Part One

Forever Falling

Fear of losing

is what makes me fight

Fear of pain

is what makes me insane

~Just Amr~

"What are you?" whispered the Inquisitor, taking the stele from the folds of his burgundy cloak pointing it in the face of the young girl before him. "You, the daughter of a Blackwood, one of the seven—I refuse to believe it."

The other members of the Clave remained still with fear awaiting the decision of the Inquisitor. For the past few months the Clave was in ruins, attempting to salvage their organization after Valentine and his uprising had attempted to destroy all they stood for. Weary masks were worn by each of the members of the Clave, they couldn't survive another revolt.

Eighteen year old Iris Blackwood had never been much trouble, but today she was believed to be a threat. She shifted in the tall backed oak chair; the others in the room flinched reflexively as if she were on the brink of killing them all.

"Reveal your mark," spit the woman from across the room. Her weathered lips set in a dark purple line, "show us what you are if the Inquisitor is so inclined not to believe the words of my family." Her words were followed by the agreeing murmurs of the Clave, with this the sweat upon the Inquisitor's brow began to grow and gleam in the Witchlight. His job from the start had been tumultuous, but the killing of a young girl was far more difficult to handle than any revolt.

"Yes," his voice quavered, "show us the mark of what you are." Iris was in no position to oppose the orders of the Clave though she had no obligation to them for she was not one of them. Her parents had known what she was. It was all too apparent in her linage what she would become and what would result in the Clave finding out her secret. So they forgot the rules of the Clave and left them, becoming something that was neither Shadowhunter nor human. They had told her to never call attention upon herself and always cover her left wrist. Today she broke that rule.

Lifting up the tattered sleeve of the armor she revealed the mark of her family. It was a raised scar, much like a rune, but etched into her skin at birth. The scar was in the shape of an open eye, but lacked a pupil. In its place was the intricate web of veins that one would see if the eye looked inward. Only a member of the Tanner line would have this mark, and that is what she was, though it was not in her surname it was in the blood in her veins.

With the mark exposed the clamor of voices layered over each other filling the room till the Inquisitor slammed the end of his cane to the stone floor sending a resounding crack silencing any stray conversation.

"I will not have this disorder!" He looked deep into the cold blue eyes of the girl, he almost pitied her. "She is one of them, and we must deal with her accordingly."

"We should kill her quickly, you know of their kind adroit and swift. She could murder us all without blinking twice, we must end her now!" hissed the gaunt man toward the back.

"No what use is she to us dead, let us use her power! We can control her she is only a girl; weak and fragile" yelled the obtuse woman closest to the Inquisitor.

More cries came from the Clave; Iris tightened her grip on the hand rests of the chair. She was not the monster they saw. If they could look past the story her scar told they would see her for what she was—nothing. Just a girl and nothing more, but she knew all too well the past events linked to this mark, a mark that was worn by her great grandfather.

His name was Alaric Tanner, a fundamental part of the Clave in his day. Those who knew him before thought him to be proud and wise, they thought highly of him, little did they know he would try to kill them all. It was he who slandered the name of the Tanner's with his belief that only the pure should be allowed to survive. That Downworlders should be cast away and even those who did not live according to the Clave, but still contained Shadowhunter blood should be swept from the surface of the earth.

The war he started long ago created a rift between the Downworlders and Nephilim. He had broken every single treaty—every agreement between the two. To present day the Shadowhunters and Downworlders still hold animosity towards each other making relations between the two difficult.

"We will not kill her," the Inquisitor took Iris by the jaw in his wrinkled hand; "her skills are too great to waste." He let her go leaving five crescent indents in her fair skin.

"But what of this power you think you can control, do you really think you could stop her if she wanted to end us all? Do you not remember Alaric Tanner? The man who single handily used his gift to kill half of this city! Do you forget that she does not need a stele to place a rune on your skin Inquisitor?" The woman with the purple lips rose from her seat gripping tight to the table before her.

"I will not idly stand by while you condemn the people of this city, of this world, by letting this fiend live!"

"My word is final Octavia; I am making this decision for the good of the Clave. We need this girl. If she is dead there is no future for the Shadowhunters in this world." The Inquisitor signaled for two of his personal men to claim the girl and moved toward Octavia. His movements less unsteady than before, his decision was right for the people, he was sure of it.

"The Lightwoods will not have this Inquisitor." Octavia said through gritted teeth.

"Mrs. Lightwood you speak as if your family matters. If I recall your daughter Maryse has been sent to the Mundane city of New York for her involvement with Valentine and his revolt. Your husband is dead and your son engaged to be married to a mundane. It seems the Lightwoods do not have the power you believe them to have, so I suggest you either make amends with my decision or leave." With this said the Inquisitor left leaving Octavia Lightwood burning with hate.

