Jem swung himself down from his borrowed black horse of the Silent Brothers and landed on slightly cracked asphalt that paved the driveway of a Mundane home. The merciless Nevada summer heat beat down from a clear, sunny sky, completely at odds with the melancholy in his heart. The weather should have been grey and heavy, the streets filled with thick fog to remind him just how lost he felt without her.
Tessa. He forced himself to say her name, to force back the pain for even just one minute so that he could hear the echo of her voice in his mind again. But her name started a crack in the shaky dam he had built to hold back the emotions that had been ripping through him since her dea- Don't say it. He felt tremors begin to rock his body as he started to come apart again.
The whisper of her name carried with it the curve of her smile, the sparkle in her blue-grey eyes, the feel of her skin under his slim hands. He shook his head as tears welled up again and the ache in his chest swelled anew. Her soft voice on sleepy mornings, the smell of her hair on the pillow beside him... he felt himself begin to drown in the tide again, unable to keep himself from being pulled under even as he was dragged back to his final farewell.
Jem closed his eyes and let the tears fall.
The light from the Gard Portal shimmered and cast blue-streaked shadows over the bloodied faces of the fighters who had made their last stand on Wrangel Island. Jem didn't even register the quiet orders that sent some of the Shadowhunters out with the bodies of the fallen while Carolina and Marcos Monteverde shook hands with the Consul and vowed to return once they had gotten the Buenos Aires Institute back on its feet.
It was easy to slowly fall farther and farther behind the group as they made their way through the confusing corridors below the Gard that protected the exact location of the Portal. Outside, Jem couldn't even bring himself to feel the shock that should have cut through him when he saw the devastation visited on the city by the Unseelie. A heavy numbness had crept through him like a drug, dulling not only the pain, but his senses.
Streets passed in a blur, and he couldn't remember when he had turned away from the path the group was following back to Simon and Isabelle's home. His feet shuffled along the cobblestones in a haze and time seemed to bend around him when he saw the interlocking stones. The weight in his arms could have been Will, pretending to be too drunk to make it back to the Institute on his own. Only the light of the demon towers lit his way, and the dimness of the streets reminded him of old London the way it had been a century and a half ago, when demons had had many more shadows in which to hide.
The tears in his eyes fell, temporarily clearing his vision enough to see the blackened facades and shattered masonry scattered across lawns that were starting to look overgrown with their owners missing or dead. The ghost of London fled, only to be replaced by the skeleton of Alicante. He curled his arms in more tightly, clutching Tessa closer to his chest and hitching in a shuddering breath when she only rested limply in his embrace. He would never feel her hands slide up his chest and around the back of his neck again, never happily give in as she pulled him down for one more kiss.
Jem's legs buckled. He fell heavily to his knees and gasped, refusing to let go of his wife for a moment. He knelt in the street and bowed his head under the crushing weight of his grief. Raw sobs tore from his throat unchecked.
He had never thought that he would ever feel pain like this again, not after Will. He had always thought that he would die first, that Tessa would be forced to suffer through losing another husband.. But he had always taken solace in knowing that Magnus had promised to be there for her when his time came. It was never supposed to have happened like this. He looked down at her still form again.
Not like this.
The pain burrowing through his chest throbbed in time with his broken heart as he touched his forehead to hers and let the agony take him. Hot streaks fell down his face and washed over hers as if she were mourning with him for the years together they had lost. Empty decades stretched out before him hollowly and he shuddered. He wasn't ready. He wasn't sure that he would ever be ready.
It was only when the sky began to lighten in the east that he was jarred out of his solitary lamentation, and he staggered back to his feet wearily. He didn't think he could bear to have the sun lay his sorrow bare, and it was still a long walk to where he knew he needed to be.
The gentle, grassy fields outside of Alicante fell away behind him as he bore his wife out of the city, their dark expanses steadily growing lighter as the break of a new day crept across them. The storm of the previous night had cleared, leaving an empty horizon broken only by the distant tip of an obelisk. Jem clenched his jaw when he caught sight of it and readjusted his tired grip.
