The Tenebrous Weapons

Ever since the beginning of time, Shadowhunters had always taken refuge in Idris, their homeland and only place where they could be truly themselves. The rolling, green fields surrounding Alicante and the dangerous but ever beautiful Lake Lynn were features of a face that Rem would never forget—just like his mother’s, brother’s, and his parabatai’s.

But now his mother was dead, his brother, too. And who knew what would happen to his parabatai now that he was gone? He kept chanting in his head how he shouldn’t have left Ingrid behind, a gaping hole inside his chest widening as the infernal mundane machine kept moving through the grey path Connor had called driveway. Drive. What a mundane word. Before, Rem had been merely ignorant about everything mundane, which was only because he couldn’t care less. But now that he moved inside their own skin, watched the same things they did and traveled in the same way they did, he hated them. He hated them with all his heart.

Connor, his escort, was silent as he drove. Rem knew he’d been to the mundane world multiple times in missions, but all he had gone to was France once or twice for an exam. He’d fought plenty of demons, but never really set off around the world. He didn’t even want to, even if his mother had let him. Idris, Alicante, was his home. Why would he want to leave?

“You’re awfully quiet,” Connor called from the front seat. “Is it because of Ingrid?”

“Don’t you even dare,” Rem hissed, his fingers crisping violently around the fabric of his—by the Angel, they were uncomfortable—jeans. He didn’t like them at all, which only infuriated him further. “You have no right to talk about her.”

“I was just asking.”

“Well, don’t ask,” he furiously yanked on the leather seat until the scars on his knuckles blended with the skin. “It’s because of you that I’m away.”

“I made your mother a promise, Rem,” the adult pursed his lips. “Don’t make me break it, not now that she’s gone.”

“We didn’t even attend to their funeral,” his voice broke, sounding like a whine when he said the last part.

No, he hadn’t been able to go, but he knew why—just as he knew why his mother and brother had been killed. A few weeks prior to their death, his mother had confessed to her sons the doubt in the Clave that she had harboured. Investigating further, Raban and Rem had found signals of a conspiracy, which they immediately communicated to their mother. She set off and, while Rem stayed behind, his big brother accompanied her. The next morning the Clave told everyone that they had died while on a mission. The fury that shook Rem wasn’t even close to the sadness he felt.

And Ingrid. Oh, poor Ingrid had been crushed. The girl had been dating his brother for such a long time—everyone knew they were going to get married one day. And then everything was snatched from her, including her parabatai, off to some country near the North. It infuriated Rem to no end, everything that was going on, especially the fact that the only thing Connor let him take from his home was his clothes and one of his mother’s most precious book.

Running his hand through his hair, Rem drifted his eyes to said book, laying by his side. He extended his arm and grabbed the hard cover; used, burgundy velvet caressing his fingertips. The title was written in pale, golden letters in German, which was her mother’s origin country. It was Rem’s, too, but he had been raised in Alicante.

Shadowhunters: A Story to Tell

A book of fairy tales. He never knew why his mother would be so obsessed with said book, but every time things went wrong, she’d pull it out, place it on the dinner table when Raban and Rem were just eating—and she’d say that all the answers were there. Raban would laugh and grab his glass of water, taking a sip before continuing to eat while Rem would stare at the book with wonder. He’d never read it, but he’d been read it by his mother when he was small. He knew all tales by heart; The Fall of Lucifer, Raziel’s Descend, God’s Will and Power, The Tenebrous Weapons, The First Rune… they were all inside his head yet, they weren’t there at all.

Pushing the book aside, Rem drifted his amber eyes towards the scenery, where he was both pleased and disgusted. He’d always loved the rain, but to have such weather when he had just arrived was just painful. The streets were dirty, rotten, humidity filling the air and crisping his hair. Connor started to babble on about how beautiful everything was but all Rem could think was sleeping. He was tired as hell, but he just couldn’t close his eyes, not in the infernal machine he was riding. What a hideous thing it was.

They finally arrived on the outskirts of the city, right by a cemetery. The Institute was well hidden, it even made Rem take an effort to see it. Tall, gothic and beautifully stained glass eyed, the Institute of Amsterdam was actually nice to look at. At the door there were two people—probably Shadowhunters. One was a woman and the other was a boy.

Approaching with his bag on shoulder and book in the other hand, Connor and Rem greeted the two allies.

“You must be Connor Flagrob,” the woman was probably in her late fourties, a real beauty if she hadn’t had half her face disfigured.

“Yes, I am,” said guard shook her hand.

“I’m Theresa Youngblood,” she introduced, turning to Rem then. “And… Rem Blackwell?”

“Indeed, ma’am,” he nodded.

“I knew your mother—wonderful woman,” she smiled softly and Rem shifted his weight to the other leg uncomfortably. “This is Liam, my protected.”

Rem’s eyes flashed to the boy, immediately knowing that if he was protected, his family had probably died too. He was broad shouldered, with short, brown hair and equal brown eyes. Rem was taller than him, but thinner. Liam seemed to be uncomfortable, too, but he managed a smile and shook his hand.

“Liam is eighteen,” Theresa grabbed his shoulders and squeezed them. “Weren’t you seventeen, Rem?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am,” he nodded.

“Well then, you two will get along just fine. Liam, why don’t you show Rem around? Connor and I need to speak some matters.”

“Sure, Theresa,” he nodded and beckoned the boy, who followed his steps. Once inside, he closed the doors and gave him a half-hearted smile. “Sorry about that, she’s not usually like that.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Rem confessed. “I’m just not used to Shadowhunters being so happy when Idris is practically falling apart.”

“Is it?” he frowned, and Rem frowned back at him.

“You mean you don’t know?” he shot his eyebrows to his hairline when the boy shook his head. “By the Angel—have you not heard anything of what is happening with the oldest Shadowhunters in the Clave?”

“I’m kind of isolated here,” he hunched his shoulders and shoved his hands on the pockets of his pants.

“I see,” Rem pursed his lips. “Well, basically the oldest members of the Clave have been killed in missions. But it turns out nobody knew they were actually on a mission, that’s just the… official story. New members have been selected for the Clave but the funny thing is that the voting is done in less than an hour.”

“That’s weird,” Liam frowned.

“It is,” Rem nodded. “I guess we’ll just have to wait.”

“For what?” Liam turned to him fully and Rem stopped his steps, fixing the strap of his bag before flashing a weak smile.

“For all of us to die.”