Queen of Air and Darkness
Page 158
Jace hadn’t been. The field was starting to roil in chaos, werewolves and warlocks, faeries and Shadowhunters, turning to look at Magnus as blue-black magic unfurled from his hands, spreading into the sky.
The sky itself began to darken. It was as if a sheet were being drawn across it: Light filtered down, but not all light—a dim bluish light like the illumination of stars or moonshine. Gwyn and Diana circled against the darkening sky.
Magnus began to sway. Jace sensed Alec tensing up. This was immense magic—the kind that could drain a warlock’s power.
Another figure stepped from the woods. A man with green skin and curling horns, hair as white as Catarina’s. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt with white lettering.
He placed his hand on Magnus’s shoulder.
“Is that Ragnor Fell in a ‘Ragnor Lives’ T-shirt?” said Clary in amazement. Ragnor was one of Magnus’s oldest friends and had spent several years pretending to be dead and then several more pretending to be a warlock called Shade. Jace and Clary had good cause to know him well.
“I wouldn’t wear a ‘Simon Lives’ T-shirt to a battle,” said Simon, who was standing within earshot. “Seems like asking for trouble.”
Alec laughed. “I think he’ll be okay,” he said as Ragnor held fast to Magnus and Magnus raised his hands, releasing more blue-black light. “He’s just giving Magnus some of his strength.”
The sky had turned dark as sunset, without the gleam of the setting sun. Magnus lowered his hands as from the woods behind him, protected by the new darkness, exploded the vampires—Lily in the lead, racing across the field to join the battle.
“I know what you said,” said Jace, watching as the vampires closed the gap between themselves and the Cohort, “but did the vampires get the memo about not killing Shadowhunters?”
Alec grinned.
* * *
“By the Angel!” Aline swore, her mouth dropping open.
Helen whipped around, raising her sword. Fighting alongside the people you loved was always terrifying. You weren’t just battling to protect yourself; you were fighting for them as well. She would have battled a Greater Demon bare-handed to save Aline.
Aline caught at Helen’s sword arm. “My mom!” She was almost incoherent. “They’re coming out of the city—and my mom is with them!”
The gates of Alicante had been thrown wide and Shadowhunters were pouring through. At the head of the cavalcade she could see Jia, dressed in battle gear with a massive curved dao in her hand and Centurions—Diego, Rayan, Divya, and others—on either side of her. Scariest mother-in-law ever, Helen thought.
Helen and Aline raced toward the new arrivals. As they got closer, Aline broke free and ran to throw her arms around her mother. Jia lowered her sword and hugged her daughter fiercely with her free arm, their dark heads bent together.
“Where’s Dad?” Aline said, drawing back to study her mother’s face.
“Still in the city. He’s coordinating with Carmen Mendoza and the Silent Brothers to make sure that people inside stay safe.”
“But how did you get out of the Gard?” Aline asked.
Jia almost smiled. “Drusilla let us out last night. She’s a very enterprising child! Speaking of Blackthorns, Helen, come here.”
A little hesitant, Helen approached Jia. She’d always thought her mother-in-law was impressive, but she’d never been more intimidating than in this moment.
Jia put an arm around her and hugged her so tightly Helen remembered her own mother Eleanor and the strength of her embrace. “My darling, you’ve done such a wonderful job at the Institute,” Jia said. “I am so proud.”
Divya sniffled. “That is so sweet.”
Jia ended the hug, all business again. “All right, everyone, enough gawking. We are entering a battle, one where we will be fighting other Shadowhunters. Ones we would prefer not to kill. We need to make a Malachi Configuration.”
Helen dimly remembered what a Malachi Configuration was—a temporary magical prison created by adamas and runes. It was sometimes used by the Inquisitor or the Silent Brothers when they had no other way to hold a prisoner.
Diego responded first. “On it!” He grabbed a seraph blade and crossed over into the edge of the Fields before kneeling to stab it into the earth. “I’ll take north; Divya, you go south; Rayan, go east. We need to mark the four cardinal directions.”
“Bossy, bossy,” said Divya, but she was smiling. Aline moved to help as well, going to the western point. The rest of the newcomers were drawing weapons. Jaime had his crossbow out and was clearly itching to jump into the fight.
Jia said, “Remember what Drusilla said about the Watch’s plan. Try not to kill Cohort members if you have a choice. Herd them back here toward the configuration. They’re still Shadowhunters, even if they are misguided.”
With whoops and cries the Shadowhunters raced onto the field and plunged into the battle just as a sweet chiming noise sounded and the Malachi Configuration flared up.
Light poured from the four angel blades, forming a cage whose walls were made of shifting light. It looked delicate as butterfly wings, prismatic as glass. Helen gazed at the configuration and hoped that their plan to spare the lives of the Cohort would not be in vain. The luminous walls of the prison looked too fragile to hold so much hate.