Remembering those first days after being transformed by the cleansing touch of the heavenly fire at the advent of the Dark War brought a sad smile to his lips. He had been so conflicted; he had wanted to help Emma and Julian, but he had been so afraid to reveal himself only to be lost in the coming battle. He had tested himself with them, already wondering how he would find the words to explain what had happened when next he met with Tessa and she found him mortal once more.
It could have been his name on the memorial that had been constructed after the War to honour the fallen and to mourn for those who had been taken and Turned by Sebastian Morgenstern. Tessa would have arrived for their annual meeting on Blackfriar's Bridge only to wait beyond all hope for someone who would never come. Then this pain that he was feeling would have been hers to bear in his place. Twice she would have loved, and twice she would have lost. If he could find even the faintest light in the darkness, it was that she had not had to endure it again.
But he had survived the Endarkened and their Seelie allies, survived the coming of the Wild Hunt, and he had stolen years more with her. Years in which they had spent every minute together, unable to bear being separated again. Years spent paying an old debt before they could rest at last, secure in the knowledge that they had found what once was lost.
Great iron gates yawned open ahead of him, and Jem trudged doggedly through them without seeing the runes that decorated their faces, runes that spoke of mourning and loss, but also of healing and hope. Mausoleums passed on either side, and he looked away from the familiar names with sorrow-filled eyes. Every one of those names conjured up faces from the past, ghosts that brought no comfort to him in his misery.
Fairchild. Steady purpose and a soft heart. Kind brown eyes. A fierce loyalty to family that extended beyond names to take in strays and care for them as her own.
Branwell. Wild inventions and kind words. Untidy ginger hair. A glowing love for life that could not be dampened by a devastating injury that left him crippled.
Lightwood. Quiet strength and brash jibes. Fair and dark. Brothers gone astray only to be brought back by love, finding the strength to change their destinies together.
The epitaphs on the crypts continued to stream past, and Jem kept his head down as he threaded his way along one of the many small footpaths. It was harder to see these monuments, harder not to think of what would one day lie behind them.
Blackthorn. Which names would he live to see etched into the blue-veined marble slabs that stood guard over generations of hopeful-eyed Nephilim?
Carstairs. Would he one day lie within those cold stone walls? Who would be there to close his eyes when death came for him?
His tired feet stopped in the grass. They knew the way well.
Herondale.
The sun peeked over the natural crest that rose along the eastern side of the necropolis and Jem turned his back on it. He slipped inside the tomb and out of the light.
Silence folded around him like a shroud, the thick walls of the crypt blocking out the quiet sounds of the world coming awake outside. He followed the gentle slope downward toward the vaulted archway that led to the main chamber. Carved angels guided his way and welcomed him back, his constant companions through the decades he had spent visiting his parabatai's final resting place both as a Silent Brother and later as a mortal man once more. Stone herons adorned the walls, their graceful forms frozen in flight for all time.
A long, low, alabaster slab rested in the centre of the circular vault, and Jem gently laid Tessa down upon it with a heavy heart. A pool of diffuse light filtered down through the delicate lattice work above and gave her a soft glow that almost made her seem alive once more. The walls were lined with small, square doors that masked the ossuaries hidden behind them, and each was marked with the names of the Herondales who had given their lives in service to the Clave over the centuries. Though the majority of their ashes would have been used to strength the Silent City, every Shadowhunter's family was given a small portion to honour as they saw fit, and many Herondales had found their way here.
William Owen Herondale, 1861-1937. The marker had stood for nearly a century, and it never got easier to see it. Jem drew in an unsteady breath as he gathered his strength for what was to come. He could not allow anyone else to do it.
"Watch over her, Will," he whispered to his parabatai. "I won't be gone long."
Near the beginning of Shadowhunter history, David the Silent had founded the original city of bones in a subterranean cave nearby, and it had grown over the course of four centuries to become the Silent City. Passages known only to the Brotherhood still existed between the graveyard used by regular Shadowhunters and the catacombs below, and Jem made his way toward one of the entrances as he replayed his last moments with Tessa over and over in his mind.
We'll be together again soon, she said again and again, not knowing that it was a lie.
