The Rise of the Morningstar

by Skyllen

Jocelyn didn't leave Valentine after the uprising. Eighteen years later, Jonathan and Clarissa developed to young and killing Shadowhunters. Demonic blood turns Jonathan and she escapes to New York. All her efforts to start a new life attached to the Shadowhunter's values seem to fail when Clary gets to know Jace Herondale, the son whose family was murdered by her father years ago.

78. Chapter 77 Angel of Wrath and Mercy

Chapter 77 – Angel of Wrath and Mercy

- 2 days before the start of the war. -

I knew I was dead because I stood in the exact spot where I had left this world the last time.

The green expanses looked just as they did in my memories. Too green to be natural. The colorful flowers so perfectly and evenly distributed that they almost seemed artificial. If this had been Earth.

The white staircase bowing before the clear blue sky and the soft white clouds hadn't changed either. The solitary tree, starkly contrasting with the rest of the surroundings, rose in all its splendor. Its canopy was so rich with leaves that one might have wanted to die under its branches, had oneself not already been beyond life.

A fresh, sweet scent surrounded me, caressing every fiber of my being with its warmth. A single breath revealed many distinct nuances within the aroma, fitting together like puzzle pieces into a dominant impression yet remaining clearly distinguishable. So clear that I could taste them on my tongue. Lavender. Sea salt. Immortelle. Spring breeze. Damp grass. Juicy apples. Cut roses. The pines behind my father's estate, enveloping you as soon as you took the first step into the forest. The warm skin of my mother when I pressed my cheek into the crook of her neck in an embrace.

To my left, a surprised gasp sounded, and as I whirled around, I saw Isabelle. She was gasping for air, overwhelmed, her wide pupils fixing on everything and nothing, trying to absorb it all as if she wanted to burn the image of this place onto her retinas forever. Silver tears shimmered in the corners of her eyes.

Every idyll we felt turned into a feeling of horror in the snap of a finger.

A strong gust of wind almost knocked us off our feet, swept away the lovely smell and changed the colors of the sky. As if watching a fast-forward recording, the sun suddenly shot over the horizon. It flew across the sky like a shooting star. The few clouds raced with it. Until they came to a sudden stop, making the world seem to continue to spin around me for a few seconds.

The cosmos was a fierce red, with a faint touch of amethyst violet at the edges of my vision. The formless cloud mass had grown, now occupying most of the view, like an impending storm. The sun had disappeared behind it, retreating into its hiding place, leaving only its intense, penetrating glow. It bathed the clouds in a light that seemed to cover every nuance of the orange color palette. From brilliant copper to dried blood. I felt as though I had stumbled into one of my mother's acrylic paintings.

And then he appeared before us. As if he had been standing there all along. In all his heavenly beauty, which we could barely comprehend with our mortal eyes. The furious, motionless expression made it clear that we were intruders on terrain we should never have set foot upon. A deed so blasphemous that even he hadn't expected to find us here.

We had drawn the wrath of the angels. One might think that in death there would be nothing left to fear, but that would have been a lie.

Apart from the sharp, searing anger that seemed to incinerate us on the spot, Ithuriel looked just as he had the last time. When he had sent me back into my body with the riddle of my powers. At least at first glance. It was as if he were constantly shifting — unable to maintain a form for more than a few seconds. Under the hellish expanses of the atmosphere, his usually soft, wide wings appeared angular and distorted. The red light turned his normally pearl-colored skin into an enraged mask, his piercing golden eyes searching for a victim.

And now I had used his power to come back here. Without permission. I hadn't even thought about what this uninvited human intrusion would mean to the angels. I was nothing. A nobody. I was playing with powers that could make me wish in a second that I had never existed.

