Isabelle Lightwood (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
seveninchmotto) wrote2015-03-14 01:20 pm
seveninchmotto) wrote2015-03-14 01:20 pm
Entry tags:
Alicante, Idris + The Seelie Queen's Realm, Faaaar Too Early Saturday Morning
Isabelle's packing was quickly done. You didn't get to be an eighteen-year-old Shadowhunter and not learn what were the essentials to take when you were about to rush into something potentially very stupid. She had enough moments to spare for something else she wanted to get done.
Even in all too many of those moments ended up being spent up staring at the piece of parchment, trying to figure out what to write. She ended up going with the first thing that had come to her head. It was kind of terrible, but it was what she wanted to say. Should this whole endeavor go wrong.
Ave atque vale.
She folded the piece of parchment, and drew a rune on it with the tip of her stele, and watched it burn and vanish as it went on its way. Then she inhaled deeply, and squared her shoulders. She was ready.
-----
The portal spat them out on a carpet of moss. More moss spread along the smooth brown tunnel walls, but it glowed with phosphorescent light. Small glowing flowers, like electric daisies, grew in among the moss, starring the green with white. Snaky roots dangled down from the roof of the tunnel. Various smaller tunnels branched off the main one, some of them too small to admit a human form.
Isabelle picked a piece of moss out of her hair and frowned. "Where are we exactly?"
"I aimed for just outside the throne room," Clary said. "We've been here. It just always looks different."
Jace had already moved down the main corridor. Even without the Soundless rune, he was as quiet as a cat on the soft moss. The others followed, until he said, "Here,", motioning the rest of them to be quiet. They were in an archway, a curtain separating them from a larger room beyond. Once, the curtain had been made out of living butterflies, and their struggles had made it rustle. Today it was thorns, like the thorns that surrounded Sleeping Beauty's castle, thorns woven into one another so that they formed a dangling sheet. They could catch only glimpses of the room beyond—a glimmer of white and silver—but they could all hear the sound of laughing voices coming from the corridors around them.
Glamour runes didn't work on the Fair Folk; there was no way to hide from view. Jace was alert, his whole body tight. He carefully raised a dagger and parted the sheet of thorns as silently as he could. They all leaned in, staring.
The room beyond was a winter fairyland. The walls were sheets of white crystal, and the Queen reclined upon her divan, which was white crystal to match, shot through with veins of silver in the rock. The floor was covered in snow, and long icicles hung from the ceiling, each one bound around with ropes of gold-and-silver thorns. Bunches of white roses were piled around the room, scattered at the foot of the Queen's divan, wound through her red hair like a crown. Her dress was white and silver too, as diaphanous as a sheet of ice; one could glimpse her body through it, though not clearly. Ice and roses and the Queen. The effect was blinding. She was leaning back on her couch, her head tipped up, speaking to a heavily armored faerie knight. His armor was dark brown, the color of the trunk of a tree; one of his eyes was black, the other pale blue, almost white. Under his big arm was a helmet, decorated with antlers.
"And how goes it with the Wild Hunt, Gwyn?" the Queen was asking. "The Gatherers of the Dead? I assume there were rich pickings for you at the Adamant Citadel the other night. I hear that the howls of the Nephilim tore the sky as they died."
Isabelle tensed. Next to her, she could tell Alec and Jace did the same.
"So I have heard, my lady," Gwyn said in a voice so hoarse, it was barely understandable. It sounded like the scrape of a blade against rough bark. "The Wild Hunt comes when the ravens of the battlefield scream for blood: We gather our riders from among the dying. But we were not at the Adamant Citadel. The war games of Nephilim and Dark Ones are too rich for our blood. The Fair Folk mix poorly with demons and angels."
"You disappoint me, Gwyn," said the Queen, pouting. "This is a time of power for the Fair Folk; we gain, we rise, we achieve the world. We belong on the chessboards of power, as much as Nephilim do. I had hoped for your advice."
"Forgive me, lady," said Gwyn. "Chess is too delicate a game for us. I cannot advise you."
"But I gave you such a gift." The Queen sulked. "The Blackthorn boy. Shadowhunter and faerie blood together; it is rare. He will ride at your back, and demons will fear you. A gift from myself, and from Sebastian."
Sebastian. She said it comfortably, familiarly. There was fondness in her voice, if the Queen of Faeries could be said to be fond. Isabelle felt suddenly cold and anxious. The Queen. She was on Sebastian's side. She felt sick. A brief glance at Jace confirmed he was white a sheet, so she probably was too.
"Demons already fear me, beautiful one," said Gwyn, and he smiled.
"You owe me one favor, then, Gwyn, in exchange for the boy," said the Queen. "I know that the Wild Hunt serves its own laws, but I would request your presence at the next battle."
Gwyn frowned. "I am not sure one boy is worth such a weighty promise. As I have said, the Hunt has small desire to involve itself in the business of Nephilim."
"You need not fight," said the Queen, in a voice like silk. "I would ask only your assistance with the bodies afterward. And there will be bodies. The Nephilim will pay for their crimes, Gwyn. Everyone must pay."
Before Gwyn could reply, another figure strode into the room from the dark tunnel that curved away behind the Queen's throne. It was Meliorn, in his white armor, his black hair in a braid down his back. His boots were encrusted with what looked like blackish tar. He frowned when he saw Gwyn. "A Hunter never brings good tidings," he said.
"Subside, Meliorn," said the Queen. "Gwyn and I were only discussing an exchange of favors."
Meliorn inclined his head. "I bear news, my lady, but I would have counsel with you in private."
She turned to Gwyn. "Are we agreed?"
Gwyn hesitated, then nodded, curtly, and with a glance of dislike in Meliorn's direction, disappeared down the dark tunnel from which the faerie knight had come.
The Queen slid down in her divan, her pale fingers like marble against her gown. "Very well, Meliorn. What did you wish to speak of? Is it news of the Downworld prisoners?"
Isabelle heard Alec's sharp intake of breath behind her, and Meliorn's head whipped to the side. She saw his eyes narrow. "If I do not mistake myself," he said, reaching for the blade at his side, "my lady, we have visitors —"
Jace was already sliding his hand down his side, whispering, "Gabriel." The seraph blade blazed up, and Isabelle leaped to her feet, sweeping her whip forward, slicing through the curtain of thorns, which collapsed, rattling, to the ground. Jace darted past the thorns and advanced into the throne room, Gabriel blazing in his hand. Clary whipped her sword free.