* * *
“Let me go!” Kit yelled. He knew it wouldn’t do much good. Emma had him firmly by the back of the shirt and was marching him along the edge of the forest, keeping to the shadows. She looked absolutely furious.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded. She held her golden sword in her free hand, her gaze darting around in mingled anger and watchfulness. “When I saw you I almost had a heart attack! You’re supposed to be at camp!”
“What about Ty?” Kit said, twisting against Emma’s iron grip. “He’s back there! He’s up a tree. We can’t just leave him alone.”
Something whistled over their heads, and an approaching ogre went down in a heap, a neat circle punched into the middle of its forehead.
“He seems to be doing fine,” Emma said dryly. “Besides, I promised Tessa I wouldn’t let you near battles or faeries and this is a battle full of faeries. She’s going to kill me.”
Kit was stung. “Why no battles or faeries? I’m not that bad of a fighter!”
Emma swung him around so he faced her, thankfully letting go of the back of his shirt as she did so. “It’s not about that!” she said angrily. Her gear was dirty and bloodstained, her face scratched and cut. Kit wondered where Julian was—parabatai usually fought in battle together, didn’t they?
“I don’t see what’s so important about me,” Kit said.
“You’re more important than you think,” Emma said. Her eyes went suddenly wide. “Oh no.”
“What?” Kit looked around wildly. At first he saw nothing unusual—or at least, nothing unusual for a huge ongoing brawl between faeries and Shadowhunters.
Then a shadow fell over them, and he realized.
The last time he had seen the Riders of Mannan had been in London. There were six of them now, gleaming in bronze and gold; their horses were shod with gold and silver, their eyes inky black. The Riders wore armor without joints or rivets to hold it together—a smooth, liquidy bronze that covered them from neck to foot like the gleaming carapaces of insects.
“Get behind me, Kit.” Emma had gone pale. She stepped in front of Kit, lifting Cortana. “Stay down. They’re probably coming for me, not you.”
The Riders hurtled toward them, like a shower of falling stars. They were beautiful and awful. Kit had taken only the Herondale dagger Jace had given him. He realized now how unprepared he had been. How foolish.
One of the Riders jerked and yelled, clasping at his arm. Ty’s slingshot, Kit realized, and felt a rush of reluctant warmth and a sudden stab of fear—what if he never saw Ty again?
The struck Rider spat a curse; they were almost overhead, and Kit saw their faces—their bronze hair, their sharp cold features.
“Six of you against one?” Emma shouted, the wind whipping her hair. “Are you that dishonorable? Come down one by one and fight me! I dare you!”
The sky itself began to darken. It was as if a sheet were being drawn across it: Light filtered down, but not all light—a dim bluish light like the illumination of stars or moonshine. Gwyn and Diana circled against the darkening sky.
Magnus began to sway. Jace sensed Alec tensing up. This was immense magic—the kind that could drain a warlock’s power.
Another figure stepped from the woods. A man with green skin and curling horns, hair as white as Catarina’s. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt with white lettering.
He placed his hand on Magnus’s shoulder.
“Is that Ragnor Fell in a ‘Ragnor Lives’ T-shirt?” said Clary in amazement. Ragnor was one of Magnus’s oldest friends and had spent several years pretending to be dead and then several more pretending to be a warlock called Shade. Jace and Clary had good cause to know him well.
“I wouldn’t wear a ‘Simon Lives’ T-shirt to a battle,” said Simon, who was standing within earshot. “Seems like asking for trouble.”
Alec laughed. “I think he’ll be okay,” he said as Ragnor held fast to Magnus and Magnus raised his hands, releasing more blue-black light. “He’s just giving Magnus some of his strength.”
The sky had turned dark as sunset, without the gleam of the setting sun. Magnus lowered his hands as from the woods behind him, protected by the new darkness, exploded the vampires—Lily in the lead, racing across the field to join the battle.
“I know what you said,” said Jace, watching as the vampires closed the gap between themselves and the Cohort, “but did the vampires get the memo about not killing Shadowhunters?”
Alec grinned.
* * *
“By the Angel!” Aline swore, her mouth dropping open.
Helen whipped around, raising her sword. Fighting alongside the people you loved was always terrifying. You weren’t just battling to protect yourself; you were fighting for them as well. She would have battled a Greater Demon bare-handed to save Aline.
Aline caught at Helen’s sword arm. “My mom!” She was almost incoherent. “They’re coming out of the city—and my mom is with them!”
The gates of Alicante had been thrown wide and Shadowhunters were pouring through. At the head of the cavalcade she could see Jia, dressed in battle gear with a massive curved dao in her hand and Centurions—Diego, Rayan, Divya, and others—on either side of her. Scariest mother-in-law ever, Helen thought.
Helen and Aline raced toward the new arrivals. As they got closer, Aline broke free and ran to throw her arms around her mother. Jia lowered her sword and hugged her daughter fiercely with her free arm, their dark heads bent together.
