Chapter 22 – Visions

The forest spread out in all directions. Even if there hadn't been snow on the dry ground, turning everything into an icy landscape, he would have known it was winter. You could literally feel it. For a moment he just stood there, not sure why he had come. The forest around him was dead silent. You couldn't even hear a bird singing.

Then, without really knowing why, he started to move, making his way through the deep branches of a thicket. The cold leaves scratched his Shadowhunter gear, but he didn't mind. He hadn't spent years training as a warrior to be bothered by cold leaves. He had just cleared the thicket when he heard a scream. He stopped dead in his tracks and listened. It hadn't been a sound of pain, nor a terrified scream. It had sounded angry. And surprised.

He started moving again, but faster this time. The ground was uneven and the thick layer of snow made it almost impossible to make out the roots of the trees. But his feet carried him reliably through the forest.

Another scream broke the silence, and he was sure he had almost reached its source. Then the trees suddenly opened up on either side and he found himself in a clearing. He almost stumbled in surprise. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a frantic movement. He raised his head.

A young woman in dark gear knelt a few yards in front of him. In her right hand she held a sword, raised defensively in front of her chest. Red hair fell around her shoulders, blowing in the cold winter air. If she hadn't looked so amazed, she would have looked like an angel. A soft gasp escaped her lips and her emerald green eyes fixed on a figure moving menacingly towards her.

"Jonathan, what's this about?" There was amazement in her voice, but also anger. A moment later, she lowered her sword and instead raised her left hand in the direction of the figure. He had been so mesmerized by the sight of her that he only now turned his head to the other person.

A young man, not much older than her, was standing a good two meters away from her. His face was twisted into a seething mask of fury, his teeth bared and he seemed more animal than human. His black eyes were otherworldly and didn't match the rest of his looks. He also wore Shadowhunter gear. Instead of answering her, he lunged at her faster than he had ever seen a human move. The redhead didn't flinch as he threw her to the floor and bent over her. She didn't even seem to be breathing. All she could manage was a rattling sound as her shoulders hit the hard ground.

Every fiber in his body struggled to lunge forward and pull Jonathan away from her. But his feet were heavy as stone, he couldn't move an inch forward. He could only watch as Jonathan stared darkly at the young woman.

"Jonathan, damn it, stop!" she managed to choke out, staring at him with wide, scared eyes. Her hands sought support in the cold ground and she wanted to get up when Jonathan brutally rammed his boot into her ribs. The cracking of bones echoed across the clearing, followed closely by a cry of pain.

He hadn't expected that she would straighten up again a second later and pull Jonathan with her to the ground. Her movement was not very smooth and yet he had not been prepared. Jonathan fell to the ground with her. They fought briefly, then the redhead prevailed and knelt over him. She pressed his arms into the snow. "Stop that right now."

But Jonathan said nothing. Instead, his hands went to her forearms. He tried to wrestle her off him again. Shortly thereafter, she fell to the ground next to him and he used her moment of weakness to regain control of the situation. His face was an uncontrolled mask of anger. He seemed to be freaking out every second, and yet his hand didn't even tremble as it slid down to his weapon-belt.

Jace could only watch as Jonathan unbuckled the golden dagger from his belt and placed it under the woman's chin. A perfidious smile spread across his face, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. When she realized what Jonathan was up to, she began to wriggle under him. She spat in his face. "Let me go."

Jonathan slapped her face angrily and she gasped again. Frozen in fear, she looked up at him. The Kindjal shone in the light of the sun that filtered through the treetops. Without hesitation and without thinking, he rammed the dagger into his sister's neck. She made no sound, but her eyes widened as the blade pierced her flesh.

They hardly bore any noticeable resemblance to one another. While she had a round but narrow face, his was angular and alienated by the distorted features. Her hair was red, Jonathan's was blonde, similar to his own, but whiter. One only recognized the deeper and more intimate relationship between the two through the subliminal communication that existed between them. She reacted to each of his movements with one of her own. He responded to every sound she made by tensing his muscles. Everything in their body language suggested a close connection that had existed until a few seconds ago. But Jace could feel it evaporate the moment Jonathan stabbed her in the throat with the dagger.