They poured out into the room, arranging themselves in an arc behind Jace: Alec with his bow already strung, Isabelle with her whip out and glittering, Clary with her sword, and Simon — Simon had no better weapon than his own self, but he stood and smiled at Meliorn, and his teeth glittered.
Isabelle found herself appreciating that more than she would have guessed she would.
The Queen drew herself upright with a hiss, quickly covered; it was the only time Isabelle had seen her flustered.
"How dare you enter the Court unbidden?" she demanded. "This is the highest of crimes, a breaking of Covenant Law —"
"How dare you speak of breaking Covenant Law!" Jace shouted, and the seraph blade burned in his hand. "You, who have murdered, and lied, and taken Downworlders of the Council prisoner. You have allied yourself with evil forces, and you will pay for it."
"The Queen of the Seelie Court does not pay," said the Queen.
"Everyone pays," Jace said, and suddenly he was standing on the divan, over the Queen, and the tip of his blade was against her throat. She flinched back, but she was pinned in place, Jace standing over her, his feet braced on the couch. "How did you do it?" he demanded. "Meliorn swore that you were on the side of the Nephilim. Faeries can't lie. That's why the Council trusted you —"
"Meliorn is half-faerie. He can lie," said the Queen, shooting an amused glance at Isabelle, who felt shocked – and probably looked it, too. "Sometimes the simplest answer is the correct one, Shadowhunter."
"That's why you wanted him on the Council," said Clary. "Because he can lie."
"A betrayal long-planned." Jace was breathing hard. "I should cut your throat right now."
"You would not dare," said the Queen, unmoving; the point of the sword against her throat. "If you touch the Queen of the Seelie Court, the Fair Folk will be ranged against you for all time."
Jace was breathing hard as he spoke, and his face was full of burning light. "Then what are you now?" he demanded. "We heard you. You spoke of Sebastian as an ally. The Adamant Citadel lies on ley lines. Ley lines are the province of the fey. You led him there, you opened the way, you let him ambush us. How are you not already ranged against us?"
An ugly look crossed Meliorn's face. "You may have heard us speaking, little Nephilim," he said. "But if we kill you before you return to the Clave to tell your tales, none others need ever know —"
The knight started forward. Alec let an arrow fly, and it plunged into Meliorn's leg. The knight toppled backward with a cry. Alec strode forward, already notching another arrow to his bow. Meliorn was on the ground, moaning, the snow around him turning red. Alec stood over him, bow at the ready. "Tell us how to get Magnus — how to get the prisoners back," he said. "Do it, or I'll turn you into a pincushion."
Meliorn spat. His white armor seemed to blend into the snow around him. "I will tell you nothing," he said. "Torture me, kill me, I shall not betray my Queen."
"It doesn't matter what he says, anyway," said Isabelle. "He can lie, remember?"
Alec's face shut. "True," he said. "Die, then, liar." And he let the next arrow go.
It sank into Meliorn's chest, and the faerie knight fell back, the force of the arrow sending his body skidding back across the snow. His head hit the cave wall with a wet smack. The Queen cried out. A second later they could hear the sound of faeries shouting, running feet in the corridors outside. "Simon!" she yelled, and he whirled around. "Come here!"
Isabelle didn't know what Clary's plan was. But she and Alec and Jace formed a protective wall around the two of them all the same. Isabelle did her best not to look at Meliorn on the ground. Not for too long, anyway. But even in her peripheral vision, the snow on the ground was red with his blood, and she felt sick.
And then the ground underneath them jerked. A wall of earth began to slide across the open archway, like a theater curtain being drawn. There were shadows rushing toward the door, shadows that began to take the shape of running faerie folk, and Simon jerked Clary upright just as the doorway that opened onto the corridor disappeared with a final rumble, shutting away the faeries on the other side.
"By the Angel," Isabelle said in an awed voice.
Clary turned around, stele in hand. Jace was on his feet, the Seelie Queen in front of him, his sword pointed at her heart. Alec stood over Meliorn's corpse; he was expressionless as he looked at Clary, and then at his parabatai. Behind him opened the passageway through which Meliorn had come and Gwyn had gone.
"Are you going to close the back tunnel?" Simon asked Clary.
She shook her head. "Meliorn had pitch on his shoes," she said. " 'And the streams of Edom shall be turned into pitch,' remember? I think he came from the demon realms. I think they're that way."
"Jace," Alec said. "Tell the Queen what we want, and that if she does it, we will let her live."
The Queen laughed, a shrill sound. "Little archer boy," she said. "I underestimated you. Sharp are the arrows of a broken heart."
Alec's face tightened. "You underestimated all of us; you always have. You and your arrogance. The Fair Folk are an old people, a good people. You aren't fit to lead them. Under your rule they will all wind up like this," he said, jerking his chin toward Meliorn's corpse.
"You are the one who killed him," said the Queen, "not I."
"Everyone pays," Alec said, and his eyes on her were steady and blue and hard.
"We desire the safe return of the hostages Sebastian Morgenstern has taken," said Jace.
The Queen spread her hands. "They are not in this world, nor here in Faerie, nor in any land over which I have jurisdiction. There is nothing I can do to help you rescue them, nothing at all."
"Very well," said Jace, and Clary had the feeling he had expected that response. "There is one other thing you can do, one thing you can show us, that will make me spare you."
The Queen went still. "What is that, Shadowhunter?"
"The road to the demon realm of Edom," said Jace. "We want safe passage to it. We will walk it, and walk our way out of your kingdom."
To Isabelle's surprise the Queen seemed to relax. The tension bled from her posture, and a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth — a smile that didn't seem to promise good things. "Very well. I will lead you to the road to the demon realm." The Queen lifted her diaphanous dress in her hands so that she could make her way down the steps that surrounded her divan. Her feet were bare, and as white as the snow. She began to make her way across the room to the dark passage that stretched away behind her throne.
Alec fell into step behind Jace, and Isabelle behind him; Clary and Simon made up the rear, a strange procession. Isabelle could hear Simon and Clary talking to each other in low voices, but didn't really listen.
She was only listening to the beat of her own heart in her ears.
-----
The corridor wasn't as long as Isabelle had thought. Its darkness had made the distance seem impossible, but they had only been walking for a half hour or so when they broke out from the shadows and into a larger, lighted space. They had been walking in silence and darkness, Isabelle lost in her thoughts — the night they lost Max, the moment she cut Sebastian's hand off, the moment she got home –– no, not home, to Fandom, to Flick. She was almost grateful when they stopped.
"Here we are," said the Seelie Queen, and her voice was amused. "Can you guess the right road?"
