The old woman’s hands moved with certainty and quickness as she applied a salve to my feet and ankles. The fire in the back glowed red and a cup of tea appeared on the table.
“Drink it hot,” she said. Within minutes heaviness settled. Luanda helped me stretch next to Bero on the bed and I sank into deep slumber.
I dreamed. I lay in bed sick and my mother was taking care of me. I didn’t have to go to school. When my mother left the room, I snuck to the computer. Ott’s rat face, teeth bared with red eyes, appeared on the screen. Then Ott’s entire head materialized in my room, followed by claw-like hands that were bony and long with curved nails. I tried to scramble back into bed, but Ott had sunk his fingers into my shirt. The closer I got to my bed, the farther Ott climbed out of the screen. At last I screamed.
“Shsh, rest yourself,” a soothing voice said.
“Mom?” I opened my eyes. The room was nearly dark except for two oil lamps and the glow of a fire. As the memories of the morning’s ordeal hurtled into my consciousness, I glanced next to me. Bero lay on his back unmoving.
“Will he…”
“We must wait,” Luanda said from the shadows. “He’s had tea.”
I sank back into sleep. Away from the most horrible thought of my life. Away from it all.
When I woke again, a single oil lamp burned near my bed. I rolled to my elbow in search of Luanda.
“How is he?” I said into the gloom.
“He will live. A strong lad.”
I looked at my friend. Bero lay on his back, his face peaceful despite the grotesque bumps and discolorations. Fresh tears appeared in my eyes, followed by a smile. I’d turned into a regular cry baby. Strangely, it didn’t matter.
I thought of all I’d lost. My dad who I’d refused to see or talk to, my mom who I knew worried about me all the time, Jimmy, my best friend. I had new friends now and in a way our relationships were a lot more meaningful. We weren’t just hanging out over some game or homework. We were struggling with life and death. I felt my chest heave again. I’d saved Bero and that had to be enough to sustain me.
Luanda busied herself near the fireplace. “You must be famished.”
My stomach rumbled in response and I sat up. I could swear the old witch was in my head sometimes. I glanced back at Bero. He’d be okay. I wanted to shout with relief.
After limping to Luanda’s outhouse, which smelled loads better than Bero’s, I sat down at the table. Luanda had made more tea and set bowls with nuts and dried berries and a loaf of dark bread in front of me.
As I stuffed bread and nuts into my mouth, I tried to figure out what to do next.
The castle was the only safe place for us now. I thought of the pigs, which would soon rot.
“I don’t know where his family is,” I said. “They may have been taken by Ott. Will you make sure the pigs are given to Bero’s neighbors?”
Luanda nodded. “Most of the sows belong to the Lord. You better tell the castellan when you return to his castle.”
“Castellan?”
“He keeps Hanstein’s books. Like the villagers, Bero has to deliver a portion of the harvest. Slaughtering takes place in November.” Luana paused. “But then, I’m sure you know all that.” Her eyes watched me as I nodded slowly. I was sure she knew I didn’t have a clue.
I remained silent while I enjoyed the bread. It tasted slightly sweet like honey.
“Juliana is at Hanstein,” I finally said, my gaze wandering to the bed. Bero hadn’t moved. What if the witch was wrong and Bero didn’t recover? I cleared my throat. “Can he walk?”
“He should stay another night. You can, too.”
“What about Ott?”
“I do not fear him.”
“But he may look for us here.”
A deep cackle erupted from the old woman’s throat. “Don’t be frightened, Max Nerds. He will leave us alone.”
I stared at her, wanting to know her secret. Instead I asked, “Do you think Knight Werner has returned?”
“I don’t know.”
I felt my frustration growing. If I left and Werner wasn’t back, I’d have wasted his time and risked running around. Maybe I should wait until tomorrow and help Bero get to the castle. As weak as he was, it would take us an hour, maybe longer. On the other hand it was dark now and easier to hide. Then I remembered my bare feet. They felt warm and much better, but I’d tear them up as soon as I stepped outside.
