The Lost Book of the White (The Eldest Curses #2) - Cassandra Clare Page 0,74
was looking at an abandoned place. All was silent. Nothing moved. When the angle allowed them to get a better look at the towers, Magnus could see that most of them were broken, and here and there on the ground far below, huge boulders of fallen rock blocked the streets.
It seemed at first as if they would descend right into the heart of the ruined city, but this was an optical illusion; when they reached the ground level, they could see that the staircase let them off outside the walls.
The five of them stepped off the final steps into a stone-paved courtyard, just as silent as the plain they’d left above. On three sides the courtyard seemed to end and fall off into nothing, but on the fourth side, two massive que towers stood. Their architecture was traditionally Chinese—“traditional” meaning a couple thousand years ago—elaborately carved and topped by flat roof tiles like broad-brimmed hats. As they neared the towers they could see that both were assembled from hundreds, even thousands of bones, from animals and humans alike. One tower shone bleached white, and the other gleamed in ebonized black. Between them, a path curved back and forth like a serpent, leading to an opening in the city walls through which all was dark.
Their steps echoed emptily. The silence was oppressive, the air completely still. They all walked down the winding path; there seemed to be no other way to go. Alec had drawn Black Impermanence and was carefully holding it in front of him, but nothing happened as they passed between the que towers.
Magnus wasn’t sure what he’d expected when they entered the city walls. The path dead-ended at another large rectangular courtyard, paved in stone. At the far end of the courtyard rose a white, half-timbered building with a hipped red roof, whose doors had been thrown wide. Red paper lanterns, unlit, dangled from the eaves. There was no way around the building; they would have to pass into it, and hopefully through it, before they could continue on.
Once inside, Magnus was reminded oddly of a hotel lobby. Tall stone pillars held up a ceiling so high that it vanished into haze, in a large open space that appeared designed to hold many people at once.
On both sides of the room, tapestries had been hung between a series of tall bronze poles. It looked to Magnus like they had once illustrated some tale, or maybe provided a suggestion of the punishments offered deeper into the realm, but now, other than the occasional face that could be made out, they were indecipherable, covered with dried bloodstains, frayed and torn at the bottom, and faded with age. At the far end of the room was a large but plain wooden desk, with a neat stack of dusty, rotted books and a pile of parchments flaked away to almost nothing. Behind the desk, a tiled wall depicted a surprisingly ordinary pattern of chrysanthemums.
There was no movement, no activity, no wind. Magnus’s breathing rang loudly in his own ears; his and his companions’ footfalls sounded like knocks upon a massive stone door.
Magnus walked toward the desk, uncertain, and as he did, he saw motion—a thick, stubby tentacle, green-black, appeared from below and flopped onto the desktop.
The Shadowhunters froze. Magnus heard a whisper and the corner of his eye caught the glow of a seraph blade being kindled.
A second tentacle joined the first, then a third. They shifted around on the desktop, leaving bits of slime. Then, acting in concert, they pressed down against the desk and levered into view a slimy head and torso, which rose until the creature was standing up. The tentacles slurped back off the desk and slapped on the stone floor wetly.
The demon had close-set green eyes and a vertical slit instead of a nose or mouth. It opened this slit and made a loud, gurgling noise, thick with slime, which might have been a roar or a yawn.
“Is that a Cecaelia demon?” Jace said, incredulous.
“Mortals!” intoned the demon, in a voice like a drowning man. “Welcome to Youdu, capital city of the hundred thousand hells! Here in the First Court the sins of your life will be tallied, and your punish—” He stopped and squinted at them. “Wait, I know you. Magnus Bane! What are you doing in Diyu, of all places?”
Alec said, “What?!” in a very loud voice.
“How do you know me, demon?” demanded Magnus, but a memory was already creeping into his mind, from a