They stood in a massive cave, the roof lost in shadow. The walls glowed with a phosphorescent shine, and four roads branched off from where they stood: the one behind them, and three others. One was clear and broad and smooth, leading directly ahead of them. The one on the left shone with green leaves and bright flowers, and Isabelle thought she saw the glimmer of blue sky in the distance. And the last way, the darkest, was a narrow tunnel, the entrance wound about with spiked metal, and thornbushes lining the sides. Isabelle thought she could see darkness and stars at the end.
Alec laughed shortly. "We're Shadowhunters," he said. "We know the old tales. This is the Three Roads." At Clary's puzzled look he said, "Faeries don't like their secrets to get out, but sometimes human musicians have been able to encode faerie secrets into ancient ballads. There's one called 'Thomas the Rhymer,' about a man who was kidnapped by the Queen of Faerie —"
"Hardly kidnapped," objected the Queen. "He came quite willingly."
"And she took him to a place where three roads lay, and told him that one went to Heaven, and one went to Faerieland, and one went to Hell. 'And see ye not that narrow road, so thick beset with thorns and briars? That is the path of righteousness, though after it but few inquires.' " Alec pointed toward the narrow tunnel.
"It goes to the mundane world," said the Queen sweetly. "Your folk find it heavenly enough there."
"That's how Sebastian got to the Adamant Citadel, and had warriors backing him up that the Clave couldn't see," said Jace in disgust. "He used this tunnel. He had warriors hanging back here in Faerie, where they couldn't be tracked. They came through when he needed them." He gave the Queen a dark look. "Many Nephilim are dead because of you."
"Mortals," said the Queen. "They die."
Alec ignored her. "There," he said, pointing to the leafy tunnel. "That goes farther into Faerie. And that -" He pointed ahead. "- is the road to Hell. That's where we're going."
"I always heard it was paved with good intentions," said Simon.
"Place your feet upon the way and find out, Daylighter," said the Queen.
Jace twisted the tip of the blade in her back. "What will stop you from telling Sebastian we've come after him the moment we leave you?"
The Queen made no noise of pain; only her lips thinned. She looked old in that moment, despite the youth and beauty of her face. "You ask a fine question. And even if you kill me, there are those in my Court who will speak to him of you, and he will guess your intentions, for he is clever. You cannot evade his knowing, save you kill all the Fair Folk in my Court."
Jace paused. He held the seraph blade in his hand, the tip pressed up against the Seelie Queen's back. Its light flared up onto his face, carving out its features in peaks and valleys, the sharpness of cheekbones and the angle of jaw. It caught the tips of his hair and licked them with fire, as if he were wearing a crown of burning thorns.
They all watched him, silently, giving him their trust. Whatever decision he made, they would stand behind it.
"Come, now," said the Queen. "You do not have the stomach for so much killing. You were always Valentine's gentlest child." Her eyes lingered a moment on Clary, gleeful.
"Swear," said Jace. "I know what promises mean to your people. I know you cannot lie. Swear you will say nothing of us to Sebastian, nor will you allow anyone in your court to do the same."
"I swear," said the Queen. "I swear that no one in my court by word or deed will tell him that you came here."
Jace stepped away from the Queen, lowering his blade to his side. "I know you think you are sending us to our deaths," he said. "But we will not die so easily. We will not lose this war. And when we are victorious, we shall make you and your people bleed for what you have done."
The Queen's smile left her face. They turned away from her and started down the path to Edom, silently.
----
The corridor curved far away into the distance, seeming as if it had been hollowed out of the rock around it by fire. As the five of them went forward, moving in total silence, the pale stone walls around them darkened, stained here and there by streaks of charcoaled blackness, as if the rock itself had burned. The smooth floor began to give way to a rockier one, grit crunching under their boot heels. The phosphorescence in the walls started to dim, and Alec drew his witchlight from his pocket and raised it overhead.
A moment after, Clary tapped Isabelle on the shoulder and whispered to her, "There's someone here. Or something."
Isabelle didn't reply, only turned to her brother and made a gesture at him — a complicated movement of fingers. Alec's eyes showed his comprehension, and he turned immediately to Jace. Years of practice melding them into a unit that thought together, moved together, breathed together, fought together.
Alec swung his hand down suddenly, dousing the light. A flash and a spark, and Isabelle was gone from Clary's side. She darted forward, and flung her whip out. There was a yelp as it tangled up around its target.
"Stop!" Simon called, and light exploded all around them. It was as if a camera flash had gone off. Jace holding his witchlight, the glow radiating around him like the light of a small sun. Alec, his bow raised and notched. Isabelle, the handle of her whip tight in one hand, the whip itself curled around the ankles of a slight figure hunched against the cave wall — a boy, with pale-blond hair that curled over his slightly pointed ears —
"Oh, my God," Clary whispered, shoving her weapon back into her belt and pressing forward. "Isabelle — stop. It's all right," she said, moving toward the boy. His clothes were torn and dirty, his feet bare and black with filth. His arms were bare, too, and on them were the marks of runes. Shadowhunter runes.
"By the Angel." Isabelle's whip slithered back into her grasp. Alec's bow fell to his side. The boy lifted his head and scowled.
"You're a Shadowhunter?" Jace said in an incredulous tone.
The boy scowled again, more ferociously. There was anger in his look, but more than that, there was grief and fear. There was no doubting who he was. He had the same fine features as his sister, the same angled chin and hair like bleached wheat, curling at the tips. He was about sixteen, Isabelle remembered. He looked younger.
"It's Mark Blackthorn," Clary said. "Helen's brother. Look at his face. Look at his hand."
For a moment, Mark looked confused. Clary touched her own ring finger, and his eyes lit with comprehension. He held out his thin right hand. On the fourth finger the family ring of the Blackthorns, with its design of intertwined thorns, glittered.
"How did you get here?" Jace said. "How did you know how to find us?"
"I was with the Hunters underground," Mark said in a low voice. "I heard Gwyn talking to some of the others about how you'd shown up in the Queen's chamber. I sneaked away from the Hunters, they weren't paying attention to me. I was looking for you and I ended up — here." He gestured to the tunnel around them. "I had to talk to you. I had to know about my family." His face was in shadow, but they saw his features tighten. "The faeries told me they were all dead. Is it true?"
There was a shocked silence. Isabelle instinctively cast her gaze down.
"It's true," Mark said, "isn't it? My family —"
"Your father was Turned. But your brothers and sisters are alive," Clary said. "They're in Idris. They escaped. They're fine."
If they had expected Mark to look relieved, they were disappointed. He went white. "What?"
"Julian, Helen, the others — they're all alive." Clary put her hand on his shoulder; he flinched away. "They're alive, and they're worried about you."