Luanda had extinguished the lights except for one on the table. “Why don’t you sleep?”
I dragged myself back to the bed. I felt as if a truck had run over me. “Need to get shoes,” I mumbled and was asleep.
Chapter 19
The first light of dawn trickled through the window when I woke. I remembered Bero and anxiously glanced over. He laid on his side, facing the wall, his chest rising and falling. I carefully sat up not to disturb him. I wondered where the old woman slept until I saw a sack stuffed with hay and blankets near the fire pit. She’d left us her bed.
I asked myself how old she was. A spider web of wrinkles covered her cheeks and forehead and she walked hunched-over. But her rain-colored eyes looked young—like my own.
I moseyed to the door and peeked outside. Fog like watered-down milk shrouded the garden, hiding bushes and trees beyond. Quiet lay over the land and I heard my own breath. It was getting too cold for a thin shirt and no shoes. I saw no sign of Luanda.
Shivering I hurried to the outhouse. Back inside, I folded the blankets and looked around for something to eat. I didn’t want to rummage through the woman’s stuff. My stomach churned and my mouth was dry.
I froze when the door opened, but it was Luanda. Obviously, my nerves were shot with all the nastiness going on.
“The last fresh mint and chamomile,” the old woman said. “Winter is coming. Will you fetch water? The well is around the corner.”
Glad for something to do I disappeared with a bucket. By the time I returned, the fog had lifted slightly and I was able to make out the trees near the river’s edge. Somewhere, a crow squawked. Then another. I rushed inside. The hut was warm and the smells of boiling grain reached my nostrils.
As if on cue, Bero sat up and rubbed his face. “I’m starving.” Then he groaned and held his forehead.
But hunger seemed to win out. Without the slightest hesitation, Bero lumbered to investigate the pot.
“What’s up, man,” I said to hide my relief. “How’s your head?”
Bero felt across the swollen parts of his face and shrugged. “What happened? My head feels like my sow is sitting on it.” He looked bewildered.
I threw a glance at Luanda who shook her head.
“Max, get the bread from the shelf,” she said, placing earthen mugs on the table and filling three bowls from the cast-iron pot.
The table was quiet as we ate, Bero shoving huge quantities of oatmeal with dried blueberries into his mouth, me eating more slowly and actually enjoying my food. The tea reminded me of my Opa’s hay barn, the chamomile slightly sweet and the mint adding sharpness.
Bero braced his head on one elbow as if it were too heavy. He looked pale next to the blooming purple bruises.
“What happened yesterday?” I asked.
Bero squinted into a frown and shrugged. “Can’t remember.”
“What do you mean, you can’t remember?” I pushed away my bowl. For once, I felt full and satisfied.
“What I said. I don’t know.”
“Your pigs are dead. You remember that?” It was out before I had time to think. “I found you in the stall beaten to a pulp.”
“Nay, you’re lying,” Bero said. He’d slowly gotten up. An angry flush colored his cheeks.
Luanda put a knotty hand on his arm. “It’s true. You got hit over the skull and forgot. It will pass.”
Bero kept shaking his head. “Nay!” Then he walked to the door, yanked it open and walked out.
“He’s confused,” I said.
“Give him time.
”
I nodded. “Thank you for all your help. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you. You saved Bero’s life…and my feet.”
The old woman nodded. “You must leave soon before morn is over. It isn’t safe.”
“But you said we should stay another night.” I longingly eyed the bed. The feeling of warmth and fullness in my middle made me sleepy and I wanted nothing more than another safe night in a clean-smelling bed.
“It is better if you leave quickly.”
I forced myself to straighten. “In that case I better see what’s going on with him.”
Bero sat on a stone at the far end of the garden. He’d hunched over and held his head as if it were too heavy to carry. He moaned quietly, a wounded animal’s cry for help.
“You okay?” I said.
Bero didn’t move.
“Look man, I’m sorry for breaking it to you this way. I thought you knew…” I scanned the river, visible between the bushes and reeds, water lapping against the shore, a soothing gurgle. I wanted to crawl back inside, lie down and rest, but I knew it was a false sense of security. The feeling of worry was back as if something were nagging in the depth of my stomach.
