Burning Gold

Bring me my bow of burning gold:
Bring me my arrows of desire:
Bring me my spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire!
-William Blake, "Jerusalem"

Will-

Will and Magnus were running pell-mell down the rocky corridors inside Cadair Idrus, Tessa a stride or so behind them. It was Magnus who was leading the way, as he seemed to have the best idea where they were going. Tessa had told him that she had gone nowhere inside the morass of twisty corridors without being blindfolded, and he admitted that he remembered little of his solitary journey of the night before. His sole mission had been finding Tessa. And find her he had, but he'd ignored his Shadowhunter training of taking in everything around him. It would've been of little use to him anyway since they'd been trapped in her room until their rescue.

The tunnels narrowed and widened again haphazardly as the three of them made their way through the labyrinth, with no seeming rhyme or reason to the pattern. At last, as they moved into a wider tunnel, they heard something-the sound of a distant cry of horror. Will would know that voice anywhere.

Magnus was tense all over. Will's head jerked up. "Cecily," he said, and then he was running twice as fast as he had been, both Magnus and Tessa racing to keep up. They hurtled by strange chambers: one whose door seemed splashed with blood, another Will had no idea was within, and another where a great lattice of metal and copper twisted in an invisible wind. As they raced forward, the sounds of cries and battle grew louder, until finally they burst into a massive circular chamber.

It was full of automatons. Row upon row of them, as many as had poured down on the village the night before that Will'd had no chance of fighting against. Most of them were still, but a group of them, in the center of the room, were moving-moving and engaged in a fierce battle. It was like the battle on the steps of the Institute before Tessa had been dragged away from them all-the Lightwood brothers fighting side by side, Cecily swinging a shimmering seraph blade, the body of a Silent Brother crumpled on the floor. Will barely noticed that there were two other Silent Brothers fighting alongside the Shadowhunters, anonymous in their hooded parchment robes, but his attention was not on them. It was on Henry, who lay, still and unmoving, on the floor. Charlotte, crumpled on her knees, had her arms about him as if she could shield him from the churning battle going on all around them, but Will guessed from the whiteness of his face and the stillness of his body that it was too late to shield Henry from anything. He almost buckled from the sheer horror, but his Shadowhunter instincts kicked in and he was off into the fray.

Will darted forward. "No seraph blades!" he cried. "Fight them with other weapons! The angel blades are useless!"

Cecily, hearing him, jerked back even as her seraph blade connected with the automaton she was fighting-and crumbled away like dry frost, its fire gone. She had the presence of mind to duck beneath the creature's swinging arm-Will was incredibly proud of her, just as Cyril and Bridget plunged toward her, Cyril laying about him with a stout staff. The automaton went down under Cyril's assault, as Bridget, a flying menace of red hair and steely blades, sliced her way past Cecily to Charlotte's side, shearing the arms off two automatons with her sword before whirling about, her back to Charlotte, as if she meant to protect the head of the Institute with her life.

Will was torn between protecting his sister and the woman he loved. He swung around, his hands suddenly tight on Tessa's upper arms, pushing her toward Magnus, hissing: "Stay with her!" He could hear the beginning of her protest, but Magnus caught hold of her, drawing her back as Will dashed into the melee, fighting his way toward his sister. If they survived, Will owed Magnus Bane a great deal. Probably more than he could ever repay.

Will's attention was divided between keeping an eye on his sister and the automatons that were in his way. It was taking quite a bit to incapacitate them, but he didn't give up. She was in trouble. She was fending off a massive, barrel-chested automaton with two arms on its right side. Seraph blade abandoned, she had only a short sword to defend herself. Her hair began to slip free of its fastenings as she lunged forward, stabbing at the creature's shoulder. It roared like a bull. By the Angel, these creatures made such sounds; before Mortmain had changed them, they had been silent-they had been things; now they were beings. Malevolent, murderous beings. The automaton fighting Cecily seized the blade of her weapon and jerked it out of her grasp, pulling her forward.