"Clary," Jace said, a warning in his voice.
Clary shot a look at him over her shoulder.
"Have you eaten anything, drunk anything since the Fair Folk took you?" Jace asked, moving to peer into Mark's face. Mark jerked away, but not before Clary heard Jace's sharp intake of breath.
"What is it?" Isabelle demanded.
"His eyes," Jace said, raising his witchlight and shining it into Mark's face. Mark scowled again but allowed Jace to examine him. His eyes were large, long-lashed, like Helen's; unlike hers, his were mismatched. One was Blackthorn blue, the color of water. The other was gold, hazed through with shadows, a darker version of Jace's own.
Jace swallowed visibly. "The Wild Hunt," he said. "You're one of them now."
Jace was scanning the boy with his eyes, as if Mark were a book he could read. "Put your hands out," Jace said finally, and Mark did so. Jace caught them and turned them over, baring the other boy's wrists. He was wearing only a T-shirt, and his bare forearms were striped with bloody whip marks. Clary gasped. "When did this happen?"
Mark pulled his hands away. They were shaking. "Meliorn did it," he said. "When he first took me. He said he'd stop if I ate and drank their food, so I did. I didn't think it mattered, if my family was dead. And I thought faeries couldn't lie."
"Meliorn can," said Alec grimly. "Or at least, he could."
"When did this all happen?" Isabelle demanded. "The faeries only took you less than a week ago —"
Mark shook his head. "I've been with the Folk for a long time," he said. "I couldn't say how long."
"Time runs differently in Faerie," Alec said. "Sometimes faster, sometimes slower."
Mark said, "Gwyn told me I belonged to the Hunt and I couldn't leave them unless they allowed me to go. Is that true?"
"It's true," Jace said.
Mark slumped against the cave wall. He turned his head toward Clary. "You saw them. You saw my brothers and sisters. And Emma?"
"They're all right, all of them, Emma, too," Clary said.
"Helen can't take care of them. Not alone," Mark said a little desperately. "And Jules, he's too young. He can't take care of Ty; he doesn't know the things he needs. He doesn't know how to talk to him —" He took a shuddering breath. "You should let me come with you."
"You know you can't," said Jace, though he couldn't look Mark in the face; he was staring at the ground. "If you've sworn fealty to the Wild Hunt, you're one of them."
"Take me with you," Mark repeated. He had the stunned, bewildered look of someone who had been mortally injured but didn't yet realize the extent of the injury. "I don't want to be one of them. I want to be with my family —"
"We're going to Hell," Clary said. "We couldn't bring you with us, even if you could leave Faerie safely —"
"And you can't," Alec said. "If you try to leave, you'll die."
"I'd rather die," Mark said, and Jace's head whipped up. His eyes were bright gold, almost too bright, as if the fire inside him were spilling out through them. "They took you because you have faerie blood, but also because you have Shadowhunter blood. They want to punish the Nephilim," Jace said, his gaze intent. "Show them what a Shadowhunter is made of; show them you aren't afraid. You can live through this."
In the wavering illumination of the witchlight, Mark looked at Jace. Tears had made their tracks through the dirt on his face, but his eyes were dry. "I don't know what to do," he said. "What do I do?"
"Find a way to warn the Nephilim," Jace said. "We're going into Hell, like Clary said. We might never come back. Someone has to tell the Shadowhunters the Fair Folk are not their allies."
"The Hunters will catch me if I try to send a message." The boy's eyes flashed. "They'll kill me."
"Not if you're fast and smart," said Jace. "You can do it. I know you can."
"Jace," Alec said, his bow at his side. "Jace, we need to let him go before the Hunt notice he's missing."
"Right," Jace said, and hesitated. He took Mark's hand; he pressed his witchlight into the boy's palm, where it flickered, and then resumed its steady glow. "Take this with you," said Jace, "for it can be dark in the land under the hill, and the years very long."
Mark stood for a moment, the rune-stone in his hand.
"Mark —" Clary whispered, and cut herself off; he was gone. The shadows swallowed him up, only the darting will-o'-the-wisp light of the rune-stone visible, until it too blended with the darkness. She looked up at Jace. "What did you mean, 'the land under the hill'?" she asked. "Why did you say that?"
Jace didn't answer her; he looked stunned. "The land under the hill is Faerie," said Alec in his stead. "An old, old name for it. He'll be all right," he said to Jace. "He will."
"You gave him your witchlight," Isabelle said. "You've always had that witchlight —"
"Screw the witchlight," Jace said violently, and slammed his hand against the wall of the cave; there was a brief flare of light, and he drew his arm back. The mark of his hand was burned black into the stone of the tunnel, and his palm still glowed, as if the blood in his fingers were phosphorus. He gave an odd, choked laugh. "I don't exactly need it, anyway."
"Jace," Clary said, and put her hand on his arm. He didn't move away from her, but he didn't react, either. She dropped her voice. "You can't save everyone," she said.
"Maybe not," he said as the light in his hand dimmed. "But it would be nice to save someone for a change."
"Guys," Simon said. He'd been oddly quiet throughout the encounter with Mark. "I don't know if you can see it, but there's something — something at the end of the tunnel."
"A light?" Jace said, his voice edged with sarcasm. His eyes glittered.
"The opposite." Simon moved forward, and after a hesitant moment Clary took her hand from Jace's arm, and followed him. The disappeared down the tunnel, which went straight on ahead and then jogged slightly. They followed, and at the curve they saw what Simon must have seen, and stopped dead. Darkness. The tunnel ended in a whirling vortex of darkness. Something moved in it, shaping the dark like the wind shaping clouds. They could hear it too, the purr and rumble of the dark, like the sound of jet engines.
Together they all stood in a line, watching the dark. Watching it move. A curtain of shadow, and beyond it the utter unknown.
It was Alec who spoke, staring, awed, at the moving shadows. The air that blew down the corridor was stinging hot, like pepper thrown into the heart of a fire. "This," he said, "is the craziest thing we've ever done."
"What if we can't ever come back?" Isabelle said. The Sensor she'd taken from the Inquisitor's house – a cold thing lacking all the elegance of her own ruby which now hung around Flick's neck, far away and safe from harm – pulsed in her pocket. Except it was more like it was vibrating, the pulses coming in quick succession. This was the road to a demon realm.
"Then at least we'll be together," Clary said, and looked around at her companions. She reached out and took Jace's hand, and Simon's hand on the other side of her, and held them tight. "We go through together, and on the other side we stay together," she said. "All right?"
