Brendan Trueblood ran through the streets of York. The rain pelted down on him lightly. Ping, ping, ping, like small needles jabbing lightly into his skin, sometimes ricocheting off of the ground to hit the legs of his trousers or else off of the sides of objects on the side of the road to hit his body. It didn't hurt. Only his hands and face were exposed to the rain. However, Brendan always had a short tolerance for irritation and the slight jabbing, though short and quick, quickly drove him mad.
The street was deserted. Not surprising for a 7:00 on a Sunday, with this maddening rain. The gray streets, mixed with the dull brown of the buildings. On a sunny day, with people all around and the sun shining, reflecting off of the stones, the streets might be beautiful. But Brendan hadn't experienced a sunny day in all of his times in York. Constant cloud coverage. The sun never actually shone down on the dreary city. Brendan slowed down to a walk. He tilted his velvet black bowler hat down far enough so the blasted raindrops wouldn't hit his face.
It could be worse, he thought. Gradually, the rain started to worsen. Of course, Brendan silently drawled. Larger puddles started to form in the streets, welling up in the cracks and crevices in the stone road. The rain began to blur Brendan's vision, making everything blurry and warped.
Be that as it may, Brendan was able to see a large building. At first glance, it too looked like a large blur. However, upon closer examination, it sharpened into focus. The building truly was grand, that much anyone would agree. There were towers rising into the sky like columns holding up heaven. The arched, stained glass windows looked like what Brendan envisioned the gates of heaven would look like, the stone breaks in the window looked like bars, completing the image. In between each pointed crenellation on the roof seemed to be standing an angel, though Brendan knew that it was only in his head.
Brendan compelled himself to look away. He had been moving forward unconsciously. He somehow knew that if he didn't leave immediately, he might never leave. He continued walking quickly. He forced himself not to look back. At the next street corner, he turned and discovered his refuge. A long tunnel. It looked to be the underside of a bridge. The tunnel was dark, but it would certainly provide protection from the rain.
Brendan ran as fast as he could, splashing rain up from the puddles and saturating his trousers and the bottom of his coat. Brendan paid no attention to it. He only had eyes for the tunnel, running towards it as if it were treasure.
As he entered the tunnel, Brendan slowed to a stop in the middle. He turned to the right and walked toward the wall. He leaned hi back against the wall and slid to the floor. He crossed his arms over his knees and looked around, breathing heavily. The tunnel was dark and damp. The pitter patter of the rain outside was clearly discernible, echoing off of the walls and magnifying in volume. Adding to that sound was a steady drip, drop, drip, drop. This also was magnified, so it was heard clearly. There were small puddles in the crevices of the stones, stagnant water that seemed to have been there for a long time. The place smelled damp and of wet stone. There was a chilled wind that ran through the air. Brendan felt Goosebumps forming on his skin, prickling him, but he shook it off. This was the best he could do. With that, he curled up into a ball and laid his head down on his bowler hat, which he used as a pillow, and tried to go to sleep. This was difficult because the cold floor was hard and damp, but eventually, Brendan fell into a restless sleep.
Brendan was walking towards a brilliant light. Many feelings were flowing around Brendan. The most dominant one was unnamable. It was a strange feeling. It felt like a warm glow inside his chest. He couldn't describe the location. He seemed to be walking along a road of pure white. But the edges of his vision seemed yellow. There was no setting, like a pure white canvas before a painting has been created. All Brendan was certain of was that he had to keep moving forward. He had to keep persevering. For he knew, though he didn't know how that whatever the light held, would be indescribable, and amazing.
As he continued toward the light, the shape of the light became more defined. A shadow started to grow in the light. But instead of being depressing, the shadow seemed to make the light in his chest shine brighter. Soon enough, he was close enough to describe the shadow as a girl. Not long after the girl's features became noticeable.
She was petite. That much was obvious by her size, maybe 5'9. Her golden hair fell in soft waves around her face and down to her mid back. Her eyes were a very dark blue the color of violets, a color that held a depth to them. But they were watery. Brendan was horrified by this. This angel should not cry. But then he noticed her warm and inviting smile, and knew that they were tears of joy. She wore a beautiful dark white dress with golden designs all over it that contrasted with her violet eyes beautifully.
And then she spoke. Her voice was a light soprano and warm and inviting. "Hello there, Brendon. You're almost there. Follow your heart and you'll find the way. You're tied to this, it's in your, blood. Just as it's in mine." she giggled, it sounded like wind chimes on a shining summer afternoon, and put her hand over her mouth. "Our meeting will not be under the best circumstances, but you must experience the bad to discover the good. Goodbye."
With that, she turned around. Instinctively, Brendan reached out to grab her, but she was already out of reach. As she disappeared into the light, the warmth faded and the light dimmed into blackness.
Brendan woke up groggily the next morning. His eyelids were heavy and his limbs sore. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked towards the exit of the tunnel. Immediately, he was fully awake. He scrambled to his feet and brushed the dirt off of his coat and trousers. He picked up his bowler's hat and pushed it out, forcing it into the correct shape.
The sun was shining. That was what had startled Brendan to begin with. The sun hadn't really shone once in all of his time in York. But today it was. The sun was shining and it seemed beautiful. Brendan had been right the night before. The stones in the distance did look beautiful with the sun reflecting off of them.
He began walking out into the sun, but he kept thinking about his dream in the back of his mind.
Aloysius Starkweather was, for lack of a better word, bored. He was sitting in the Council room in London, waiting for a trial to begin. He knew that the trial was for a lass. She was supposed to have been passing shadowhunter secrets over to the Mortmain. Aloysius just didn't understand it. Despite what the girl did, she was a shadowhunter! The Mortmain wanted to kill all shadowhunters, and no matter what she was told, that included her.
Aloysius' thought process caused him to miss the beginning of the Council meeting. Shaking his head, he focused his attention back on the meeting.
"So you see, my Lord Consul, I truly am sorry for what I have done, and I will never be able to find forgiveness. But the truth is that I never wanted to be a shadowhunter. The Clave forced me to live in their world when, quite honestly, I don't want to be part of this world. I want to be part of the mundane world, where I was born." The girl finished her rant. With a start, Aloysius realized that the girl could only be about sixteen. She was just a child. Six years older than Adele.
With that train of thought, he rose to his feet, interrupting the Consul stating his idea of a sentence, which included cursing the girl so that she could never leave an Institute again, to gain attention.
"If ah may speak, mah lor Consul," Aloysius asked, his York accent pronounced. "Yer idea of cursin' the garl is a good'n, but tha's agans' the law."
Then, Benedict Lightwood rose to his feet. In his deep voice, he said "And how is that, Starkweather?" A smirk played on his lips and sarcasm dripped from his voice.
"Ah merely mean' tha' the garl's ony' a chald. The law states tha' the council can' curse anyun' under the age of eigh'een. Is this garl eigh'een?" Aloysius raised his eyebrow in a mocking gesture toward Benedict Lightwood.
Consul Wayland bowed his head in a conceding gesture. "That is true, what would you suppose we do about it, Aloysius?"
In his deep gravelly voice, Aloysius said "Well, ah thin' tha' a dif'ren pun'shmen' should be giv'n. Norm'ly, ah would suges' cleansin' o' blood, bu' she wan's 'o be mundane, so tha' doen' seem li' pun'shmen' enouf'. Ther'for, ah suges' we for' her 'o 'rain as a shadowhun'r. tha' way, the garl is pun'shd, bu' the law in' brokn." Aloysius bowed his head toward the Consul in a respectful gesture.
The Consul pondered this for a moment. Then, he turned to look at Aloysius. "I assume you don't mean for her to go back to the London Institute. She was spying on them before."
Aloysius shook his head. "Nah, ah was suges'n she com ou' 'o the York Ins'iu'e. Ah culd 'rain 'er meself."
A low chuckle ran through the hall at the thought of Aloysius Starkweather, an eighty-nine year old man, training that girl.
However, none could deny his idea for punishment was a good one. Therefore, when the council asked "Alright then, all in favor of Aloysius Starkweather's proposal?" Almost every hand went up in the hall.
"Okay then, Mr. Starkweather, please escort Miss Lovelace here to your carriage to take with you."
Brendan found himself standing in front of an old church. It was quite large, and quite nice looking, with an iron fence surrounding the terra cotta colored stones of the building. However, it had none of the grandeur of the other building in Brendan's mind.
However, despite his knowledge that the other building was far grander and more beautiful, Brendan felt drawn to the church. He felt a peculiar magnetic pull toward the building that made no sense to him. It was stronger than the pull toward the larger building, it felt more demanding, more compelling.
Brendan took an heard wheels of a carriage pattering along the stone road. This snapped Brendan out of his haze. He spun around and ran toward the tunnel, his coat bottom fanning out behind him. He had to hold onto his bowler hat to keep it from flying off. But he managed to get back into the tunnel. It was grayer in the light of day. There was no direct sunlight, but the light outside the tunnel made everything gray, and the ground near the entrances lighter gray than everything else.
Brendan stood in the shadows and watched the carriage going down the tunnel. It wasn't a big carriage, Brendan noted. It was moderately sized. It was a burgundy color that somewhat blended in with the gray of the walls. But that contrasted the four interlocking, which were bright gold, and made them stand out, even in the darkness. The carriage was driven by an old man. He was hunched over and wiry. His arms, held the reins for the horses, but they were drooping and looked slightly tired.
Brendan followed the carriage out of the tunnel, carefully staying out of the sight of those riding. He had to jog slightly to keep up with the carriage, but he did so.
The man that he was looking at before was clearer in the sunlight. He had steel gray hair that was wild and long. His features were, like his arms, drooping. His cheeks were thin and sagging. He had dark circles under his eyes and his eyelids were closing, as if he was about to fall asleep. His black coat and trousers were crinkled and wrinkled. He looked like he hadn't had a good night's sleep in years, and it was clearly taking its toll.
Brendan slowed down and ran into an alley next to an old, gray building. The iron gates around the nice-looking church swung open slowly and creakily. The carriage rolled on up to the front of the church and the carriage-rider hopped of, landing heavily on his feet, and went to open the door. From the angle that he was at, Brendan couldn't see what the people looked like, but he could tell that one was an old man and the other was a girl, about his age, with blond hair. He didn't get to see anything else of the two of them because they immediately walked up to the door, her hand on his arm, and into the church. The door swung shut behind them and the carriage-rider got back in the carriage and rode around to the back.
There was something familiar about the girl. He couldn't put his finger on it but he knew. Suddenly, he remembered the girl in in dream had blond hair, but he shoved that thought aside, plenty of girls had blond hair and the girl in his dream was an angel.
Brendan shook his head and tore his gaze away from the building. He turned around, intent on heading away from the confusion, into the alley. Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes widened and a cold, blue, scaly hand reached out and grabbed him around his waist.
