Escape from the Past

by Oppenlander, Annette

  Chapter 17

  The stall was empty when I woke. I stretched and after a glance at the crusty clogs and my scraped-up toes headed outside barefoot to relieve myself. Bero and Juliana were nowhere to be seen. I rounded the building to take a closer look at the castle. I had to blink every time I saw how grand it looked. The Hanstein ruins I knew were magnificent, but the real thing left me breathless.

  The courtyard had been paved with flat rocks. The two towers beyond reached six stories into the sky. In-between, the keep hovered on the edge of the rocks and overlooked the valley below. They had to have the most amazing views. I wanted to investigate the inside, but it wouldn’t be a good idea. Lame Hans von Hanstein, Werner’s brother, was probably lurking close and that was the last thing I needed right now. I walked past the huge structure on my right, which looked like a three-story apartment building. Voices drifted through one of the doors and I stuck my head inside.

  Bero, Juliana and a couple of squires sat at a crude table, stuffing their faces. Bero didn’t even looked up from his bowl, but Juliana smiled at me. The room had a low ceiling of roughhewn wood beams and a fireplace in the corner. The floor like all floors, I’d seen, was covered with straw.

  “Have some food,” Juliana said, her voice much stronger than last night. She jumped up and filled another bowl and mug. I plunked myself next to her while trying to identify the content of my dish. It looked vaguely like oatmeal, not exactly my favorite thing, so I was happy to find a hunk of bread on the table.

  “Did the Lord return?” I asked into the room.

  One of the squires shook his head. He was too busy scooping food into his mouth.

  “Do you know where he went?” I asked, setting my bowl aside and concentrating on the bread.

  “No idea,” the other squire said. He’d leaned back and drained his mug. “Got to work.” With that he jumped up and disappeared into the courtyard, followed by the second guy.

  Bero looked up from his bowl. “I need to go home. Mutter will be mad. Nobody’s taking care of the sows.”

  “Ott may find you.”

  “What am I supposed to do about that? We know Juliana can’t go back, but I have to.” Despite his skinny frame he stood up full of confidence. “Ott and Miranda have no right to touch me. I’m not their servant.”

  “But you escaped from their manor,” Juliana said.

  Bero headed outside. “I’ll tell Mutter so she won’t fuss. I’ll take the sows out for the day and be back tonight.”

  “Promise to be careful.” I got up and followed him. Maybe I should go along. But I wanted to speak with Werner, tell him about Ott and the parrot and make sure Juliana was taken care of. I watched Bero scamper toward the gate, small and nimble as a squirrel. Something churned in my stomach, a warning voice.

  “I’ll stop by after I speak with Lord Werner. Need to buy shoes,” I yelled after him, but Bero, waving at the guards, had passed through the gate and disappeared.

  “We don’t have a shoemaker in the village,” Juliana said behind my back. “You’ll have to go to town for that.”

  I turned in disbelief. “I can’t possibly walk miles to another town in these clogs.”

  “I could go. We’ll measure your feet. But I need money.”

  I shook my head and smashed a fist on the table in frustration. “No way! You’re not going to run around. Ott will catch you. He’ll make sure you don’t get away next time.” I cringed thinking what the rat would do if he got his filthy hands on her now. Juliana had turned pale and silently picked up the dishes and rinse them in a bucket.

  “I’ll take these to the kitchen,” she said. “Maybe I can work here until the Lord returns.”

  “Juliana,” I called after her. But she ignored me and disappeared through a door in the back of the room.

  I shrugged. At least, she was safe at Hanstein. Even if she was mad at me.

  I slumped back on the bench and put my head in my arms. Why was everything so complicated? You couldn’t buy stuff, even if you had money. Food was terrible. Guys like the rat and the Duke did what they wanted. I shook my head. What a horrible life the villagers led. Even rich guys like Knight Werner struggled with jerks like the beadle. And while the castle was magnificent, it was dark and cold and drafty.

  I thought of home, the clean bathroom and tiled kitchen, the comforter on my bed. The fact I could get a cold drink from the fridge any time. What if I never returned to my former life? What if I’d lost it all? A sigh escaped me and I buried my head deeper in my arms. I wanted to lie down and forget everything. Sleep and wake up from this impossible world.

