Chapter Two – Long forgotten.
Rich, flourishing trees arched before his eyes, their branches swayed as if greeting him back home. It was almost magical, unreal and illusionary. The trance broke as Jonathan caught sight of an ominous raven elevated on a bough in the dense canopy above, its claws curled menacingly over the branch. Bleached lines of wood illustrated the sharpness of his sinister talons, its feathers danced with rainbows in the mottled sunlight that crept through the trees.
"Morning, Hugin." The young boy murmured, perceptible to the bird and none other. The spy didn't flinch, no feathers rustled in the wind, the only sign of movement from the bird was the hammering of its miniature heart under its oil-like feathers. "Nice of you to drop by, I suppose Father sent you to look after me, didn't he. Tell him I'm not a child anymore, I don't need looking after. I'm his weapon, not an impediment."
Jonathan soon began to realise that it was no use, his father trusted no one and the bird would merely pursue, no more than was mandatory. He ambled on, kicking the brush and leaves free of his pathway, in the direction of the peaked mountains that stood prominent on the skyline. The city was a few days hike and he was positive that his father had intercepted the Sebastian boy on his attempt to visit his cousins, of course the Guard would have been the most inconspicuous entry to the city, but there was an inkling of hesitation that numbed his mind that someone would surely see through the lies.
The wander through the woods was demanding, the foliage was dense in places and unforgiving in others; the bird however, unconstrained in the air, stalked the boy on his brutal voyage. However there was a clearing ahead, one the boy began to recognise as the house his father adopted as his own; the Wayland Manor. The white sheen to the exterior had dulled, the grand windows lay empty with discoloured curtains hung free of their railings. It was plain obvious that it had been vacated for some time, uncared for and unloved. Jonathan had never once set foot in the house, and it was left a mystery that he hoped one day to be uncovered. What lay in the depths of the house remained unknown to many and this secrecy was like a magnet to him, one that he wished he could obey.
The path leading up to the house was laced with weeds and vines that choked the lifeless trees that stood in isolation on the lawn; their branches like warped fingers attempting to grasp the sky, brittle and with an influential delicacy. Their posture was that of a hunchback, bent over and twisted threateningly yet their branches were like beckoning fingers to Jonathan, summoning him closer to the house with a bitter greeting. With the wind feebly on his back and in his dishevelled hair, he walked on towards the blinding lights of the city and the walls that enclosed it. The hatred towards the city sat in his heart like acid, aching for some form of revenge for his outcast in society. His father had warned of the novelties of such Shadowhunters and their naive superiority. The gate sat on the horizon, its aurora of authority and protection hit Jonathan like a stone. Maybe it knows, a small insignificant voice at the back of his mind pondered and he dismissed it with a logical explanation, how could it possibly know, it's a gate.
At the gate he was questioned vigorously, he had no papers and no ID except from the replication of a school ID card his father had forged and given to him. It was scarcely solid evidence that he was Sebastian, let alone a Shadowhunter. That word had been repeated so many times in the inquiry that it had lost all significance; it became a meaningless set of noises in his brain. It wasn't completely true. He was part shadowhunter but what they didn't understand is the shadowed truth that lay veiled under a mountain of lies. Who would suspect a mere juvenile child of being able to take down a city of great importance and unhinge its safe keeping? The astute inquisitor's cold gaze fell once more on Jonathan, a failed act of manipulation that Jonathan ignored; the delicate wrinkles around his worn eyes illustrated his experience and expertise. It was clear that if Jonathan succeeded, it would have to me by some slim miracle but he gave the man no opportunities to not let him in.
"So, Sebastian," there was something in his bitter tone that was smothered with ambiguity, "I guess you can proceed into the city – however, next time I advise you to enter through the portal. Heaven knows why you bothered the hassle of coming in this way."
The irony of the sentence brought a smirk to the young boys face, he nodded politely – an action he considered as Sebastian would have done. If he was here, a small voice hissed inside him, if only.
The city buzzed with an unexplained atmosphere, lights flickered like candle flames dancing in the wind from the glossy windows that looked out into the serene street. Neat houses lined up, mirrored on each side of the road paved with smooth stone that would soon be coated thickly with the blood of unexpected revenge. The air was overpowering with the smell of flowers that hung from baskets on lampposts, the flowers greeting passersby with their imperfect beauty. Small puddles of water collected in the dips and falls of the stone pathway, like shards of a mirror smashed and scattered. It was beautiful; Jonathan found it hard to deny this. A small girl skipped gracefully unawares down the street, her long and wild hair flowing in the breeze that rustled through his. It was a scene found on a postcard, not a battle ground. "Welcome home, Sebastian." He sneered as he purposefully scuffed his worn converses against the bricked houses, limiting himself to how much damage he could cause before his father arrived.
"Sebastian?" a weary voice came from behind him. Lent against the doorway, A girl with black hair that covered most of her face called out to him, her eyes were full with curiosity but something deer swam in them, a hint of unease maybe. His father had warned him that there would be something uneasy about his presence, "You weren't meant to arrive till Wednesday,"
"I lost track of time, remind me…what day is it?" Jonathan's voice dripped with a fake sense of confusion.
"It's Monday." She sighed, clearly annoyed. This exasperation radiated off her like a heat source, feeding his inner turmoil that was hunger for more misery and despair. He was a monster throughout, feeding off other's pain and melancholy. He would have to cause more hatred around here, a sick and twisted version of 'getting high'.
"Sorry, Aline. I'll remember for next time." He apologised, something that was not in his nature before following her into the brightly lit house. If there is a next time, he thought shrewdly to himself.