18   i don't know how but they found me

Cabeswater is everywhere around her. Mercy is quiet, leaning against Ronan's back with her own and sleepily resting her head on his shoulder. They long for the summer to continue, and so Cabeswater has given it to them: warm sunlight brightening the freckles dusting across her nose and cheeks, Mercy's bright eyes closed underneath the heat. It's the day after tea at Blue's house and the group is gathered within the confines of the forest to visit Aurora. The greenery hums underneath her , Mercy's blood bubbling and oozing in their veins. Cheek pressed into Ronan's tank top, she listens to her friends surrounding her.

Gansey, laying on his back and gazing up to the blue skies above, looks at home. "What is real?"

Mercy snorts, the sound hiding within the fabric of Ronan.

          "Maybe," Blue begins, "we all come here and fall asleep and have the same dream."

Eyebrows furrowing, Mercy considers this. She wouldn't know the difference between asleep and awake; real and a dream, the lines beginning to blur and the distinctions becoming lost on her. Ronan picks at the grass.

          "I know when I'm awake and when I'm asleep," he says.

Ronan is sharp underneath the sunlight. It becomes a knife against the cut of his cheeks. Mercy and Ronan fit together underneath the shadowed limbs of this forest—two jagged pieces jutting out of the dirt. Mercy opens her eyes, owlishly blinking at Adam Parrish and his greased coveralls.

          "Do you?" Adam says, curling his hands into the coveralls.

Ronan makes a noise, ugly and mirthful from the depths of his throat. Where Mercy's ability to discern the difference is beginning to die, Ronan's ability fluctuates with his care. Ronan and Cabeswater are built of the same stone: the only way he couldn't tell the difference between waking and sleeping is if he didn't want to.

          "Maybe I dreamt you," he says.

          "Thanks for the straight teeth, then." Adam replies.

Crickets rise with the sound of Cabeswater humming, birds breaking from the branches and into the blue sky as they soar over the teens and the forest's ceiling. Mercy can hear water colliding lightly with water behind them, trees grand and old as overarching guardians distilling the strength of the sun. It's a slice of paradise, an overwhelming sense of anything and everything pressing against her senses at once. Siken Lane never felt like this: a destructive breed of dream thing, shadowed by greyness and moonlight, Dionysus standing at the head of Mercy's room. In Cabeswater, she feels light, but her locket still weighs heavy against her chest. There's something beneath Mercy's feelings. A distrust that she cannot shake.

          "I don't dream," Noah says. He's pale, no more ghostly than usual, sitting across from Mercy, playing with his snow-globe in his hands. She knows he doesn't even sleep. "So I think it must be real."

It's theirs.

For a while longer, they laze. Mercy's eyes once again begin to fall closed, eyelashes fluttering. Gold catches her gaze, twin lights underneath the sun. Aurora and Matthew Lynch are a matching pair. There is no denying their relationship as mother and son. Together, angelic and airless, they talk in quiet voices and exchange light laughter. Jealousy curls in the pit of Mercy's stomach. She stomps on it, fingers digging into her black cargo pants. As Mercy's eyes finally close, blue petals land in the wildness of her red hair.

Rustling sounds, Gansey uses his elbows to push himself up from the ground. "Okay. I think it's time. Lynch?"

Ronan moves underneath Mercy, the girl letting out a noise of complaint. He blindly reaches out, his hand smacking into the redhead's face to catch her before she hits the dirt. Mercy scowls, balancing herself and pushing Ronan's hand away. He moves to stand beside his mother and brother, starkly dark and different to their golden light. Aurora pats his hand, Matthew pausing his wild hand gestures to look at his older brother.

          "Up," Ronan says. "Time to go."

Aurora Lynch smiles gently at her children and a piece of Mercy's heart shatters. In Cabeswater, Aurora stays, but her sons move in and out as they please. Ronan, softer than Mercy usually sees him, places his hands either side of Matthew's head and the boy's curls are crushed beneath his callused hands. They lock gazes.

           "Go wait in the car," Ronan instructs. "If we aren't back by nine, call Blue's house."

Matthew eyes Ronan in shades of blue, unafraid and the reflection of child-like invincibility. "How will I know the number?"

