Who was Priest Alphonse talking to under the altar? Peter asked himself this question after the voices died away. He continued to lie down with his head against the floor, as if he were a sacrifice ready to be offered, wondering about what he had just overheard, grappling to find meaning in everything. Then, suddenly, a pair of ashen feet materialized behind him. Marthe appeared out of nowhere, extended her hand toward him, and dragged him out by the ear. “Don’t wander off like that again!” she said, but he didn’t hear her, and he didn’t feel any pain, no matter how hard she pulled. His mind was preoccupied; it was focused on a calamity far larger in scale and far more merciless in effect. God did not only let his mother die but was now also after his sister.

He had only heard fragments of the conversation beneath the altar, and even these fragments he did not understand. But there is a vague feeling—a strange uneasiness in the chest, a hazy fog in the brain, shadows in the fog—there is a vague feeling that alerts the mind to danger and reshapes its perception of what is real. And at that moment, this vague guide told him that Priest Alphonse had been talking to Amirani, and that the two intended to harm his sister Elise. And despite his age, like many gray-bearded religious scholars, he first arrived at the conclusion about God and then looked for plausible justifications.

Why? Why was God trying to harm his sister? Wasn’t God good? As Marthe put him to sleep once again next to her daughter Remi, Peter suddenly heard a voice inside his head. “These prayers are the key to your peace and happiness. These prayers keep the eternal fire away,” the voice said, and Peter felt pain in his chest. As this pain spread and swelled, it suddenly became clear why God had taken away his mother and now threatened his sister. God was angry. God was livid, because his family were all sinners. The word sinners never crossed his mind with its full meaning, but he understood it as “those who do not pray.”

Because his mother never prayed, God killed her. His sister would be next; his father would follow; then it would be him. Peter shuddered at the thought. Perhaps when his whole family was dead, peace would return to Beaucourt, and the wrath of Amirani would abate. But he didn’t want to die, and he didn’t want God to take Elise away. Elise never prayed, but she was the kindest, sweetest sister he could have ever wished for. She let him sleep beside her when he was scared of lightning; she took him to visit their grandmother when his parents were too tired or busy; she told him stories about the heroes and troubadours whom she met at the tavern.

Elise didn’t pray at all, but she didn’t deserve to die. Even as confused and misguided as he was, even as a misinformed and self-contradictory child, little Pete was sure that his sister had done nothing wrong. He needed to find her fast; he needed to save her—before the dwarves in the dark earth could kill her, before the God in the white skies could harm her. He got up and stood straight, like one of the many heroes he loved, the many saviors who fought for good, for love, for justice. Evidently, it didn’t matter against whom he was fighting now but for whom he was fighting.

He took a step toward the church door, full of energy and enthusiasm; but then he stopped, and a difficult expression appeared on his exhausted face. The wrinkles around his eyes were joined with furrows on his forehead; the dirt near his mouth mixed with tears to form a vertical bogland. He was a hero with a mission, yet he had no weapon and no companion. How would he save Elise from the dwarves and Amirani? He turned around and looked back. Marthe wouldn’t understand him; the other refugees wouldn’t care to help him. They were all on God’s side. But perhaps he wasn’t alone after all.

“Remi,” he whispered. “Remi, wake up!”

Remi opened her eyes. She looked over toward her mother and found her fast asleep. Then she turned to Peter as if to ask him what was wrong. She was too drowsy to utter the words, but her face spoke for her.

“Remi, I need your help,” Peter whispered.

“What’s going on?” she yawned.

“Come with me. We gotta leave.”

“Leave?”

He grabbed her hand and started pulling her behind him. She stood up and walked, like sleepwalkers, like the followers of the Pied Piper of Hamelin. Ohne Angst. Ohne Gedanken. Only after she left the church did she realize what was happening. But even then she didn’t stop. She walked after Peter because she was used to it. It felt natural to go with him, almost as if they were on their way home after a long, tiring day. Eventually, however, she became awake and alert enough for thoughts to return to her empty head, and naturally, the thoughts developed into worries and apprehensions. She planted her feet firmly on the ground and stopped Peter near the facade of a ransacked shop.

“What’s going on? Where are we going?” she said.

“We’re gonna save Elise.”

“Peter … Mom said God will save her. We should go back.”

“God won’t save her.”

“What are you saying?”

“I heard God talking. With Priest Alphonse.”

“What did they say?” Remi asked.

“They want to hurt her.”

“Did God say that?”

“I heard it with my own ears.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure! And I can’t let God hurt her!”

He started walking again, and she followed him.

“Mom is gonna get worried.”

“This is more important.”

“Where are we going? How will we save Elise?”

“I’ll get us swords, and we’ll go into the mines.”

“The mines? Isn’t that where all the bad dwarves are hiding?”

Peter said nothing. In any other circumstances, he would have smiled with confidence and claimed that Amirani would protect them, but no, God wasn’t on their side today. They were on their own.

“Peter … I’m scared.”

“Trust me, Remi,” he said, holding her hand more firmly. “We’ll save Elise and run away from here. We’ll go somewhere far away, and we’ll be safe and happy. Somewhere nice.”

“Can we go back and tell Mom first?”

He said nothing and only started running, between burned and abandoned buildings, through a haze of ash and smoke, into the town that had shaped him and the fantasy that he had shaped.