Clary's eyes had gone very wide. "Simon . . . ," she whispered. Her voice was raspy.
"It's a bit of a technicality," Magnus added, "but Shadowhunters have no problems with technicalities. They love a technicality. Look at Jem. Jem is a technicality in the flesh. People don't come back from being Silent Brothers, either, and there he is."
Jem smiled at this, the sadness in his eyes receding.
"Parabatai," Clary said again.
And in that moment, something settled over Simon. Something like a blanket on a cold day. Something completely reassuring.
"Parabatai," he said.
A long moment settled between them, and in that moment, all was decided. There was no need to discuss it. You do not need to ask if your heart should beat, or if you should breathe. He and Clary were parabatai. All of Simon's anger was gone. Now he knew. He had Clary, and she would have him. Forever. Their souls knit.
"How did you know?" Simon asked.
"It's not that hard to see," Magnus replied, and finally some of the usual levity was in his voice. "I'm also literally magic."
"It's pretty obvious," Catarina added.
"Even I knew," said Jem. "And I don't know you very well. There's always something about true parabatai. They don't need to speak to communicate. I saw the two of you having entire conversations without saying a word. It was like that with my parabatai, Will. I never had to ask Will what he was thinking. In fact, it was usually better not to ask Will what he was thinking. . . ."
That got a smile from Magnus and Catarina both.
"But I see it between you. True parabatai are linked long before the ceremony takes place."
"So we can . . . we can do the ceremony?" Clary asked.
"You can," Jem said. "Not tonight. There will be some discussions in the Silent City about it, surely, as this is an unusual case."
"All right," Catarina said. "Now the nurse is taking over. That's enough for tonight. You two need sleep. That water packs a punch. You'll be fine in the morning, but you need to rest. Rest and hydrate. Come on."
Simon went to stand and found that his legs had left him and had been replaced with a wobbly, leg-shaped substance. Catarina caught him up under the shoulder and helped him. Magnus helped Clary to her feet.
"There's a room for you here tonight, Clary," Catarina said. "In the morning we'll have the dress gear brought to you both for Julian and Emma's ceremony."
"Wait," Simon said as he was being ushered out. "Jace kept saying something about how I had to remember how he and I met. What does that mean?"
"That's for you to figure out," Jem said. "The visions caused by Lake Lyn can stir very powerful feelings."
Simon nodded. His body was giving out. He allowed Catarina to help him back to his room.
"What happened to you?" George said as Catarina got him in the door.
"How long have I been gone?" Simon replied, dropping face-first onto his bed. It was a sign of his exhaustion that his terrible, sharp-springed bed felt good. It felt like a hundred down pillows heaped on the back of a bouncy castle.
"Maybe two hours," George said. "You look terrible. What was it?"
"The food," Simon mumbled. "It finally got me."
And then he was asleep.
*
He felt surprisingly okay when he woke up. He woke before George, even. He got out of bed quietly and picked up his towel and things to go down to the bathrooms. On the ground outside the door, in a black box, was a set of formal gear. Formal Shadowhunter gear looked much like regular gear--it was just lighter in weight, somehow more deeply black, and cleaner than most gear. No tears. No ichor. Fancy duds. He put the box on his bed and quietly continued to the bathroom. No one was awake yet, so he had the whole moldy place to himself. It turned out if you woke up first, you could actually get a tiny bit of hot water, so he stood under the spray, pretended that it didn't taste of rust, and let his body relax in the warmth. There was just enough light coming through the window high up on the wall that he could get what amounted to an almost even shave.
He walked through the empty halls of the Academy, which were softened by the early morning light. Nothing looked so severe this morning. It was almost cozy. He even found one of the hall fires burning, and he stood beside it to get warm before going outside for some air. He wasn't surprised to find Clary there, already dressed, sitting on the top step, looking out of the mist that floated over the grounds at dawn.
"You woke up early too, huh?" she said.
He sat down next to her.
"Yup. Get up before the kitchen starts cooking. That's the only way to escape it. I'm starving, though."