          "Matthew. Focus." Ronan says. "We talked about this. I want you to think. You tell me: How will you know the number?"

          "Oh, right." Matthew laughs, patting his pocket. "It's programmed in your phone. I remember now."

          "I'll stay with him," Noah offered.

          "Chicken," Ronan snipes.

           "Lynch," Gansey says. "That's a good idea, Noah, if you're feeling up for it."

          "He'll be a champ." Blue says brightly, delivering a swift punch into Noah's arm.

          "I'll be a champ." Noah repeats.

Mercy ruffles Noah's white hair. "Find me if you need me."

Noah nods. They take off for the cave, leaving Matthew and Noah behind at the safety of the cars. As she looks behind her for one last look, Mercy notices Matthew pressing his fingers against the peeling paint of her truck and smiles.

          "I can get that fixed for you." Adam breaks through her concentration, taking her gaze away from Matthew.

Slowly, Mercy nods. "Thank you."

Pausing at the mouth of the cave, Gansey stands in front of the gaping hole and stone teeth. "De fumo in flammam."

          "From the smoke into the fire," Adam translates to Blue, quietly.

           "Equipment check," Gansey says. 

Blue swiftly dumps the contents of her backpack: a helmet, knee pads, a flashlight and her pink switchblade all tumbling from it's stomach. Mercy tugs her duffle from the ground and pulls out her knee pads but she eyes the helmet with distaste and fingers a stray curl of her hair. She lets it fall back into the duffle, ignoring Gansey's narrowed look. He wrinkles his nose, dumping the contents of his own backpack next to Blue's. Out pours a helmet, knee pads, a flashlight, several feet of rope, a harness and an array of bolt anchors and carabiners. All used, loved and cherished. From the shock on Adam and Blue's faces that they fail to hide, Mercy can tell that they were expecting new equipment to fall from the bag. Blue's face changes before Adam's as the realisation sets in: Gansey is the one who's used the equipment. He expertly ties a carabiner to a rope and Mercy kicks the dirt.

Gansey speaks as he begins to unwind a longer safety cable. "What we talked about. We're tied together, three tugs if you are alarmed in the slightest. Time check?"

Adam checks his watch. "My watch isn't working."

Ronan checks his and shakes his head.

Gansey frowns. "Nor is my phone."

Mercy taps her feet, she knows. 7:13. The redhead doesn't know why the number lingers in her head or how she's aware of the shifting of time within Cabeswater's confines. Looking down, Mercy bites her lip and says nothing. Gansey presses rope into her palms and she tightens her hands around it. He takes it back after a moment.

"Okay, Ronan." Gansey waves a hand.

Ronan shouts Latin into the moving air: Is it safe for us to go in? Mercy hears Adam hiss the translation into Blue's ear. The reply curls around her.

          "Greywaren semper est incorruptus."

          "Always safe." Gansey translates out loud. "The Greywaren is always safe."

Mercy moves to stand beside Ronan: two jagged lines against the horizon.

          "Incorruptus." Adam muses lightly. "I never thought anyone would use that word to describe Lynch."

Ronan makes a face, pleased as a jagged line could be.

The open room of the cave just past the threshold is quiet, walls dusted with rock, roots, chalk and everything curled inside itself. A few steps in front of Mercy, Blue's fingers brush against a coiled fern. It's the last of the greenery before the light fades. There's no noise other than their padded footsteps against the dirt. The sunlight disappears as they fall deeper into the cave's belly, and Mercy's skin crawls. Illuminating the cave, Gansey turns on his headlamp at the forefront of their rope line. Adam shivers.

          "I wish we'd brought Noah after all," Gansey says abruptly. "In we go. Ronan, don't forget to set the directional markers as we go. We're counting on you. Don't just stare at me. Nod like you understand." Ronan nods, a barely-there jerk of his chin. "Good. You know what? Give them to Jane."

          "What?"

Mercy lets out a bark of laughter into the emptiness. "Wise decision, Dick."

          "Shut the fuck up, Mercy."

          "Bite me, Lynch."