  I’d drifted off when the faint sound of metal clinking filtered into my consciousness. I climbed off the bench, rubbing away the stiffness from my neck.

  A cold wind whipped me as I stepped outside. I followed the sound to the outer bailey where a dozen squires were practicing sword fighting. The younger boys wielded wooden blades while Enders and another big fellow worked with the real thing.

  They jumped forward and back, smashing into each other, yelling commands. Enders looked like he was ready for the kill, his mouth pressed together, green eyes squeezed into slits. He’d make a great knight one day, I thought grudgingly. And I better be on his side.

  With a cry, Enders made his final attack. His opponent’s sword flew through the air and disappeared in the weeds. They both bowed and slapped each other on the back. Enders even managed a grin before he turned toward the younger squires to shout instructions. Bero would’ve loved to be part of this.

  Bero. A vague pressure grew in my stomach and I recognized it from my school days and when my parents had fought: worry. I paced along the outer wall, blind to the beautiful landscape that unfolded below me. Why wasn’t Lord Werner returning?

  I should’ve gone with Bero and retrieved some money. Surely, someone around here could organize a pair of boots that didn’t feel like pieces of hollowed cement. This was no time to be without shoes. The ground was damp and stony and I’d be in no shape to do anything. At least I should’ve asked Bero to bring a few coins.

  Where was a cell phone when you needed one? I grinned. Bero would’ve been flabbergasted, heck everyone would’ve been speechless, had I pulled a phone out of my pocket. But then, they may have thrown me in the dungeon for witchcraft. Of course, without cell towers and someone on the receiving end it was useless anyway.

  I’d reached the backside of the wall and passed by the chapel. Noticing its door ajar, I slipped inside. At the opposite end of the tiny stone-clad room sat a winged altar carved in oak. It was magnificent and better suited for a large church. A simple Jesus statue stared down at me. A handful of oil candles and sticks of incense burned below, throwing shadows across the three bench rows. I began to pray: God, what am I doing here? My mind turned blank. I had nothing but questions. What a desolate place. The musty air was stifling and I hurried back outside.

  A light rain began to sprinkle and I felt even gloomier. I kept walking and ended up at the back gate, probably meant for deliveries. I’d been here before in modern times. A guard stood on each side. They nodded but otherwise ignored me. I turned around.

  It was decision time.

  No more waiting around. I had to get money, see the dress-maker to buy some sort of cover and extra pants. My gaming progress, whatever that was, didn’t look too hopeful. I’d ask the Hanstein squires to help me find shoes. If Werner showed up, fine. If not, at least I’d gotten more comfortable.

  With trepidation I thought of the hike to the village. I’d rather burn the damn clogs before I wore them. I just had to be careful not to run into the rat. The Duke had probably long left with his prize, Lady Clara, and the tax money.

  I remembered it was Sunday. Infuriating. I’d already been here more than a week and was still no closer to figuring out the goal of this game. When I returned home I’d give Jimmy’s father a piece of my mind.

  Chapter 18

  None of the squires practicing sword fighting pai
d attention and after greeting the guards I climbed downhill. The village spread below me as if someone had tossed a handful of huts into the air. In the quiet morning air, smoke curled from chimneys. Most people were probably in church and the rest of them sleeping off the festival. It was high time for another bath in the river, but the wind had an icy edge this morning and my feet complained with every step.

  A couple sleepy patrons sat at one of the tables at the Klausenhof and I wondered what time it was.

  The watch in my pocket was useless and peasants seemed to organize their day around the sun. It would never fly where I’m coming from, I thought. My entire day was run by the clock, getting to meals, sports and classes. How much school had I missed? The math test had come and gone. Surely a half dozen other exams. My mother had gone to the police and turned crazy with worry. Here, I was stuck a few centuries back. I thought about Jimmy. Maybe he’d tell his dad that I had disappeared and they’d find a way to get me out. It was a slim hope, but what if I could never figure out the goals of the game and…I couldn’t allow myself to think this far. I’d go nuts first.

  Bero’s hut looked deserted. Not a sound came from the stalls. Bero had taken his pigs into the meadows. I hurried to the hut and opened the door.