Clary rummaged around in her bag for a moment and produced a bagel wrapped in several small deli napkins.
"Is that . . . ," Simon said.
"You think I would come from New York empty-handed? No cream cheese, but, you know, it's something. I know what you need."
Simon held the bagel for a moment.
"It makes sense," she said. "You and me. I feel like it's always been true. It's always what we were. You don't . . . I know you don't remember it all, but it's always been you and me."
"I remember enough," he said. "I feel enough."
He wanted to say more, but the enormity of it all--much of this was best left unsaid. For now, anyway. It was still so fresh in his mind, this feeling. This feeling of completeness.
So he ate the bagel. Always eat the bagel.
"Emma and Julian," Simon said between bites. "They're only fourteen."
"Jace and Alec were fifteen."
"Still, it seems . . . I mean, they've been through a lot. The attack on the L.A. Institute."
"I know," Clary said, nodding. "But bad stuff . . . it brings people together sometimes. They've had to grow up fast."
A black horse-drawn carriage appeared on the edge of the road leading to the Academy. As it grew closer, Simon could see a figure in a plain, parchment-colored robe at the reins. When the carriage stopped and the figure turned to them, Simon could see the runes that sealed the man's mouth. When the man spoke, it was not through normal words, but in a voice that landed right inside of Simon's mind.
I am Brother Shadrach. I am here to take you to the ceremony. Please get inside.
"You know," said Simon quietly as they got into the carriage, "there was probably a time when we would have considered this creepy."
"I don't remember that time anymore," replied Clary.
"I guess we're finally even on something we don't remember."
The carriage was simply appointed in black silk, black curtains, black everything, really. But it was well sprung and comfortable, as far as speeding horse carriages go. Brother Shadrach had no fear of speed, and soon the Academy was in the distance and Simon and Clary were looking at each other from across the carriage as they bounced along. Simon tried to talk a few times, but his voice juddered from the impact, the constant thud thud thud of the carriage making its way across Brocelind Plain. The roads in Idris were not the smooth highways Simon was used to. They were paved in stone, and there were no rest stops with bathrooms and Starbucks. There was no heat, but each had been provided with a heavy fur blanket. As a vegetarian, Simon didn't really want to use it. As a person without much choice who was freezing, he did.
Simon also had no watch, no phone, nothing to tell the passing time except the rising of the late-autumn sun. He estimated that they rode an hour, maybe more. They entered the calming shade of the Brocelind Forest. The smell of the trees and leaves was almost intoxicating, and the sun came through in slashes and ribbons, illuminating Clary's face and hair, her smile.
His parabatai.
They stopped not too far into the forest. The door opened, and Brother Shadrach was there.
We have arrived.
Somehow, it was worse when it stopped. Simon's head and body still felt like they were shaking. Simon looked up and saw that they were near the base of a mountain. It stretched above the trees.
This way
.
They followed Brother Shadrach down a barely marked track--a light trail where several feet had passed, leaving just the tiniest scar on the ground, a few inches wide. Through a thicket of trees against the mountainside, there was a doorway, about fifteen feet in height. It was wide at the base and narrower at the top. There was a bas-relief carving of an angel just above the lintel. Brother Shadrach took one of the rings on the door and knocked it hard, just once. The door opened, seemingly of its own accord.
They walked down a narrow passage with smooth marble walls, and descended a staircase made of stone. There were no rails, so he and Clary put their hands on either wall to keep from falling. Brother Shadrach, in his long robe, had no such fear of falling. He seemed to glide down. From there, they were in a larger space, which Simon at first thought was made of stones. After a moment he saw that the walls were mosaicked with bones--some chalky white, some gray, some ashy, and some a disturbing brownish color. Long bones formed arches and columns, and skulls, top side out, formed most of the walls. They were finally left in a room where the bone art was really ambitious--great circling patterns of skulls and bones gave the room shape. Above, smaller bones formed more delicate structures, such as chandeliers, which glowed with witchlights. It was like being shown the end of the world's worst home-decorating show.