The Inquisitor should have been thanking her for the work she did. Since it was she who discovered the demon hidden in their ranks, it was she who convinced her daughter to give an eye witness account of the mark. If anything she should have been the one to decide that monstrosity's fate.

Octavia Lightwood stormed out of the room, she would stay with the Clave, not because she craved the company, but she wanted to be there when the Inquisitor's decision came back to hurt him.

"Another put it on the small of her back." The Inquisitor's men drug the stele once again across the soft surface of Iris's skin causing tears to flow down the sides of her face. They were using the runes she had created against her as some type of sick punishment for the secret she had kept.

Her mother told her long ago that it was a gift passed down from her side of the family, that she was a descendent of one of the seven. The seven original Shadowhunters that were made to defend this world from demons. What used to be a blessing, or a gift as her mother had called it, was now a curse.

Visions flooded her eyes of runes to stop this pain, to remedy the situation. Her hands twitched as the visions seemed to burn into her consciousness. This is how her power worked, she would have no control of what runes she saw in her mind, but in any certain situation a rune could invade her thoughts. Like a second heartbeat the image of the rune would beat behind her eyelids. Along with this image would be a voice, whose she did not know. She had suspected that it was Sariel's, the archangels whose blood she shared. It told her what this rune could do, what its name was.

This was the gift of Sariel one of the seven archangels that were sent to this earth. Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Orifiel, Raziel, Uriel, and Sariel were given orders to protect the world filled with God's creations from darkness. The archangels were gifted powers to fight this never ending war with evil; Michael was gifted superior strength, Gabriel was granted insight to the future, Raphael was given healing abilities, Orifiel was bestowed a tongue to control demons, Raziel was awarded the coercive voice to control his fellow angels, Uriel was presented hands filled with the power of the elements, and Sariel was gifted with the ability to create runes. Together they fought back the darkness and kept man safe, but like man they had weaknesses. They saw the people of this world and longed for their flesh. The daughters and sons of God were not meant to interact with the archangels. It was Orifiel that was the weakest, he succumbed to the siren song of the daughters of God, and it was because of him that all seven were punished. God condemned them to earth to live with man and forbid the seven to ever step foot in Heaven. Raziel as the leader decided then that each of the seven should live amongst man, but the demons of darkness still needed to be kept at bay. With the Mortal Instruments, gifts that God had gifted them at the beginning of their journey, Raziel created a hybrid of men and angel—Shadowhunters, but the seven eventually took women of their own resulting in children that were something more than the Shadowhunters created.

Iris was a direct descendant of the archangel Sariel and it was because of his blood in her veins that she was being tortured now. She couldn't help but think of the stories of old about the seven. How the seven started the Clave and ruled over the Shadowhunters, how they were honored. But it was her great grandfather who had ruined it all. He brought ideas of purity and prejudice to the Clave; he convinced four out of the seven families who were direct descendants to revolt. He slaughtered countless Vampires, Werewolves, Warlocks, and Shadowhunters in pursuit of a "pure" earth. He dishonored her family's name—he spit in the face of God.

Another curve was etched into Iris's skin, which was now bloodied and raw. Her mouth opened, but not a sound came from it—only blood. The taste of rust overwhelmed her senses making it difficult to remain conscious. She was on the brink of oblivion when the stele left her skin and the rune began to take effect.

Iris thought of the day she had discovered this rune, she was only twelve and her mother had finally let her go into the City of Glass. It was a beautiful place and since her eleventh birthday her father had been training her persistently, though her family had renounced the Clave and all of its training, her father wanted her to be prepared for the worst. This break from her training was well welcomed. As she meandered through the vast city she ran into a group of kids around her age.

There were three boys that looked around fifteen pulling at the skirts of a girl. She was taller than Iris and very slender. Though she lacked the frame of a girl her age, where she should have had hips there were only straight lines. In the light of the alley way her dark hair shown tints of blue and her eyes navy blue like a troubled night sky were filled with tears.

"Let go of me, I—I will hurt you if you don't leave!" She kept a small fair hand on the bracelet that encircled her wrist. The fatter boy of the three smiled and grabbed her by the wrist.

"I betcha you don't even know how to use that, but really there is no need we ain't guna hurt you, right boys?" They all nodded in unison, the girl squirming in his thick grip.

Iris knew she had to do something, but her Mother's words made her hesitate. She as always to keep her head down, never draw attention to herself, but the moment the boy ripped the blouse the girl was wearing her Mother's words became whisper in her thoughts.

Iris had always been taller for her age; her long legs pumped furiously at the pavement to reach the girl. When she arrived the boys turned to look at the panting object impeding on their deviance.

