Chapter 1 – The City of Glass
Author's Note:
This is the story of the young Circle.
If you have not read the City of Bones by Cassandra Clare, I would advise you not to read—just to be safe.
Although in this story, we're going far back, and I see no major spoilers to begin with.
Looks like I have been flooded by ideas too soon?
I love the story of The Circle and I am going to share it with you as much as I could.
Note that I have to do regular checking on my TMI history, geography and gossip
By the way, this is the edited version, if you've come across this one before.
UPDATE:
(July 27, 2015) I am revamping and polishing this story. I ran out of Ideas in the past, but I AM ON FIRE NOW.
Idris, 1984
Amatis Graymark had been arranging the books on the shelves. The Graymarks didn't have a very large home, but she was happy that Lucian could have a shelf for his collection of books and there was enough space on the walls for her photographs. They both lived on their own, considering the fact that their mother left when they were very young and their father almost a ghost in their own household.
The door creaked open. He came tumbling in, with the same careless manner that she always remembered to be endearing.
"Amatis?" Sweat blotted his shirt and his glasses were crooked. He had always been a dedicated Shadowhunter, though at times he may be overdoing it. She did not like his nighttime ventures with Valentine. "I thought you were making the soup tonight?"
"I didn't know you'd come earlier than usual. I'm actually surprised that you're already here." She sat on the arm chair by the shelves, setting down the pile of books she had gathered. Most of the books she had been picking up were her brother's. Amatis would know they were his—he loved reading fiction and adventure more than the Shadowhunter codex. She looked at him, his brown hair was sticking out from every direction, and when she had a better look, she gasped. "By the Angel, Lucian, What happened to your neck?"
He reached for the side of his neck, there was a long gash that oozed blood. He flinched at the touch of the open wound. "Uh, I found myself a new girlfriend?"
"Ha-Ha," She replied. "It isn't funny. Does your parabatai even know how to draw an iratze?
"We didn't have much time," he replied. "Besides, I wasn't bitten. Just scratched."
Amatis buried her face into her hands. "You have gone to Brocelind Plain again? You know that it's unprotected by the demon towers."
It was not uncommon for Shadowhunters to go out of the gates to secure it from any prowling demons, but Valentine can be a little reckless—and where he goes, Lucian goes. Parabatai, as they've sworn to become. For whither thou goest, I will go. Amatis will never know how it is, for one person's soul to be tightly knit with another, swearing to jump in front of an arrow to defend the other—
"Come here and give me your stele."
Lucian didn't like being told what to do, especially when his sister used the "older sister tone" on him. Though he did hand her his stele and sat on the armchair opposite hers. As she approached him, he raised his chin and allowed Amatis to maneuver the instrument as she drew the Mark on the opposite side of his neck. "It was for application training. We were finally using katanas today."
"You have to think, too, that you had just learned how to use it this afternoon, not a decade ago. Now, look at you…" She finished the iratze and stepped back to look at him.
Lucian waved his hand dismissively. "Amatis, I can take care of myself."
"You are fifteen," She replied, not listening to him.
"I am fifteen and a Shadowhunter. The Nephilim who live in Institutes have killed more demons when they were five than the most I have to this day," he said. "I will not always be your baby brother, Amatis. We all have to grow up sometime."
Amatis just looked at him. She could see the fine and strong lines of his face that he had inherited from their father. She always wished she looked more like Lucian, strong and solid. Unlike him, she was thin and delicate. She didn't like being that kind of girl, one who was always being handled like she would break.
She wasn't the only one, though, who had the problem. Boys and girls were both taught the history and the fierce Nephilim Law, but the training with weapons and footwork were given more to the boys. Letting the girls know how to handle and call out the name of a seraph blade had been enough.
That too, made her want to be like Lucian, learning all the new things for battle and demon-slaying.
"Oh, right. Dinner!" Amatis announced. She went for the door and hurried for the kitchen.
It was slightly dim inside the house. Her mother once preferred the witchlight over the lamps, but Lucian tend to borrow them and never seem to return it. Amatis had to rush back into her room to retrieve one, and when she came back out, she saw a particularly familiar face.
"The next time you scold your little brother," Annamarie looked lovely in high-waist jeans and over-sized pants. Despite the cold weather, Anna was not wearing any jacket, like she had just portaled to their home all the way from Los Angeles. "Would you please check if you have guests in the hallways? Or at least shut the doors properly, because if that had been me, I would have slapped you."
"Oh, Anna."