"You dare use my gift to intrude here uninvited, Clarissa Morgenstern?!" Ithuriel's voice was a thunderclap. Both Isabelle and I flinched, nearly brought to our knees by the subsequent pressure in the air. There was no trace of melody in his tone anymore. "Do you believe that this meager gift makes you equal to the heavenly beings? Is it an arrogance reserved for the Morgensterns that leads you to think you can challenge the angels? The only reason your father is not burning in hell yet is that he left me before I could free myself from my chains. Why should I not erase you from this and every future world when you have so willingly placed yourself into my grasp?"

Ithuriel's towering figure loomed over us like a human staring down a bothersome spider before crushing it. His face, a hundred times more magnificent than any human sculptor could ever capture, was a symbol of fire. Cold as the universe, his angular features took shape, while his irises blazed as hot as the core of the sun.

Despite the damnation of his words, the angel had made no move to carry out our sentence. When I dared to raise my shaking head to meet his eyes, I understood why. Beneath all the layers of anger, I saw something that broke my massless body in two. Disappointment.

I threw myself on my feet in front of Ithuriel, pressed my forehead into the too-warm grass beneath me, and interlaced my trembling, sweating fingers.

"Forgive me," was all that came out of my mouth. There was so much more to say. So many things I should have addressed. So many favors I should have begged for. In the back of my mind, I could hear my human consciousness crying out for attention. For I had come here with a task. All of that seemed like fleeting dust in the eternal wind when I faced Ithuriel.

Ithuriel, whose disappointment weighed more heavily than any recognition from my biological father ever could. I carried both of their blood in my veins, even if only one of them was my true father in spirit. Because only one of them had ever really cared about me. Because only this angel had called out to me and given me hope. After my father had involuntarily enriched me with his gift. He never had to tell me about this power, could have left me in the dark, could have refused me his help. Then I would now be nothing more than a Shadowhunter-girl who would undoubtedly lose the war against her family.

Ithuriel was the only one who had ever given me a chance without even being in my presence for a second. Ithuriel had believed in the good in me before the rest of the world had even started to hate me. Ithuriel had saved my life, in so many ways.

And now he was comparing me to Valentine, as if I had committed a similarly terrible crime. The thought alone broke me.

"Would you have sought forgiveness if you had sneaked into the heavenly realm unnoticed? And accompanied by another mortal?" The thunder was deafening. Being struck by lightning must have felt less cruel.

"I would not have asked for forgiveness," I admitted without hesitation, only now remembering Isabelle, who was standing or crouching somewhere to my left, or perhaps already destroyed. Lying to an angel made no sense, and yet he snorted in response. Stone seemed to shatter. I didn't dare to raise my head and squeezed my eyelids so tightly that my eyes began to water . "I did not think about the fact that you might be angry at my actions. I did not think about anything except the infinite fear in my chest that in less than three days you will be welcoming a whole host of my friends into your world. Souls who cannot disappear like me once my body's strength is exhausted."

"My siblings and I are watching closely what your father is doing on Earth," Ithuriel said after an eternity of silence. "I do not see how a visit to our realm will help you put an end to it. We do not interfere in the affairs of mortals, we are not Gods who clean up after them. Are you here to ask a favor like your father? Do you wish to force a wish from me, as he wishes to force it from my brother Raziel?"

It was foolish to ask Ithuriel for this. It would have been foolish to put my fear of punishment above the minimal chance that I could change something for my world.

When I lifted my head from the grass, the intensity on his face had changed. The anger was still there, but another emotion had come to the forefront. I couldn't define it. Perhaps it was panic, despair, or my human body giving out in the distant library.

"I would do anything to atone for my family's actions. I would endure an eternity in hell to save the Nephilim from the fate of the Morgensterns. You said you do not intervene in earthly matters, but I beg you, make an exception."

"First, you gain forbidden access here. Then you admit that you do not seek forgiveness. And now you have the audacity to ask me for a favor that surpasses anything the angels have ever done for the Nephilim. Who are you, Clarissa Morgenstern, to permit yourself such actions and go unpunished?"

"I fear no punishment," I whispered, but my voice was like a wavering regret. "Punish me if you must. Right now, if you deem it just. I can leave knowing that I did everything within my power."