"Cecily!" Will called out. His fierceness as he cut through automatons doubled as he struggled to get to his sister.

And Cecily was caught and thrown to the side by one of the Silent Brothers. In a whirl of parchment robes, he spun to face the creature, staff held before him. As the automaton lurched toward him, the Brother swung out with the staff, with such speed and force that the automaton was knocked back, its chest dented inward. Will briefly admired the Brother's fighting ability. He had no idea they could fight like that. The automaton tried to move forward again, but its body was too badly bent. It gave an angry whir, and Cecily, scrambling back up to her feet, cried out a warning.

Another automaton had loomed up beside the first. As the Silent Brother turned, the second automaton knocked the staff from his hand and seized him, lifting him off his feet, wrapping its metal arms around his body from behind, in the parody of an embrace. The Brother's hood fell back, and his silvery hair shone out in the dim chamber like starlight.

Will stopped breathing. The Silent Brother was Jem.

Jem.

It was as if the world had stopped-time had stopped. Will had even stopped moving, in that moment everything else faded into the background-the battle around him, his sister, Tessa, everything. Jem was staring not at Will, but in another direction. Will didn't care, all he saw was Jem. His parabatai. Jem, in parchment robes of a Silent Brother. Jem, whose silvery hair, tumbling over his face, was threaded through with black. Jem, whose cheeks were scarred with two matching red cuts, one over each cheekbone.

Jem, who was not dead.

The world started again and Will began his way toward his sister and parabatai, who was still in the hold of the automaton. Jem was seizing at the automaton's arm where it wrapped his throat, his scrabbling fingers unable to find a purchase on the smooth metal. Will saw its grip tighten, and Jem's face began to suffuse with blood as he strangled.

Will sprung toward the damnable creature and slid down, swinging out with his sword. The automaton gave a roar and toppled forward. Will had sliced clean through its legs from behind, and as it fell, Will rose from a crouch, his long-bladed sword in hand. He reached out for the automaton to catch it, prevent its fall, but it had already crashed to the floor, half on top of Jem, whose staff had rolled from his hand. Jem lay still, pinned by the massive machine above him. Will was afraid then. The Jem he remembered never would've been able to sustain a fall like that.

Jem-

Jem could not remember ever fighting like this in his life. He'd trained with the staff of the Silent Brothers and it already felt familiar in his hands. What felt different was the strength. His dependence for the yin fen occurred before he'd been able to truly experience battle on his own merits and strength. His endurance was different too. Before becoming a Silent Brother, Jem would've already collapsed from the exertion he'd been exhibiting without another dose of the drug. It was a heady feeling and actually penetrated through his muted emotions.

When he'd seen that Cecily was in trouble, Jem had felt the need to intervene. No one may know who he was and he'd agreed to leave the ties of his old life behind him (internal scoff)-as if he could ever do that! He couldn't allow Will's sister to die-if he could help it-so soon after their reunion. He would save her even if it killed him. The force of the fall and the weight of the automaton on his back knocked the air from Jem's lungs as he hit the ground, bruisingly hard. For a moment stars danced across his vision and he fought for breath, his chest spasming.

Before he had become a Silent Brother, before they had put the first ritual knife to his skin and cut the lines into his face that would begin the process of his transformation, the fall, the injury, might have killed him. Probably would have killed him. He'd been unable to get out of bed if it had been too long since his last dose of yin fen, and now, now he could fight and fall with barely any pain. It was extraordinary. Now, as he sucked the air back into his lungs, he found himself twisting, reaching for his staff, even as the creature's hand closed on his shoulder-

And a shudder went through its body, along with the ring of metal on metal. Jem seized up his staff and jabbed it upward, knocking the automaton's head sideways even as the top half of its body was lifted off him and thrown to the side. He kicked out at the weight still pinning his legs, and then that was gone too and Will was on his knees beside him where he lay on the ground. Will's face was as white as ashes. Jem felt his heart drop into the bottom of his stomach.