          "Now, children." Gansey chides. "I want you to whistle or hum or sing, Ronan, and keep track of time."

          "You have got to be shitting me," Ronan replies. "Me."

          "Do you want me to harmonise?" Mercy jokes.

Ronan reaches behind and flicks Mercy in the forehead.

          "I know you know a lot of songs all the way through, and can do them the same speed and length every time." Gansey explains. "Because you had to memorise all of these tunes for the Irish music competitions."

Mercy laughs into her fist, Adam and Blue exchanging delighted looks.

          "Piss up a rope," Ronan says, scowling.

Gansey, unbothered, waits.

Ronan shakes his head, a wicked smile spreading across his pale face and he begins to sing, "Squash one, squash two, s—"

          "Not that one," Adam and Gansey say shrilly.

          "I'm not listening to that for three hours." Adam says.

Gansey points at Ronan until he whistles, a jaunty reel faintly familiar to Mercy's ears. They move deeper into the cave. 

Mercy's skin continues to crawl as they go deeper into the cave. It's a sinking feeling, the one that resides in the pit of her stomach, as the sun disappears and they move deeper into the bowel of the cave. The sound of markers dropping and Ronan's distinct whistle become faint, a buzzing in the back of Mercy's head like a persistent fly. She's uncomfortable, distinctly out of place within the stone confines. Bones itching and muscles screaming underneath her skin, she forces herself to follow Gansey's set pace and swallow the bile of her throat.

But Mercy shouldn't be here. It's wrong.

Exhaustion sets into her, the dark shadows sucking the energy directly from her veins. Mercy smacks a bug on her arm, the slap resonating throughout the space. Nobody pauses. They walk, the ground becoming steeper beneath their feet.

It's silent until Adam slips, catching himself with an outstretched hand against the cave wall.

Indignantly, Blue lets out a noise, "Hey! Don't touch the walls."

Ronan's whistling dies. "Cave germs?"

          "It's bad for stalactite growth."

          "Oh, honestly—"

          "Ronan!" Gansey says strongly. "Get back to work."

Ronan's whistling is drowned out by feet against dirt and Gansey's back slamming against a cave wall. Pebbles and clumps of dirt follow his descent into the darkness, ricocheting into tiny echoes until they disappear. Adam manages a faint "What?" before he's snatched from his feet, slamming to the ground in a cloud of dust. His side hits the ground repeatedly, skidding and Adam's nails digging in to try and stop himself. Ronan snatches Blue's tiny body, stopping her from following and Mercy, cursing loudly, goes taunt, planting her feet and throwing all her weight into them to hold her balance. Adam finally comes to a stop, chest heaving.

          "Gansey?" He calls. "Are you okay down there?"

Mercy's fingers cling to the rope holding them all together, bile rising in her throat and she chokes on it. "Dick? Can you knock on the rocks or something?"

          "What's going on?" Ronan asks. "Where is he?"

          "He must be hanging," Mercy chokes out. She pulls on her rope, relieving the pressure on her stomach.

          "The rope's cutting me in half it's pulling so hard." Adam says. "I can't get closer to help. It's slimy—his weight would just pull me in."

Blue pries Ronan tight arms from around her, and Mercy takes a step backwards, almost as if she's tripping towards the closet light source. Experimentally, Blue takes a step forward and Mercy's breath hitches loudly. The rope slackens, but Adam doesn't slide any further.

          "I think you can be a counterweight if you don't move, Adam." Blue says. "Ronan and Mercy, stay up here—if anything happens and I start slipping, can you anchor yourself?"

Ronan nods as Mercy makes a noise of acknowledgement.

          "Can we try and be quick?" She says weakly.

Blue gives her a look, stepping away. "I'm going to go over and take a look."

Creeping past Adam, Blue nearly follows Gansey. She eyes the plummeting darkness with contempt. There is a ledge, and then nothing, the rope only just visible and darkened with mud. Mercy shuffles forward a little, watching over Ronan's shoulder with her chin hooked onto him. He doesn't move, chest rising and falling with practiced slowness, but he's tense, and she can feel it.

          "Gansey?" Blue calls.

