my misery. Despite myself I grinned. What nonsense I dreamed up.