Chapter 40 The Warning in the Dark
Alberto walked through the dimly lit corridors toward his room in the east wing. Darius appeared from a side passage and stopped him.
“Are you well?” Darius asked. “Do you feel any pain?”
Alberto shook his head. “No. Nothing unusual.”
Darius nodded. “Rest. Do not push yourself.”
Alberto entered his room, bolted the door, and collapsed onto the cot. Sleep came swiftly and pulled him into a vision that felt more real than any dream.
He saw flames consuming the northern keep. Wolves in black cloaks poured through the eastern gate, cutting down defenders who moved sluggishly, as if their limbs were weighted with stone. The pack house burned, and in the chaos, Fernando staggered through the smoke, blood streaming from a dozen wounds. Poison blackened the veins beneath his skin, and his wolf form flickered and failed, unable to hold shape.
A woman stepped from the shadows, her face a mirror of Alberto’s own. She spoke without preamble. “You are the only one who can save him. Fernando sits in a pit of death. Poison courses through his wolf, hidden from Mira’s sight. Her visions have been blocked. Less than a day remains before the toxin overwhelms him.”
Alberto’s voice echoed in the vision. “How can I reach him?”
“Through the Thornwood,” she said. “The path is yours alone. If you do not act, he dies.”
Alberto woke with a gasp, sweat soaking his shirt. He stumbled from his room and ran through the corridors until he reached Darius’s quarters. He pounded on the door until Darius opened it.
“I need to speak to you,” Alberto said. “I saw a vision. The pack under attack. Fernando dying from poison that Mira cannot detect. Less than a day remains.”
Darius stared at him. “It was a dream.”
“It was not a dream,” Alberto insisted. “A woman who looks like me told me Fernando’s wolf has been poisoned. Her visions are blocked. I have to go to him.”
Darius’s expression hardened. “You will do no such thing. Fernando is in the ancient home, separated from you to stabilize the bond. Going to him now would force the connection and risk breaking it entirely.”
“I saw him dying,” Alberto said. “The poison will kill him if I do nothing.”
“You are not a seer,” Darius replied. “You have no wolf to lend you visions. What you experienced was a dream born of worry. You will not endanger him further.”
“I need to see him,” Alberto said. “Let me go to the ancient home.”
Darius shook his head. “You are confined to your quarters. If you attempt to leave, you will be restrained.”
Alberto opened his mouth to argue, but guards seized his arms and dragged him away despite his protests. They forced him into a cell in the lower levels and locked the iron door.
Alone in the dark, Alberto collapsed against the wall. Sharp pain erupted in his chest, forcing a cough that brought blood onto his hands. His vision blurred, the edges darkening as the pain spread.
An old prisoner in the adjoining cell spoke through the bars. “What is wrong with you?”
Alberto clutched his chest, coughing again. “Pain. Blood. I saw a vision of Fernando dying from poison. Now this.”
“Tell me everything,” the old man said.
Alberto spoke through ragged breaths. “I saw the keep attacked. Fernando poisoned, his wolf failing. A woman who looks like me said only I can save him. Less than a day remains. Mira cannot see it. Darius thinks it is only a dream and locked me here.”
The old man was silent for a moment. “That pain you feel is his. The bond carries his suffering. There is a way to reach the ancient home quickly. Through the Thornwood.”
“No one survives the Thornwood,” Alberto said.
“Legends say no one survives,” the old man replied. “But there is a path. Narrow and treacherous, but it cuts the journey to hours instead of days. If you take it, you can reach him in time.”
“How?” Alberto asked.
“There is a concealed grate in the eastern wall of this cell,” the old man said. “Pry it open and follow the drainage tunnel south until you reach an iron ladder. Climb it and you will emerge at the edge of the Thornwood. Follow the stream that runs black with peat. It will lead you through.”
Alberto nodded, still gripping his chest. “Thank you.”
“The forest deceives,” the old man warned. “It twists paths and preys on doubt. Hold to the stream and do not turn aside.”
Alberto forced himself to his feet and pried at the grate with shaking hands until it gave way. He crawled through the tunnel, climbed the ladder, and emerged into the night at the forest’s edge. He followed the black stream, pushing through tangled undergrowth.
Samael stepped from the shadows ahead, a pipe clenched between his teeth, smoke curling upward.
“You should not be here,” Samael said.
“I have to reach Fernando,” Alberto replied. “He is dying from poison. I saw it. I have to go through the Thornwood.”
Samael removed the pipe from his mouth. “No one goes through the Thornwood.”
“I must,” Alberto said. “Please. Let me pass.”
Samael studied him. “What makes you think you can survive it?”
“A prisoner told me of a path,” Alberto said. “I have no choice. Fernando dies if I do not reach him.”
Samael exhaled a stream of smoke. “Very well. But you do not go unarmed.”
He drew a short sword from his belt and held it out. “Take this. Keep to the stream. The forest lies. Paths that seem clear lead to death. Trust nothing but the water.”
Alberto took the sword. “Why are you here?”
“I come to this place often,” Samael said. “I lost my mate in the Thornwood years ago. She entered to gather rare herbs and never returned.”
“I will come back,” Alberto said.
Samael shook his head. “Make your promise to the living. Follow the stream. Do not turn from it, no matter what you hear or see.”
Alberto gripped the sword. “I will find him.”
Samael stepped aside. “Then go.”
Alberto nodded and plunged into the Thornwood, keeping the black stream always to his left.