Chapter 4

As expected, Grandmama is in an even fouler mood than when I left her. "Where have you been, you stupid girl? Don't you know how worried I was? Now come quickly, I need that water immediately!"

I hurry into the house, careful not to spill any of the precious water. "Grandmama! Look, look what I've got!" I quickly close the door behind me.

Ophelia comes running from the other end of the room. "What? What is it?"

I show them the water. Grandmama's eyes get so wide I'm almost afraid they'll pop out. Ophelia looks like she's going to faint with surprise.

"Where… where did you get that?" Grandmama asks, pointing at the clear liquid in the bucket with a shaking finger.

"Well… I… um…" How should I tell them? Should I tell them that I've actually talked to an elf, than an elf helped me across the high fence to the Elf Section? Would they understand? Would they even believe me? "It's just… today the water was… kind of… clearer… don't know why…"

Grandmama looks from me to the water and then back at me again. Then she shrugs, takes the bucket from my hand and bustles to the tiny kitchen corner. "Well," she says, and I can hear from her voice that she is smiling, "let's enjoy it then, and hope the elves have at last decided to give us some clean water too!"

Ophelia is still staring at me. "What?" I say impatiently. I hate it when my sister stares at me like that. It's as if she's reading my mind.

"What's that you've got there?" she asks, pointing to my pocket.

I quickly look down. My heartbeat quickens as I notice a bundle wrapped in paper peeping out from it. Nice paper, like the type Mama's old books are made of, just smoother and much less yellow. I quickly push it further into my pocket. "Oh, um… nothing. Some… some rubbish I found by the stream and couldn't resist taking along. I… um… I'm going to look for worms in the garden now, okay?" And I quickly slip outside before Ophelia can say anything more.

Once in the garden, I sit down in the darkest corner of the rotting fence and take out that bundle of paper. There's definitely something inside, and it's heavy, I can feel it. Slowly I unwrap the paper and a small, heavy object tumbles out and into my hand. I gasp with surprise. It is a box. But not just any ordinary box from olden times that you find encrusted with dirt in a ditch. It is of a pure, shining gold colour, like the walls and gates of the palace, with small precious stones – real ones! – around the side. On the lid is a delicately painted picture, showing a strange city with tall, beautiful buildings and towers reaching into a clear blue sky, and in the background forests and fields and strange creatures I have never seen in my life and not even come close to imagining. It looks so beautiful it hurts. So beautiful, it must be forbidden.

I quickly look around to make sure that no one's seen it. There's only one place this could have come from, and only one person who could have put it in my pocket. I don't know how he put it there, I don't know why he put it there, but I know that I have to return it to him. If an elf-made object is found in a Raid… I don't even dare to think about it. Suddenly feverishly afraid, I grab the paper and wrap the little box up again, then push it as deep inside my pocket as it goes. What if a spy has seen me with it? Even worse: what if one of the rebels has noticed? They'll think I'm in the pay of an elf, that I receive presents from someone in the city. Images of burning shacks and whole families being murdered to shouts of "Treason! Treason!" come to my mind, but I quickly blink them away.

I need to think clearly. I can't just go straight up to his place in front of the palace and give it back; that would be far too risky. But what else could I do? Probably I'll have to wait until I find a chance to meet him again. And by then the Raiders may have paid us another little visit… The best thing would be to put it where they'll be least likely to find it – and I know exactly where that is.

I'm lucky that Ophelia has a bad memory. She hardly looks up from her attempts at knitting when I enter the house, and doesn't ask any more questions. Grandmama is happily singing some old songs from the 1980s, when she was my age. The world must have been so different then… but she tells us little about it. Except that it was "so much better than it is now", and that "those horrible elf people weren't here yet".

They're both not watching me. Grandmama is singing so loudly that I'm sure she wouldn't even hear a herd of dragons dancing on the roof. I carefully kneel down by the table and remove the loose floorboard. I jump at the creaking noise it makes, but Grandmama is still singing and Ophelia is still fighting with the knitting needles. I look down at our four books and stroke the cover of the one on the top. Then I gently lay the box inside the hole and put the plank back over it.

I can't sleep. I've been trying for what seems like forever, but now that the thunder's started, I don't think those attempts are going to get me anywhere. A flash of lightning illuminates our tiny house for a little while before a cold wind starts shaking the weak walls, making the pots and pans on their pegs over the kitchen corner rattle and clank. I sit up, careful not to bump Ophelia. She's already fast asleep, far away in some dreamland… I wish I were too. But I never sleep in storms – especially not the storms inside my own mind.

The rain begins to pour, the drops knocking on our roof as if asking to come in. Well, raindrops, the way is wide open for you. We still haven't found a scrap of wood or metal to cover that stupid hole in the ceiling with.

I crawl towards the old table in the dark, careful not to wake the others. I push aside the loose floorboard – for a split second, another flash of lightning fills up the house and the golden title letters of the first book glint in the light. But I'm not here to look at the books tonight. I'm not going to trace the pictures of elves that live in forests and play harps and sing like angels. I'm not going to stroke the pages of the more serious books, not going to gaze at the words that I'll never read…

I reach down and take out the little box, carefully peeling away the paper wrapping. Even in the darkness it seems to glow, lying in the palm of my hand. It feels cold and clean, like something I should not be touching; something unreachable finally in my grasp.