None of them answered, but Isabelle took Simon's other hand, and Alec took Jace's. They all stood for a moment, staring.
And then they stepped forward, and the shadows swallowed them up.
[ooc: NFB, NFI, OOC-okay, CoHF, probably one of three today? Warning for NPC death.]
Even in all too many of those moments ended up being spent up staring at the piece of parchment, trying to figure out what to write. She ended up going with the first thing that had come to her head. It was kind of terrible, but it was what she wanted to say. Should this whole endeavor go wrong.
Ave atque vale.
She folded the piece of parchment, and drew a rune on it with the tip of her stele, and watched it burn and vanish as it went on its way. Then she inhaled deeply, and squared her shoulders. She was ready.
The portal spat them out on a carpet of moss. More moss spread along the smooth brown tunnel walls, but it glowed with phosphorescent light. Small glowing flowers, like electric daisies, grew in among the moss, starring the green with white. Snaky roots dangled down from the roof of the tunnel. Various smaller tunnels branched off the main one, some of them too small to admit a human form.
Isabelle picked a piece of moss out of her hair and frowned. "Where are we exactly?"
"I aimed for just outside the throne room," Clary said. "We've been here. It just always looks different."
Jace had already moved down the main corridor. Even without the Soundless rune, he was as quiet as a cat on the soft moss. The others followed, until he said, "Here,", motioning the rest of them to be quiet. They were in an archway, a curtain separating them from a larger room beyond. Once, the curtain had been made out of living butterflies, and their struggles had made it rustle. Today it was thorns, like the thorns that surrounded Sleeping Beauty's castle, thorns woven into one another so that they formed a dangling sheet. They could catch only glimpses of the room beyond—a glimmer of white and silver—but they could all hear the sound of laughing voices coming from the corridors around them.
Glamour runes didn't work on the Fair Folk; there was no way to hide from view. Jace was alert, his whole body tight. He carefully raised a dagger and parted the sheet of thorns as silently as he could. They all leaned in, staring.
The room beyond was a winter fairyland. The walls were sheets of white crystal, and the Queen reclined upon her divan, which was white crystal to match, shot through with veins of silver in the rock. The floor was covered in snow, and long icicles hung from the ceiling, each one bound around with ropes of gold-and-silver thorns. Bunches of white roses were piled around the room, scattered at the foot of the Queen's divan, wound through her red hair like a crown. Her dress was white and silver too, as diaphanous as a sheet of ice; one could glimpse her body through it, though not clearly. Ice and roses and the Queen. The effect was blinding. She was leaning back on her couch, her head tipped up, speaking to a heavily armored faerie knight. His armor was dark brown, the color of the trunk of a tree; one of his eyes was black, the other pale blue, almost white. Under his big arm was a helmet, decorated with antlers.
"And how goes it with the Wild Hunt, Gwyn?" the Queen was asking. "The Gatherers of the Dead? I assume there were rich pickings for you at the Adamant Citadel the other night. I hear that the howls of the Nephilim tore the sky as they died."
Isabelle tensed. Next to her, she could tell Alec and Jace did the same.
"So I have heard, my lady," Gwyn said in a voice so hoarse, it was barely understandable. It sounded like the scrape of a blade against rough bark. "The Wild Hunt comes when the ravens of the battlefield scream for blood: We gather our riders from among the dying. But we were not at the Adamant Citadel. The war games of Nephilim and Dark Ones are too rich for our blood. The Fair Folk mix poorly with demons and angels."
"You disappoint me, Gwyn," said the Queen, pouting. "This is a time of power for the Fair Folk; we gain, we rise, we achieve the world. We belong on the chessboards of power, as much as Nephilim do. I had hoped for your advice."
"Forgive me, lady," said Gwyn. "Chess is too delicate a game for us. I cannot advise you."
"But I gave you such a gift." The Queen sulked. "The Blackthorn boy. Shadowhunter and faerie blood together; it is rare. He will ride at your back, and demons will fear you. A gift from myself, and from Sebastian."
Sebastian. She said it comfortably, familiarly. There was fondness in her voice, if the Queen of Faeries could be said to be fond. Isabelle felt suddenly cold and anxious. The Queen. She was on Sebastian's side. She felt sick. A brief glance at Jace confirmed he was white a sheet, so she probably was too.
"Demons already fear me, beautiful one," said Gwyn, and he smiled.
"You owe me one favor, then, Gwyn, in exchange for the boy," said the Queen. "I know that the Wild Hunt serves its own laws, but I would request your presence at the next battle."
Gwyn frowned. "I am not sure one boy is worth such a weighty promise. As I have said, the Hunt has small desire to involve itself in the business of Nephilim."
"You need not fight," said the Queen, in a voice like silk. "I would ask only your assistance with the bodies afterward. And there will be bodies. The Nephilim will pay for their crimes, Gwyn. Everyone must pay."
Before Gwyn could reply, another figure strode into the room from the dark tunnel that curved away behind the Queen's throne. It was Meliorn, in his white armor, his black hair in a braid down his back. His boots were encrusted with what looked like blackish tar. He frowned when he saw Gwyn. "A Hunter never brings good tidings," he said.
"Subside, Meliorn," said the Queen. "Gwyn and I were only discussing an exchange of favors."
Meliorn inclined his head. "I bear news, my lady, but I would have counsel with you in private."
She turned to Gwyn. "Are we agreed?"
Gwyn hesitated, then nodded, curtly, and with a glance of dislike in Meliorn's direction, disappeared down the dark tunnel from which the faerie knight had come.
The Queen slid down in her divan, her pale fingers like marble against her gown. "Very well, Meliorn. What did you wish to speak of? Is it news of the Downworld prisoners?"
Isabelle heard Alec's sharp intake of breath behind her, and Meliorn's head whipped to the side. She saw his eyes narrow. "If I do not mistake myself," he said, reaching for the blade at his side, "my lady, we have visitors —"
Jace was already sliding his hand down his side, whispering, "Gabriel." The seraph blade blazed up, and Isabelle leaped to her feet, sweeping her whip forward, slicing through the curtain of thorns, which collapsed, rattling, to the ground. Jace darted past the thorns and advanced into the throne room, Gabriel blazing in his hand. Clary whipped her sword free.
They poured out into the room, arranging themselves in an arc behind Jace: Alec with his bow already strung, Isabelle with her whip out and glittering, Clary with her sword, and Simon — Simon had no better weapon than his own self, but he stood and smiled at Meliorn, and his teeth glittered.
Isabelle found herself appreciating that more than she would have guessed she would.
