Chapter 52

The narrow tunnel was dark as pitch. Dane exchanged glances with Flynn, and with rapid steps, he crossed the campfire and drew open the flap of Jeanne's tent.

She was fast asleep. Dane connected his mind to hers and woke her, transmitting a cacophony of noises. She groaned. "Invader!" he said urgently.

An unfamiliar voice sounded from behind, incomprehensible to Dane. He heard Flynn respond. He dropped the flap and hid inside. "What's happening?" he asked Jeanne.

She rose, summoning her gladii, and said, "The voice is human. A man, for sure. And he's speaking our language." Someone else had survived? Dane felt the urge to reveal himself and greet the man, as he would any human in the Dream Realm, save the Songs; he might unsheathe his sword. He controlled himself, feeling hopeful but cautious.

He heard the stranger's voice.

"What is he saying?"

"He's questioning why there are three tents when he only sees Flynn. Hold on," she lifted a finger and listened attentively, "Flynn said that he has companions who have gone exploring the tunnels."

He would have done the same if Dane was in Flynn's position.

"Flynn asked how he survived for so long at night," she said.

Dane nodded. That was a good question; it was not far from morning. Either he had a way to travel as efficiently as Dane could underground, or he was a nightmare creature.

Jeanne tilted her head. "He said he has an Ability that allows him to."

…He was not sure how much he trusted that.

Their conversation continued, and Jeanne listened attentively. She didn't bother to translate, lost in the conversation.

"...he says he's been in the desert for many years. It's been a long time since he saw another human," she finally said.

Years? How had he procured food or water? Dane felt increasingly uncomfortable. Ants were crawling through his skin as he forced himself to breathe slowly.

"Flynn introduced himself."

He heard the man's voice again. For some reason, Dane's instincts forced him to clench the hilt of his broadsword till his knuckles were white, but tighter still was a queer sense of horror that wrapped its gnarly fingers around his heart.

After a brief pause, Jeanne said, "His name is Morren. Where have I heard that—"

Before she could finish, Dane had transformed and phased through the ground. Behind the newcomer's back, he emerged as a spirit. He reverted to flesh and blood and drove his sword through Morren's back and into his heart.

In the startling quiet, the man's right hand twitched…and gored into his chest. He felt resistance against his blade, and with a sickening snap, the sword broke.

Dane turned intangible and flew through Morren. Flynn had already summoned his spear and shield, his sword long gone. Dane shouted, "It's that Morren. From the writings in blood!"

When he ceased his transformation, he felt the cold chill of the air worse than ever. He pushed the veil aside, seeing. Within…Morren's…black, dead soul was nothing but vile, impenetrable darkness. Not even the Corrupted had souls so tenebrous. 

He shivered as the monster looked at him, grinning in a wicked parody of what a human face was supposed to look like.