"Jem," he said.

There was a stillness around them both, a gap in the battle, an eerily timeless silence. The weight of a thousand things was in Will's voice: disbelief and amazement, relief and betrayal. Jem began to struggle up onto his elbows just as Will's sword, smeared with black oil, riven with dents, clattered to the ground.

"You're dead," Will said. "I felt you die." And he put his hand over his heart, on his bloodstained shirt, where his parabatai rune was. "Here."

Jem scrabbled for Will's hand, caught it in his, and pressed the fingers of his blood brother's hand to the inside of his own wrist. He willed his parabatai to understand. Feel my pulse, the beat of blood under the skin: Silent Brothers have hearts, and they beat. Will's blue eyes widened. "I did not die. I changed. If I could have told you-if there was a way-"

Will stared at him, his chest rising and falling quickly, and Jem wondered if a chasm had opened between them that could not be bridged, if too much had happened in the span of just a few days. The automaton had clawed one side of Will's face. He was bleeding from several deep scratches, but he didn't appear to notice. He drew his hand back from Jem's grasp and exhaled softly. "Roeddwn i'n meddwl dy fod wedi mynd am byth," he said. He spoke, without thinking, in Welsh, but Jem understood the words regardless. The runes of the Silent Brothers meant that no language was unknown to him. He felt his heart clench at the words Will had spoken.

I thought you were gone forever.

"I am still here," Jem said, and then there was a flicker at the corner of his eye, and he moved swiftly, spinning aside. A metal axe whistled down through the space where he had just been, and clanged against the stone floor. Automatons had surrounded them, a ring of whirring metal. Their respite was over.

And Will was on his feet, sword in hand, and they were back-to-back, and Will was saying: "There is no rune effective against them; they must be hacked apart by main force-"

"I gathered that." Jem gripped his staff and swung it hard, knocking one automaton back into a nearby wall. Sparks flew from its metal carapace.

Will struck with his blade, slicing through the jointed knees of two creatures. "I like that stick of yours," he said.

"It's a staff." Jem swung out to knock another automaton sideways. "Made by the Iron Sisters, only for Silent Brothers." This banter was familiar, like how they used to fight together and it felt nice, nice there was something that hadn't changed.

Will lunged forward, slicing his blade clean through the neck of another automaton. Its head rolled to the ground, and a mixture of oil and vapor poured from its ragged throat. "Anyone can sharpen a stick."

"It's a staff," Jem repeated, and saw Will's quicksilver smile out of the corner of his eye. Jem wanted to grin back-there was a time he would have grinned back naturally, but something in the change that had been wrought in him put what felt like the distance of years between him and such simple mortal gestures.

The room was a mass of moving bodies and swinging weapons; Jem could see none of the other Shadowhunters clearly. He was aware of Will next to him, matching his stride to Jem's, matching him blow for blow. As metal rang on metal, some inner part of Jem, some part that had been lost without his even knowing it was lost, felt the pleasure of fighting together with Will one last time. He knew without a doubt that it was the last time.

"Whatever you say, James," said Will. "Whatever you say."

Jem became aware of a dull implosion-a vanishing inward of sound, as if everything in the room were being sucked down an enormous drain. His ears popped and he and Will huddled down together as what seemed like a massive wind blew through the room.

The wind roared, and joining the sound of the wind was the sound of creaking, tearing metal as the clockwork creatures in the room began to stagger and stumble. There was a crash as a clockwork monster crumpled to the ground between him and Will, forcing them to spring apart. The air smelled like the air just before a storm. Jem didn't know what that had been, but by the Angel it had been helpful!

Jem saw Magnus stagger to his feet from the little group containing him, Cecily, Charlotte, and Henry. His voice rose over the sound of the crumpling metal and the high shrieks of demons. "Come here! All of you! Gather, Shadowhunters!"

That warlock has pzazz, Jem thought with a small hint of amusement.