Jem passed into the tunnels below Idris that led back to his old life as he struggled to face the reality of his new one. What was left to him now?
James... Lucie... they were resting above.
Cordelia... Alastair... faded into the past.
His place had never been here, not now, not a century after he should have passed from this life. His body had been suspended in time, but his heart had remained behind. Tessa was all that he had had left.
James Carstairs, a man's deep voice echoed in his mind with a faint note of surprise.
Jem looked up tiredly and saw that he had missed the point at which the walls had changed to the familiar dark stone of the Silent City. A hooded figure had drawn up short under an ancient torch bracket outside one of the many archive rooms on the uppermost level of the city.
"Brother Enoch," Jem whispered in a strangled rasp. He felt the familiar touch of a Brother on his mind and he opened himself to it, grateful that he did not need to find words to explain his need. It was gone moments later, and Enoch laid his runed and scarred hand on Jem's shoulder in quiet sympathy.
Wait here, the Brother instructed him.
With no precedent for his situation, Jem had maintained a strange relationship with his old order. His reception was mixed; to some, he was a painful reminder of what they had sacrificed to join the Brotherhood. To others, though, Enoch among them, he was a source of hope and pride. He had served, and served well, and then been released as if by a miracle.
The search he had taken on with Tessa to locate Kit all those years ago had been greatly aided by the records of the Silent Brothers, and only Jem's connections had granted them access to the closed and locked files of Tobias Herondale and his sad story. Tessa had followed those threads into the Spiral Labyrinth, working her way down through the warlock Downworld to piece together the shattered line. No one else could have unravelled the mystery.
Enoch returned with a small bundle that had been neatly tied into a plain, unadorned parchment-coloured cloak. No runes banded the hem, and Jem accepted the parcel solemnly. Before letting go, the Silent Brother laid a silver whistle on a chain on top and Jem felt a flash of astonishment at the enormity of the gift.
Use it well, Enoch bade knowingly as he faded back into the shadows of the catacombs.
Jem retraced his steps through the passages in a daze. He felt a lump rise in his throat as he came to terms with the contents of the bundle he had been given. This was really happening.
Back in the Herondale crypt once more, he carefully cut away the ruined gear from his wife's still body, the set too large for her when she no longer held Jace's form. He hardened himself against what he knew he would find when he pulled the jacket away and let the tears come.
He had been prepared for the terrible wound from Asmodeus' killing blow, but he wasn't ready when a jade pendant on a gold chain slipped free from the thin shirt underneath. He cradled it in his palm, his hand shaking, as the memories of a townhouse in Kensington roared through him. When he had first seen the pendant laid against the creamy skin below her throat as they lay together in a tangle of ripped orchid silk. He gasped for breath as his heart contracted in his chest. Never again.
The neatly-tied bundle from Brother Enoch spilled open in a cascade of white cotton when Jem cut the cord around it. A loose-fitting funeral dress covered Tessa delicately, his hands working instinctively as the part of him that had been Zachariah rose up to protect what was Jem. He felt like he was watching through a stranger's eyes, trapped behind an invisible wall and held spellbound as he prepared his wife's body for a Nephilim's final rite of passage.
Seeing her laid out in state in the tomb was hauntingly reminiscent of one of the many plays they had taken in together at London's famous Globe Theatre. A sad smile touched his lips as he looked down on her and quoted, "Ah, dear Juliet, why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe that unsubstantial death is amorous, and that the lean abhorred monster keeps thee here in dark to be his paramour?" He looked up at his parabatai's marker and shook his head. "Not that I mean to call you an abhorred monster, dearest Will. I think I shall stay a while longer."
He withdrew one last piece from within the folds of the plain cloak that still cushioned a small urn, and he trailed a length of white silk through his fingers. He considered the long, dreary Latin recitations that typically preceded this final step and discarded them in favour of something he felt Tessa may have appreciated more. The lines from the Bard's greatest love story were a far more fitting farewell.
"Eyes, look your last." He gently bound the white silk across her eyes in the Nephilim way.
"Arms, take your last embrace." He lifted her cold hand in his own and leaned forward until his forehead was touching hers.
