40. Skulire
CHAPTER FORTY
SKULIRE
Saya Claymore
A bridge comes into view ahead, with cars scattered across the road forming a barricade of sorts. My fingers dig into Serun’s flesh when he zips through a narrow gap, hitting the bridge.
The motorcycle tips to the right, entering a narrow path between the bridge railing and a rotting truck. My arms tense, and my body clenches to keep myself from bumping into anything.
Once cleared, we leave the bridge and any old cars we pass are on the side of the road, as if the only reason the bridge was full is to prevent easy access to the Undercity.
Ahead, two towers beam white spotlights down on us, following our trail before becoming disinterested and returning to monitor the bridge.
Spotters? We had those in the feeding ground. Bleeders who walked the wall with flashlights. Most runs ended up messy because of the spotters.
The lights ahead become a city with tall buildings like mountains. Serun eases on the brakes, turning off the road and down a hill into an opening in the trees. Slinking back into the shadows, we end up in a place similar to where we started: a shed covered in vegetation.
Serun stops the motorcycle and dismounts swiftly while I remain seated, a little confused. Olivia does the same, and Penumbra turns into smoke, following Serun’s lead to the shed.
“Why are we stopping here?” Olivia asks me, but I can only shrug.
“Because”—Serun slides the shed door open—“It would be a waste of fuel to ride the motorcycles into Skulire, only to backtrack to the highway when we leave tomorrow.”
I shuffle off the motorcycle, then Serun and Penumbra push them into the shed.
I look to the sky where the stars and moon still burn bright, illuminating the nearby highway. There are still hours before sunrise.
“I’ve never been here before,” Olivia says. “I heard it’s the only place left in Naylen that functions—outside settlements and compounds, that is.”
“It’s because without it, slayers will have an easier time reaching the Undercity,” Serun answers, as if schooling young children. “Anyone who gets this far is eliminated before they can cross the bridge.”
He takes my arm, claws wrapping around my wrist, and we make our way up the hill.
Back up on the highway, the road splits—one freely enters the city, and the other turns off and leads on, though it is blocked by a tall barricade.
The towers on either side shine their light on us briefly, then return to scanning the area.
It’s a tight security system, reminding me of Darkovish Feeding Ground.
My hand tightens on Serun as we enter, and I survey each building. It feels like a ghost town. There are no nightwalkers roaming the streets, nor are there any signs of life at all.
“Are we welcome?” I ask, bracing for an ambush.
“They know I am here,” Serun says.
Is that why there’s no one out and about? Fear? Hiding until the Nightwalker Lord is gone?
We turn down a street stacked high with buildings. Signs from old shopping outlets hang from loose wires, and garbage and damp leaves from the rain blow past in the cool night wind.
Without a word, Serun turns towards a building, his shadows slipping through any gaps and pushing the doors inwards. Blackened claws spread out, creeping ahead of us, to reveal the main foyer of a dimly lit hotel.
Warm orange light glows from lamps, and patterned, coloured floral wallpaper peels in the corners, rotting away with time. Stains blacken the carpet, and leaves that came in on the breeze litter the ground in earthy patches.
Serun makes his way to reception, a long claw tapping the wood of the desk, sending echoes through the space. Penumbra doesn’t wait, moving to the staircase on the right with the backpacks.
A hand suddenly slaps against the wood, and my entire body tenses.
Grumbling, a nightwalker with messy, wavy brown hair and a long face riddled with white scars comes into focus.
Tired red eyes gradually lift and settle on Serun, then on me, and back to Serun several times.
“This is new,” he yawns. “How many rooms?”
“Two,” Serun replies.
The man’s shirt is ragged, and his black pants are buckled by a silver belt that glints in the dim light as he turns, plucks down two keys from the wall, and slides them across the table. “Anything else, Lord Serun and…company?”
“Blood, as well as Zack, if you can find him.” Serun takes the keys. “I will leave the keys where I usually do.”
The man slumps out of sight, grumbling his complaints. As we make our way up the stairs, I say, “Another nightwalker with a soul?”
“Lloyd has been around long enough not to care anymore. The world could burn tomorrow, and he would still be here, doing his job. I’ve heard he worked here before Mother left. Enjoyed it so much that he still wanted to do it.”
To think I was afraid of nightwalkers. From a young age, my mum sowed the seeds in my brain that if I ever met someone who looked like me, they would want to kill me.