Only Bridget stood her ground, still fighting two automatons whose movements had become jerky and uneven, but the others began to run toward them: Jem, Will, Gabriel...but Tessa, where was Tessa? Jem realized he had not seen her since he'd been revealed to the room. Will turned to him, his hand on Jem's arm, his blue eyes scanning the room. "Tessa," Will said. Jem could barely make out his words over the ever-louder shrieking of the wind, the shuddering of metal-

"Stop."

A bolt of silvery light shot down, like a fork of lightning, from the top of the dome, and exploded through the room like the sparks of a Catherine wheel. The wind stilled and stopped, leaving the room filled with a ringing silence.

Jem looked up. On the gallery halfway up the dome stood a man in a well-cut dark suit, a man he recognized instantly.

It was Mortmain.

The voice echoed through the room, sending chills through Jem's veins. Mortmain. Silence had fallen now.

"Where is Miss Gray? Bring her to me."

An automaton carried Tessa into the main room. It was a scene of chaos. The automatons stood frozen, looking up at their master. Many were crumpled on the ground, or hacked into pieces. The floor was slippery with a mixture of blood and oil.

In the center of the room, in a circle, stood the Shadowhunters and their companions. Cyril was kneeling upon the ground, a torn piece of bloody bandage wrapped around his leg. Near him was Henry, half-sitting and half-lying down in Charlotte's arms. He was pale, so pale...Will, head raised. A look of dismay passed over his face, and he started forward. Afraid of what Mortmain would do, Jem seized his sleeve. His eyes were on Tessa too; wide and dark and full of horror.

Tessa looked away from both of them, away and up at Mortmain. He stood at the railing of the gallery above them, like a preacher (him and Will had once sneaked away to witness a mundane Church service years ago) and smirked down. "Miss Gray," he said. "So good of you to join us."

Jem saw Tessa spit. That was his-no, not his, not any longer-girl. She was beautiful in her contempt.

Mortmain raised an eyebrow-no doubt at what he would consider bad manners, even in this bizarre situation. "Set her down," he said the the metal-demon creature. "Keep your hands on her shoulders."

The demon obeyed with a low chuckle. As soon as Tessa's boots touched the ground, she straightened her spine, raising her chin and glaring viciously at Mortmain. "It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding day," she said.

Jem wanted to groan at and applaud her bravery.

"Indeed," Mortmain said. "But bad luck for whom?" What Jem wouldn't give to swing his staff into that smug bastard's face.

Still facing him, she said, "The Nephilim have already entered your fortress. There will be others behind them. They will swarm your automatons and destroy them. Surrender now, and perhaps you will keep your life." Her ability to bluff was one to admire, especially since no more Shadowhunters would be joining them.

Mortmain threw his head back and laughed. "Brave, madam," he said. "You stand there surrounded by defeat, and demand my surrender."

Will, never one to stay silent, even when he should, spoke out, "We are not defeated-" Mortmain hissed out a breath through his teeth, audible in the echoing room. As one, all the automatons in the room snapped their heads toward Will-a terrifying synchronicity. By the Angel! Jem thought.

"Not a word from you, Nephilim," Mortmain said. "The next time one of you speaks will be the last time you ever draw breath." Jem didn't doubt Mortmain's sincerity in the threat.

"Let them go," Jem heard Tessa say. "This is nothing to do with them. Let them go, and keep me."

"You bargain with nothing in your hands," Mortmain again. "You are wrong if you think other Shadowhunters are coming to help you. As this very moment a significant part of my army is cutting your Council to pieces." Charlotte gasped, a short stifled noise. Surely not, Jem thought. Perhaps it was Mortmain's turn to bluff, but he didn't think so. He didn't idly threaten anything without follow-through. "Clever of the Nephilim to handily assemble themselves all in one place, that I might wipe them out in one fell swoop."

Jem closed his eyes. The Council meeting, he thought with dread.