  Benches and table lay splintered on the ground. Clay shards were scattered, blankets ripped to shreds. Straw sacks had been pierced with their innards spilled out. Above the fireplace, my T-shirt hung speared, the tip pierced where my heart would’ve been. I started to shiver. Ott had returned to reclaim Juliana and declared war. In a fit of anger, I yanked my shirt down and put in on underneath my new one.

  Remembering the coins I climbed to my sleeping quarters. I felt the stuffing behind the clay wall—and sighed. The purse was still there. Ott wouldn’t have expected money in a poor shack like Bero’s and hadn’t looked. I quickly grabbed the coin bag and climbed back down. I’d have to find Bero who’d probably been gone when Ott showed up. With the money we could buy new furnishings. I stopped in my tracks. What if the rat had taken the mother and Adela? Peasants seemed to have no rights or protection.

  I rushed back outside. Silence greeted me. It surrounded me like a cocoon, thick and unmoving. Fear grew inside me then, a sense of doom, putting pressure on my bowels. I headed for the outhouse, barely aware of the stink. I had to warn Bero, get him to return to the castle early. Maybe we could collect food for the pigs and leave them for a few days until we’d have time to make plans. Surely, Knight Werner would be back.

  Trying to avoid the piles of dung and puddles, I stepped across the straw-covered yard, when I saw something glistening near the pig stall. It looked wet and I drew closer. The dirt and straw were soaked darkish red—blood. Trembling I rushed around the corner. At the far side of the building, the ground was drenched. Mud and rain puddles glowed red. A massacre had taken place.

  Ott had killed the family for defying him. A terrible foreboding gripped me as I slowly opened the barn door and peeked into the gloom. Dark shapes covered the floor. I hesitated, my legs and feet refusing to move. I couldn’t possibly go farther.

  But I had to look, see for himself who lay inside. I didn’t even notice the sticky redness beneath, the soaked straw that reached to my ankles. I could not go on. I could not handle finding the people who’d become my family dead.

  As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I noticed that the shape closest to me was too small to be human. I took a step and bent lower. It was the body of a pig, its gray fur saturated with blood. Its throat had been slashed and it had bled to death. I moved passed. The sow Bero had been so proud of lay on her side, her eight babies strewn around her, even close in death. Her teats were still swollen with milk. I felt pressure in my throat. Bero would be heartbroken. His babies had been killed. I moved further into the darkness, carefully stepping over the still forms. They were all dead.

  I swallowed away the lump in my throat. At least they were only pigs. Bero would be livid and sad. They were his livelihood, his flock, almost like children. Even I had grown fond of them. They were smart and well-trained. I’d been amazed how they followed Bero’s commands. But he could buy new ones. We’d tell Lord Werner. I looked around thinking about what to do next when my gaze fell on another form in the back corner. It almost blended in with the straw and shadows. I rushed closer. The skinny human body wore a beige shirt and brownish pants. Bero.

  He’d curled into a ball as if he were sleeping. I didn’t know how I made it to the crumpled up body. I fell on my knees, swallowing the bile that threatened to explode out of my head.

  “Bero?”

  He lay very still. My arm didn’t obey me because it shook and trembled. Gently I turned the skinny figure to look into my friend’s face. Bero’s eyes were closed. His face looked waxen. Bruises covered his cheek and neck. One eye was swollen shut and looked black in the gloom. I pushed aside the stringy hair, sticky with blood. Then I bent low to listen to his chest.

  I heard a faint noise, a tiny gurgling sound. Bero was breathing—at least for now. I quickly checked for other injuries. His feet were bloody, but that was more likely from the pigs. Finding no stabbing wounds I sagged on my knees relieved.

  But Bero didn’t move even when I rubbed his hands. They were grimy, but I didn’t care. I’d started crying but I didn’t care about that either. Bero looked like a used-up ragdoll ready for the garbage. My mind raced going over the options. I had to get help. There was no doctor, no ambulance or emergency room. I didn’t know what was wrong. The head wound could mean lots of things. Maybe Bero had internal injuries. Maybe he’d die any minute. A rattle pierced the silence. It was my own moan. Something had to be done. And fast.