Still Bero sat. “What does okay mean?” he finally mumbled.
“It means fine or good or better.”
“What are we going to do?” he said without acknowledging he’d heard me.
“We must leave and seek help at the castle. We’ll go by the dressmaker and buy a sweater first.”
“Sweater?”
“I mean a tunic for winter. I’ve been freezing my butt off for days.”
Bero got up and began to sway.
“Easy, boy. I’ll help you.” I threw an arm around Bero’s bony shoulders. “No worries, I got you.”
“What’s happening to me?” Bero said. He sounded confused.
“Ott beat you up. Then he killed your pigs.”
“Ach, my sows,” Bero sobbed. He stopped walking, hanging on my arm like a fifty-pound sack of potatoes.
“We’ll buy new ones. First we need to get to a safe place.”
“Where?”
“Hanstein.”
“Why would we go to the castle?”
“Cause the Lord knows us.”
“He does?”
I sighed. It’d be a long day. All I hoped was that Bero would regain his memory. Right now the guy sounded like a moron. Or like Bero used to say, a dimwit.
“Give him this?” Luanda said when we left. She held out a cloth bag that was very light. “Prepare a tea, let stand for a few minutes. Make a compress and cover his head and bruises. Don’t let him drink it.”
I nodded and stuck the bundle in my pocket.
“This is for you,” she said and handed me a stone jar, half the size of my palm. “For your feet.”
“Thanks.”
“Be safe, Max Nerds and Bero.”
We followed the path uphill. After the meadow and brush near the river’s edge, we entered the shadows of the trees. Bero walked slowly and I soon got impatient.
“Let me help you,” I offered, but Bero pushed away my hand.
“I’m fine.”
I shook my head in frustration. A blind man could see that Bero wasn’t fine. His usually light gait had been replaced by heavy steps. He swayed and panted like an old man. At this rate we’d take hours to get to the castle and though nobody was on the path, I got more and more anxious. Whenever the trees grew thinner, brush took their place. It was easy to hide and ambush someone. We’d be in no shape to fight or run.
“I want to rest,” Bero finally said.
“A little longer.”
Bero nodded and stumbled on. “I’m cold.”
“We’re heading to the dressmaker to get coats.”
“Coats?”
“Tunics.”
“I thought we’re going to see the Lord.”
“We are, but first—”
The sound of clinking metal reached my ear. There was a something sharp and ruthless about it. I pushed Bero off the trail into a patch of wild bush roses. We crawled underneath the thorny brambles and lay still. The noise came from uphill, the direction we were going. Fierce cries and shouts rang out, horses neighed, followed by screams of pain. Men were fighting.
I sighed. They weren’t after us. Someone else was fighting a battle and I had no desire to be discovered.
“Lie still,” I whispered. Without waiting for an answer, I crept forward to find an opening in the thicket. My belly turned muddy while the thorns tore at my back. The mayhem uphill grew louder, metal crashing on metal, fierce shouts and blood-curdling screams and in the background whimpering and moaning. An icy hand took hold of my stomach and squeezed tight. This was a real battle, not some stupid game. Nothing about the sounds was pretend and I felt panic take away my air. And I wasn’t even close enough to see anything.
Yet, I was curious to see who was involved and what was happening. I’d seen paintings of battle scenes, movies like Braveheart and The Lord of the Rings. What if we were found and dragged into the bloodshed? We’d be slaughtered. As real as everything had felt until now, I knew I’d die and nobody at home, my real home, would ever know. Or was that the goal of the game and I’d wake up in my room?
I felt movement next to me and winced in fright. It was Bero. I sighed.
“Who’s fighting?”
“No idea.” I wanted to find out, but couldn’t make myself move. The fear was too great, the sounds uphill too deadly.
We waited in silence. The damp ground was nearly frozen and the warmth from earlier had long disappeared. Still we waited. After a while I peeked over. Bero had gone to sleep, his pale face peaceful despite the terrible swelling. Little by little the battle noises died down. An isolated moan could be heard, a couple of shouts. Then silence.
