The Lost Book of the White

“So now what?” said Alec.

“Reports vary,” said Isabelle dryly.

“Nobody knows, because nobody’s been there since Yanluo died,” Simon added.

“Sammael could be trying to gain energy from all the soul torturing,” Alec offered.

“That seems like a lot of work,” Magnus said, frowning. “I’ve never thought of Sammael as the kind to run a civil service. He could just be squatting there.”

Clary looked troubled. “I feel like I should ask,” she said. “If we find an open Portal to Diyu, are we going to… go through it?”

Before anyone could answer, the front doors burst open and Tian came running up to them. He sounded out of breath.

“I hoped I’d find you here,” he said, without preamble. “Jinfeng’s parents want to see you at once. They said it’s important. They said, ‘The one with the chains must arm himself.’ ”

Everyone except Alec and Magnus looked baffled.

“What chains?” said Jace.

Magnus sighed and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it open to reveal the angry red chains extending from his wound and disappearing into his sleeves. Alec could not say for sure, but he thought they had become more well-defined than before. And had there also been chains extending down toward his legs and up toward his throat before? He couldn’t remember.

The other Shadowhunters stared at Magnus.

The bespectacled goblin who had yelled at Simon appeared unexpectedly beside them. He spoke in a hissed stage whisper. “I am sorry, but I must ask you to leave. You’re disturbing the other customers. They’re not used to Shadowhunters in the first place, and now you’re taking off your clothes—”

“Got it,” said Alec. “We were just leaving.”

“The Cold Peace says we’re allowed to prevent you from coming entirely,” the goblin went on. He had clearly prepared a speech and was going to deliver it no matter what. “But we said no, the Palace is a neutral territory, all of the Shadow World should be welcome. But we didn’t mean for a whole… squad of Nephilim to—”

“Yes, yes,” Alec said. “We’re going.” He began herding them toward the doors.

“Also,” the goblin continued, “this isn’t a lending library. Those books are for sale, and now we’ll have to reshelve all of them—”

Magnus had been slowly buttoning his shirt back up. Now he turned and put his hand on the goblin’s shoulder in a friendly manner. The faerie looked at it as if it were a poisonous snake. “Sir, my apologies for my companions,” he said. “I take full responsibility. They were only helping me with some of my research. I’m Magnus Bane, High Warlock of New York, and I’m going to buy all of these.”

The goblin looked suspicious. “I know of you. You’re only the High Warlock of Brooklyn.”

“Technicalities,” said Magnus. “The point is, sir—may I know your name?”

The goblin sniffed. “Well, if you must know. It’s Kethryllianalæmacisii.”

“Really?” said Magnus. “Well, anyway, Keth—may I call you Keth?”

“You may not.”

Magnus pressed on. “If you’ll just ring all of these up and have the bill sent to the Spiral Labyrinth. The books can be delivered to the Mansion Hotel, if you will.”

Simon had helpfully piled the books into a single large stack and presented them to Kethryllianalæmacisii, who staggered a bit under the weight, but was clearly not about to lose a decent-size sale to the Spiral Labyrinth. “Of course, Mr. Bane,” he said, through clenched teeth. “But if that’s all, my staff and I would appreciate—”

“Yes,” said Magnus, “we were just leaving.”

“Sorry,” said Simon to the goblin, who made a hissing noise at him.

Looking a bit dazed, Tian led them out of the store. When the doors opened, a bird in a cage above it sang a snatch of song, haunting and sweet. “Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild!”

On the steps outside, Alec said to Magnus, “Can you really bill things to the Spiral Labyrinth?”

“Let’s find out!” Magnus said. “Now, I’ve heard the one with chains must arm himself, so Tian, lead the way.”

CHAPTER TEN The Black and White Impermanence

THEY FOLLOWED TIAN THROUGH UNFAMILIAR streets of the Shadow Concession. Vines stretched in dense tangles between the buildings, forming a kind of canopy over their heads. The light that filtered through to the street below was cool and gentle. The group passed a selkie selling silkie chicken soup, and a fey-made river garlanded with moonflowers in which mermaids sang. Magnus stopped walking and smiled at them, listening. He wanted to see his child. He wanted to crawl into bed with Alec and cuddle and sleep. He let the song flow through his mind, reminding him of visits to China long before any of his companions’ grandparents’ grandparents were born. He closed his eyes, and after a moment felt Alec’s hand on his back—not hurrying him on, just connecting to him.