"And, lips, O you the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss a dateless bargain to engrossing death." The faint scent of rosewater soap clung to her as he pressed a soft kiss to her cool lips.
Hours passed as he stayed by her side, the sunlight shifting through the airy window above as it arced over and around the outside of the dome. The comforting silence of the tomb remained undisturbed as he kept his lonely vigil.
She looked so peaceful laying there. It seemed as if she only slept, and that if only he were to make a sound she would stir and push aside the silk blindfold to search for him. He could almost hear her voice calling to him, "Jem? Jem, is that you?" But it was only wishful thinking.
Long after night descended he levered himself to his feet. Only one thing remained. He carried her out of the Herondale crypt and bore her to the funeral pyres that served the necropolis. Thousands of Shadowhunters had passed from mortal shell to eternal rest here, even Valentine and Sebastian Morgenstern in the end, and he would not give her anything less than her due. She had been a wife, a mother, and so much more to so many Shadowhunters that she deserved this.
The fire burned hot and bright in the darkness of the cemetery and he watched with empty eyes as the flames consumed her. The fingers of his right hand traced along the edge of the jade pendant in his pocket as he stood silently, turning it over and over as he thought.
Where would he go now? Could he even bring himself to return to the others who had fought on Wrangel Island? Could he see them without shattering anew? Just the names of their ancestors had been enough to undo him earlier. Perhaps it was time to step away from the world once more, to take time to heal. He didn't know if he was ready to face the sympathy in Magnus' eyes yet, to see the sorrow that he would have shared with Tessa over Jem's death if fate had twisted differently.
He couldn't remember gathering her ashes in the darkest part of the night before dawn broke, but he knew that he must have managed it because he was standing in front of Will's marker once more with an urn in hand. The marble slab protested against being shifted open, but Jem was able to lay their wife to rest within the space behind it. When it was closed once more, he lifted his stele with a heavy hand.
Tessa Herondale Carstairs, 1862-2033.
Jem blinked at the black asphalt under his hands as he snapped back to the present. The driveway was painfully hot under the Nevada sun, and his hands came away with bits of grit and pebbles indented into his palms as he pushed himself up from where he had collapsed.
Perhaps it would have been more sensible to go back to Los Angeles - Emma would have taken him in without question. But the thought of bringing his grief into the life she had worked so hard to build felt selfish of him. She had already been through enough; did he have to burden her with his own troubles, too?
Magnus had vanished with his newly-discovered half-sister, the warlock who had channelled the power needed to erase the stain of the demonic ellipse on Wrangel Island. He was no doubt dealing with his loss in his own way, looking forward instead of back, and Jem didn't want to intrude on their budding relationship. Later, maybe, when they had both had time to adjust. But for now, he didn't really have anywhere to be, no one who needed him... until he had remembered Sera's mostly-Mundane friend. He didn't know who he was without Tessa, but he thought he might know where to start. He had lived without her as a Silent Brother once before; perhaps the familiar rhythm of that life could ease the pain.
That was how he had found himself outside a quiet bungalow in the burning August heat of Las Vegas. The boy had been collateral damage in the wake of Everett's short term in office, and he had been returned to his home as quickly as possible after they had Portalled to Alicante.
Jem steadied himself as he reached for the doorbell with the hand that held his dragon-headed sword cane. He heard the chime through the front door and waited patiently. This was a test, a chance to see if he could hold himself together in company. And if he couldn't... Well, at least he won't have to see my face, Jem thought guiltily.
The door opened a few inches before drawing up short on the security chain, and Steven's pale face appeared in the gap. He was wearing dark blue board shorts and a white tank-top that read, 'LOVE IS BLIND.'
"Forgive me, " Jem began hesitantly, "I'm not sure if you'll remember me-"
Steven's expression lit up at once. "Oh, my God! Of course I remember that voice! How many guys do you think I let press on my groin and ask if it hurts?" He paused. "Don't answer that. Come in!" The door closed slightly and then the chain was released.
Jem followed Steven inside and trailed after him as the younger man made his way back to the kitchen. He took the proffered chair and sat down at the worn but well-kept table.