Amatis walked towards her. Annamarie's smile was inviting and her green eyes were surprisingly warm. Unlike Lucian, Amatis was not the type to have so many friends. It had only been Lucian for a while, and then she met Annamarie Highsmith, who was jolly and extremely loud.
"I heard that," Lucian walked pushed the door to the study open and walked out, waving an awkward greeting at Annamarie. "I'll do the cooking, then."
"I brought you something," Annamarie giggled. She went through the mess in her bag, which was filled with either colorful markers or ripped pages from a notebook, and then fished out a small envelope. "I almost forgot about it. It's a relief I actually had the time to snatch it before the portal closed."
Amatis took the envelope as Annamarie gave it to her. She quickly opened the flap of paper and gushed. "Oh, thank you, Anna! This was sent to you on a very short notice, but you had them developed right away."
Inside, was a number of photographs she's taken from last month.
Annamarie laughed. "I told you, you should really be in the Los Angeles with me. We can save up for that instant camera of yours."
Amatis thought of that lovely Polaroid she saw Valentine held out to her. She wouldn't have to wait for Anna to come back to see the photos she took. It was interesting and practical, although she knew they were a bit expensive, and of course, there was Lucian.
"Let's get you dinner before Lucian hogs most of it," Amatis said.
"He hasn't grown out of that appetite, I see."
Their father wasn't at dinner that day, like he usually was. There had been a meeting up at the Gard, the Council had been trying to settle and deliberate things before the Accords will be signed, and he said he wouldn't be able to return until the next morning.
"I'll have a small party in the next four days," Annamarie said as they sat on the dinner table. She was aware of how Amatis dislikes those sort of things, but she gets invited anyway, and Amatis would feel obliged to go. It had been Anna's way of turning her into a social animal; but many of Anna's annual parties have proved this to be wrong.
Amatis shifted her attention towards Lucian, who was ceremoniously eating his food like it was the last of all the meat he was going to eat. "What do you think?"
"What?" He raised his eyes to meet hers, pausing from eating his dinner. Lucian had the same blue eyes as his sister, but they were more luminescent and expressive behind the crooked glasses. "I thought you usually didn't like parties?"
"Doesn't matter," Amatis said. "You will come, won't you?"
Lucian took a moment to think. "I might," he said, and then he proceeded with wolfing down his food.
Amatis looked to Anna instead. She looked young and intimidating all at the same time. Under the fluorescents that were pooling the room with brightness, Anna's Marks looked strong and dark. That too, was one of the many things that set her and Amatis apart. Anna enjoyed staying in an Institute. It had allowed her the freedom of being taught how to fight and slay demons—like a real trained Shadowhunter.
"So why are you celebrating early?" Amatis asked, drinking down a glass of grape juice.
"I don't get what you mean."
Amatis shrugged. "Well, you know, you're birthday's not going to happen until the next two weeks."
"My father is friends with the head of the London Institute. They're coming to Idris."
"Saves money," Lucian said.
Amatis was doubtful of why a family needed to have such grand welcoming into Idris. Shadowhunters come and go, and she had never heard of an Idrisian whose return was anticipated by anyone, except when it's a matter of war and conflict.
Seeing the question in her friend's face, Annamarie said, "The Herondales have not come home in years."
"They should have been that honorable," Lucian was now done with his dinner, his plate scraped clean of anything that can be eaten. "To be missed like that, I mean."
"Oh, trust me. I heard that the younger and more attractive they are, the ruder they become." Anna replied quickly, like it was the kind of information everyone already knew.
"That's not very attractive," Amatis said, finishing her food.
"Oh, but who doesn't want a bad boy from time to time?" Anna winked at Amatis, and Lucian made a disgusting gagging sound in response.
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It was dark under the raining clouds in Alicante that Tuesday morning. The grass and pavement were both drenched under the downpour. It was never this gloomy in the city of glass, it had always been beautiful and sun-soaked and glorious.
Amatis was walking under a yellow umbrella, its bright color clashing against the gloom. She was headed for the Academy, where she'll end up sitting in the library all day, taking notes and learning Cthonian. Girls weren't training today, so she didn't have to wear her gear, but she hadn't realized how much rainwater her jeans could absorb until he felt her clothing suddenly become so heavy.
The Academy rose in front of her; a tall and beautiful structure with a large stained glass depicting the image of Raziel, the mortal cup in one hand and the sword on the other. She hurried towards the steps and quickly took sanctuary under the roofed threshold near the entrance.
"It's not very nice for a woman to walk around a public place that soaked," said a male voice from behind her.