The Queen drew herself upright with a hiss, quickly covered; it was the only time Isabelle had seen her flustered.
"How dare you enter the Court unbidden?" she demanded. "This is the highest of crimes, a breaking of Covenant Law —"
"How dare you speak of breaking Covenant Law!" Jace shouted, and the seraph blade burned in his hand. "You, who have murdered, and lied, and taken Downworlders of the Council prisoner. You have allied yourself with evil forces, and you will pay for it."
"The Queen of the Seelie Court does not pay," said the Queen.
"Everyone pays," Jace said, and suddenly he was standing on the divan, over the Queen, and the tip of his blade was against her throat. She flinched back, but she was pinned in place, Jace standing over her, his feet braced on the couch. "How did you do it?" he demanded. "Meliorn swore that you were on the side of the Nephilim. Faeries can't lie. That's why the Council trusted you —"
"Meliorn is half-faerie. He can lie," said the Queen, shooting an amused glance at Isabelle, who felt shocked – and probably looked it, too. "Sometimes the simplest answer is the correct one, Shadowhunter."
"That's why you wanted him on the Council," said Clary. "Because he can lie."
"A betrayal long-planned." Jace was breathing hard. "I should cut your throat right now."
"You would not dare," said the Queen, unmoving; the point of the sword against her throat. "If you touch the Queen of the Seelie Court, the Fair Folk will be ranged against you for all time."
Jace was breathing hard as he spoke, and his face was full of burning light. "Then what are you now?" he demanded. "We heard you. You spoke of Sebastian as an ally. The Adamant Citadel lies on ley lines. Ley lines are the province of the fey. You led him there, you opened the way, you let him ambush us. How are you not already ranged against us?"
An ugly look crossed Meliorn's face. "You may have heard us speaking, little Nephilim," he said. "But if we kill you before you return to the Clave to tell your tales, none others need ever know —"
The knight started forward. Alec let an arrow fly, and it plunged into Meliorn's leg. The knight toppled backward with a cry. Alec strode forward, already notching another arrow to his bow. Meliorn was on the ground, moaning, the snow around him turning red. Alec stood over him, bow at the ready. "Tell us how to get Magnus — how to get the prisoners back," he said. "Do it, or I'll turn you into a pincushion."
Meliorn spat. His white armor seemed to blend into the snow around him. "I will tell you nothing," he said. "Torture me, kill me, I shall not betray my Queen."
"It doesn't matter what he says, anyway," said Isabelle. "He can lie, remember?"
Alec's face shut. "True," he said. "Die, then, liar." And he let the next arrow go.
It sank into Meliorn's chest, and the faerie knight fell back, the force of the arrow sending his body skidding back across the snow. His head hit the cave wall with a wet smack. The Queen cried out. A second later they could hear the sound of faeries shouting, running feet in the corridors outside. "Simon!" she yelled, and he whirled around. "Come here!"
Isabelle didn't know what Clary's plan was. But she and Alec and Jace formed a protective wall around the two of them all the same. Isabelle did her best not to look at Meliorn on the ground. Not for too long, anyway. But even in her peripheral vision, the snow on the ground was red with his blood, and she felt sick.
And then the ground underneath them jerked. A wall of earth began to slide across the open archway, like a theater curtain being drawn. There were shadows rushing toward the door, shadows that began to take the shape of running faerie folk, and Simon jerked Clary upright just as the doorway that opened onto the corridor disappeared with a final rumble, shutting away the faeries on the other side.
"By the Angel," Isabelle said in an awed voice.
Clary turned around, stele in hand. Jace was on his feet, the Seelie Queen in front of him, his sword pointed at her heart. Alec stood over Meliorn's corpse; he was expressionless as he looked at Clary, and then at his parabatai. Behind him opened the passageway through which Meliorn had come and Gwyn had gone.
"Are you going to close the back tunnel?" Simon asked Clary.
She shook her head. "Meliorn had pitch on his shoes," she said. " 'And the streams of Edom shall be turned into pitch,' remember? I think he came from the demon realms. I think they're that way."
"Jace," Alec said. "Tell the Queen what we want, and that if she does it, we will let her live."
The Queen laughed, a shrill sound. "Little archer boy," she said. "I underestimated you. Sharp are the arrows of a broken heart."
Alec's face tightened. "You underestimated all of us; you always have. You and your arrogance. The Fair Folk are an old people, a good people. You aren't fit to lead them. Under your rule they will all wind up like this," he said, jerking his chin toward Meliorn's corpse.
"You are the one who killed him," said the Queen, "not I."
"Everyone pays," Alec said, and his eyes on her were steady and blue and hard.
"We desire the safe return of the hostages Sebastian Morgenstern has taken," said Jace.
The Queen spread her hands. "They are not in this world, nor here in Faerie, nor in any land over which I have jurisdiction. There is nothing I can do to help you rescue them, nothing at all."
"Very well," said Jace, and Clary had the feeling he had expected that response. "There is one other thing you can do, one thing you can show us, that will make me spare you."
The Queen went still. "What is that, Shadowhunter?"
"The road to the demon realm of Edom," said Jace. "We want safe passage to it. We will walk it, and walk our way out of your kingdom."
To Isabelle's surprise the Queen seemed to relax. The tension bled from her posture, and a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth — a smile that didn't seem to promise good things. "Very well. I will lead you to the road to the demon realm." The Queen lifted her diaphanous dress in her hands so that she could make her way down the steps that surrounded her divan. Her feet were bare, and as white as the snow. She began to make her way across the room to the dark passage that stretched away behind her throne.
Alec fell into step behind Jace, and Isabelle behind him; Clary and Simon made up the rear, a strange procession. Isabelle could hear Simon and Clary talking to each other in low voices, but didn't really listen.
She was only listening to the beat of her own heart in her ears.
The corridor wasn't as long as Isabelle had thought. Its darkness had made the distance seem impossible, but they had only been walking for a half hour or so when they broke out from the shadows and into a larger, lighted space. They had been walking in silence and darkness, Isabelle lost in her thoughts — the night they lost Max, the moment she cut Sebastian's hand off, the moment she got home –– no, not home, to Fandom, to Flick. She was almost grateful when they stopped.
"Here we are," said the Seelie Queen, and her voice was amused. "Can you guess the right road?"
They stood in a massive cave, the roof lost in shadow. The walls glowed with a phosphorescent shine, and four roads branched off from where they stood: the one behind them, and three others. One was clear and broad and smooth, leading directly ahead of them. The one on the left shone with green leaves and bright flowers, and Isabelle thought she saw the glimmer of blue sky in the distance. And the last way, the darkest, was a narrow tunnel, the entrance wound about with spiked metal, and thornbushes lining the sides. Isabelle thought she could see darkness and stars at the end.
