The Lost Book of the White

Alec knew that hunger was for the Svefnthorn’s third strike, and he shuddered. It was easy to celebrate that they had saved Simon, that Tian hadn’t betrayed them, that he had rescued Isabelle. That they were, at this instant, out of harm’s way. It was easy to assume that they would find some solution for Magnus, some way to draw the thorn out of him, some loophole in the magic. But Simon was right: Sometimes things went bad. Sometimes there was suffering. Sometimes there was death. It was too late for Ragnor, for Shinyun, but what about Magnus?

Tian said, “May I see your sword?”

Alec shrugged and drew Black Impermanence. He handed it to Tian, who held the two swords next to one another and examined them.

“Do you know what it is you’re wielding?” he said to both of them.

Alec thought. “Gan Jiang and Mo Ye… they said they weren’t swords—they were gods.”

“They’re clearly swords,” said Magnus. “Alec has been cutting through demons with his all day.”

“They also said they were keys,” said Alec.

Tian rolled his eyes. “They like being cryptic, Gan Jiang and Mo Ye. I guess they think it’s their prerogative, given their age. I don’t know what it means that they’re keys,” he admitted. “But they are gods. I meant to talk to you about it before…” He trailed off, not saying, before Sammael revealed that I was working for him. “But if we’re heading toward a confrontation… you should know something of what they are. They may be our strongest weapon in this place.”

“Maybe this is a stupid question,” said Alec, “but if they’re swords, how are they also gods?”

“The Heibai Wuchang,” said Tian, “were a god in black, and a god in white, and long ago, they were responsible for escorting the spirits of the dead to Diyu. There are hundreds of stories about them, from all over China, but they are from long before the Nephilim, so we have no idea which, if any, are true.”

“All the stories are true,” Alec murmured to himself, and Magnus heard and quirked his mouth in a small smile.

“The faeries say that the Heibai Wuchang grew tired of being constantly bothered by mortals, who sought them out to ask for their wishes to be granted, and they retreated into these swords.” Tian shook his head. “I don’t know what it means that we have brought them back to their original home in Diyu, but if the smiths thought it was wisdom to do so, they must have had a reason.”

“Maybe they thought the swords could hurt Sammael?” Alec suggested.

“Maybe they unlock a door and then we kick Sammael through it?” Magnus offered.

Tian said, “I don’t know. I just thought that you should know what it is you’re wielding. Who you’re wielding.” He held up the black sword and handed it back to Alec. “Fan Wujiu. Meaning: there is no salvation for evildoers.” He handed the white sword to Magnus. “Xie Bi’an: be at peace, all those who atone.”

“Some disagreement between the two of them, I see,” Magnus said.

But Tian shook his head. “I don’t think so. In some stories they are referred to as one being. Whatever they are, they are supposed to be in balance with one another.”

“Aw, just like us,” Magnus said, winking at Alec.

Alec did think of himself and Magnus as in balance, at least under normal circumstances. But was that still true? The thorn had invaded Magnus’s body, had thrust him in the direction of its will—of Sammael’s will, Alec reminded himself. Magnus was still Magnus, of course, but he was changing, and they didn’t know of any way to change him back.

Alec strapped Black Impermanence—Fan Wujiu—back on and said to Tian, “Thanks. Now I’m prepared just in case my sword suddenly turns into a dude.”

Tian said, “You never know.” He looked out on the open space of the cathedral stretching behind them. “We should get some rest. This may be our only chance for it before we have to go back to the fight.”

“There aren’t going to be a lot of comfortable places here for shut-eye,” said Magnus.

Tian said scornfully, “We’re Shadowhunters. We can manage to rest even in the depths of Hell.”

He made his way down the steps and disappeared deeper into the church. Alec turned to Magnus and said, “Shall we find a place to sleep too?”

“Let’s,” said Magnus, a small gleam in his eye.

* * *

THE OTHERS HAD GONE TO the far ends of the cathedral’s main floor, it seemed, so Magnus directed Alec downstairs, into the vaults. Magnus lit a globe of light to guide them down the stone steps and into a small room off the hallway that extended the length of the building. The globe of light was bright and scarlet, and washed the color from Alec’s face as he walked next to Magnus, quiet and seemingly lost in thought.

The room was probably an office, in the real cathedral, but here in Diyu it was just another empty box, with a marble floor and whitewashed stone walls.