Still, it could be the case if I bite someone again. I bite the inside of my lip at the stir of hunger in my stomach, telling me I need to eat something.
On the first floor, the corridor narrows. Boxes are stacked against the walls with framed artwork resting against them, and the paint on the ceiling is peeling.
No air circulates up here, giving it a dank, mouldy scent. I wrinkle my nose. Most lights are off, aside from a few beside doors with signs saying they’re occupied.
Serun points to a door, offering Penumbra a key. “You will stay here, Olivia.”
She looks at me but gives a curt nod and enters her room. Serun opens the next door, offering me sanctuary first, then closes it gently behind us and clicks the lock.
There is a stone coffin in the centre of the room. Metal sheeting fortifies the walls and covers the windows, blocking out all light. Old, floral wallpaper which used to be white has yellow stains blotting across it.
There’s one door on the right, next to a counter with a sink and microwave. I make my way over to investigate and discover a small bathroom.
Serun makes his way to the coffin. Beeping sounds come from it, and when I focus more on what he is doing, my eyes widen a fraction as the ground opens and the coffin sinks into it. “We will sleep here for the day,” he says.
I take a few steps towards him and ask, “Have you heard anything from Reyes yet?”
His shadows drop, revealing himself. “Forgive me, kamai, but there is only static coming from our bond, as if he has unplugged himself from it.”
I sigh in frustration, and my stomach grumbles.
“You should eat something while we wait for Zack. He is often fashionably late.”
“Is Zack the one who knows things topside?” I say as I tear open a packet of powdered soup and pour it into a chipped bowl I find in the cupboard.
“Yes. He will tell us places to avoid. Monsters lurk topside, and I want to avoid fighting as much as possible. They become an annoyance.”
“You do fight well, though.” I shuffle through the drawer to find a spoon. When I can’t, I settle for a fork. “I witnessed it when we were escaping the feeding ground and Hellsgate.”
A looming threat prickles along my back when Serun’s presence draws closer. “My priority was to keep you safe, my kamai.”
I run my hand under the water until it turns hot. Without a kettle, I have to settle for tap water. As I stir my tepid soup, I say, “I don’t want to become your burden, Serun…”
He chuckles, and the suffocating presence of his shadows slips around my waist and over my shoulders. “You thinking you are a burden is cute.”
Serun is at the coffin, hands against the metal, slouched back and watching me intensely. His shadows slide away and swarm the room, alive, reminding me of the night I witnessed Serun slaughter that Bleeder in the delivery room.
“We should train along the way.” I grab the mug, twist it around until the chipped side faces away from my lips, and take a sip of the creamy noodle soup.
A lump swells in my throat as though it stubbornly wants to keep the food from going down.
I take another sip, forcing the soup down with a hard gulp. “Or else I am just doing nothing.”
“Very well.” He raises his hand and gestures to the sword strapped to my back. “Let me teach you how to use it until you can tap into your magik. You did well with your other sword.”
“I did not know what I was doing,” I admit.
He dips his head and says, “Take it off and let me show you.”
I set the mug on the counter, grip the hilt resting between my shoulder blades, and glide the sword out until I’m holding it in front of me. Serun walks around me, his shadows trembling as he analyses my stance.
He lifts my elbow, then moves my shoulder back. I spend the time learning how to actually hold a sword. Serun’s focus is sincere, and his touch is ice. I shift nervously, my fangs sinking into my bottom lip when those long fingers move along my skin as if they belong there.
His hand touches my waist, angling me, my back grazing his chest, his fiery eyes running down my neck while he positions me as though I’m a doll.
“There,” he breathes. “Your movements will be less awkward if you’re fighting on an angle.
Never face your enemy head-on. If they move, you need time to sidestep, and it is easier if you aren’t tripping over your feet. ”
“Okay,” I breathe.
A low chuckle unfurls from him as his fingers move up my waist. “Do I make you tense, Saya?”
My slackened grip tightens, and I spin and slash the blade through the space he once was.
Shadows disperse, a hint of a laugh behind me, his finger drawing down my sweaty nape.
“Always raise your sword after you swing. Do not stop. Do not hesitate. Prepare for the next attack. Anything less will get you killed.”
With a deep breath in, I lift my blade, understanding what Serun is trying to teach me, even if his methods are infuriating.
“Again,” he says.