Alec laughed shortly. "We're Shadowhunters," he said. "We know the old tales. This is the Three Roads." At Clary's puzzled look he said, "Faeries don't like their secrets to get out, but sometimes human musicians have been able to encode faerie secrets into ancient ballads. There's one called 'Thomas the Rhymer,' about a man who was kidnapped by the Queen of Faerie —"
"Hardly kidnapped," objected the Queen. "He came quite willingly."
"And she took him to a place where three roads lay, and told him that one went to Heaven, and one went to Faerieland, and one went to Hell. 'And see ye not that narrow road, so thick beset with thorns and briars? That is the path of righteousness, though after it but few inquires.' " Alec pointed toward the narrow tunnel.
"It goes to the mundane world," said the Queen sweetly. "Your folk find it heavenly enough there."
"That's how Sebastian got to the Adamant Citadel, and had warriors backing him up that the Clave couldn't see," said Jace in disgust. "He used this tunnel. He had warriors hanging back here in Faerie, where they couldn't be tracked. They came through when he needed them." He gave the Queen a dark look. "Many Nephilim are dead because of you."
"Mortals," said the Queen. "They die."
Alec ignored her. "There," he said, pointing to the leafy tunnel. "That goes farther into Faerie. And that -" He pointed ahead. "- is the road to Hell. That's where we're going."
"I always heard it was paved with good intentions," said Simon.
"Place your feet upon the way and find out, Daylighter," said the Queen.
Jace twisted the tip of the blade in her back. "What will stop you from telling Sebastian we've come after him the moment we leave you?"
The Queen made no noise of pain; only her lips thinned. She looked old in that moment, despite the youth and beauty of her face. "You ask a fine question. And even if you kill me, there are those in my Court who will speak to him of you, and he will guess your intentions, for he is clever. You cannot evade his knowing, save you kill all the Fair Folk in my Court."
Jace paused. He held the seraph blade in his hand, the tip pressed up against the Seelie Queen's back. Its light flared up onto his face, carving out its features in peaks and valleys, the sharpness of cheekbones and the angle of jaw. It caught the tips of his hair and licked them with fire, as if he were wearing a crown of burning thorns.
They all watched him, silently, giving him their trust. Whatever decision he made, they would stand behind it.
"Come, now," said the Queen. "You do not have the stomach for so much killing. You were always Valentine's gentlest child." Her eyes lingered a moment on Clary, gleeful.
"Swear," said Jace. "I know what promises mean to your people. I know you cannot lie. Swear you will say nothing of us to Sebastian, nor will you allow anyone in your court to do the same."
"I swear," said the Queen. "I swear that no one in my court by word or deed will tell him that you came here."
Jace stepped away from the Queen, lowering his blade to his side. "I know you think you are sending us to our deaths," he said. "But we will not die so easily. We will not lose this war. And when we are victorious, we shall make you and your people bleed for what you have done."
The Queen's smile left her face. They turned away from her and started down the path to Edom, silently.
The corridor curved far away into the distance, seeming as if it had been hollowed out of the rock around it by fire. As the five of them went forward, moving in total silence, the pale stone walls around them darkened, stained here and there by streaks of charcoaled blackness, as if the rock itself had burned. The smooth floor began to give way to a rockier one, grit crunching under their boot heels. The phosphorescence in the walls started to dim, and Alec drew his witchlight from his pocket and raised it overhead.
A moment after, Clary tapped Isabelle on the shoulder and whispered to her, "There's someone here. Or something."
Isabelle didn't reply, only turned to her brother and made a gesture at him — a complicated movement of fingers. Alec's eyes showed his comprehension, and he turned immediately to Jace. Years of practice melding them into a unit that thought together, moved together, breathed together, fought together.
Alec swung his hand down suddenly, dousing the light. A flash and a spark, and Isabelle was gone from Clary's side. She darted forward, and flung her whip out. There was a yelp as it tangled up around its target.
"Stop!" Simon called, and light exploded all around them. It was as if a camera flash had gone off. Jace holding his witchlight, the glow radiating around him like the light of a small sun. Alec, his bow raised and notched. Isabelle, the handle of her whip tight in one hand, the whip itself curled around the ankles of a slight figure hunched against the cave wall — a boy, with pale-blond hair that curled over his slightly pointed ears —
"Oh, my God," Clary whispered, shoving her weapon back into her belt and pressing forward. "Isabelle — stop. It's all right," she said, moving toward the boy. His clothes were torn and dirty, his feet bare and black with filth. His arms were bare, too, and on them were the marks of runes. Shadowhunter runes.
"By the Angel." Isabelle's whip slithered back into her grasp. Alec's bow fell to his side. The boy lifted his head and scowled.
"You're a Shadowhunter?" Jace said in an incredulous tone.
The boy scowled again, more ferociously. There was anger in his look, but more than that, there was grief and fear. There was no doubting who he was. He had the same fine features as his sister, the same angled chin and hair like bleached wheat, curling at the tips. He was about sixteen, Isabelle remembered. He looked younger.
"It's Mark Blackthorn," Clary said. "Helen's brother. Look at his face. Look at his hand."
For a moment, Mark looked confused. Clary touched her own ring finger, and his eyes lit with comprehension. He held out his thin right hand. On the fourth finger the family ring of the Blackthorns, with its design of intertwined thorns, glittered.
"How did you get here?" Jace said. "How did you know how to find us?"
"I was with the Hunters underground," Mark said in a low voice. "I heard Gwyn talking to some of the others about how you'd shown up in the Queen's chamber. I sneaked away from the Hunters, they weren't paying attention to me. I was looking for you and I ended up — here." He gestured to the tunnel around them. "I had to talk to you. I had to know about my family." His face was in shadow, but they saw his features tighten. "The faeries told me they were all dead. Is it true?"
There was a shocked silence. Isabelle instinctively cast her gaze down.
"It's true," Mark said, "isn't it? My family —"
"Your father was Turned. But your brothers and sisters are alive," Clary said. "They're in Idris. They escaped. They're fine."
If they had expected Mark to look relieved, they were disappointed. He went white. "What?"
"Julian, Helen, the others — they're all alive." Clary put her hand on his shoulder; he flinched away. "They're alive, and they're worried about you."
"Clary," Jace said, a warning in his voice.
Clary shot a look at him over her shoulder.
"Have you eaten anything, drunk anything since the Fair Folk took you?" Jace asked, moving to peer into Mark's face. Mark jerked away, but not before Clary heard Jace's sharp intake of breath.
