Exile of the Clave

Exile of the Clave - Chapter 13

Alec looked up in fascination at the giant, crossed blades that arched over his head and plunged into the black rock on either side of him amidst patches of jewel-green moss. The gate was truly a marvel that couldn't be properly appreciated through pictures in textbooks.

Warily, he glanced down over the lip of the rocky outcropping that ended abruptly in front of him. A sluggish river of lava and slag churned along the bottom of the chasm, and he sucked in a breath before edging backwards a bit. Across the gorge, a drawbridge still stood firmly closed in the carved adamas walls.

The former Consul sighed almost inaudibly, but after twenty-five years together, Magnus didn't miss a beat.

"They're not going to talk to you," he said flatly, arms folded over a red velvet smoking jacket with black lapels. White lace dripped from his cuffs, and the buttons of his pristine dress shirt were undone half-way, so that he looked like a cross between a pirate and a 70s pimp. His hair was carefully styled into a messy, wind-blown look for the occasion. Only Magnus could find the time for exotic fashion while living on the run. In sharp contrast, Alec was wearing a set of borrowed gear from Bueno Aires. The fit was a bit tight on his tall frame, but Magnus had looked on approvingly.

Alec kept his eyes fixed on the drawbridge. "They'll talk to me."

Aline's message had sparked a heated debate between him and Jace that morning, with Alec pressing to enlist the aid of the Iron Sisters while his parabatai insisted that the legendary women would a.) never go against the Clave, and b.) never agree to speak to anyone lacking a second X chromosome.

As a compromise, Alec had sent his brother ahead to California to do some reconnaissance and try to get a lock on where or what the source of the 'kiss-your-asses-goodbye' breach was. Aline had a wonderful way with words when she was agitated. He briefly speculated if she had used a more, or less, colourful description in her message to Alicante.

After Buenos Aires, Jace had been obsessed with growing their tiny rebel force, and over half of the Argentines had asked to stay on with them. When news of the demon cross-over had come and maps had shown that it was far from any major cities, Alec had fretted about their weapon situation. It was dangerous to involve the closest Institutes, particularly Los Angeles; the last thing the Blackthorns needed was any more reason for the Clave to discipline them again. Raiding churches, temples, and synagogues along the coast was pure insanity, even with Jace's solemn vow to cease his unintentional advances on any hapless acolytes.

What they needed, Alec had insisted, was the resources of the Adamant Citadel. He was taking Aline's warning very seriously. A couple of seraph blades, a few vials of holy water, and an assortment of blessed swords and arrows weren't going to go far. And there was no telling how many more encounters they might need to fight. They needed a long-term solution. Simon and Izzy had sent a handful of updates from abroad that had included mentioning Centurions being dispatched to chase after the multitude of demon attacks that had peppered the globe. Alec had shook his head in disgust when he had seen that. What an inefficient use of resources. Everett was stalling, trying to look like he was doing something without having to properly take responsibility for coordinating the world's Institutes.

Jace had focused on the dispersion of the demons; he had analyzed the locations and relative strength of the disturbances endlessly, stubbornly trying to divine the nature of the mind that he was certain was directing the assaults. But Alec knew all too well the mind that was controlling their side of the equation, and he was filled with the feeling of helplessness as he watched the Clave fail to act under Everett's administration.

Magnus idly tapped one of the great blades of the arch with an immaculate nail as he regarded his husband critically. "Darling, there are both fundamental and physiological differences between men and women. You're a particularly fine example of a man, not that I'm complaining, but-" the warlock peered across the chasm at the fortress that had shown no signs of life since they had arrived nearly an hour earlier, "they're not going to talk to you," he repeated.