"No!" Isabelle suddenly interrupted me. Though she was trembling with fear like I was, she stood upright with blazing eyes before Ithuriel as if he were nothing more than a bothersome mortal. "The angels didn't create us only to turn their backs on us when we need them the most. We are your children, and you owe us this help. We came here to ask our ancestors about the Mortal Mirror because it's our only thread away from destruction. If you kill us or punish us or whatever else you have in mind, you're a hypocrite, just like all your other siblings. As our creators, you can't run away from the responsibility to intervene in our affairs like cowards. So help us already and stop wasting the last minutes of our existence with false indignation. We Shadowhunters can do that at least as well as you can, being your likeness."

I was at a loss for words, I was at a loss for breath, I was at a loss for heartbeat.

Ithuriel would kill us. He wouldn't argue. He would simply wipe us out, and maybe that was better than watching all my loved ones be slaughtered in three days.

Isabelle's speech had thrown me so off guard that I forgot the panic that was eating through me. My head snapped in her direction and a terrified scream fought its way out of me. I jumped to my feet without thinking and staggered a few steps toward Ithuriel, raising my arms so that he couldn't miss me.

"No." I almost choked on the word, even though I had no real body here. "Forget what I said. Let her go. Let her go back to our world and I put my life in your hands. You can kill me, or torture me, or lock me in an empty room forever if you like, but do not take your anger out on her. This is all my fault."

Isabelle sucked in her breath, both dismayed and outraged. "Forget it, you–"

" Enough!" Ithuriel interrupted, raging, his left hand raised as if he were about to destroy us at any moment. But in the breathless silence that followed, his citrine-colored eyes swept over us with astonishing ... gentleness. His focus sought me first. "You will not die today and I will not punish you, Clarissa. You carry my blood in you and your friend is right that the responsibility of your gift lies in my hands. However, I will not fulfill your request. Just because you are worthy of my grace does not make you above the heavenly laws. If you ever use this rune again without my prior consent, I will have no choice but to kill you."

No, no, no. What good would it do me to get away with it if we returned empty-handed? We would be exactly where we were before. Without knowledge, without clues, without the Mirror.

"And as for you, Isabelle Lightwood," Ithuriel began. His voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. As if his spirit permeated everything, omnipresent and not bound to this glorious body he presented to us.

Another wave of panic hit me as I looked at Isabelle. He had acquitted me, but she had shown no remorse. She had insulted and questioned an angel in his own territory. Angels were sensitive creatures – quick to anger and quite resentful.

A glance at Isabelle made it clear that she was afraid, but that she had not lost her dignity. Her shoulders were thrown back, her back straighter than ever, her head tilted towards him. Not really arrogant, more confident. As if she knew exactly that she was right.

"Some of my siblings would eliminate you for your statements," Ithuriel said, taking a few steps toward us. "I did not create you or your ancestors, so your words do not enrage me. However, if you ever meet Raziel, and I do not think that is far-fetched, I would keep your thoughts to yourself if you value your life."

Something that looked suspiciously like a grin crossed Isabelle's mouth, as if she couldn't help it despite the very real chance of being pulverized at any second.

"It may be that my brother should care more about his species, but that is his business. Until Valentine Morgenstern summoned me, the Nephilim were no more important to me than any other life form on Earth." Again, the full force of his attention hit me, and it was hard not to collapse under the enormous weight. "I only have to answer for those of my blood. I only have an interest in them. For that reason, it is not my responsibility to punish you, which is why you may go, Isabelle Lightwood."

The relief was such a powerful feeling that it patched up the cracks in my psyche like glue. A shaky breath escaped me in a whistle, but the next one nearly suffocated me.

