The roaring sound of the church bells echoed off the cliffs of the ravine, sending tickling vibrations through Liv’s body. They were high up, level with the black spire of Saint Rafael’s heavenly chapel, closer to the ringing bells than those standing on the ground below the building. The forest opened up as they walked onwards through the ravine and descended the hillside. A rolling landscape of small farms and groves spread out in front of them. On tired legs, they wandered down the trail they had been following for the last two days. The village of Saint Rafael appeared further below, a collection of dark tiled roofs under the shadow of the immense chapel.

After a while they passed a flock of grazing goats on the green slopes and the path transformed into a rocky dirt road. They reached a farm where a herd of meager cows occupied themselves by grinding their teeth against the thick mountain grass. More houses lay down the slope. A maid herded livestock into a small cow-house to spend the night. It was the first human they had seen in days. The stench of the creatures and their jingling bells made them realize how isolated they had been up in the forest.

The road split in front of them and Liv stopped to read on a weather-worn sign that dangled from a tilted stick.

“Put on your shoes and hat. Cover your ears,” she said to Kaan.

They turned left towards a wooden house with a turfed roof that lay higher up the slope than the rest of the village. She judged that the house had the best location in the area. From there they could view the valley and the forest would be close at hand if they needed to escape. A narrow black door opened and an old man holding a broom stepped outside. He was barefoot and wore a pair of sun-bleached leather pants and a beige cardigan that had probably been white once. Not a single strand of hair stuck out from his head, not even where his eyebrows were supposed to be. His green eyes were as large as those of a swollen fish and grew even bigger when they left the main road and walked over to him.

“Is this an inn?” asked Liv. “Can you give us lodging?”

“I might,” said the man. “Are you Believers?”

She noticed a white hand painted above the door and could discern the shape of black iron cross through the nearest window. The correct answer to the man’s question was obvious.

“We are,” she said. “We have come to visit the heavenly chapel.”

The man shone up. “Then you are most welcome! You can choose whatever room you want. They’re all vacant.”

He opened the door and waved at them to enter. They stepped through a small vestibule and entered a dim kitchen. He offered them to take a seat at the dinner table and held out a chair for Liv. Then he went into the room next-door and returned with three glasses of milk and handed them one each. It tasted like water and she suspected that the white drink had been diluted or that the cow it came from was in poor health. The innkeeper pulled a stool out from beneath the table and sat down opposite them.

“I’m Brother Moriah,” he said. “Who are you?”

“Hi, I’m Kaan,” Kaan said before Liv could answer.

“My name is Elda,” replied Liv, glaring at the elf for saying his real name. “We are newly wed and live in the countryside outside Tarum.”

“Not many guests come here this late in the summer, especially not visitors from far away places like Tarum. And those who visit Saint Rafael are of the bad kind, people who prefer a pint of ale over divine peace. They don’t come to my house, but stay at the pub in the village.” Moriah gulped half his glass of milk and coughed, then exhaled through his nose before he continued speaking. “But we have a strong parish here, righteous people unafraid of the dark. Pastor Brock leads us. He’s a brilliant man that you’ve definitely heard about.”

Liv had never heard of a pastor called Brock. “I believe I recognize the name but can’t put my finger on what he’s known for,” she said.

“In his youth Pastor Brock led a renowned expedition to the north where he converted the first of the tundra folk. Nowadays he spends most of his time traveling around Anland preaching in local churches. He is the patron of our heavenly chapel here in Saint Rafael,” said Moriah, sticking his nose in the weather. “If you want to, I can introduce you to him. He’ll be back here later this week.”

The innkeeper took another big sip of milk and smacked his lips.

“And why do two pilgrims from Tarum arrive by the mountain path? It’s unusual for people to arrive that way. Even I, who live next to it, haven’t gone far into that forest. It isn’t sacred.”

“We are on a pilgrimage and first went to Eastport to visit their church. We wanted to experience the contrast in holiness between a port town, where there’s so much sin, and the tranquility of Saint Rafael.”

The answer contended the innkeeper.

“Pastor Brock would be pleased to hear you say that. Will you stay long enough to meet him?”

“I don’t know…” Liv began, but cut herself off and turned to Kaan.

A kerosene lamp on the windowsill next to the elf had caught his attention, and he was now devoting his full concentration examining it.

“Put that away, Kaan,” she said. “Excuse us, but we’ve been walking for a long time and need to rest. Can you show us our room?”

“Yes, but first you have to pay,” said Moriah, sounding offended. The young couple had changed the topic as if Pastor Brock was unimportant and did not seem to understand how insignificant they were compared to the holy man. He chose to forgive them, proud of himself for accepting other people’s shortcomings.

“Ten silver coins for one night, per person.”