          "I'm here." Gansey's voice is clear, but wavering and quiet. "I just—" He heaves in a breath. "—I believe I'm having a panic attack."

          "You're having a panic attack?" Blue says. "New rule: Everyone should give four tugs before suddenly disappearing. Have you broken anything?"

There's a pause. "No."

Mercy's lips purse, hand pressing to her chest as relief tugs a knot from her stomach. "Just focus on your breathing, Dick, it's okay."

She hears a sharp intake.

          "It'll be okay." Blue offers reassurance, weak but trying. "We're anchored up here. All you need to do is climb out. You're not going to fall."

           "It's not that." Gansey's voice wavers. "There is something on my skin and it is reminding me of..."

Mercy looks around, confused and unable to fill in the blanks, but everybody else seems to understand. Inside, she's floundering. Outside, she steels her expression and unhooks her chin from Ronan's shoulder. Mercy quietens, listening to Blue's warbling voice and Gansey's loud breathing.

          "Water." Blue suggests. "Or mud. It's everywhere. Say something again so I can point the flashlight at you." Light whitens the cave as Blue sweeps the flashlight to search for a quiet Gansey. "Or mosquitoes. Mosquitoes are everywhere." Gansey is silent, a pin drop would create a louder shout. "There are over two dozen species of cave beetle. I read that before we came today."

Gansey whispers and it echoes on the cave walls, so quiet that Mercy barely catches the release. "Hornets."

Everybody around her seems to tense because of a secret Mercy doesn't know—a time that she missed. The reminders are stark sometimes, how she's been weaved into the friendship far later than Blue or Adam. How there's part of them that Mercy still isn't privy to and there's stories that she missed. Her chest aches at the softness of Gansey's voice, a mere thread away from snapping and splintering. She can see the webs between them, connecting fingertips to heartbeat like a spider's gentle strands. A puppeteer of the patient kind, waiting to pull the relaxed strings.

          "Look at me," Blue demands, not unkindly. "There are no hornets."

          "I know." Gansey mutters from the depths in which Mercy can't see. "That's why I said I think I'm having a panic attack. I know there are no hornets."

Mercy holds her breath. Cabeswater is an eager listener, awaiting requests and the time to paint things into fruition using its broad strokes. She squeezes her eyes closed: No hornets. If there are any hornets, consider this my resignation. Mercy's eyes peel open slowly. A ghostly hand brushes against her arm, but there's no smile to match.

          "Well, you're making me angry," Blue says. "Adam is lying on his face in the mud for you. Ronan's going home."

Gansey laughs, vague and empty. "Keep talking, Jane."

Mercy feels as if she should look away.

          "I don't want to. I want you to just grab that rope and pull yourself up here like I know you're perfectly capable of. What good does me talking do?"

          "It's just," pebbles tumble, "that there's something rustling down below me, and your voice drowns it out."

Spine shivering, the ghostly hand digs their nails into Mercy's arm.

          "Ronan, Mercy," Blue looks behind her. "New plan: Adam and I are going to pull Gansey out very quickly."

A noise chokes out Mercy's throat. The dangers run through her head like a checklist: all three of them tumbling down into the darkness, leaving Ronan and Mercy alone with the sound of snapping necks and broken limbs. Her mouth burns and tears cloud her vision. She can't be thinking about the worst now, but the panic is rising.

          "What! That is a fucking terrible idea," Ronan exclaims. "Why is that the plan?"

Adam looks worried. "Est aliquid in foramen. I don't know. Apis? Apibus? Forsitan."

          "No," Ronan says. "No, there is not. That is not what is down there." His volume increases. "No. do you hear me, Cabeswater? You promised to keep me safe. Who are we to you? Nothing? If you let him die, that is not keeping me safe. Do you understand? If they die, I die too."

           "Take me instead," Mercy says roughly, pressing a shaking hand to her chest. A warmth, a sickly feeling spreads from her head to toe. "You already have me. Just let him stay."

Ronan's head snaps to her, Adam's eyes wide pressed into the mud and Blue glaring hotly. A humming, soft but strong, rises from the pit.

           "I made a deal with you, Cabeswater. I'm your hand and your eyes. What do you think I'll see if he dies?" Adam says. 