Steven reached into the fridge and closed his hand around a can on the door from memory. "Do you want a beer or anything?"
"Just water will be fine," Jem answered with the smallest of smiles as he remembered the one and only time he had allowed Jace to take him out drinking. He sincerely regretted ever teaching him Will's demon pox song. Will. His smile guttered out.
Steven groped until he felt a bottle of water instead. "I should probably give you the heads up now, man, but I don't think my insurance covers house calls from doctors." He set the bottle down on the table.
"That's quite all right."
The youth sat down in the chair to Jem's left and cracked open his beer. "I never thought I'd see any of you guys again after that Alex guy came to give me The Talk about Not Talking. I mean, like not see, but you know." He laughed and took a swig from the beer. "Ugh, this is practically water. I bet that guy ripped me off again. I told him Rickard's Red. Bastard."
Jem stayed silent, forgetting for a moment about his host's disability.
When he received no response, Steven gallantly tried to carry on the conversation. "I'm not gonna lie, I was pretty bummed when he said I had to keep quiet about all this Shadow World stuff. I was already thinking about writing this totally amazing series of books about Shadowhunters. I bet I could probably have gotten at least one movie out of it, maybe even a T.V show, too..." He sighed wistfully. "I mean, like, movies and shows are never as good as the books, but the money. I would have been rich."
With a half-hearted wave of his hand, Steven gestured to the room around them. "You can probably tell that the 'blind-seer' schtick doesn't pay very well, but it goes over well enough with the tourists around here, I guess."
"Your condition is not as rare as you might think," Jem said, lifting his head with interest in his eyes. Sera had mentioned her friend's gift only in the briefest of terms when she had been explaining what had happened to him. "The 'blind-seer' stereotype did not materialize by accident."
Steven frowned. "Are you saying I'm going to have competition on my turf? 'Cause it's a pretty small market and I don't need anyone else getting in on this action."
Jem surprised himself with a chuckle. "No, no, nothing like that. But the archives of the Silent City have many records of Mundanes with a touch of the Sight who have found themselves in your position." His tone took on a faint lecturing quality. "In these individuals, oft times the loss of their natural sight, either through age or injury, serves as a catalyst for their inner eye to open and develop instead."
"Oh, my actual God." Steven looked dumbstruck. "That's exactly how it happened. How do you know so much about this stuff? What's the Silent City? Does this mean I'm like you guys? I thought I was only joking about the mostly-Mundane thing."
It was hard to ignore the hopeful look on the young man's face, but Jem hesitated.
"I know, I know," Steven said in frustration. "No questions." He leaned forward, closer to his unexpected guest. "But if you were sitting in my place, wouldn't you ask anyway? If you had a taste of a world that was hidden from your own, if you found out that magic and demons and all the rest were real, could you just let it slip away?" Despair crept into his voice. "Could you keep smiling in a world where you no longer knew where you fit in?"
His words shook the Shadowhunter. He had never considered what it might be like for a Mundane to brush up against their world but never be allowed anything more. And he was quickly learning what it was like to feel adrift. Perhaps his coming would only cause more pain.
"It would be no trouble to have a warlock wipe away your memories of our world," Jem offered gently. "I apologize-"
"No!" Steven's beer slopped over the rim of the can as his hands shot forward carelessly. He found Jem's wrist and closed his pale fingers around it. "No. That's what that other guy said, too. But if I can't remember it, then the world will be just as boring as it was before. And what if it meant losing my memories of Sera?" His breath hitched. "She's my best friend. My only friend, however sad that sounds."
The strength in the boy's grip was surprising. Jem made up his mind and decided to probe deeper. Maybe he could do something for the boy.
"I imagine that she must show up as clear as day to you," he murmured. Steven relaxed his hold and grinned.
"Yeah, right from the minute she walked into my hospital room after the accident. It never mattered what kind of glamour she used around other people; I could always see her. I know it sounds kinda dumb now, but she was always my angel. The doctors told me I'd never regain my sight, and then bam - Sera. I was all like, 'Oh, no! I can only see this smoking-hot chick forever!'" He laughed to himself. "But seriously. She's the one who helped me out, kept me going, started teaching me a little bit about the crappy visions I was getting even then. I think I'd be in the nuthouse by now if it wasn't for her, talking about seeing things no one else could see while I'm walking around with a white cane."