At first, Liv’s stomach twisted at the amount, but then she became angry. It was more money than Captain Marks had asked for, and that included a separate cabin across the sea to Northport. Kaan held the kerosene lamp an inch from his eyes, studying its every detail. Before she could tell him to put it back, he opened the lid to its body and a narrow beam of kerosene poured to the floor. The innkeeper threw himself at Kaan and pulled away the lamp with such speed that the elf fell off his chair.

“You fool!” he shouted. “Do you know how much kerosene costs?”

The elf climbed to his feet and shook his head, ashamed.

“We wish to stay here, Brother Moriah,” interrupted Liv, “but we don’t have much money on us. We can redeem more in the village. I’ll pay you tomorrow.”

The innkeeper smiled. “So be it, but then I want twelve silver coins per night and an extra for the kerosene. If you don’t pay on time, I’ll fetch the constable.”

Liv bit her lip and clenched her fists until her knuckles whitened.

“You’ll get twenty silver coins for two days and one quarter for the kerosene.” She stood up before the innkeeper could protest and signaled to Kaan to follow. “Now take us to our room.”

Moriah did not offer to help them carry their bags, nor did he hold the door open as they entered the hall next door. He led them straight up a dusty staircase where the creaky steps made more noise than an untuned orchestra. The stairs were long, and when they reached the second floor, it had a low ceiling. Apparently, Brother Moriah’s inn was nothing more than an old attic with thin walls and small windows. Kaan bowed his head to not bump into the rotten roof beams, which seemed to have a hard time preventing the bulging roof from falling in. Meanwhile, Moriah informed them of the inn’s strict rules, as if there were other guests around to disturb if they slept until after sunrise or spoke in loud voices. The innkeeper’s mood lightened up as he blathered on about everything that was forbidden. When he pushed open the door to their room he had become more cheerful than a drunken fiddler.

The murky room stunk of mold. Except for a slouchy twin bed next to the door, there was nothing inside but wooden floorboards and an unwashed window. The moon shone outside and cast a white light on the flaked gray paint behind the bed. Liv wondered when someone had last stayed there. The innkeeper fumbled with a match and lit two half-burned candles on the wall candelabras. Kaan’s face turned pale, and he grabbed her by the arm. Above the door hung the stuffed head of a giant troll. Sharp yellow fangs stuck up from its protruding lower jaw and its nose was flat with two large black holes as nostrils. It was not a face that charmed people, but one optimized for head-butting its enemies. Liv assumed that the troll had not come from Anland since its skin had a green hue and not the gray-brown color of the trolls in the Dream Park.

“My father shot that bull when he served as a guardian on Pastor Brock’s expedition. Two bullets straight in its chest, yet it tore the heads off two of my father’s fellow guards before it collapsed. Bigger than a white bear of the north and twice as dangerous, that’s what my old man said.”

“Can we stay in another room?” asked Liv.

Moriah looked offended at them. “What’s wrong with this one?”

“Too big,” she lied. “A smaller one suits two pilgrims better.”

Having made sure they intended to pay the same price, the innkeeper blew out the candles and led them across the corridor to a tiny room. The bed occupied most of the floor and the window was not bigger than a porthole, but no stuffed heads mounted on the walls.

“God bless you,” said Moriah, and pushed them inside.

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“God bless you too,” replied Liv and attempted to resemble a Believer by crossing her arms over her chest. Kaan waved goodbye, but slammed his fingers into the ceiling as he raised his hand.

*

Liv woke up early the next day by Moriah stepping on the screeching floorboards outside their room. She waited for him to knock on the door and acknowledge what he had on his mind. She prepared herself to shout at him for disturbing them, but the innkeeper just seemed in constant motion outside without wanting to enter. As if there were some meaningful morning duties for him to attend in the corridor. The tripping footsteps disappeared. She soon accepted that she could not fall back asleep and opened her eyes.

Kaan snored on the floor between the bed and the window, his back straight as a plank. A memory swirled past like ink diffusing in a glass of water. The elf had tried to kiss her on the cheek and whispered something about not being able to sleep on a soft mattress. She stayed in bed and let the elf sleep until the sun rose. Just as she was going to wake him, his eyes snapped open, and he flew off the floor. He gasped and looked around him, confused. Liv put a soothing hand on his shoulder and asked him what had happened.

“I paddled down a river from the mountains. I’d found an abandoned canoe and needed to rest my legs for a while. Once I was off the riverbank, the stream grew violent and the boat tipped.” His voice became steadier, and he began breathing as normal. “I fell down a waterfall and lost consciousness. When I woke up, I was back on the shore where I’d started. Since then I’ve been searching for herbs to clean my wounds.”