This discordant conflict, which seemed to make no sense, caused him physical pain. Just watching made Jace gasp as he felt like he was witnessing something incredibly personal. He took a step back and this time his feet gave way.

Then another voice broke the silence. "Jonathan." A dark, deep, almost indifferent voice made Jace whirl around, startled at having been unaware of another presence. And there he was, just a few yards from Jace, on a stump. The same white blond hair as Jonathan, the same hard features, though not drawn with anger but with a kind of disappointment. Valentine Morgenstern.

"You have to get your emotions under control. Look what you did to your sister."

oOo

In a flash, Jace sat up in his bed. He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his chest. It wasn't racing, his body seemed perfectly still, as if he hadn't just seen his parents' killer as clearly as if he had actually been standing in front of him. Has it actually been a dream? He couldn't say for sure.

Jace stared into the darkness and thought about Clary. It had happened exactly as she had said it had. But that didn't have to mean anything. He had been thinking so much about Valentine and Clary in the past few days. It was completely natural that his thoughts followed him to sleep as well. And yet an uncomfortable feeling crept over him, because he couldn't deny that he had never had such a lucid dream before. It hadn't seemed remotely like a dream.

It was so real, I can't believe it was just a dream. That's what Clary had said after waking up screaming from a dream of her own and asking for pen and paper from him. Her request had thrown him completely off guard. He had argued with himself about going into her room and waking her. He had wanted to turn around and walk away, but something in his chest had resisted. A small part of him had wanted to wake her up. Again and again, she had called upon the angel, Ithuriel. Sweat had ran down her forehead and her face had been contorted with pain. Something in him had wanted to help her. And he cursed himself for it.

When Jace had seen her lying there helplessly, he had immediately thought of her father's face. He mustn't forget what Valentine had done. He mustn't forget what she was capable of. He couldn't forget whose blood ran through her veins.

And yet he had walked to the edge of her bed and hesitantly touched her shoulder. Her skin had glowed and the light touch had been enough to wake her from her sleep. She must have been a very light sleeper if that was enough. The look Clary had given him when she had spotted him by the bed had seemed vulnerable. Jace was sure he would have been able to kill her if he had wanted to at that moment. And that was exactly what had triggered something in him, even if he couldn't say what it was. Shortly thereafter she had left him in his room almost indifferently.

Jace narrowed his eyes and stared into the darkness of his room. In his sleep he had kicked the blanket to the foot of his bed. It didn't interest him, he usually got too warm during the night anyway. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table, three in the morning. If he went back to sleep now, he would get enough rest before dawn. He was just about to lie down again when a dull noise caught his attention.

The fatigue fell off him like scales as he sat up again and listened to the darkness. They were footsteps, irregular and dull. They didn't come from the hallway, and they didn't sound like someone walking on wood. Jace lifted his head and stared at the crooked ceiling above him. Someone was on the roof.

oOo

I couldn't close my eyes. I did my best to get a few more hours of sleep, but my mind wouldn't turn off. A thousand thoughts buzzed through my head and they were so loud that it was impossible to ignore them.

Ithuriel's rune had to be a real rune, it had to have some effect. All I needed was a stele to try it out. But no one would voluntarily give me a stele. Not me. Jace had struggled to give me a piece of paper and a pen.

I needed to know more about these dreams. It was now the second in a short time. It couldn't be a coincidence, especially not that the second dream started right where the first ended. I didn't think it was an ordinary dream. It had to be more, it just had to.

With a sigh, I jumped out of bed. I wasn't tired at all. I realized I had wasted the last few hours here in bed. I quickly put on my black outfit and combed my hair into a ponytail. Then I slipped into my boots, grabbed my witchlight and left my room. I had put the note with the rune in my pocket.