"Little wonder that she kept herself hidden for so long," Jem mused to himself. If he was right about Steven's Sight, then any Silent Brother would have been able to recognize her for what she was. "There's a chance, just a chance, that I may be able to help you develop your Sight. The Silent Brothers do not see with their eyes, but with their minds, and much of that talent is learned through mental training. I could not bear their strongest runes when I was of their order, could not have my eyes or mouth stitched shut, but I learned to speak as they spoke and see as they saw."
"Stitched. Shut. What the actual fu-" Steven gaped at him. "What the hell is a Silent Brother?"
In for a penny, in for a pound, Jem told himself as he began explaining as much as he dared about the Brotherhood.
It was oddly... cathartic... to speak to the strange, mostly-Mundane boy as he completed a cursory exam to ensure that he was recovering well from Everett's abuse. He had no expectations of Jem, did not even know about Tessa, could not ask the questions that the Shadowhunter was not yet ready to face. His boundless enthusiasm for the Shadow World was impossible to resist, and Jem felt his spirits slowly lifting. He found that he was no longer particularly concerned about obeying Clave law. What more could they possibly take from him?
"So you really think you can teach me to do it?" Steven asked excitedly.
"It will take dedication and patience, but I believe it's possible."
Steven lifted his beer in salute and grinned from ear to ear. "This is going to be amazing! Cheers, man!" Jem held up his water bottle congenially and tapped it against the can of what was clearly Coors Light.
The boy's smile faded a bit after he drained what was left of his drink. "Do you think Sera's still allowed to come see me? I haven't heard anything from her since that night. Is she doing okay?"
Shame washed through Jem. He had stayed well clear of anyone who might remind him of his loss or ask about Tessa. He knew that a wedding was probably going to happen or had happened already, but nothing more.
"I... haven't spoken to her," he answered slowly, "or anyone since... that night."
Steven caught the change in his guest's voice immediately and sat back in his chair. "Did something...? Do you need to talk?"
Jem's vision blurred and he felt the pinching ache in his chest return. "I lost... someone..." He exhaled slowly as a pair of tears slipped out of the corners of his eyes and traced shining lines down his face. "I can't."
"It's okay," Steven answered quietly. "You don't have to."
The hum of the refrigerator and the occasional passing car outside were the only noises that disturbed the silence that fell between the two men as Jem struggled to regain control.
Steven waited patiently, instinctively sensing the depth of whatever loss the man next to him had suffered. He would give the Shadowhunter as much time and space as he needed. Maybe this teaching thing would be good for both of them. A distraction for Jem. A way to cling to the edge of a world he was desperate not to lose for himself. Win-win.
When enough time had passed, Steven cleared his throat.
"Do you think that if I get the hang of your Jedi mind-trick that I'll... that I'll be allowed to see Sera again? That I wouldn't have to stay shut out of your world? Could you take me to Idris?"
Jem thought about it carefully. Teaching the boy privately here, in the Mundane world, was easy enough to mask from the Clave. But bringing him to Idris... A second voice argued inside Jem's mind, But he's got some form of Sight. He's only mostly-mundane. If he didn't know better, he would almost have said it sounded like Will. The corner of his mouth turned up for a moment.
But seeing everyone again...
For a moment he was taken back in time once more, and it was as if he were looking into Will's blue eyes again, only now his parabatai stole the words Jem had once spoken to him all those years ago. There's more to living than not dying.
Jem squeezed his eyes shut. Thank you, Will.
He looked back at where Steven was waiting patiently.
"I will."
**Author's note: Wattpad's website is giving me absolute fits - I've been unable to upload from any of the four browsers I can make use of, and even the mobile version was nearly useless this time around. If the formatting is suffering, I'm sorry - I *am* trying to resolve this. If anyone has any solutions to help me be able to upload successfully (can't start a new part), please let me know, I haven't had a response to my ticket yet and it's been like this since chapter 3. D: