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Chapter Text

Gravel crunches underfoot. He can feel each individual edge dig into the worn soles of his boots. As he steps over a puddle of murky water, he clutches his damp cloth bag closer to his chest. He tilts his head up, honey eyes tracing over the water colored hues of the setting sun. Soft light dances in the streams afar, rippling in every direction. He exhales, wisps flowing from his lips in the cold. The familiar chill of night’s arrival settles in his bones. He grins.

This is how he was meant to live. Wild as the wolves that prowl at night. Wild as the moss and ivy that runs up the rocky cliffs. Wild as the feral vultures free from the walls. With fresh air pumping through his veins, he continues his trek. His eyes scan the rocky landscape freckled with deep green. Bracken, Hart’s tongue, and feather moss peak over the gravel and smaller stones. Bramble bushes pop up along the cliffs void of fruit. It was far too cold for the blooms, every day coming closer to the Winter Solstice. Otherwise, he would stop his search to collect a few for the journey back to camp in the morning. He could practically hear Jenna’s soft voice scolding him for delaying his return for a few handfuls of blackberries. He continues on, spotting dog’s mercury as he passes the jagged boulder a few miles from the river fork.

Steps later, he spots the dainty flowers of garlic blooming from the bottom of a small hill. He picks up his pace, jogging down the hill. As the darkness creeps over him, he crouches down and pulls the garlic from the ground. Specks of dirt dust his pants as he collects the garlic into his bag. He rises to his feet, taking in the last bit of warmth for the night. As he takes one last look around, he sees it. Red.

Red wasn’t meant to be in Trench. As far as he knew, it was completely faux, manufactured by the Bishops to be something sacred. Something holy. Red meant only one thing, Bishops. Heartbeats flooded his ears. With complete disconnect from his will, he edges closer. Jittery as a rabbit. This red doesn’t take the form of a man on a horse, or even the towering figure of the Archbishop. Instead, this red is sprawled across the moss.

Whatever it is is too fuzzy from where he stands. The red is closer to the flat valley that distantly borders the City. Two and a half days on foot to the edge of the wall if he remembers correctly. As soon as his thoughts clear, he’s steadily walking towards the unknown. Steady steps turn into a jog as soon as his mind registers it as a body. Before he can comprehend he’s standing in front of it, tips of his boots just barely touching the red.

The red is in fact a cloak. He shivers. But not the cloak of a Bishop. Bishop cloaks are embroidered at the edges with gold thread in swooping designs. This cloak is plain, shorter in the front than the back. Clasped together by silver hooks. An Apprentice’s cloak. A gasp escapes his chapped lips.

Bishops would occasionally venture out into Trench. On their purebred steeds in groups of two or three. But if authority was to be sent out into the vastness of green, it was the Eyes. The nameless, faceless footmen of the city, made to search the land for deserters like him, Banditos. Apprentices never left the city unless they later took the title of Bishop. If they took the title.

The body is shielded by the cloak. Red sweeps over the head. Simple trousers peek out from the edges, stopped by buckled leather shoes. He crouches down again, this time knees digging into the dirt. With a stiff pull, he turns the body over. Startlingly, he sets eyes on a face. The faces of Apprentices were revered. Their features were to be covered until they received the title of their respective Bishop. This Apprentice’s face though, was on full display, veil nowhere to be seen.

The Apprentice’s face was bold. His face was bold. Dark eyebrows contrast his sharp lips and sharper nose. His skin was sun kissed despite living within the confines of the city. The apprentice couldn’t be much older than himself, a young adult, but his cheeks and eyes were sunken. He touches calloused fingers to the Apprentice's neck. The steady thump of a heartbeat vibrates under his thumb. A sigh of relief. He looks up from the Apprentice’s place on the ground,eyes scanning the area warily. All that surrounded them was the deep greens and rocky cliffs of Trench. Another sigh of relief. With hands planted on the Apprentice’s shoulders, he softly shakes the apprentice.

Dark eyes flutter open. Dazed and confused, the orbs dart around his face, taking him in. His lips part subtly as his eyes fix onto the yellow tape on the other’s shoulders. The Apprentice screams, hoarse and rough, like cliffs.

He darts away from the Apprentice, dirty hands flying up in defense. He shifts his weight back to his feet from his knees. Ready to run.

“Woah, hey,” He says softly, keeping his voice steady, “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
The Apprentice darts up, scrambling to his knees. His hands dart to face, gasping as he feels flesh instead of thin fabric. “Where is it!” He hissed, fingers tracing his bare face. His voice was gravely, uneven, “Give it back!”