Mercy or no mercy, Isabelle was not satisfied. She clenched her fingers into fists and shook her head as if she were the one with the odds on her side. The maroon of her irises reflected the crimson rays of the sun that had fought their way through the thawing clouds. A fire of its own burned within her. For her family, for her people. I suddenly realized that she wouldn't leave until she had what she wanted. And if Ithuriel didn't give in, she would die here if necessary. She had not masked her frustration in the library when she had thrown the books down the hall. No. The fear of this war was as real as my fear that Ithuriel would kill her for her rebelliousness. As real as the respect and admiration that she dared to do something I shied away from.

"I can't go," Isabelle said, and this time her voice was clear and free of any tremor. I couldn't help but notice that this time she was only talking about herself. That she was intentionally keeping me out of her suicide mission. "I need to speak to our ancestors, to Jonathan Shadowhunter himself if I have to. Without information about the Mirror, the Nephilim will soon no longer be what they once were."

Instead of the explosion I expected from Ithuriel, he remained silent. His marble-like, sharp features twisted in thought. I couldn't even tell if he was still angry. Right now he looked like every statue of an angel you could see in Alicante.

"I cannot allow you to speak to the dead. The souls who no longer walk the earth have severed all connection to your world. Restoring that connection, even for a few minutes, would have indescribable consequences," Ithuriel explained slowly, but you could see that something was gnawing at him. That expression reminded me so much of Jace that an electric shock ran through me.

Isabelle didn't hesitate. "Then share your knowledge of the Mirror with us. We are on the brink of extinction. You may not be our creator, but you must know something about the Mortal Instruments."

"For a mere mortal, you aim quite high," Ithuriel remarked, not unkindly. "I am only so lenient because my expectations of Nephilim, thanks to Valentine Morgenstern, are quite low." Despite his clear distinction from us mortals, his subsequent sigh sounded rather human. "I do indeed know a lot about the Mortal Instruments, partly because I have spent more time in the presence of Nephilim during my existence than my brother Raziel. And that is despite never wanting anything to do with you. Even we angels cannot escape fate."

"The sooner you share your knowledge about the Mirror, the sooner you'll be rid of the Nephilim's presence again," Isabelle said, stepping forward to stand in line with me. I had completely forgotten that I had leaped forward to distract Ithuriel from her.

A part of me was still waiting for Isabelle to burst into flames, be reduced to dust, or simply vanish in a beam of energy from his hand. How could Ithuriel have been so furious about our intrusion and now remain so composed in the face of such disrespect? Yet, most of me just hoped that Ithuriel would comply with Isabelle's request, no matter how unlikely it seemed. This knowledge, which was probably trivial to him, could save thousands of lives in the end. Didn't that mean anything to him? Did the angels even care about Earth? What was their purpose if they didn't intervene in earthly affairs?

"Raziel would probably even be grateful that I spared him a meeting with Valentine Morgenstern. I could tell you. I would tell you. If someone else was not about to leak that information to you."

For a long, oppressive moment, silence dominated the endless expanse of this afterlife. "I don't understand," Isabelle began, confused. No more words followed.

"Trust me when I say that you will soon find exactly what you are looking for," Ithuriel continued in a velvety voice. The melody had found its way back in. "Patience is the only virtue you must follow. Patience and trust." His golden glowing eyes found mine as he spoke the last sentence. So intense and ambiguous, and unmistakably another riddle. Or a message to be deciphered?

"I suggest you leave now," Ithuriel then said. "Your bodies are not designed for such strain. The longer you remain here in our realm, the greater the risk that they will fail."

Isabelle and I looked at each other. I looked for confirmation on her face that she was ready to retreat. She nodded briefly, although her discomfort was clear. Neither of us liked leaving without getting proper answers. All we had left was the word of an angel, which we now had to trust.

"Thank you, Ithuriel," I whispered, turning to him one last time. Putting into words what he had done for me – for us – would take minutes. The fact that we were both still standing here in front of him was proof enough. "Thank you."

Ithuriel bowed his head one last time, looking exactly as I remembered him from my last visit. "One last thing, Clarissa." In fact, he seemed to hesitate. Which was completely insane, of course, since he was an angel. "In front of the Mirror, only the rune summoner has the power to demand something from Raziel."