“Cozy,” said Alec. “Do you think you could summon some comfy blankets?”

Magnus cocked an eyebrow. “From where, exactly? I got the rice and water from offerings to the dead, but the pickings are slim down here for luxury items.”

Alec shrugged. “The… Hell of Comfy Blankets?”

Magnus thought. “I could… summon one of those nine-headed birds and we could try to pull off its feathers? No, they probably wouldn’t smell very good. Wait.”

“What?”

Magnus giggled to himself and summoned himself a blanket from the one place in Diyu whose occupant he knew would prioritize a pleasant sleep experience.

A red brocade duvet popped into the room, in a puff of crimson smoke. It was lined with gold tassels.

“Is it a coincidence,” said Alec, “that the duvet is the same color as your magic?”

“I… don’t know,” said Magnus.

He summoned a couple of pillows as well. Alec looked pleased.

They settled themselves down on the ground and placed themselves in their usual sleeping positions. Strange things, sleeping positions, Magnus thought. They get set at the beginning of a relationship, when nobody is thinking about it, and then they are set forever. But now it was true: if Magnus was in bed, as long as Alec was lying directly to his right, there was something of home, wherever he was.

“Before you put out the light,” Alec said.

Magnus waited for the rest, but when it didn’t come, he said, “Yes?” Alec looked hesitant. “What is it?” He was beginning to be a little alarmed.

“Before you go tomorrow… to be bait.”

Magnus blinked a few times. “Are you having trouble finishing your thoughts?”

“No,” said Alec, sounding put out. “I think we should use the Alliance rune.”

“What Alliance rune?”

“The Alliance rune,” Alec said. “Clary’s Alliance rune. That allows a paired Shadowhunter and Downworlder to share power.”

Clary had invented the Alliance rune three years ago, in the Mortal War, to give Shadowhunters and Downworlders the ability to fight as a pair, sharing their skills and their strengths. Magnus vividly remembered the eve of battle years ago. He’d been jangling with nerves, the prospect of death on the battlefield before him, and he’d felt heavy with sorrow. He’d told this young Shadowhunter he loved him, but he didn’t know how that Shadowhunter truly felt about him, whether their relationship could endure or whether it was as impossible as he feared.

He’d watched the rune forming on his own skin, the intricate lines and curves of an angelic rune something he never would have thought he would bear.

But now—now it was Magnus’s turn to say, “No.”

“You don’t have to do this alone,” insisted Alec. “You should take some of my strength. I should take some of the burden of the thorn.”

“We have no idea what it would do,” said Magnus. “What it would mean for you to take some of this weird magic. It’s connected to Sammael somehow, and you’re full of, you know, angel magic. You might explode.”

Alec blinked. “I probably wouldn’t explode.”

“Who knows what could happen? Neither of us is exactly an expert on this particular magical artifact.”

“Still,” said Alec mulishly. “I think we should do it.” When Magnus didn’t say anything, he added, “If I’m going to let you go out there and demand to be attacked, at least let me share some of the burden with you.”

Magnus looked into Alec’s eyes. “If something happens to me,” he said very quietly, “Max will need you.”

“If we put the rune on and something’s going wrong,” said Alec, “we’ll scratch it out. It’ll be fine.”

Magnus sighed. “I have to give in on this,” he said, “because I said ‘it’ll be fine’ about the bait thing and you agreed, right?”

“There are some who would consider that a valid argument, yes,” said Alec.

Magnus stretched out his arm. “Okay. Why not one more totally irresponsible thing before we close out the day?”

Alec drew the strokes of the rune with attentive care, and Magnus felt the same wonder as he had years ago, the same calming of fear. On the eve of battle, amid the darkened spin of a strange infernal city: it made no difference where they were. They would fight and live and die together.

As Alec finished the last loop of the rune on his own skin, Magnus watched him carefully. After a moment he said, “How do you feel?”

Alec looked uncertain. He lifted his arm up and held it out for Magnus to see. The Angelic Power rune on the inside of his forearm was glowing, a dark but definite red color.

“That’s new,” he said.

“Other than that?”

Alec waited. “Nothing,” he said. “I feel fine.” Experimentally, he drew a quick Awareness rune on the same arm, just a simple loop and line. They both watched it for a long moment, but it just seemed to be a regular rune, behaving normally.