A few moments later I pressed myself against the massive library door and tried to open it as quietly as possible. It was stuffy in the library and smelled of musty old books. I loved the smell. But now I didn't give myself time to enjoy the moment. I had more important things to do. So I wandered among the high shelves and shortly thereafter had fished out a thin book with a gold frame. I opened it, leafed through it fixedly and finally found what I was looking for: a map of Alicante. It certainly wasn't up to date, but it would suffice for my purpose. I memorized it as best I could, let the book silently wander back onto the shelf, and then turned to face the window.

As quietly as I could, I opened the window and climbed onto the windowsill. I leaned forward and looked down. I could easily jump from that height, it was maybe four meters, if a bit more. But people would be more likely to spot me on the street. Wandering the rooftops would make me invisible.

I turned my head and looked for something to hold on to. The facade was made of uninterrupted stone, I would hardly find a footing here. Only the gutter remained open as an option. I crouched down and then leaned further forward so my body fell off the windowsill toward the floor. But my fingers nimbly reached for the groove and I felt an icy sensation run through my limbs. It was winter and the gully was frozen.

For a moment I hung in mid-air above the ground. Then, effortlessly, I heaved myself up, pressed my feet against the stone wall one last time, and climbed onto the tiled roof in one swing. I looked around and had to orientate myself briefly. I slowly wandered across the roof, looking for a suitable place to jump onto the next house.

It wasn't difficult to find the great library, but for the first time I realized how weak I was without my usual runes. I didn't have a night vision rune to spot possible Shadowhunters in the streets. No hearing rune to hear footsteps and voices from afar. Most importantly, I was missing my balance rune. Leaping over the roofs without them was risky and I had cried out silently several times for fear of losing my footing on a roof and falling. But every time I was able to catch myself somehow at the last second.

The structure of the library was similar to that of an ancient temple. The grand entrance was shaded by a roof supported by four stout white pillars. Above it was a large round window. I peeked through and spotted another window on the other side of the building, placed directly at second floor level. Shortly after, I pushed the window open, which wasn't difficult since the Shadowhunters didn't have security standards for most public buildings.

I turned to all sides one last time before slipping through the window into the library. The first signs of the sun were beginning to appear on the horizon, bathing it in an eerie crimson light. When I checked the clock at the Lightwoods' house, it was almost three o'clock. So it would be a while before the sun actually rose.

With a precise movement, I landed on a wooden bookshelf. I turned my head to look around and then jumped to the ground. The library was a large room with hundreds of mahogany bookshelves. Just like in the Institute in New York, two staircases stretched left and right to a second floor, from which one could look through the entire room like from a balcony. The second floor was quite a bit smaller, but stretched across the hall for a considerable length.

As it turned out, I was already in the right place. I placed my witchlight on a table that I found between two shelves. I didn't dare turn on any other kind of light. Of course, I had made sure beforehand that I really was the only one in the library. It was dead quiet.

I was looking for books about the angel Raziel and the birth of the Shadowhunters. I found a variety of ancient manuscripts on Jonathan Shadowhunter and his transformation into the first Shadowhunter. I knew the story inside and out. He was born in the 11th century AD, right around the time demons first found their way to earth. After summoning Raziel to Lake Lynn and telling him of his vision of the Shadowhunters, the latter gave him the Mortal Instruments. As a result, Jonathan Shadowhunter created the Nephilim and established the Council. He transformed his sister Abigail and his friend David, who also became his Parabatai.

Raziel sent Jonathan Shadowhunter visions in the form of dreams. Could it be that Ithuriel had done the same to me? Had he sent me visions? Jonathan Shadowhunter described these visions as lucid waking dreams. It all felt real, like it was actually happening. Once, in one of the visions he had been swimming in the sea and when he had woken up from the dream, he could taste salt on his tongue.

I was sure that I had a similar kind of vision. Even if the reason wasn't fully clear to me yet.

-

Did you like the dream? What do you think about the part from Jace's POV? Let me know! 

Idk if I mentioned it here, but I'll update this fanfic every week from now on! :)

See you next week,

Skyllen