Another clue. He wasn't allowed to give me more than a snippet. I nodded slowly, but understanding seeped into my brain. Then I turned to Isabelle.

"Ready?" I asked her, holding out my hand.

"Ready," Isabelle answered confidently, intertwining our fingers.

I closed my eyes, concentrated on the rune that now began to pulse on my left arm, and left Ithuriel and the endless expanse of this heavenly place behind.

Again I fell through space and time. Surrounded by darkness, the rushing of blood in my ears my constant companion. As soon as I crossed the bridge into my own body, I realized that something was wrong.

The noise turned into a pounding, a frantic and wild rhythm that brought my lungs to the brink of collapse from the strain. I exhaled with a gurgling breath, breaking through the imaginary surface of the water under which my mind had found itself upon its return.

This was my body, but everything felt wrong. As if my limbs had been put together incorrectly. I tried to open my eyelids, but the weights hanging from them were so heavy that all I could feel was myself tipping sideways and hitting the floor. Another gasp for oxygen shook me, this time deeper than before.

Something was pressing on my body, on my back and my shoulders. Nothing tangible. Exhaustion and powerlessness and death. How much energy had this rune cost me? How close had I come to escaping death?

"Clary?" The echo of my name came from far away, bouncing off my ears and disappearing into the darkness. The weakness gnawed at me too much for me to recognize it or attach any emotion to it.

Fingers were wrapped around my upper arms and I was hoisted up off the ground and into an upright sitting position. Someone carefully took my pulse and when they were sure I wasn't dead again, the back of a cool hand was pressed against my forehead. I felt a second breath close to my face, the warm air hitting my skin. Then the sleeve of my shirt was pushed up and the familiar, scorching scent of a newly drawn rune filled my nose.

An electric shock ran through my body. I blinked and opened my eyes. The reaction was enough to drain my energy reserves.

Stay awake, a distant voice in the back of my head demanded. It was so incredibly difficult not to let my eyelids fall again immediately.

"Clary?" There was my name again, but I couldn't place the person or the state of mind. All I knew was that I was still in the library. I could feel the cold coming from the floor beneath me, barely insulated from the soft but thin carpet I was sitting on.

Slowly my eyes managed to regain their focus. From the blurred image that had made everything seem so far away, a familiar image gradually formed. The last thing I had seen before I disappeared had been this neglected corner of the library. With one exception. I was too weak to turn my head, so my eyes alone followed the voice that had called to me.

Adam knelt at my side. His arms hung in the air between us, alert, as if they were waiting for my body to fall again. Our eyes met halfway. I was unable to say anything, and this time I wasn't entirely sure if it was just exhaustion.

"What happened?" he asked when I didn't respond. Demanding, hectic, frightened, hysterical, breathless. Despite all the uproar, something was slumbering in the background of his eyes. But the emotions pushed to the front were too present to identify it. "You were ... No pulse ... How ... What were you doing here? Are you alright?"

So many questions. So little oxygen to answer them. But I had no desire to tell him anything anyway. Why was he here? How had he found us? How long had he been watching us?

As my lips parted in a feeble attempt to speak, a pained groan forced its way up my vocal cords. "Why are you lurking here?" I gasped.

"I—" Adam hesitated, but instead of looking tortured as I had expected, his gaze flitted past me. His words tumbled out again. "I've been looking for you. I need to talk to you. It's important. But that will have to wait."

Following his gaze, I understood why. A sob escaped me. " Isabelle."

Isabelle sat right beside me, exactly where she had been before our journey to Heaven. Her upper body still leaned against the wall, but her head drooped forward dangerously. The thin braids swayed slightly in the air, making it look as if she could topple over at any moment.

That wasn't what startled me. Her bloodshot eyes were closed, and all color had drained from her high cheeks. A deathly pallor had settled over her complexion.

Isabelle was dead.