“ ‘Chun Jiang Hua Yue Ye,’ ” he said to Alec. “ ‘A Night of Blossoms on a Moonlit Spring River.’ A song older than me.”

He began humming to himself, his eyes still closed. Let the others wait. Why had he never brought Alec here just for a visit? If his friends weren’t in danger, he would have drawn Alec down to dance by the glowing river’s edge, teaching him the words and the tune.

Instead, the one with chains had to arm himself.

* * *

THERE WAS NO MISTAKING THE smithy for any other building. It stood just off the main square of the Sunlit Market, and it was surrounded by a fearsome wall of dozens of long spears lashed together. Which made sense, Alec thought.

Tian led them through a gate in the fence, which opened to his touch with a chime like faerie bells. As they passed through, Jace ran his finger over one of the wavy spearheads admiringly, and Tian noticed.

“Look how the curves of each blade are identical,” he said. “The skill of these smiths is unparalleled anywhere in China.”

“Would you say those are qiang or mao?” Jace said.

Tian looked surprised. “Maybe mao? But you’d have to ask the smiths. You know Chinese weapons?”

“Jace knows all the weapons,” said Clary in a long-suffering tone, but she smiled.

Alec followed Tian inside, expecting gleaming walls of weapons in luxuriant display cases. As much as he teased Jace about his weapons obsession, there was a tickle in the back of his mind about faerie bows, and weren’t chain whips a traditional Chinese martial arts weapon? Maybe a gift for Isabelle…

Inside, however, he saw no weapons beautifully displayed—in fact, he saw no weapons at all. Instead a very, very old man and woman sat on stools in an empty stone room, lit by braziers. Between them stood a cook fire, bearing a clay cauldron that the woman was stirring.

The Shadowhunters filed into the room and looked around in confusion.

The man and woman looked up. “Oh, Tian!” said the woman. “These must be your friends.”

“We hear you’re going into Diyu!” said the man.

“We have not decided to do that,” Alec said hastily. “It was under discussion.”

Tian said, “Mo Ye, Gan Jiang, I’d like to introduce—” He took a deep breath and named all of them in a row, from right to left, without taking a second breath. Alec was impressed. “Everyone,” Tian went on, “these are Gan Jiang and Mo Ye, the greatest living faerie weaponsmiths.”

“Nonsense!” said Gan Jiang. “We’re also better than any of the dead ones.”

“We hear you got stuck with a Svefnthorn!” said Mo Ye eagerly. “We have another Svefnthorn in the back somewhere, if you want it.”

“No, we don’t,” said Gan Jiang. “Don’t listen to her. The last time I saw that Svefnthorn, Shanghai wasn’t even founded. It’s somewhere under the mountain, but who knows where? Not me and not her either, I bet.”

“Um, honorable… I’m sorry, I don’t know the right terminology,” Magnus said, “but you said something about the chained one and how I needed to be armed? And, well—” He began unbuttoning his shirt.

“Stop!” said Mo Ye. “No need to disrobe. We already know. Here.” She reached into the clay pot she’d been stirring with both hands and drew from it two swords, neither of which could possibly have fit into the pot. For all their humble surroundings, Alec thought, faeries couldn’t resist a performance.

Mo Ye laid the swords across the top of the clay bowl. They were clearly a match, identical longswords except for their color: one had a blade of deep black obsidian, its hilt shining white metal, and the other was the reverse, its hilt in black and its blade in white.

Magnus looked at them, then up at the faeries. “I’m not really a sword guy,” he said.

“They’re not swords,” said Gan Jiang. “They’re gods.”

“They’re keys,” added Mo Ye.

“No offense,” said Jace, “but they really look like swords.”

“The Heibai Wuchang,” said Gan Jiang. “The Black Impermanence and the White Impermanence.”

Tian said quietly, in an awed tone, “They guide the souls of the dead to Diyu.”

“They did,” said Mo Ye. “Until their master, Yama, was destroyed.”

“That’s Yanluo,” whispered Tian.

“They flew free of Diyu, unfettered and broken—” said Gan Jiang.

“Until we found them and made them into swords,” finished Mo Ye. “You’ll need them,” she added to Magnus, “to guide your soul to Diyu.”

“Again,” Alec said. “We’re really not sure about going to Diyu. We try to avoid hell dimensions whenever possible.”

Gan Jiang smiled at him as if he were a child. “And you’ll need them if you ever want to get out again.”