"What is it?" Isabelle demanded.
"His eyes," Jace said, raising his witchlight and shining it into Mark's face. Mark scowled again but allowed Jace to examine him. His eyes were large, long-lashed, like Helen's; unlike hers, his were mismatched. One was Blackthorn blue, the color of water. The other was gold, hazed through with shadows, a darker version of Jace's own.
Jace swallowed visibly. "The Wild Hunt," he said. "You're one of them now."
Jace was scanning the boy with his eyes, as if Mark were a book he could read. "Put your hands out," Jace said finally, and Mark did so. Jace caught them and turned them over, baring the other boy's wrists. He was wearing only a T-shirt, and his bare forearms were striped with bloody whip marks. Clary gasped. "When did this happen?"
Mark pulled his hands away. They were shaking. "Meliorn did it," he said. "When he first took me. He said he'd stop if I ate and drank their food, so I did. I didn't think it mattered, if my family was dead. And I thought faeries couldn't lie."
"Meliorn can," said Alec grimly. "Or at least, he could."
"When did this all happen?" Isabelle demanded. "The faeries only took you less than a week ago —"
Mark shook his head. "I've been with the Folk for a long time," he said. "I couldn't say how long."
"Time runs differently in Faerie," Alec said. "Sometimes faster, sometimes slower."
Mark said, "Gwyn told me I belonged to the Hunt and I couldn't leave them unless they allowed me to go. Is that true?"
"It's true," Jace said.
Mark slumped against the cave wall. He turned his head toward Clary. "You saw them. You saw my brothers and sisters. And Emma?"
"They're all right, all of them, Emma, too," Clary said.
"Helen can't take care of them. Not alone," Mark said a little desperately. "And Jules, he's too young. He can't take care of Ty; he doesn't know the things he needs. He doesn't know how to talk to him —" He took a shuddering breath. "You should let me come with you."
"You know you can't," said Jace, though he couldn't look Mark in the face; he was staring at the ground. "If you've sworn fealty to the Wild Hunt, you're one of them."
"Take me with you," Mark repeated. He had the stunned, bewildered look of someone who had been mortally injured but didn't yet realize the extent of the injury. "I don't want to be one of them. I want to be with my family —"
"We're going to Hell," Clary said. "We couldn't bring you with us, even if you could leave Faerie safely —"
"And you can't," Alec said. "If you try to leave, you'll die."
"I'd rather die," Mark said, and Jace's head whipped up. His eyes were bright gold, almost too bright, as if the fire inside him were spilling out through them. "They took you because you have faerie blood, but also because you have Shadowhunter blood. They want to punish the Nephilim," Jace said, his gaze intent. "Show them what a Shadowhunter is made of; show them you aren't afraid. You can live through this."
In the wavering illumination of the witchlight, Mark looked at Jace. Tears had made their tracks through the dirt on his face, but his eyes were dry. "I don't know what to do," he said. "What do I do?"
"Find a way to warn the Nephilim," Jace said. "We're going into Hell, like Clary said. We might never come back. Someone has to tell the Shadowhunters the Fair Folk are not their allies."
"The Hunters will catch me if I try to send a message." The boy's eyes flashed. "They'll kill me."
"Not if you're fast and smart," said Jace. "You can do it. I know you can."
"Jace," Alec said, his bow at his side. "Jace, we need to let him go before the Hunt notice he's missing."
"Right," Jace said, and hesitated. He took Mark's hand; he pressed his witchlight into the boy's palm, where it flickered, and then resumed its steady glow. "Take this with you," said Jace, "for it can be dark in the land under the hill, and the years very long."
Mark stood for a moment, the rune-stone in his hand.
"Mark —" Clary whispered, and cut herself off; he was gone. The shadows swallowed him up, only the darting will-o'-the-wisp light of the rune-stone visible, until it too blended with the darkness. She looked up at Jace. "What did you mean, 'the land under the hill'?" she asked. "Why did you say that?"
Jace didn't answer her; he looked stunned. "The land under the hill is Faerie," said Alec in his stead. "An old, old name for it. He'll be all right," he said to Jace. "He will."
"You gave him your witchlight," Isabelle said. "You've always had that witchlight —"
"Screw the witchlight," Jace said violently, and slammed his hand against the wall of the cave; there was a brief flare of light, and he drew his arm back. The mark of his hand was burned black into the stone of the tunnel, and his palm still glowed, as if the blood in his fingers were phosphorus. He gave an odd, choked laugh. "I don't exactly need it, anyway."
"Jace," Clary said, and put her hand on his arm. He didn't move away from her, but he didn't react, either. She dropped her voice. "You can't save everyone," she said.
"Maybe not," he said as the light in his hand dimmed. "But it would be nice to save someone for a change."
"Guys," Simon said. He'd been oddly quiet throughout the encounter with Mark. "I don't know if you can see it, but there's something — something at the end of the tunnel."
"A light?" Jace said, his voice edged with sarcasm. His eyes glittered.
"The opposite." Simon moved forward, and after a hesitant moment Clary took her hand from Jace's arm, and followed him. The disappeared down the tunnel, which went straight on ahead and then jogged slightly. They followed, and at the curve they saw what Simon must have seen, and stopped dead. Darkness. The tunnel ended in a whirling vortex of darkness. Something moved in it, shaping the dark like the wind shaping clouds. They could hear it too, the purr and rumble of the dark, like the sound of jet engines.
Together they all stood in a line, watching the dark. Watching it move. A curtain of shadow, and beyond it the utter unknown.
It was Alec who spoke, staring, awed, at the moving shadows. The air that blew down the corridor was stinging hot, like pepper thrown into the heart of a fire. "This," he said, "is the craziest thing we've ever done."
"What if we can't ever come back?" Isabelle said. The Sensor she'd taken from the Inquisitor's house – a cold thing lacking all the elegance of her own ruby which now hung around Flick's neck, far away and safe from harm – pulsed in her pocket. Except it was more like it was vibrating, the pulses coming in quick succession. This was the road to a demon realm.
"Then at least we'll be together," Clary said, and looked around at her companions. She reached out and took Jace's hand, and Simon's hand on the other side of her, and held them tight. "We go through together, and on the other side we stay together," she said. "All right?"
None of them answered, but Isabelle took Simon's other hand, and Alec took Jace's. They all stood for a moment, staring.
And then they stepped forward, and the shadows swallowed them up.
[ooc: NFB, NFI, OOC-okay, CoHF, probably one of three today? Warning for NPC death.]