"Please," Tessa said. Jem opened his eyes again. "Turn your hand from them. Your grievances against the Nephilim are just. But if they are all dead, who will be lessoned by your vengeance? Who will atone? If there is no one to learn from the past, there is no one to carry on its lessons. Let them live. Let them carry your teachings into the future. They can be your legacy."

Tessa, Tessa, Tessa, Jem sighed to himself, you brave, brave girl. By the Angel, how I love you so!

He nodded thoughtfully, as though he were weighing her words. "I will spare them-I will keep them here, as our prisoners. Their captivity will keep you pleasant, and it will keep you obedient"-his voice hardened-"because you love them, and if you ever even try to escape, I will kill them all." He paused. "What do you say, Miss Gray? I have been generous, and now I am owed thanks."

The only sound in the room was the creak of the automatons. Jem's stomach clenched. He knew what Tessa's answer would be before she even opened her mouth. "Yes." Jem and Will both made a muffled sound of protest at the same time. "Yes, I will make take that bargain." She looked up. "Tell the demon to let me go, and I will come up to you."

Mortmain's eyes narrowed. "No," he said. "Armaros, bring her to me."

The demon's hands tightened on Tessa's arms; she bit her lip in what Jem recognized as pain. He wanted to slice every limb from the automaton for hurting her, but he was still wary of what Mortmain would do if he moved. His body still tensed though, as did Will's beside him. Her hand suddenly went to her throat where her clockwork angel lay, tightening around it.

Armaros's hands closed on Tessa's arms. The demon began to lift her up. Her expression was one of deep contemplation.

He saw her take a deep breath, scream aloud, and then she Changed.

Tessa shot upward, her gear ripping and tearing and falling away, light blazing all around her. She was fire. She was a falling star. Armaros's arms were torn from her body-soundlessly he melted and dissolved, scorched by the heavenly fire that blazed through her. She was glorious, she was terrifying.

She grew upward. Her skin turned gold, and it stretched and tore as she hurtled upward like the bean stalk from the old fairy tale Will had once told him, and where her skin tore, golden ichor leaked from the wounds. It had to be painful. Curls like shavings of hot white metal sprang form her head, surrounding her face. And from her back burst wings-massive wings, greater than any birds.

Jem and the others were staring up at her, their mouths open. The whole room was filled with blinding light, light that poured from her. She had become an angel, Jem was sure of it. The divine fire of angels was blazing through her.

She was twenty feet away from Mortmain, eye to eye, who was frozen with terror, his hands gripping the railing of the balcony. The clockwork angel, after all, had been his gift to Tessa's mother. He must never have imagined that it would ever be put to this use.

"It's not possible," he said hoarsely. "Not possible-"

You have entrapped an angel of Heaven, a voice came from Tessa that was not hers and sounded like when Brother 'spoke.' The voice reverberated throughout the entire room, every occupant hearing the divine voice. You have tried to create life. Life is the province of Heaven. And Heaven does not take kindly to usurpers.

Mortmain turned to run. Be he was slow, as all humans are slow. Angel-Tessa reached out her hand, and closed it about him as he ran, lifting him off his feet. He screamed as the angel's grip scorched him. He was writhing, already burning, as Tessa tightened her grip, crushing his body to a jelly of scarlet of blood and white bones. It was a sight Jem and his companions would never forget.

She opened her fingers. Mortmain's crushed body fell, crashing to the ground among his own automatons. There was a shuddering, a great creaking scream of metal as of a building collapsing, and the automatons began to fall, one by one, crumpling to the ground, lifeless without their Magister to animate them. A garden of metal flowers, withering and dying one by one, and the Shadowhunters stood in the center of them, looking about themselves in wonder.

The Angel, looked to them, becoming more like Tessa as a look of joy spread across her face. As she reached for them with her golden hands-one stained with scarlet now, Mortmain's blood mixing with the Angel's golden ichor-they shrank back from the blaze of light around her. She Changed back into herself. She fell to the ground, neither moving nor making a sound after collapsing.