The humming grows louder.

           "We've been making the ley line stronger. We have been making you stronger. And we'll keep helping you, but you've got to help us—"

A shadow rises, a shimmer of a white smile amongst the darkness, exploding from the depths of the pit and hiding Gansey away from Blue's view. The humming reaches its peak as wings bat against the crowded air. Mercy lets out a hoarse cry and stumbles backwards, black wings hitting her shoulders and hands that shield her face. Somebody cries: "Gansey!", but she can't pick the voice. It could be any of them. As they fly away from Mercy's face, their species becomes clear. Ravens. Inked feathers and beady eyes, the flock is a never ending stream of darkness. Their locked flight-path heads straight towards the caved exit.

The humming becomes cut, unbound and reshaped into words: Rex Corvus, parate Regis Corvi.

The Raven King, make way for the Raven King.

Feathers in her hair, Mercy's fingers dig into the dirt and the world falls quiet.

           "Hold on," Gansey says. "I'm coming out." 

With an old towel, Gansey dries his hair and strips it of the cave's remnants. Quietly, Mercy approaches where he's perched on a Monmouth windowsill with a cup of tea in each hand and a handful of mint leaves stuffed into the pocket of her hoodie, unsure of which comfort that Gansey will desire. Her footsteps are silent, tongue poking out in concentration as she ensures that the warm liquid doesn't spill over the sides of the mugs and steam curls like a grey hand towards her reddening nose. August marks the end of the Summer season. The world begins to fall into the deathly quiet that both Autumn and Winter call to arms. But the stars are still bright.

          "I wasn't sure if you'd want a drink or something to chew on," Mercy says softly. "So I brought both."

Gansey doesn't jump, nor does he shy away from the striking girl. Even in a ratty swim team hoodie and Nike shorts, Mercy is imposing—lean and tall. There's no denying the wild nature of her emerald eyes and the contrast of her halo of red curls. He accepts the tea in open palms and gratefully takes the handful of crumpled mint leaves, placing them in his own pyjama pockets. Kicking his legs lightly with her foot, Mercy motions for him to make space. She nestles herself in the opposite corner, tall legs folded underneath her as she sips her own tea—filled with sugar and milk, just how she likes it.

          "Her name was Mallory." Mercy begins her quiet admittance, her invitation, wistful and broken like glass shards pressed into the careful base of a mosaic. It's the rest of the story Gansey partially knows. "She went to an academy a town over but fell in with Kavinsky's crew in the summer last year. Mallory was golden, you know. There aren't many people like that. I feel like I never really knew her but she was so present. And she couldn't say no to a challenge. After she died—" Her grip on her tea tightens as she swallows a lump in her throat. "—the first time, it was the little things. Cherry suckers in the corner store and suddenly leather seats were like—" She waves a hand. "—suffocating. I couldn't be around her friends. But I couldn't tell anyone."

Gansey lets his mug burn into his palms, watching Mercy carefully. "Why?"

          "The same reason you can't afford to," Mercy says simply. "We each have reputations to uphold, Mr. Richard Gansey III. Nobody wants to tell their mother that they spent the entirety of summer high on pills and fucking a girl in the back of a Mitsubishi."

Gansey concedes with a bow of his head. He sips his tea. "His name was Gansey."

          "The second?" Mercy asks, mug rim to her lips.

He shakes his head. "The third."

Mercy nods her head in understanding. 

          "Hornets." Gansey says. "I'm deathly allergic. It's a proven fact: seven years ago on the edge of a Virginian forest I died." He sucks in a breath. "Kids often fall victim to questionable decision-making. Never thought it was me though, I was a kid, and they never do. But I did and the only reason I'm alive is the ley line and the words: You will live because of Glendower. Someone else on the ley line is dying when they should not, and so you will live when you should not. I feel a crawl or hear the buzzing and I'm there again, a dying kid in the mud."

Mercy presses her toes into Gansey's thigh, poking with a curved smile. "The great thing about us, Gansey, is that we're so undeniably human."

          "How do you know?" He asks.

          "We're broken." Mercy responds simply.

They fall into silence.