“So your dreams are as dangerous as mine? What do you do to endure them?”

The elf gave a joyless chuckle. “My dreams are the adventure of my life. There I am free. The bruises I got in the waterfall are nothing compared to what awaits me in the Dream Park if I return. Before we fled, the officers passed by the bosket and promised to make a cautionary tale out of me, whatever that means.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead and sat down on the bed. “Ever since I started dreaming three or four years ago, that world has been the one that meant something. Until I met you.”

Liv stared at the scratched floorboards beneath her feet and felt how unfair everything was. She wished that Kaan had not grown up in captivity and that she could give him a kind compliment in return. Now that was impossible. She also wished that the elves did not have to suffer the way they did in the Dream Park. Most of all, she wished she could enjoy her dreams too.

They put on their outdoors clothes and then Liv urged them downstairs. She made Kaan carry one of their bags. They saw no trace of the innkeeper, but they left the front door unlocked, assuming that Saint Rafael was a place where people dared doing so. Then they walked out into the fresh morning air and headed toward the village on an empty stomach.

The contrast between Saint Rafael and Southport was striking. The harbor town had been a buoyant hub where one could step aboard a boat and sail to any corner of the world. This place was the end of one of the country’s most winding roads, a group of forgotten houses in the shadows of a mountain. She led them across a meadow to a dozen stone houses stitched together with a web of clothes-lines at the southern outskirts of the village. Rotten shutters hung loose on the walls and the weed-covered roofs bulged inward. A foul smell filled her with nostalgia and made her remember the abandoned factories on the road to Sommerfort.

Outside the nearest house stood a gray-haired man with a crooked back and flabby belly, washing himself by splashing water on his chest from a dirty bucket. He squinted his eyes and stared at them. They walked over to him and let him peer into their bag. He grunted in response and led them to a house across the street and knocked. After waiting for a short while he grew impatient and slammed his fist against the door, almost shattering it.

“Wherever you go, there will be a poor district,” Liv said to Kaan, “and where the poor folks live, there’s always a fence.”

“A person who buys things without asking where they came from, and then sells them at a more expensive price,” she explained when the elf wondered what a fence was. “This is the first time I meet one myself, but my father has told me about them. He’s put many in jail.”

The door slid open, and a hand waved at them to enter. She gave the man who had guided them a bronze coin for his efforts and stepped over the threshold. Kaan followed after a moment’s hesitation.

Except for a small vestibule, the house comprised a single room. The interior was in a better state than expected based on the building’s rundown facade. A golden color still wet after painting covered the walls and in a shining stove sparkled a pile of charred logs. In front of the fireplace wobbled an empty rocking chair. Items occupied every inch of the room. Well-polished copper boilers and fresh-painted furniture stood packed in a corner. Sets of tableware and piles of oil paintings lay on a table, and every kind of tool imaginable cluttered the floor. A pair of scratched old skis that had slided down the slopes of Domedus one time too many hung above the stove.

The fence, a bald man with a round face and black beard, welcomed them warm-heartedly. He had a firm handshake and a friendly smile only achievable by practice. Liv decided not to trust the man. He asked if they wanted something to drink, and Kaan accepted the offer. The fence pulled chairs into the middle of the room and offered them to sit, then served smoking tea in bone white cups with golden brims.

“We have items for sale,” she said and signaled to the elf to hand over the bag.

The man opened it, picked up the toys one at a time and examined them before placing the items on the floor next to his feet. Once finished, he lifted a fist full of pearls from the bottom of the bag and allowed the shiny spheres to run through his fingers.

“All of this I’ve seen before,” he said. “You are far from the first to have come across goods from the Saint Rafael Mountain factory. Still, these are fine items and I’m happy to make you an offer.”

After a short round of haggling, they agreed on a price and the fence shoved the toys into another bag. He produced a stack of banknotes from his coat pocket and handed it over to Liv. Even though she had done her best negotiating, the money would not be enough to take them both to Norma.

“Hold on to your money,” said the fence. “Despite being a village marked by religion, it is home to many thieves.”

They finished their tea, said goodbye and went into the vestibule.

“How much would you pay for a stuffed troll head?” Liv asked before stepping out of the house.

“Not much!” he laughed in response, “but everything has a price. If you find one you may bring it here.”

*

Once they were out in the mountain air, they realized that they were both cold and hungry. They walked into the village where the buildings were in better condition and lay closer together. After a few minutes they came upon an old woman that had opened a lonely booth on a street corner. The woman looked surprised when they stopped to look at the woolen clothes she was selling. She explained that she had spun the yarn with wool from her own sheep and dyed it with flowers from the slopes of Domedus. Kaan stroked his hand against the fabric and admired the bright colors. Liv found it strange to open a booth where so few people passed. Perhaps the business served a higher purpose than to earn money. Her mood brightened as the old woman answered Kaan’s questions about yarn production and told them the story of the items in front of them.