She did look at herself at that. Her blouse was clinging to her body in a way that it looked more vulgar than it really appeared. She could feel the blood rush towards her cheeks.
Amatis turned to face a young man. She had never seen him in Idris before. The boy was in full gear, with a full weapons belt clinging around his waist. His hair was fair, falling right above his eyebrows, framing a strong and angled jawline. He was stunning; although he appeared to have already known this.
She closed her umbrella, intentionally splattering his shoes. "It's not very nice for a young man to look at a girl that way, either."
He snorted. "I have never met a girl who could talk like that." He had a strong English accent. Amatis had almost missed it when he first spoke to her. "They usually just stop in space with their mouths open."
She scowled. "Do you just usually talk about yourself just like that?"
His smile widened. "No, I usually don't have to do it myself. People just happen to do it for me." He stepped closer towards her, his hand extending. "Stephen."
The sight of him standing right there in full gear gave an air of complete laziness—hair messy and standing in all directions, his weapon's belt loose, one hand casually resting on his hip and the other stretched out in front her—like he had just been convinced to come to the Academy after days of being reprimanded by his parents.
He raised his eyebrows; his eyes traveled from her then down to his abandoned hand. "That's very impolite."
"I don't feel bad about it at all." She smiled stiffly.
She had wanted to just walk away, but Amatis will not give him the satisfaction of winning.
"Then I thought I would be welcome in Alicante. I was expecting people to be all nice and pleasing, although, you can be like that, I can sense it." He feigned the dramatic hurt in his voice. "What do I have to do for you be nicer, oh poison ivy?"
At this, Amatis realized that he must be a member of the Shadowhunter family who had just arrived from the London Institute. It may have also explained the thick Londoner accent in his voice. She looked at him and was ready to throw back a reply, and thought better of it. She held tighter to her folding umbrella and proceeded to towards the large doors of the Library.
As she reached the entrance, she wondered if Stephen was still there. She twisted around, saw him still standing there, and scowled. "If you want my name, Mr. Herondale, you will have to be a little more polite the next time you talk to me."
She saw a surprised look pass his face, and then she turned around, opened the doors and walked inside.
Jocelyn was walking up the Gard when she saw him. He was taking shelter under a large tree. His shirt, now tightly clinging against the shape of his muscular upper body, was soaking from the pouring rain. She could almost see the black Marks beneath the thin fabric.
He was beautiful. His long hair, fairer than anyone else's, had almost looked like a halo from afar. Valentine looked like an angel from every angle Jocelyn looked. His lashes were long and thick, curling slightly in a way most girls would have wanted.
"I never knew you liked bright colored umbrellas," Valentine said, as she walked towards him.
Jocelyn smiled. She stood in front of him, sharing her umbrella, but he was quick to say that it wouldn't be necessary, for he was already soaked. Jocelyn laughed, closed the umbrella, and watched his surprised face gaze at her in awe as she fell to the wet grass beside him.
"That isn't the point of bringing an umbrella, you know." Valentine raised his eyebrows.
"Then you should not have walked under the rain. It's pouring."
"Shine or downpour, I promised you I'd come here." He looked at her. Perhaps, it had been long since they first met and eventually fell in love. They were young, but like any other Shadowhunter, time was always running for death was always inevitable. "I wish to have a daughter one day, so that she could look just like you."
She chuckled at the bold thought. It had been so sudden, like a subconscious thought that found its way to his lips. "She'd be just like her mother, then?"
Valentine smiled, he looked younger when he smiled. The tension on his face loosened, his thoughts buried somewhere he couldn't reach. From the very beginning, Jocelyn had known that he was intelligent. Quite ambitious, but he mostly gets everything he wishes, accompanied by an undeniable charm.
"Yes, like you. Brave and beautiful and smart." He pulled her to him, her hair falling against his broad shoulders.
"Not too brave please," Jocelyn said without really thinking. When he didn't reply right away, she looked up at him. There was a certain mildness masking against his sharp and strong features.
There was a look that passed in his eyes. They were the darkest shade of color she'd ever seen.
"It's unavoidable. Even if I wouldn't train her, genes could be a very important thing." His smile, she noticed, was already gone. "The Circle's starting to grow."
Jocelyn just looked at him.
"What?" Valentine said, more joking than annoyed. "I was just changing the subject."
It would have been lovely, hearing the untainted humor in his voice. Jocelyn had always longed for Valentine to be the light and worry-free boy that he was. "The Circle is something we both know about and probably think about the whole time."
His eyebrows scrunched into the look of confusion. "What do you mean?"