I was tempted to sneak uphill. Just when I’d made up my mind to investigate, three horses galloped past us in neck-breaking speed. The riders wore armor and helmets and some kind of crest. Even their horses, head to rump, were covered under yellow blankets, breast armor and face shields. I thought I saw a blue and yellow crest, something like a lion, but the riders seemed to fly past.
A split second later, nine more horses followed. Their riders hunkered low on the saddle in obvious pursuit. This time, I could’ve sworn I recognized Werner von Hanstein, the blond curls and the three crescent moons on his shield clearly visible.
At last, the forest turned still. I shoved Bero in the arm. “Wake up, time to go.”
Bero looked confused again. He yawned and sat up.
“We have to be absolutely quiet,” I urged. “Is there another way into the village?”
Bero shook his head.
Crouching low we moved uphill. Since the undergrowth on either side was thick it was nearly impossible to stay off the path. As we climbed over the rise, the trees opened into a meadow, a wide terrace before rising toward a second higher hill.
I gasped in horror.
The formerly green pasture looked wounded. The earth had been upturned, gashed and gnawed, and soaked in blood. Two dozen men and several horses lay strewn in heaps where they had fallen. Some had swords sticking out of their chests, unprotected armpits and even visors. An eerie quiet filled the air as if the men’s souls were drifting above. I swallowed, my mouth bitter. I wanted to throw up. Somebody had lain in ambush in the trees and attacked. These men had fought to the death.
We had to get away as quickly as possible. Still I couldn’t. I took a step, then another, the gruesomeness drawing me in. Bero clambered next to me. He looked green.
An arm lay in the grass by itself, cut off above the elbow. Its owner hadn’t made it far. He lay on his stomach, the soil around him darkish red. I moved on, avoiding looking at the gaping hole of bones and muscle. I stepped carefully to keep my feet away from the slimy spots that seemed to spread out in front of me. The air stunk of something metallic and emptied bowels, the smell of death. My stomach heaved.
<
br /> Someone moaned. I stopped to listen as I scanned the lifeless bodies, the codes of armor and shields. Most of them showed a yellow lion on a blue background. Another groan, louder. It came from across the field where a giant black horse stood nibbling at something on the ground.
“Did you hear that?” I asked.
Bero nodded. The green color had turned parchment yellow, but he followed me nonetheless.
Next to the horse at the edge of the battlefield a man lay on his back. I recognized the crest of Hanstein on his sleeve and broken shield. The horse quietly neighed and tucked at the man’s armored shoulder. I carefully opened the visor. It was the burly knight who’d sat next to me at Werner’s table. The man’s eyes looked glazed as he tried to focus on my face.
“What happened?” I said. How stupid was that. “I mean, let’s get you to the castle.”
Groaning, the man raised a feeble hand to reveal a tear in his leather vest. The ragged hole below was filled with blood and the grayish slime of intestines.
“…late,” he sputtered. With every breath, blood gurgled out of the opening as if he had an endless supply. “My steed, care…” I leaned closer. “Revenge, Max Ner—”
Silence. The burly knight stared blindly into the sky. I had never seen a dead person. I’m playing a game, I thought. But I didn’t believe myself. Not anymore.
Crows squawked in the trees above. They had come to feast. I closed the knight’s lids and his visor. A new wave of nausea hit me mixed with intense hatred. Some coward had attacked Werner and his men.
“Let’s take the horse and run,” I said.
Bero stood next to me, his face a new shade of green. “Not the horse.”
“We’ll take it to Hanstein.”
Bero shook his head. “They’ll say we stole it.”
“But we’re returning it to the castle. Werner will know we didn’t take it.”
The horse had raised its head as if to listen. I tucked at the reins. To my relief it followed without struggle. It was nearly as large as Werner’s warhorse, a beautiful mahogany brown with a black mane and braided tail. I led it toward the path, away from the strewn corpses and the smells of death.
Escape from the Past Page 14