Liv paid one of the fence’s banknotes for two forest green woolen sweaters and two knitted hats. Both garments were so itchy that Kaan’s forehead and neck soon reddened, and he was forced to put Shannon’s old cap back on.

Further along the road, where they crossed the main street of Saint Rafael, she stopped with a jerk outside the window of a small gift store. Kaan walked another door down the street before he realized that Liv was no longer beside him. He called for her and asked what had happened. She waved him closer and pointed at a plate sign hanging from the wall, before she remembered that the elf could not read.

“It says that this store belongs to the Greene family. Do you recognize the symbol?” Below the text was an image of something resembling a spider’s web with a diamond in its center and a circle around it.

“Yes, it’s everywhere in the Dream Park. Do you know why?”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“It’s similar to having a coat of arms, though the Greene family is not nobility and not entitled to have one. Director Greene is one of Anland’s richest men and owns shops and factories all over the country. Anything with that symbol is his property. Let’s go inside,” she said and pushed the door open, but Kaan refused to follow her and waited on the street.

A man appeared beside her and pointed out how desperately she needed everything they sold. Liv had no idea what most items were and considered those she recognized to be meaningless. She found the clerk to be a younger and more intrusive version of the gentleman in the Dream Park’s Memorial Store. Maybe all the Greene clerks are relatives, she thought.

“Sauce pans that only fries eggs and umbrellas that protect against rain. Sun hats, cuckoo clocks, pieces of ancient glass and exquisite gems,” buzzed the man, like flies around cattle.

“Is this store owned by the Greene family that also owns the Dream Park in Sommerfort?” she interrupted.

“Indeed, my lady. How so? Their conglomerate manufactures everything in here. It is both affordable and of excellent quality. For instance, these perfumes are a must-have for a pretty lady.” He hurried across the room and gestured at a row of tiny glass bottles, as if he pulled away a curtain to reveal the most fabulous view imaginable.

“That’s Arthur Greene, I suppose,” she said and pointed at a portrait on the wall. The picture showed a boyish man with well-combed hair and a red ascot. She had met the director on one occasion a few years before, back when Shannon still had hopes for her. In an attempt to make her a part of society her father had brought her to a party with dull people, where Arthur Greene had been the dullest.

“Yes, that’s the director in his youth. His picture hangs in every store, but this one is special. It’s the original and was painted here in Saint Rafael. His mother lived in this village her entire life, you know. The director used to come here often in the good old days before Skyberg burned.”

Liv glanced out the window and saw that Kaan had moved down the main street. She took a tin soldier depicting one of Sommerfort’s town guards off the shelf in front of her and paid for it at the counter. She watched as the clerk used a key from a chain hanging around his neck to lock the money in a strongbox.

“Gnomes made that figure,” he said in confidence to her. “Now, what else do you need? As you wish then, come back soon.”

The elf had not gone far and waited outside a white building with a large wooden door. From inside the house came the muffled tunes of drinking songs and a whiff of cooked food. She concluded that this was the second inn in the village and that the door led to the pub that their dear innkeeper considered full of sin.

They entered the house and sat down at a table in a dim corner, as far away from the other guests as possible. Liv ordered two pints of black ale and two bowls of casserole. They ate with good appetite in silence, except for when Kaan picked up chunks of meat from his bowl and dropped them into her food with a splash. She had no taste for ale, yet she felt obliged to drink it for the sake of Brother Moriah. The elf gulped the content of his pint as if it were water. She asked him if it was the first time he drank ale and if he knew what it meant to be drunk. Otherwise he ought to try it sometime, but maybe not at that very moment.

“The officers sometimes gave us ale or cider, whether or not we wanted it, but most of the time we did want it. They found it funny to see us wobble around and the evening visitors liked it too. On the night of an officer’s wedding when everyone was in a brilliant mood, Leon even got hold of a bottle of wine.”

Kaan took another sip, then continued with tipsy thoughtfulness.

“Leon used to say you can’t endure captivity without dreaming of revenge, but my brother Volt did not agree. He said you need to celebrate to endure. That night when me and my brothers sat in the woods and drank the officers’ wine helped me through many hard days.”

“I thought elves endured their life in the Dream Park because of their dreams?”

“That too,” he said, “but the other Beings don’t dream, and most of them stay sane.”

“Gnomes have their craft and the naiads have their water. The trolls must have a distraction too. They peel their noses and fight I guess.”

“And what do you do?” he asked. “You don’t enjoy your dreams. If you were a naiad, what would be your water?”

Liv did not answer. She had no answer.