Page 3 of Hellbound

Moonlight fell through the rotted ceiling, as did fetid rainwater. It pooled on the floor, swirled with refuse, and Ksenia sidestepped a large puddle separating her from the remaining children. Two girls with light flaxen hair huddled on a moth-eaten wool blanket that’d undoubtedly served as their cot for countless nights.

Their collarbones distended beneath their skin, their complexions ashen. Ksenia bit the inside of her cheek and reached into the supply sack, then beckoned them closer with the crumpled bread.

Slowly, the sisters unfolded their thin legs and ambled over, grubby hands outstretched and mouths watering. Ksenia looked away as the girls tore into the meager scraps, and she found more rations to give to the boys whose eyes were burning a hole through the sack.

“You must be starving.” Ksenia proffered some strips of dried meat to the boys. At their weight, they could’ve been younger than seven. But she knew better; they were much closer to teenage. The jerky disappeared from her hand, and the four children’s basest needs were briefly sated.

“Is it finally time to go?” the eldest boy whispered between bites.

“Yes, it’s time. Gather up your belongings.”

Ksenia bent to tie the boy’s fraying shoelaces, then the boys took one sister each, hands clasped tightly; they had clearly been moved around a lot through the network and knew the drill well. Ksenia pressed her lips together before turning around with a small smile.

“You’ve been very brave, and we need you to be brave just a little longer, but most of all, very quiet. Can you do that?”

Four heads nodded in the dark.

Satisfied, Ksenia turned and led them into the dark and misty night, ducking between alleyways.

Her blood chilled.

On a corner, a man slouched on an overturned crate, his hat pulled low. The tip of his dagger tapped against the metal rain gutter beside him.

Tink. Tink. Tink.

Each tap sent a jolt through her skull. A bound blade.

To the common ear, this was just a loitering man. Idly tapping.

The youngest girl began to turn her head. Ksenia caught her and turned her back forward.

“Eyes on me,” she murmured. “Don’t look at him. Don’t listen to anything but my voice.”

The girl’s lip wobbled, but she obeyed. The others clutched Ksenia’s cloak and stared straight ahead as they passed the man.

She finally let out the breath she had been holding after they passed a few more streets and reached another branch of the canal.

One by one, she helped them slide down the slick, algae-covered canal walls. One girl crinkled her nose at the smell.

A narrow stone strip served as their pathway to a sewer grate lid, which Ksenia lifted with a grunt.

Ahead lay the Vein—the sprawling catacombs of a long-dead kingdom over which Kraal had been built. Now those forgotten tunnels served as the beating heart of Kraal’s black-market trade that Ksenia was unfortunately very familiar with.

The walls thickened with scrawl as they descended.

Old symbols and maker’s marks carved deep into the damp stone. Evidence of bondsmiths who had come before them when living here wasn’t hiding. Initials, dates, Damascus fold counts boasting numbers that Ksenia could understand, but her charges didn’t yet.

There were new marks layered over the old along with crudely painted slogans.

‘Bound steel, bound hands.’

‘Bound weapons kill. Bonded blood pays.’

Her own face stared back at her from a wanted notice, half-torn.

She ripped it from the wall without breaking stride. One boy averted his gaze.

One girl let out a keening cry and hugged her brother when the darkness engulfed them in the tunnel.