“Where’s Dad?” Aline said, drawing back to study her mother’s face.
“Still in the city. He’s coordinating with Carmen Mendoza and the Silent Brothers to make sure that people inside stay safe.”
“But how did you get out of the Gard?” Aline asked.
Jia almost smiled. “Drusilla let us out last night. She’s a very enterprising child! Speaking of Blackthorns, Helen, come here.”
A little hesitant, Helen approached Jia. She’d always thought her mother-in-law was impressive, but she’d never been more intimidating than in this moment.
Jia put an arm around her and hugged her so tightly Helen remembered her own mother Eleanor and the strength of her embrace. “My darling, you’ve done such a wonderful job at the Institute,” Jia said. “I am so proud.”
Divya sniffled. “That is so sweet.”
Jia ended the hug, all business again. “All right, everyone, enough gawking. We are entering a battle, one where we will be fighting other Shadowhunters. Ones we would prefer not to kill. We need to make a Malachi Configuration.”
Helen dimly remembered what a Malachi Configuration was—a temporary magical prison created by adamas and runes. It was sometimes used by the Inquisitor or the Silent Brothers when they had no other way to hold a prisoner.
Diego responded first. “On it!” He grabbed a seraph blade and crossed over into the edge of the Fields before kneeling to stab it into the earth. “I’ll take north; Divya, you go south; Rayan, go east. We need to mark the four cardinal directions.”
“Bossy, bossy,” said Divya, but she was smiling. Aline moved to help as well, going to the western point. The rest of the newcomers were drawing weapons. Jaime had his crossbow out and was clearly itching to jump into the fight.
Jia said, “Remember what Drusilla said about the Watch’s plan. Try not to kill Cohort members if you have a choice. Herd them back here toward the configuration. They’re still Shadowhunters, even if they are misguided.”
With whoops and cries the Shadowhunters raced onto the field and plunged into the battle just as a sweet chiming noise sounded and the Malachi Configuration flared up.
Light poured from the four angel blades, forming a cage whose walls were made of shifting light. It looked delicate as butterfly wings, prismatic as glass. Helen gazed at the configuration and hoped that their plan to spare the lives of the Cohort would not be in vain. The luminous walls of the prison looked too fragile to hold so much hate.
* * *
“Let me go!” Kit yelled. He knew it wouldn’t do much good. Emma had him firmly by the back of the shirt and was marching him along the edge of the forest, keeping to the shadows. She looked absolutely furious.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded. She held her golden sword in her free hand, her gaze darting around in mingled anger and watchfulness. “When I saw you I almost had a heart attack! You’re supposed to be at camp!”
“What about Ty?” Kit said, twisting against Emma’s iron grip. “He’s back there! He’s up a tree. We can’t just leave him alone.”
Something whistled over their heads, and an approaching ogre went down in a heap, a neat circle punched into the middle of its forehead.
“He seems to be doing fine,” Emma said dryly. “Besides, I promised Tessa I wouldn’t let you near battles or faeries and this is a battle full of faeries. She’s going to kill me.”
Kit was stung. “Why no battles or faeries? I’m not that bad of a fighter!”
Emma swung him around so he faced her, thankfully letting go of the back of his shirt as she did so. “It’s not about that!” she said angrily. Her gear was dirty and bloodstained, her face scratched and cut. Kit wondered where Julian was—parabatai usually fought in battle together, didn’t they?
“I don’t see what’s so important about me,” Kit said.
“You’re more important than you think,” Emma said. Her eyes went suddenly wide. “Oh no.”
“What?” Kit looked around wildly. At first he saw nothing unusual—or at least, nothing unusual for a huge ongoing brawl between faeries and Shadowhunters.
Then a shadow fell over them, and he realized.
The last time he had seen the Riders of Mannan had been in London. There were six of them now, gleaming in bronze and gold; their horses were shod with gold and silver, their eyes inky black. The Riders wore armor without joints or rivets to hold it together—a smooth, liquidy bronze that covered them from neck to foot like the gleaming carapaces of insects.
“Get behind me, Kit.” Emma had gone pale. She stepped in front of Kit, lifting Cortana. “Stay down. They’re probably coming for me, not you.”
The Riders hurtled toward them, like a shower of falling stars. They were beautiful and awful. Kit had taken only the Herondale dagger Jace had given him. He realized now how unprepared he had been. How foolish.
One of the Riders jerked and yelled, clasping at his arm. Ty’s slingshot, Kit realized, and felt a rush of reluctant warmth and a sudden stab of fear—what if he never saw Ty again?
The struck Rider spat a curse; they were almost overhead, and Kit saw their faces—their bronze hair, their sharp cold features.
“Six of you against one?” Emma shouted, the wind whipping her hair. “Are you that dishonorable? Come down one by one and fight me! I dare you!”