"Who the fuck are yous?" The plump boy said, since he was the only one who seemed to be semi-literate. Iris said nothing, her hand slowly dipping into her pockets to retrieve her weapons.

"I said who are you? Answer me you dumb bitch or are ya deaf?" He dropped the girl and walked up towards Iris, his face red with anger.

In a flash Iris pulled the small discs from her pockets and within moments they grew to full size. Each disc weighed over twenty pounds, and had a serrated edge that encompassed the sides of the circular weapon only stopping where the owner of the discs was meant to grab. She held the right disc up to the boy's throat, pressing slightly on his swollen skin.

"You should leave before I send your friends her home with your head." Iris stood an unmovable statue showing none of the fear and uncertainty that she truly felt. He called her bluff and stuck her once on the abdomen sending her to the floor.

"Really I don't sees why they give girls anything, they can't do fucking anything right." His comrades laughed boisterously at Iris's frail body.

"Maybe we should take this one instead boys, since she has got more tits that the other one. She should prove to be more fun, giving the fact that she is so hell bent on killing me." He was about to pick Iris up from the ground when a thin gold band wrapped twice around his neck. With the flick of the girl's wrist he fell to the ground. The other boys cut, leaving their leader behind. The girl held the boy on the ground while he begged her not to kill him.

"Please don't do nothing rash, I didn't mean anything I swear I was only trying to scare ya, fuck lemi go!" He squirmed causing the band around his throat to cut his neck.

Iris watched as the boy pulled at the band, when her eyes shut tight. The voice of Serial filled her thoughts; You can hurt him as he hurt you my daughter, put the stele to his skin, break the backbone he believes is so strong. The image of a large rune invaded her vision, its curled lines making up a large arc which was to be placed on the small of his back. She would have broken him, but the girl let him go.

"Never touch me or any other girl again, or I will find you." The boy ran from the two girls screaming.

"Thank you for your help, my name is Maryse Lightwood." She held an outstretched hand, but Iris knew not to take it. She wouldn't let this girl know who she was, it wasn't safe.

"I'm sorry Maryse, but I have to go." Iris stalked away shoving the now small discs back into the front pockets of her jeans. Maryse had called for her to say her name, only she didn't answer.

That wasn't the last time she would encounter Maryse and part of Iris wished she wouldn't have saved her that day, because if she wouldn't have maybe this pain she felt now could have been avoided.

Iris's spine became animated under her skin; it twisted and cracked wildly as if a snake slithering through the grass. If she had any ounce of strength left she would have fought. She wasted that strength months ago when she was first taken by the Inquisitor.

Months of being an test subject of torture runes she had discovered, weeks of pain, and days of wondering why Maryse would have done this to her? When Valentine's revolt had failed so many people were left to be dealt with by the Clave. Maryse and Robert were one of many of her friends that were prosecuted for their part in the revolt.

Part of Iris understood why she would throw her to the Clave for a chance at an easier trial, Maryse had a family to think of—Alec and Robert—where Iris had no one. Her family long since dead by the hands of the Clave because of her crimes, though she still thought that everything Maryse and she had been through would count for something.

When her spine stopped thrashing the Inquisitor signaled for his men to set Iris upright. Her thin body covered in worn rags soaked in her own blood could barely sit up without help. The Inquisitor brought his face close to hers, as he did after every session, and asked her a simple question one she had yet to figure out the answer to.

"Where is Valentine?" He whispered his weathered face inches from hers. Iris used to answer his questions, for she thought the pain would end if she answered honestly. He didn't want her honesty though, since each time she answered that she didn't know he brought more pain. Months ago she stopped speaking and today was no different.

The Inquisitor left the room and the dragged Iris toward her cell. She could feel the scarred hands of the Silent Brothers the skin of her wrist. Iris couldn't help but wonder if she was beginning to look like them. Her chest, arms, waist, and back were covered by runes; each leaving a light scar which would fade with time. It didn't matter though what she appeared to be, she was stuck here till the day she died, here in the cells beneath Alicante.

When the brothers came to her cell Iris was picked up and placed on a thin cot attached to the west wall. The cell was made up of stone and metal, one small rectangular window was all Iris saw of the outside world. She didn't get up from her cot much anymore though, her body was growing weaker the runes were becoming too much for her. There couldn't be much more, she thought to herself trying to recall the book she hadn't laid eyes on in what felt like years.

A book of runes, given to Iris the day she was old enough to understand her visions. Her father had been very adamant above writing them all down, when she was discovered the Clave tore apart the Blackwood family's home. The book was found quickly and the runes she had created where added to the larger book of runes held by the Silent Brothers.