You will wait here.
Brother Shadrach exited the chamber, and Simon and Clary were left alone. One thing about the Silent City: It really lived up to its name. Simon had never been anywhere so utterly devoid of sound. Simon worried that if he spoke, the walls of bones would come down on his head and bury them both. They probably wouldn't--that would be a major design flaw--but the sensation was strong.
After several moments the door opened again and Julian appeared alone. Julian Blackthorn may only have been fourteen, but he seemed older, even older than Simon. He had grown quite a bit, and now Simon could look him eye to eye. He had his family's characteristic thick, curling dark-brown hair, and his face had a look of quiet seriousness. It was a seriousness that reminded Simon of the way his mother had looked when his father died, and she'd spent nights awake worrying about how to pay the mortgage and feed her children, how to raise them all by herself. No one wore this kind of expression by choice. The only sign that Julian wasn't an adult was the way his dress gear fit a bit loose, and the way he was just a bit gangly.
"Julian!" Clary said, looking as if she was considering hugging him and then discarding the idea. He seemed too dignified to be squeezed. "Where's Emma?"
"Talking to Brother Zachariah," Julian said. "I mean Jem. She's talking to Jem."
Julian seemed deeply puzzled about this, but also didn't look to be in the mood to be questioned further.
"So," Clary said, "how do you feel?"
Julian simply nodded and looked around.
He hesitated. "I just want to . . . do it. I want to get it done."
This seemed like a slightly odd response. Now that Simon was thinking about his own ceremony with Clary, the prospect seemed amazing. Something to be looked forward to. But Julian had been through a lot. He'd lost his parents, his older brother and sister. It was probably hard to go through something this major without them there.
It was hard to look at Julian and not remember that he had seen Julian's brother Mark not that long ago--Mark, imprisoned and half-mad. That he had decided not to share this fact with Julian, because it would have been unbelievably cruel to do so. Simon still believed his decision had been the right one, but that didn't mean it didn't weigh like a stone in his soul.
"How's L.A.?" he said, and immediately regretted it. How's L.A.? How's that place you live in where you saw your father murdered and your brother taken hostage forever by faeries? How's that?
Julian's mouth curled up at the corner. As if he sensed that Simon was feeling uncomfortable, and he felt sympathetic, but also thought it was funny.
Simon was used to that.
"Hot," Julian said.
Which was fair enough.
"How's your family?" Clary asked.
Julian's face lit up, his eyes glowing like the surface of water. "Everyone is good. Ty's really into detective stuff, Dru's into horror--watching all sorts of mundane movies she's not supposed to. But then she scares herself and has to sleep with the witchlight on. Livvy's gotten really good with the sabre, and Tavvy--"
He broke off as Jem and Emma came down the stairs. Emma's step seemed lighter. There was something about Emma that made Simon think of eternal summers on a beach--her sunbleached hair, her graceful way of moving, her winter tan. Along the inside of one of her arms was a vicious long scar.
She looked at once to Julian, who nodded before starting to pace around the room. Emma immediately wrapped Simon in a hug. Her arms, though smaller than his, wound around him like steel cables. She smelled like sea spray.
"Thank you for being here," she said. "I wanted to write to you but they . . ." She looked at Jem for a moment. "They said they would tell you. Thank you, both of you."
Julian ran his hand along the smooth marble wall. He seemed to have trouble looking over at Emma. Emma went to him, and Jem followed, speaking to them both for a moment. Clary and Simon stood back and watched them. Something about the way Emma and Julian were acting wasn't quite what Simon expected. Sure, they would be nervous but . . .
No, it was something else.
Clary tugged on Simon's sleeve, indicating that he should lean down so she could whisper to him.
"They look so"--Clary broke off her sentence and cocked her head slightly to the side--"young."
There was a hint in her voice that this was not a completely satisfactory statement. Something about this was off. But Simon had no time to figure out what. Jem, Emma, and Julian joined them again.
