The cold air bit at my lungs.
My feet were a burning blur on the dirty cobblestones. I couldn't stop.
Behind me, the voices of my pursuers were a constant whip.
—Little thief! Stop! —the shrillest voice yelled.
—You'll be a slave, you little bastard! Keep running!
I had to reach the main street. I had to get lost in the crowd, become invisible again.
I saw the light. My heart gave a brutal leap. The alley exit was just a few meters away.
Almost...
Suddenly, the air froze. An immense shadow, a wall of flesh, blocked the light.
It was him. The gang leader, the man they nicknamed "The Wall" because of his size. I had never seen him run, but he was there, waiting.
—Got you, rat —His voice was a deep growl, and there were no traces of mockery, only finality.
I saw the fist. It was the size of a melon, and it was coming for me. I couldn't even blink. I could only cross my arms instinctively, a futile gesture against such power.
CRACK!
The impact was thunder in my head and chest. I felt my bones absorb the blow. I was sent flying, my body crashing against the opposite wall, hitting the hard stone.
Augh!
I collapsed, spitting out a thick gush of blood that burned. The pain was absolute, a red fog that devoured everything. I writhed on the ground.
The boss, The Wall, approached. He loomed over me. His great shadow suffocated me.
—Hey, still breathing, trash? —His voice showed no hurry.
I managed to lift my head. Blood blurred my vision, but the boss's face, hard and merciless, was clear.
—Bastard —I hissed, and spat upward. The bloody fluid narrowly missed his boots.
The other two, the skinny one and the bearded one, arrived, panting. The skinny one pulled out a dagger.
—Boss, should we kill him here? He's damaged.
The Wall kicked me softly with the tip of his boot, right in the ribs, making me let out a choked whimper.
—No. Buyers like spirit. Tie him up. A kid with fire sells better than a trembling lamb. We're not losing this night for a couple of coins.
The skinny man tied my hands with brutal roughness. The rope burned my wrists. Then, he lifted me and threw me over his shoulder like a sack of grain.
—Heh, the boss is right. You're gonna stop being a street rat, kid. We'll take you out of misery. Who knows? Maybe you'll be pretty enough for some noblewoman with a fetish —he laughed in my ear—. Or even some noble man, right, boss? Hahaha.
The skinny man's shrill laughter and the bearded man's guttural laugh mixed with the silence of the night.
I felt the sharp pain with every step. The swaying on the skinny man's shoulder was constant torment, a rough friction against my broken and bruised ribs.
I tried to focus on something other than the pain: the stench of stale sweat, the metallic echo of their boots, the cold breeze that indicated we were moving away from the hot labyrinth of the alleys.
I heard The Wall speaking to the bearded man in a low voice. His words were fragments: "the tunnel," "the old road."
They're taking me out of the city.
The realization hit me harder than the punch. Leaving the city meant leaving everything I knew, however miserable it was. It was the ultimate loss of the chance to escape, to find food, to become invisible again.
—Looks like the merchandise has fallen asleep —the skinny man said, and I felt a sharp slap on my thigh.
I forced myself to open my eyes, looking over his back. We had left the buildings. We were on a dirt road, dark, marked by distant streetlights.
To our right, the city's defensive wall rose: tall, gray stone that separated civilization from the nothingness.
The Wall stopped the group in front of a particularly worn section of the wall. There was a hole, a blind spot the guard surely ignored, covered with weeds and debris.
—Bearded, clear it —The Wall ordered in a dry voice.
The bearded man used a crowbar to move a partially covered stone slab. The sound of metal against stone echoed in the silence. A narrow, dark, and damp passage was revealed: a drainage tunnel or an old breach.
—In here. On the other side, nobody asks questions —said The Wall, holding an oil lantern.
The skinny man lowered me, but didn't let go. My legs, numb, gave out, and I fell to my knees in the mud. The skinny man pulled the rope, forcing me up.
He pushed me toward the mouth of the tunnel.
—Walk, rat. Or I'll drag you.
The tunnel smelled of wet earth, mold, and despair. It was low; even I, a child, had to bend over.
The Wall went first with the lantern, casting ghostly, elongated shadows that danced on the walls. The skinny man and the bearded man followed behind. Every movement was agony. I felt the resentment building up in my bones.
Finally, the tunnel ended.
We emerged into open country. The air was different, cleaner, but I felt more unprotected than ever. Above us, the sky was vast and black, speckled with millions of stars. Even in my situation, I could appreciate the beautiful view.
We were on a low hill. Looking back, I could see the city: a dark mass, crowned by the red moon.
It was the last time I would see it. It had been my prison, but also my only home.
—Now, at a trot —The Wall ordered, adjusting a sack on his shoulder and pointing the lantern down a dirt road that faded into the distance—. We have to reach the checkpoint before dawn to join the caravan. You're going to a hot place, kid. Very hot.
The skinny man gave me a brutal shove. My legs moved.
Running, again.
But this time, there was no light at the end. Only the road, the pain, and the certainty that my life had taken an irreversible turn toward total darkness.
The dirt road was a black, winding ribbon under the infinite sky. My legs moved only by the inertia of fear and the rope that the skinny man dragged me by.
The Wall marched at the head, his lantern out. The bearded man brought up the rear. Only the gasping of effort and the crunch of broken gravel under their boots broke the absolute silence of the countryside.
We had been walking for perhaps an hour when the horizon began to change.
The light was not the first thing I noticed, but the sound. A low, constant murmur that rose and fell with the wind. It became clearer: the jingle of metals, the muffled whinnying of horses, the creaking of heavy wheels.
And then, the smell: dense campfire smoke, roasted meat, and a smell I didn't know, but which felt cold and oppressive: the smell of bodies and fear.
—We're here —The Wall growled.
A dozen reddish lights, like the eyes of beasts, appeared in the darkness: the camp.
The skinny man pushed me harder. We approached the makeshift checkpoint: a series of dark canvas tents clustered around several large, sturdy wagons.
Upon entering, the commotion was deafening. I saw armed men in thick leather jackets and weathered faces, drinking and laughing around campfires.
But what stopped me, what took the air from my chest, were not the guards.
It was the people.
On one side of the camp, near the wagons, there was a vast stretch of tied-up people: men and women of all ages, some crying silently, others staring into space. Their ankles were chained together, forming long rows that barely glistened in the light of the embers. They all shared the same vacant expression.
Then I saw the children.
There were a dozen of them, grouped and tied to a stake. Their eyes were larger than normal, filled with mute terror. They were like me. They were the merchandise.
—Look, little rat —the skinny man whispered, laughing. He grabbed my hair and forced me to look at the scene—. Your new family. You're not alone anymore.
The Wall approached a burly man named Griz, who wore a belt with several keys and a wolfskin jacket.
—Griz, I brought you a piece with temperament. He needs a collar, but he has potential —The Wall said, throwing me at Griz's feet.
Griz examined me expressionlessly, touched my hair, then grabbed my chin to examine my teeth. I felt nauseous, as if I were not a child, but a piece of fruit they were inspecting.
—Skinny, bruised. But yes, he's got fire. The southern market will pay for him. Put him with the others.
The skinny man lifted me again and took me toward the group of children. He let me go, but not before giving me a kick in the backside to get me moving. I fell next to a girl who flinched at the contact.
A young man, barely older than me, with sunken eyes, placed a heavy iron collar around my neck and secured it with a padlock.
The cold metal burned me. I felt the chain, heavy, that bound me to the stake and to my new reality.