Himmel

New idea. Himmel is German for "heaven." Great name for a crusader, btw. :)

Yesterday my name was Hans. A fine name, I suppose. Thinking it now, in my head, kind of makes me miss it. Hans. I don’t have the option of changing it back now. I agreed to this. It does not matter. 

Escape is all that matters.

As I lay on my back I take in my surroundings for the hundredth time. In the corner a rat gnaws at corner of a pale that holds contents I care not to think about. The door to my room is thick wood that won’t give way, the bruises on my shoulder can attest to that. The pale that sits next to me used to hold water but I finished it off about six hours ago. I had used it to wash down the minuscule piece of bread I had been given for breakfast. Through my one window I can hear the sea crashing on the shore somewhere nearby. I get up and brush the straw, that was my bed, off me. 

The window.

More a torture than a comfort. Especially after this mornings events. It is no bigger than my torso, with five metal bars running vertically through it. The torture of it comes from its position. High on the wall it sits. If I jump hard enough I can grab the bars and pull myself up to see out of it. There is not much to see anyway. It looks out onto a private courtyard. The barracks courtyard. Right now there would not be much to see. Maybe a few soldiers milling around and blood surrounding a stump in the middle of the grounds. 

The stump. 

The last thing many men see. I can not imagine there is much to see anyway, being that close to it. It probably just fills your sight with blurred shades of brown and then you see nothing. At least for a time I hope. I have dedicated my life to believing men will live again. In a place where there are not jails, or stumps, or useless windows. 

I can still remember my mother and father waving to me as I rode away with my mentor. I knew that mother would cry and father would try to comfort her and tell her it was for the best. Mother would listen to him, of course, and he would dry her tears. I know they love each. Well, I knew they did. I haven’t seen them in six years. 

In my kingdom we all believe the same religion. Part of that religion states that when a boy reaches the age of twelve he must experience the world to know the evils he will combat in his life. He is given a mentor. Mentors usually volunteer for the assignment and are given their new apprentice. Normally, mentors are older. Not so old they can’t fight, for that would be counterproductive. However, most of them usually had heads of hear speckled with gray. 

My mentor had been different. He was young. Not more than a couple years younger than my father. Maybe in his early thirties. I would have tried to look for gray in his hair to confirm my suspicions but his head was shaved and it was covered with white and pink scars. In fact, much of his body was covered in scars. In all the years of me asking he had never told me the true story. He would make up tales about possessed chickens that attacked him as a boy with dagger-sharp talons. We would laugh and joke about them but after that passed I would see him deep thought. 

I missed him. He was more like a father to me than my father. Even now as I think about him I cry. What will I do without him? Never before had it occurred to me that I would be without him. His youth and skill with weapons had given him a distinct advantage on the battlefield. I had fought alongside him against bandits before and no man was a match for him. But now Himmel was gone and there was nothing I could do to stop it. 

Himmel.

My name now. As a way for an apprentice to show his love for his mentor and immortalize him, he took on his name. This way the mentors infamy would carry on for generations. I don’t know the story of the original Himmel. It was not one of the more famous names. There were the legends of course, Prinz and Krieger, along with others, but Himmel was not one of them. 

My Himmel never spoke about his mentor. He simply said that he was a man much like himself. He loved god and fought, and died, in his name. I asked how he died and Himmel told me he didn’t know. It seemed strange to me that he didn’t know. I had always wanted to know how Himmel was going to die. 

Himmel died. 

Now I wish I didn’t know. I look back up at the window with disgust. That window was supposed to be my one view to freedom. Instead it acted as reminder that my only other option, than this cell, was death. 

This morning, when two guards brought me breakfast, they also brought me a ladder, so I could see outside. I was hesitant at their encouragement to climb the ladder and peer into the courtyard. I hadn’t been able to see much, outside, when I first pulled myself up to look. A guard had seen me and told me to get down. Now, I heard yelling from outside and dozens of voices. Curiosity got the better of me and climbed up a few rungs and looked out. 

At first I couldn’t see much. I heard a man yelling in a language I didn’t understand and saw people congregating together in a circle. Then the crowd parted enough for me to see to the circles center. What I saw made me want to cry and scream in rage at the same time. But I couldn’t. I was too shocked to move. 

Himmel was on his knees, his hands were bound and his face exposed. I couldn’t see tears in his eyes or anger on his face. All I saw was him looking right at me. He had that same look he always did. It was a fatherly look. The one that has care and discipline all wrapped up in one. It was like I could hear him say, “I will miss you. Be strong. You are Himmel now.”

The executioner pulled his head so he was facing down into the stump and within seconds the axe fell. I should have looked away but I couldn’t. I heard screaming. It was my screaming. My hero, my mentor, my father, was dead. 

I leapt from the ladder and grabbed the guard closest to me. I punched him in the throat and  I heard him gurgle for breath as he fell toward the ground. The second guard yelled for others to come to his aid. He fumbled for the knife on his belt but I caught his hand with my left hand as it grasped the handle. I placed my right hand on his shoulder and used my weight to push him against the wall. He pushed back but he only got about a foot from the wall before I used my strength pushed him into it again. The fingers on my left hand were burning as they strained to hold his hand in place. I couldn’t hold it much longer. He was bigger than me and only my rage was keeping this an even fight. I decided to lean into him with my right shoulder and free up my right hand. I grabbed both sides of his hand and yanked the knife free of it’s scabbard. He tried to reach in with his other hand but I twisted so the right side of my body had it pinned against the wall. I then turned the knife, that was shaking from the strain of being pushed opposite directions. It was poised to go in but his will to live was strong. We were in a stand still. The knife did not make ground one way or the other. I could hear footsteps coming from down the corridor. I decided it was time to take a chance. With the right side of my body pressed against the wall, I realized my left leg was free. I brought my knee up in a swift motion and caught the end of the handle. It was so fast. One second there was a struggle, the next, the knife was hilt deep in the guards abdomen. I held onto him as he slid down the wall, falling with him. The wrath I felt was coursing through my veins. When the man hit the floor there was hardly any life left in him. I fell against the wall next to him and looked at the first guard I had attacked. He laid motionless on the ground. I had killed him too. 

Several guards arrived and stopped just outside the cell. I think they were too afraid to come in. Blood covered my clothes and the floor. I stood, walked over to the open cell door and closed it. I knew I could never get past them then but maybe the closed door would discourage them from trying to come in and get revenge for their friends. It seemed to work. They all staid in the hallway until, what I assume was an officer came. He entered, looked at me, then at the dead men at his feet and nodded at me and left. 

Later, men showed up and took the bodies of the guards away. After they had departed the officer came in. 

“The deaths of these men can not go unpunished. At dawn tomorrow you will be executed,” he had said. I was shocked that he spoke my language. I wondered if he had spent any time in my country. I suppose it was a bad time to think about that when he had just told me I would die in the morning. 

I nodded, showing that I understood, and he departed. 

The shadows in my cell are growing longer and I know I’m facing west and the sun is setting. I am running out of time. 

Escape is all that matters.