“I don't have it,” comes the reply, “If I saw it, it would be back on your face.”

”Lies!” The Apprentice shouts. He rises up on shaky feet, foreboding, a stance similar to the Archbishop.

”I’ll repeat myself, I didn’t see it.” He’s still crouched down. Kept on the ground by the heavy gaze of the Apprentice.

The Apprentice lifts a hand from under his cloak, open palm, trembling. “I said, hand it over!”
Finally, he stands, “It’s gone. Are you hurt, Apprentice?”

The Apprentice blinks rapidly. His dark eyes dark around the landscape, drinking in the ferns, moss, rocks, puddles. Drinking in the color.

“Am I…” His voice is barely audible, a fleeting whisper.

”In Trench? Yes.”

A stutter, “Take me back.”

”What?”

Another stutter, “I said, take me back to the City.”

”Apprentice-‘

A scolding finger, a shake, “Apprentice Clancy.”

”Apprentice Clancy, you’re in Trench and I’m sorry but I’m not taking you back.”
”As a citizen of-“ The Apprentice, Clancy, trails off again taking in his surroundings.

The other grins, “Not a citizen.”

Clancy stops, shoulders going rigid. His eyes fully comprehend the other’s appearance. The other was filthy compared to the City’s standards. His pants were muddied and the cuffs, as were his boots. His grey-green jacket was two sizes too big, scattered with patches made of old bandannas. Yellow tape criss crosses his back, another yellow bandanna tied around his leg.

”You disgusting rebel, you took my veil!” Clancy repeats stepping forward.

”Again, I didn’t see it. Look, I’m. Josh. You can call me Joshua if that makes you more comfortable.” He’s trying his best to be gentle and respectful, but his patience was wearing thin. “Unfortunately, it’s getting dark. It’s dangerous out here at night. There’s a cave half a mile from here for us to camp for the night.”

“I’m not camping with you.” The Apprentice huffs, much like a child. Josh sees limbs move under the red cloak, arms crossing over a chest.

“Well,” He starts, containing his eye roll, “rather end up with a wolf gnawing at your shins?” He’s adjusting his bag now, slipping the other strap onto his shoulders. “I’ll give you the bedroll. I can stand the ground for a night.” He turns on his heel, directing his sights towards the cave.

“What makes you think I’m going with you?” Clancy retorts, impatience dripping from his words.

“The basic human need for survival. Now pick it up, I won’t look you in the eyes.” Josh starts towards the east at a quickened pace, knuckles white around the straps of his pack. The telltale crunch of gravel follows him from a few paces back. Silence settles uneasily around the pair as the sky darkens. The howl of a wolf drifts in from the distance. Josh can hear the Apprentice flinch. They make a quick arrival to the cave.

The cave itself is a small cove at the base of one of the smaller cliffs. Hidden by vines and ferns. Josh pulls back the curtain of vegetation, gesturing the Apprentice inside. Cool, dry air fills space inside, Josh relaxes while the Apptrience stays stiff. Old, fraying yellow tape peels off of the back of smooth rocks. The humble space is empty rock except for the rusting lamp and matches in the corner.

Josh flips up the creaking handle in one hand, the matches in the other, “Welcome to the coziest cave this side of Trench.” He deadpans. With a flick of his wrist, the match is sizzling. The lamp flickers to life with a low roar.

”Not funny.” Clancy murmurs from a shadowed corner of the cave. The hood of his robe is curved over his face leaving his expression shadowed. His arms slipped out from under the red, curling around his knees.

Josh slumped down, spilling his legs in front, across from the Apprentice, “I’m being serious. The other option has bats. I didn’t think you’d appreciate that.” As he talks, he pushes the lantern out into the middle with his foot. He shifts, now digging through his heavy bag, “You thirsty?” He asks, procuring a metal canteen.

Clancy seethes, “No, it’s probably poisoned.”

Josh laughs, rich and hearty, “Poisoned? Why would I be carrying poisoned water, I had no idea you’d be out there. Apprentices usually don’t show up around here.”

Silence.

Josh smirks, cat like and toothy. The canteen lid pops off. He takes a hasty swig, “Why would I drink it if it’s poisoned?” His hand tilts, offering the canteen.

“I said I don’t want it.” Came the Apprentice’s exasperated sigh.

A shrug, “Suit yourself.” Josh slips the canteen back into the bag. His nimble fingers unlatch his worn bedroll, “We should rest, it’s a day’s walk back to camp.”

The bedroll rolls across the stone, stopping at the hem of Clancy’s red cloak.

Dark eyes watch the ting skirt to a halt, “We need to pray first…” This is the softest the Apprentice has spoken yet, meek.