"I will accompany you into the chamber," Jem said. "Clary will walk with Emma. Simon will walk with Julian. Do you feel ready to continue?"
Both Emma and Julian visibly swallowed hard and got very wide-eyed, but both managed to say yes.
"Then we will proceed. Please follow me."
More corridors, but the bone gave way to more white marble, and then marble that had the appearance of gold. They arrived at a great set of doors, which were opened by Brother Shadrach. The room they led to was the largest yet, with a towering, domed ceiling. There were marbles of all colors--white, black, pink, gold, silver. Every surface was utterly smooth. The room was occupied by a ring of Silent Brothers, maybe twenty in all, who parted to allow them in. The light in the room was dim and came from golden sconces and flickering candlelight. The air was thick with incense.
"Simon Lewis and Julian Blackthorn." Jem's voice resonated--for a moment Simon almost thought he heard it inside his mind, the way he had once heard Brother Zachariah's. It still held a depth to it that seemed richer than human. "Cross to the other side of the circle, where they have made a space for you. When you get there, remain there. You will be told what to do."
Simon looked to Julian, who had turned the color of copier paper. Despite looking like he might faint, Julian walked firmly across the room, and Simon followed. Clary and Emma took their places on the opposite side. Jem joined the circle of Silent Brothers, who all stepped back as one, widening the circle. Now the four of them were at the center.
Suddenly, two rings of white and gold fire appeared out of the floor, the flames rising just a few inches, but burning bright and hot.
Emma Carstairs. Step forward.
The voices rang in Simon's head--it was all of the Brothers speaking as one. Emma looked to Clary, then took a single step into one of the rings. She fixed her eyes on Julian and smiled widely.
Julian Blackthorn. Step forward.
Julian stepped into the other ring. His step was quicker, but he kept his head down.
Witnesses, you will stand on the wings of the angel.
This took Simon a moment to work out. He finally saw that at the top of the circle, carved roughly into the floor, was another figure of
an angel with outstretched wings. He took his place on one, and Clary the other. This brought him a little closer to the ring of fire. He felt the heat of it creep pleasantly over his cold feet. From this vantage point, he could see Emma and Julian's expressions.
What was he seeing? It was something he knew.
We begin the Fiery Trial. Emma Carstairs, Julian Blackthorn, enter the center ring. In this ring, you will be bound.
A central ring appeared, joining the two. A Venn diagram of fire. As soon as Emma and Julian were in it, the center ring burned higher, reaching waist height.
Something flickered between Julian and Emma at that moment. It was so quick that Simon couldn't tell which direction it had come from, but he'd seen it out of the corner of one of his eyes. Some look, something about the way one of them stood, something--but it was a look or a stance or something that he had seen before.
The fire flashed higher. It was up to their shoulders now.
You will now recite the oath.
Emma and Julian began speaking as one, their voices both with a small tremble as they recited the ancient Biblical words.
"Whither thou goest, I will go . . ."
*
Simon was hit with a bolt of anxiety. What had he just seen? Why was it so familiar? Why did it put him on edge? He studied Emma and Julian again, as best as he could over the fire. They looked like two nervous kids about to do something very serious, while standing in a flaming circle.
There it was again. So quick. The direction was obscured by the flickering at the top of the ring. What the hell was it? Maybe this was precisely what witnesses were supposed to do. Maybe they were supposed to watch for this kind of thing. No. Jem said it was a formality. A formality. Maybe he should have asked this question before standing next to the giant ring of fire.
"Where thou diest, I will die, and there will I be buried . . ."
Shadowhunter rituals, always cheery.
"The Angel do so to me, and more also . . ."
Julian tripped on the words "do so to me." He cleared his throat and finished the statement a second after Emma.
Something clicked in Simon's mind. He remembered Jace, suddenly, in his hallucination, saying something about the first time they'd met. And then the memory flashed across his mind like one of those banners trailing off the back of the little planes that flew above the beach off Long Island . . .