The Dark Artifacts

Dreams

Los Angeles 2008:

Emma Carstairs held Cortana tightly in her grip. She reared back, raising the sword high above her head, this way when she swung down on an opponent gravity would be there to aid her, adding extra force to the blow. It was a trick all Shadowhunters learned in their first years of training, a trick she was rather fond of. Cortana came crashing down on the dummy, hitting its skull with a sickening smack. She took a deep breath before rearing up and getting ready to hit again; the sword was heavy and her arms were throbbing from its weight.

"Emma?" She heard a familiar voice call out.

She turned to see Julian Blackthorn hovering just to the left of her.

"Emma, I wanted to talk to you." His words seemed weighted, as if he were about to say something of great import.

"Emma, I," he flushed a little, his whole face turning crimson.

"Emma, there's so much I want to tell you, but I find myself at a loss for words."

Julian, who had appeared near Emma without her noticing poked his finger against the flesh of her arm. I love you traced. Emma looked up at Julian then, really looked at him. At his stormy eyes and tousled paint streaked hair. At his muscular frame as well. He was beautiful. Years of loss were piled into his eyes, and yet there was a hopeful light to them. She was about to say something in response, about to speak the words her heart so desperately needed to speak, but before she could, she heard a faint hum of music in the distance. It was soft and eerie, a sweet hum that would go up into a cry of pain at odd octaves. Violin, she registered distantly. Emma turned back to face Julian, to tell him she loved him a thousand times over, but before she could even open her mouth to speak Julian was gone. In his place stood Helen Blackthorn. Her eyes less intense than Julian's, if not more menacing.

"Really Emma, he could never love you." Helen was boiling over with sisterly rage.

"You know that right?"

"You're Parabatai now, as much his sister as I am." It was Emma's turn to flush, but she did it with with red hot shame. Shame coated her cheeks and ears, and made her forehead heat. We're Parabatai now? She thought bewilderedly. The ceremony hadn't happened yet, had it?

"I--" she stammered.

"I'm sorry." Emma turned around, looking over her shoulder to see if she could see the musician who played so solemnly for her. She was being fidgety and childish, she knew, but she could not prevent her squeamish demeanor in the face of such a familiar and passionately angry person. Whoever played the melodic sound played it so well that she could hear words in it. Sweet hopeful chants of love with long term sadness mixed in. She turned back to face Helen, and what she saw startled her so greatly that she could hardly breath for a moment.

"Emma Carstairs, stand before your Clave, your Council, your brothers and your sister, and hold the Mortal Sword. Tell us that you do not love Julian Blackthorn. Tell us that now." Robert Lightwoods voice boomed, and she was no longer in the training room of her Los Angeles home, but in Idris. Robert Lightwood stood in front of her, his huge shoulders blocking everybody in their seats on the council from view. She walked towards him, willing herself to be brave. She'd heard that you didn't have to tell whole truths when given the Mortal Sword, that you could word things into your favor. This isn't happening Em, said the small voice that always made appearances in her head. It's only a dream. The voice was not her own but that of Julian's. She shook it off. This all seemed somehow to real to be a dream, to vivid.