"I meant," Jocelyn was suddenly alarmed, thinking that she may have spoken the wrong words. "That I wanted to hear things you haven't told me about. Like what you did in training today."
"You wouldn't like it if I told you anything."
She looked at him fondly, "You know you could tell me anything, Valentine." She said, tracing his high cheekbones. "Other than Lucian, perhaps."
She didn't understand why, but she could feel him suddenly stiffen. She could have imagined it, but it bothered her. "I could tell you," he said. "That there is no one other than you who knows more about me."
Amatis was reviewing the essentials of battle when the door to the library swung open. She turned around to see Maryse Trueblood, a usual unhappy look on her face. Maryse was beautiful; she had a tall, skinny stature, her dark hair cascading down to her hips, and wonderful cheekbones. This was one of the rare occasions that she didn't pull her hair into a tight ponytail. Her long hair softened the sharp angles of her face, thus making her look younger and less sullen than she usually was.
"Who's mentoring today?" The dark-haired girl said, throwing her satchel on the farthest seat away from where Amatis sat, as if it were a way for her to avoid catching some kind of disease. Maryse was gorgeous, but Amatis could never really find it in her to actually like the girl.
"We're on individual study today. At least that's what I think." She replied shortly, keeping her eyes on the book in front of her.
Maryse made a faint sound of annoyance. "Well, I guess that's more reason for me to leave today." She started to fix her things and readily started towards the door. "By the way," Amatis wasn't sure if she was the one being referred to, but she looked anyway. "You need to go out sometime, it's great out."
"It's pouring outside." She replied, as a matter of factly.
"I mean, metaphorically, though that's a good idea for you too." Maryse gracefully slung her satchel on her shoulder and walked out, slamming the door.
Amatis was never the outgoing type, walking outside and talking to people only if it were necessary. Annamarie leaving for the Institute wasn't making her feel any better either, leaving her with less-tolerable people to be civil with. She shook her head focused her attention back to the work she'd been doing and continued on, ignoring the fact that she had just been offended. Cthonian was a horrible language, with a vocabulary that excludes all things beautiful such as colors and rainbows and hair colors, usually appearing in incantations to curse other people. Learning this language should be illegal.
Then she heard the door creak open again. Thinking that it might have been Maryse, Amatis spoke without looking back. "You forgot something?"
She could hear a soft chuckle from behind her. "Your name."
The voice wasn't feminine, and certainly not Maryse's.
Amatis scoffed. "I said, Mr. Herondale, that politeness is something that you can't learn overnight."
She could hear him walk towards her. His footsteps were light and graceful, like he had been trained all his life to work sneakily behind people's backs. He finally found his way to the seat in front of Amatis, his shadow hovering over her. He didn't sit down, just lazily placed his hands on the table and leaned towards where she sat. "So does familiarity," he said, his voice deep and confident. "It needs to start somewhere."
Amatis finally looked up, his angled face covered by the faint shadow cast by the sunlight leaking through the large windows behind him.
"Well, you could start being polite." She replied stiffly, not giving him the amusement he must be looking for.
"What's in the name?" he asked dramatically. "And for you to know perfectly well that it was me who walked in says something about you."
"You're quoting Shakespeare now?" She raised her eyebrows.
"You like to stray away from the topic? " He looked straight at her. A smile was drawn across his face. His expression was amused, but not mocking. When Amatis just looked at him, he guessed she couldn't fire back, so he smiled and leaned back. "I think I just won the wits game."
Amatis looked at him with a raise eyebrow. "A game?"
"You won earlier today, had the last word, so I didn't get your name," he beamed. "Now, I get to know you better. It's impolite to talk to someone without addressing them correctly."
They just looked at each other for moments then, battling amusement with pure annoyance. For someone who managed to walk around and talk less, Amatis had been trying to win the conversation for quite a while.
They were interrupted by the loud creaking of the door, swinging open to reveal another annoyed face. Maryse.
"Amatis, this is not the time to play hard-to-get. I like the pride, though." She strutted inside and grabbed something that was on the floor.
With the flick of her hair, she was out the door, and slammed it behind her without taking a second look.
"I think she and I will make good friends, don't you think?" Amatis muttered to herself—which might have been louder than she expected, for she saw Stephen Herondale look at her and smiled.
"I think that's a start, Amatis."
Well, if you couldn't tell by now, It's mostly about Stephen and Amatis. (Because I really think the word 'unfair' suits their relationship so much I can't even... uggh)
Though I'll be touching Luke, Valentine and Jocelyn reference. Maryse, Robert and Michael Wayland. God, I love the Circle.