On some level Iris had progressed the Shadowhunters, gave them more knowledge, and so they rewarded her with a cell.

When the brothers left the illumination from the Witchlight departed and Iris could finally slip into oblivion.

"Iris wake up."

Iris's eyes opened, not adjusted to the absolute darkness she could not see where the voice was coming from. She tried to stand, and was able though her legs were weak.

"Whose there?" Iris asserted to the darkness beyond the bars which contained her. There was no answer and she was on the precipice of turning back to her cot when the entire room flooded with light.

It was no ordinary Witchlight rather it was a spell, Iris whipped around to see a man whose hand was engulfed in flame. She stared deeply confused into his eyes which were similar to a cat.

"Who are you, and why have you come to gawk at my cell? There really is no show here, you must wait till they drag me into that accursed room and drive more steles into my skin that is necessary that is where all the fun is I assure you." The bars between the two of them faded and the man walked in.

Now that Iris's eyes had adjusted she could see this man clearly, he was much taller than her and slender, and his movements looked effortless and elegant. He had thick black hair which was pulled into ponytail at the nape of his neck. Each strand seemed to shine in the light of his spell as if there was glitter in it. From the camber of his eyes Iris assumed his heritage; these eyes though were rimmed in dark kohl making the hazel of his cat like eyes shine bright.

"One would think that a woman would be more grateful to the man who was helping her escape, but I guess times have changed." He pronounced flippantly.

"I suppose I should get going then, silly idea helping out Shadowhunters never gets anyone anywhere." The man turned to leave the bars slowly regaining their mass.

"Wait, I—I'm sorry. Please come back."

"Well all right you did say please, but first I must give you something assuming you want it?" He held in two glitter dipped hands discs.

The two moved slowly through the city of Alicante. They had the cover of night, but soon the city would be aware of their missing prisoner. Iris's legs burned from this much exercise, but the cool night air felt invigorating on her skin. She had forgotten about the stars and the wind down in that cell. Here reverie was interrupted by the man.

His body paused; there were a group of three coming towards the two of them. If anyone person saw their faces, the Clave would track them down before they reached the city limits. Iris didn't know what to do, there was no way to run, and the street they were on had no alcoves or places to hide.

"I'm truly sorry about this, but it really is necessary." The man grabbed Iris by the shoulders and shoved her up against a wall. His mouth closed on hers erasing the space between them. One hand rushed through her tangled hair while the other cupped her face. The group of three giggled as they walked by and paid no other attentions to the two of them. Soon they were alone again in the darkness and the man let her go.

"What the hell are you doing!" Iris snarled through her teeth while running her arm across her wet lips.

"That was called a kiss; I suspect you know what those are? Nonetheless I was saving us from getting caught, if any of those Nephilim would have seen us we would be dead by morning."

Iris mumbled under her breath, she didn't enjoy people bombarding her with intimacy like that, especially when she hadn't had the chance to brush her teeth. She rushed a little to catch up with the man, who was now walking at an accelerated pace.

"Who are you anyways? I think I should get to know who is saving my life." Iris shoved her hands into her pockets, the breeze in the air had becoming too much of a good thing chilling her skin.

"I was waiting for you to ask that. Took you long enough though, following a strange man into the dark without even knowing his name, tisk tisk."

"Just shut up and tell me your name!"

"No need to get angry and if I were to shut up, I could not tell you my name so what is it silence or speech?" Iris wished she could hit him, but they were almost to the city gates and she still needed his help leaving.

"Name, now."

"Magnus Bane, warlock for the Clave and a friend."

"If you work for the Clave why would I be your friend?"

"Normally I don't enjoy the company of Shadowhunters, though your kind has a delightful temperament, it seems though that you are something different. Your own kind hates you, and yet every Downworlder I have spoken to thinks you to be some sort of savior. When the Clave asked me months ago to put wards in that cell to keep a prisoner in, I had no idea that you would be the Shadowhunter I was trapping."

"If you set the wards wouldn't the Clave come and look for you first? Why help me if you don't gain anything for it?"

Magnus sighed, "Shadowhunters always thinking about the profit of any given situation. I helped you because we have a common distrust and I felt responsible for your wellbeing. I was the one who made your prison, so I should be the one to get you out. And as for the Clave coming for me, I am well versed in the art of glamour. The Clave has never met my true face, the face you see before you. The Shadowhunters think themselves superior, but us Downworlders have many secrets that they don't know about."

"I see, well thank you Magnus," both Iris and Magnus passed through the gate of Alicante; "I guess this is it then." Iris let him a hand to shake, but all he did was grin.

"This isn't it dear, not by a long shot." He grabbed her hand and they disappeared from sight leaving no trace of their escape.