A moment later, Helen had returned; she was walking slowly now, and carefully, her hand on the back of a thin boy with a mop of wavy brown hair. He couldn’t have been older than twelve, and Clary recognized him immediately. Helen, her hand firmly clamped around the wrist of a younger boy whose hands were covered with blue wax. He must have been playing with the tapers in the huge candelabras that decorated the sides of the nave. He looked about twelve, with an impish grin and the same wavy, bitter-chocolate hair as his sister.
Jules, Helen had called him. Her little brother.
The impish grin was gone now. He looked tired and dirty
and frightened. Skinny wrists stuck out of the cuffs of a white mourning
jacket whose sleeves were too short for him. In his arms he was
carrying a little boy, probably not more than two years old, with the
same wavy brown hair that he had; it seemed to be a family trait. The
rest of his family wore the same borrowed mourning clothes: following
Julian was a brunette girl about ten, her hand firmly clasped in the
hold of a boy the same age: the boy had a sheet of tangled black hair
that nearly obscured his face. Fraternal twins, Clary guessed. After
them came a girl who might have been eight or nine, her face round and
very pale between brown braids.
The misery on their faces cut ay Clary’s heart. She
thought of her power with runes, wishing that she could create one that
would soften the blow of loss. Mourning runes existed, but only to honor
the dead, in the same way that love runes existed, like wedding rings,
to symbolize the bond of love. You couldn’t make someone love you with a
rune, and you couldn’t assuage grief with it, either. So much magic,
Clary thought, and nothing to mend a broken heart.
“Julian Blackthorn,” said Jia Penhallow, and her voice was gentle. “Step forward, please.”
Julian swallowed and handed the little boy he was holding
over to his sister. He stepped forward, his eyes darting around the
room. He was clearly scouring the crowd for someone. His shoulders had
just begun to slump when another figure darted out onto the stage. A
girl, also about twelve, with a tangle of blond hair that hung down
around her shoulders: she wore jeans and a t-shirt that didn’t quite
fit, and her head was down, as if she couldn’t bear so many people
looking at her. It was clear that she didn’t want to be there — on the
stage or perhaps even in Idris — but the moment he saw her, Julian
seemed to relax. The terrified look vanished from his expression as she
moved to stand next to him, her face ducked down and away from the
crowd.
“Julian,” said Jia, in the same gentle voice, “would you do something for us? Would you take up the Mortal Sword?”
***
Oh my god. Helen, Jules, Livvy and Ty are there (and maybe also Silla). Jules is in a MOURNING jacket. I have a feeling that his parents are dead. And this might be AFTER the war. But what does Jia (by the way, except knowing her as a Penhallow, who the hell is she?) mean by taking up the Mortal Sword? My guess is Jules taking up his duty as a Shadowhunter. That makes sense to me because normally one starts training at Jules' age.
And Emma... Emma is also there too. She's not that badass girl that I really wanna see (but then, she's only twelve). I'm really curious about what happens to her parents at that stage. Seems like something bad also happens to her.
Jeez, you're just making me more impatient, Cassie. When is March 2014 'cuz I need it NOW.
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