It was a glowing archway, about ten feet in height, and perhaps five across in width. It was not carved into the stone but rather was made of glowing runes that twined into one another like the vines of a trellis. The runes were not from the Gray Book—Gabriel would have recognized them if they had been—but were runes he had never seen before. They had the foreign look of another language, yet each was distinct and beautiful and spoke a murmuring song of travel and distance, of whirling dark space and the distance between worlds.
They glowed green in the darkness, pale and acidic. Within the space created by the runes the wall was not visible—only darkness, impenetrable, as if of a great dark pit.
“It truly is amazing,” Magnus said.
All but the warlock were dressed in their gear and were bristling with weapons—Gabriel’s favorite double-edged longsword was slung over his back, and he was itching to get his gloved hands on the hilt. Though he liked the bow and arrow, he had been trained in the longsword by a master who could trace his own masters back to Lichtenauer, and Gabriel fancied the longsword his specialty. Besides, a bow and arrow would be much less use against automatons than a weapon that could chop them into component parts.
“All down to you, Magnus,” Henry said. He was glowing—or, Gabriel thought, it could have been the reflection of the lighted runes against his face.
“Not at all,” Magnus replied. “If not for your genius, this could never have been created.”
“While I am enjoying this exchange of pleasantries,” Gabriel said, seeing that Henry was about to respond, “there do remain a few—central—questions about this invention.”
Henry looked at him blankly. “Such as what?”
“I believe, Henry, that he is inquiring whether this . . . doorway—,” Charlotte began.
“We’ve called it a Portal,” said Henry. The capitalization of the word was very clear in his tone.
“Whether it works,” Charlotte finished. “Have you tried it?”
Henry looked stricken. “Well, no. There hasn’t been time. But I assure you, our calculations are faultless.”
Everyone but Henry and Magnus looked at the Portal with refreshed alarm. “Henry . . .,” Charlotte began.
“Well, I think Henry and Magnus should go first,” Gabriel said. “They invented the blasted thing.”
Everyone turned on him. “It’s like he’s replaced Will,” said Gideon, eyebrows up. “They say all the same sort of things.”
“I am not like Will!” Gabriel snapped.
“I should hope not,” said Cecily, though so quietly that he wondered if anyone else had heard her. She was looking especially pretty today, though he had no idea why. She was dressed in the same plain black woman’s gear as Charlotte; her hair was secured demurely behind her head, and the ruby necklace at her throat glowed against her skin. However, Gabriel reminded himself sternly, since they were most likely about to direct themselves all into mortal danger, thinking about whether Cecily was pretty ought not to be foremost on his mind. He told himself to stop immediately.
“I am nothing like Will Herondale,” he repeated.
“I am perfectly willing to go through first,” Magnus said, with the long-suffering air of a schoolmaster in a room full of ill-behaved schoolboys. “There are a few things I need. We are hoping Tessa will be there; Will may be also; I should like some extra gear and weapons to bring through. I plan, of course, to wait for you on the other side, but should there be any—unexpected developments, it is always good to prepare.”
Charlotte nodded. “Yes—of course.” She glanced down for a moment. “I cannot believe no one has come to assist us. I thought, after my letter, at least a few—” She broke off, swallowing, and raised her chin. “Let me get Sophie. She can put together the things you need, Magnus. And she and Cyril and Bridget are meant to join us shortly.” She vanished up the steps, Henry looking after her with worried fondness.
Gabriel could not blame him. It was obviously a severe blow to Charlotte that no one had answered her call and come to aid them, though he could have told her they would not. People were intrinsically selfish, and many hated the idea of a woman in charge of the Institute. They would not put themselves at risk for her. Only a few weeks ago he would have said the same thing about himself. Now, knowing Charlotte, he realized to his surprise, the idea of risking himself for her seemed an honor, as it would be to most Englishmen to risk themselves for the queen.
“How does one make the Portal work?” Cecily asked, glancing at the glowing archway as if it were a painting in a gallery, her dark head cocked to the side.
“It will transport you instantly from one place to another,” said Henry. “But the trick is—well, that part is magic.” He said the word a little nervously.
“You need to be picturing the place you’re going to,” said Magnus. “It won’t work to take you to a place you have never been and cannot imagine. In this case, to get to Cadair Idris, we are going to need Cecily. Cecily, how close to Cadair Idris do you believe you can bring us?”
“To the very top,” Cecily said confidently. “There are several paths that will bring you up the mountain, and I have walked two of them with my father. I can remember the crest of the mountain.”
“Excellent,” Henry said. “Cecily, you will stand before the Portal and visualize our destination—”
“But she’s not going first, is she?” Gabriel demanded. The moment the words were out of his mouth, he was startled. He hadn’t meant to say them. Ah, well, in for a penny, in for a pound, though, he thought. “I meant: She is the least trained of us all; it wouldn’t be safe.”
“I can go through first,” Cecily said, looking as if she were not in the least grateful for Gabriel’s support. “I see no reason why—”
“Henry!” It was Charlotte, reappearing at the foot of the steps. Behind her were the servants of the Institute, all in training gear—Bridget, looking as if she were out for a morning stroll; Cyril, set and determined; and Sophie, carrying a large leather bag.
Behind them were three more men. Tall men, in parchment robes, moving with peculiar gliding motions.
Silent Brothers.
Unlike any other Silent Brothers that Gabriel had seen before, though, these were armed. Weapons belts were cinched around their waists, over their robes, and from their belts hung long, curved blades, their hilts made of shimmering adamas, the same material used to make steles and seraph blades.
Henry looked up, puzzled—then guiltily, from the Portal, to the Brothers. His lightly freckled face paled. “Brother Enoch,” he said. “I—”
Calm yourself. The Silent Brother’s voice rang out in all their minds. We have not come to warn you of any possible breach of the Law, Henry Branwell. We have come to fight with you.
“To fight with us?” Gideon looked amazed. “But Silent Brothers don’t— I mean, they aren’t warriors—”
That is incorrect. Shadowhunters we were and Shadowhunters we remain, even when changed to become Brothers. We were founded by Jonathan Shadowhunter himself, and though we live by the book, we may yet die by the sword if we so choose.