His name is Cirion… Why would he give me a pretty thing such as this? Talking to me is one thing, but giving me something, especially if it's not broken or ugly, I really can't understand. It's not like I could ever be anything to him. I don't think I understand the world anymore. And elves… them I understand even less now. I can't believe he knows so little. He must know about the Raids, at least. Or is that also kept hidden from him? I wonder, are all other elves actually like him? Do only the important elves like the Emperor and the Prince and the Raiders know what is happening to us?

Mama, where are you… If only she were here. Then she could help me, could tell me what to do, and explain what it is I'm too afraid to feel… Grandmama would only tell me to keep away from all elves, tell me that all elves are evil and that they deserve to be despised and hated more than the mud we live in. Mama would understand better… but Mama's not here. She's far away… maybe she's not even alive anymore.

Suddenly, everything inside me seems to have turned to ice. I want to close my eyes, but when I do, I only see everything again, hear it even louder in my ears. Hoof-beats, hoof-beats, coming closer and closer; swishing cloaks and heavy booted steps towards a house that in a few minutes will become the saddest in the village… My heart is thudding; again, like so many other times, I am filled with the sick wish that they'll go to someone else, anyone else, just not come to us. The memory of screams still comes to me every time I hear their horses as they come closer and closer and I know that it is Raid night.

In a moment, Grandmama and Ophelia are up. Just in time, I manage to kick shut the hole in the floorboard, because only a few seconds later, I hear the heavy knocks on the door. They're going to break it open anyway; why bother? They've been here before. I remember shattered dishes and scattered treasures, but most of all Mama crying, Ophelia crying, me crying, Adelio screaming at the top of his little baby lungs…

My heart hurts with fear. What will they take this time?

The door bangs open, and they come in. It feels as though some menacing shadow has been set loose on our home. Grandmama has lit a candle, and the light flickers eerily on their faces, hidden behind black masks and hoods. I can only see their piercing eyes, beautiful but hard and cruel, like their long, delicate swords decorated with jewels. There are only three of them, but it feels like a whole army has just invaded our house.

The first Raider – I think he is their leader – glances quickly around the house, then turns and gives a command in Elvish. Hearing words that I don't understand just makes me even more afraid. They start searching the house, opening drawers, throwing over boxes, tipping out the sewing basket, and then carelessly walking on and stepping on whatever it is they have thrown over, even if it's food that they know for us is scarce.

Last time, they came because they knew we had a baby boy in the house. Why are they here now? I can only hope that it is just another of their random checks. If they know already what they are looking for, then nothing can save us anymore, just as nothing could save Adelio that night so long ago.

Grandmama reaches for my hand and Ophelia's; she knows we need something to hold on to right now. Suddenly I realise I'm already holding on to something: the box. It's still in my hand, shiny and clean and new and Elvish – and definitely forbidden. An icy shudder runs all through me and for a moment, I can't breathe. If they find this, it will be the end of me. I don't even know what they do to those they take away on these Raids, but I don't think it is anything pleasant. I stand like paralysed for a few seconds. Then my senses take over and, as quickly as I can, I shove the box inside my pocket.

My heart is beating so madly that I'm afraid they'll notice and suspect something. But they don't; still two of them are carefully looking at each single thing we own, while the third, the captain, is pacing at the doorway, his back towards us. I am rather glad about that; the last time they came on a random check, the captain kept on making clear to us how inferior we are and asked terribly uncomfortable questions that I don't even want to think of.

Suddenly, the icy grey eyes of one of the two Raiders turn right onto me. I feel colder than I have ever felt in any winter. He walks towards me, that cold, piercing gaze never leaving my face. He is so tall, his cloak so dark and black, that it chills me to have him standing so close to me. "Empty your pockets," he says, so softly and coldly that I wouldn't find it strange to see icicles hanging in the air before me.

Ophelia and Grandmama are looking at me now. I feel worse than I can remember having ever felt before. Because of me, they will have to suffer. Because I was stupid enough to talk to an elf, they will be taken away to that place no one even wants to talk about. Because for once an elf treated one of us with kindness, all three of us will be sent to our doom… Now that's what I call ironic.

The Raider has become impatient. He reaches into my pocket and takes out the box, shiny, Elvish and forbidden, the gems on its side glinting in the candlelight and sending blue, red and green reflections against the corrugated iron walls. He glances at it shortly, then looks at me. "What else is in that pocket, drizka?" Not knowing what bad name he's calling me makes it somehow even worse. I quietly turn out my pockets; some crumbs fall on the floor, but nothing else. Somehow, for some reason, he looks disappointed.

The captain has turned and is speaking to the others again. My heart must be beating on record speed. I don't look at the others; I don't want Ophelia's confused look of trying to figure out where her silly little sister found such a pretty little thing, and I definitely don't want to see the reproach on Grandmama's face. I wonder why they haven't snatched us all away yet, or haven't at least given me a firm whack over the face or done something else nasty as they usually do with law-breakers and wrongdoers like me.

Suddenly, they turn and leave. Just like that.

My legs feel weak. I sink down to the floor and just sit there, staring ahead and not really seeing, realising for the first time that I am breathing, that my heart is beating, that I'm alive, and what a miracle that really is. I think I'm going to faint with relief.

Ophelia gives a long sigh, as though she's been holding her breath all this time. Then she sits down beside me and just puts her arm around me, as though she understands, even though she doesn't, and as though I didn't just nearly cause her death.

Grandmama, on the other hand, moves straight to the kitchen corner and starts putting all the food back in its proper place, picking up half-rotten apples and sweeping together the tipped-out flour, not caring that it is mixing together with dust from the floor. Any food is too precious to be wasted. After a while, she looks up, irritated. "What are you waiting for?" she grumbles. "Start cleaning up!"