  With another sigh I straightened. I only thought of one thing. My right arm under his shoulders, the other under the legs, I picked up Bero who felt limp as if he had no bones. I thought of Harry Potter when he’d lost the bones in his forearm and had to take medicine to re-grow them. Bero felt like that all over. It was probably dangerous to move him, but I couldn’t stay either. Every minute was precious.

  Ignoring the dead pigs, the blood-soaked straw and manure, I walked outside and headed downhill. Every so often I slowed to catch my breath. Bero hadn’t moved and I wondered if he’d died. In the daylight, his face looked distorted from the blows to his head, swollen and bluish. Maybe he had brain damage from internal bleeding.

  I thought of the crime shows on TV. Head trauma was a main cause of death when the brain swelled and put too much pressure on the skull.

  The hopelessness of my situation grew and became overwhelming until my feet stopped. I wanted to lie down and dig myself a hole. I wanted to scream and rant: against Ott, against my fear and the stinking unfairness of life in this horror of a game.

  Still, I held on to Bero. If I stopped now, Bero would die. So I resumed my walk, my breath rattling and my arms and back beyond tearing pain. I’d often thought that it was good not to meet anyone. But right now, I could really have used another pair of arms. Why hadn’t I asked a neighbor? They all knew each other. They could’ve helped carry Bero. My mind wandered into fog.

  If Bero died, it would be my fault. I should’ve gone with him. Better yet, I should’ve never let him leave the castle. Not without protection. Not after we’d been taken by Ott and run off. A sob escaped me. I couldn’t afford to cry right now. I had no breath left, no energy, but the last shred of muscle power to carry Bero and maybe, maybe… Another sob.

  Something rustled in the bushes behind me and I froze. What if Ott was waiting for me? Had Bero told him that I was at the castle? I forced myself to walk on. I couldn’t think about it. One more step. I had to walk…another step.

  At last I reached the river. My feet were beyond pain, my back screaming now. My arms throbbed. I kept going—past the area where I’d swum, past the hazelnut bushes and into the gardens of the old witch.

  Before I could wheeze for help—my lungs had long given up the last bit of oxygen—the door opened and Luanda took hold of
Bero’s feet. We placed him on her bed, which smelled of lavender and hay.

  “What happened?” she said. “Was it Ott?”

  I nodded and sank on one of the two chairs by the window, wiping my face, a mixture of sweat and tears.

  Without comment, Luanda began to check Bero’s body. She pushed and probed, her knobby fingers like bleached tree limbs. Then she shuffled to the back wall, opening clay pots and mumbling in a low voice.

  “Take off his tunic,” she ordered. I obeyed and hung Bero’s shredded top on a hook near the door. “I’ll wash him and you rub this on his forehead and bruises. It’s Arnica.

  “Is he…going to die?”

  Luanda’s rain cloud eyes glanced at me. Did I imagine them darken for a moment? “We shall see. He is tough.”

  I sucked air. More tears showed up.

  “You did the right thing. He is a good lad.”

  I nodded, my throat too tight for words. “His pigs are dead,” I finally managed.

  “Just sows,” she said. “You’ll buy new ones.” Her eyes had attached themselves to my pant pocket where I kept the coin bag. I could’ve sworn she knew that I carried a small fortune. I didn’t care anymore. I’d give it all to her gladly if she could save my friend.

  I concentrated on Bero whose cheeks had regained a faint glow. Luanda kept washing with a mix of water and assorted herbs.

  “Put the salve on his bruises. They’ll heal faster.” I obeyed, spreading the thick mixture that smelled of sheep on Bero’s ribs and cheek. At last, Luanda was satisfied and we covered Bero with a coarsely woven wool blanket.

  “We better have a look at your feet.”

  I looked down. My toes were hardly recognizable under the dirt, blood and grime.

  “Wash in the river. I’ll fix something to make them better.”

  “I lost my shoes,” I said, but Luanda waved me away.

  At the water’s edge, I stripped and jumped in. My teeth chattered, but I scrubbed fast and furious until the last filth and dried blood had floated away. The water burned as if I’d stuck my feet in the freezer. The open sores throbbed. I hobbled back to the house and sank on the chair.