Something inside Josh lurches. The pit of his stomach drops. His hands tremble, “I’m not. You’re more than welcome to.”
“But-“

The hiss of a flame and the cave falls into wary darkness.

”Goodnight.” Josh huffs, turning on his side to support his back.

He’s lulled to sleep by hushed prayers. Prayers repeated ten times over. Prayers that are restarted at the start of a stutter. Passionate, empty prayers.

Josh doesn’t sleep.

Chapter Text

Camp is packed up quickly and quietly that morning. Quietly from Josh’s side of the equation anyway. The packing only happened from his side in the end. He had asked, practically begging Clancy to help. Instead the Apprentice is kneeling, face to the jagged rock of the cave, repeating the same prayer from the night before. His soft mumbles bounce off stone, barely making it to Josh's ears as more than a hush. Josh glares at Clancy while he tightly rolls the bedroll. He makes a show out strapping it to his pack, rustling the metal clips as much as possible. The Apprentice doesn’t even blink. He bends down, forehead to stone.

”C’mon, we’re leaving.” Josh’s voice reverberates just as much as the stomp of his boot. His skin is buzzing at the thought of being in the cave for any longer. He staggers over the mouth to the outside, joints groaning. His spine stretches out, hands in front. His fingertips graze the sunshine. Warmth travels up to his knuckles, yellow and true. Josh doesn’t remember feeling any warmth like that in the depths of Dema. Warmth was only ever found in the front pews of Worship when kneeled down in front of the pillars of neon, and only when the Bishops weren’t circled around it. Josh was never given the privilege of the front pews. His family was always ushered to the dark corners in the back, by the menacing, roughly carved statue of the first Bishops. His place was always between his brother and mother. Jordan refused to sit any closer to the statue, telling their mother that the stone was watching him. Part of Josh believed him.

“We’re leaving.” Repeats Josh, at almost a growl. His hands tense into a fist.

Clancy still doesn’t shift from his prayer, the words slide right off his cloak. Josh huffs. He slides his boots over the damp rock, muscles in his calves tensing. He reaches out once he’s in front of Clancy.

Flesh touches red.

Clancy screams. Josh’s ears buzz.

Red is blurred as Clancy swivels on his knees. Shaky hands impact Josh at his stomach, sending stumbling back.

”Don’t touch me!” Clancy screams, panting. His shaking hands are pulling his hood over his eyes.

“Dude, we need to go.” Josh says through tightly gritted teeth, clutching his stomach as his bag swings at his side.

Clancy turns, voice low, “Not until I’m done.” He bows again starting back up his low mumbling.

”Clancy, we’re leaving now.” Josh’s voice is a scold, much like how he used to scold Jordan their first few days in Trench. Though this voice isn’t rooted in love, it's rooted in survival.

”Don’t interrupt unless you join.” Clancy’s voice is bitter, tainted.

A huff. A thud as the pack hits the ground, metal clasps clattering. Josh takes a step forward, dirty soles digging into the frayed fabric of the cloak.

“If I join you, will you hurry it up?” Josh’s eye roll is audible. The Apprentice’s hand appears from under the sea of red, beckoning him to his side. Reluctantly, Josh kneels. The last time he can ever remember being on his knees was a week and a half before he took his brother and ran. A week and a half before he tasted fresh, crisp air. A week and a half before he tasted real freedom. Wild and coursing through his veins.

Something inside Josh’s soul clicks into place. A gear in the back of his brain rolls on a rusty axis. After years of sitting idle, somehow the motions still came easily. For a fleeting second, he’s a teenager again. Keep the weight on your knees or you won’t bow low enough. You’re supposed to be a good example for Jordan. Don’t shiver when your forehead meets the ground. You’re supposed to be a good example for Jordan. Breathe in with every step of the Watchers you hear. You’re supposed to be a good example for Jordan. Hold your brother's hand for dear life as Bishop Andre’s dark eyes pass over you. You’re supposed to be a good example for Jordan. Don’t let your mind wander, Mama will know when you hesitate. You’re supposed to be a good example for Jordan. Nudge him when he huffs in boredom. You’re supposed to be a good example for Jordan-

“-vials of neon guide our path from this moment to the grave. Glory to the spirits of the Original Bishops.” Clancy’s voice cuts through his thoughts, a knife’s edge to his brain. The fog of his train of thought clears. It had been minutes since he bowed, not moments. As he rises from the position pain radiates from under his kneecaps. Josh hadn’t felt that pain in years. His hands are trembling. Josh quickly rises to his feet, shoving his hands behind his back.

”Let’s go.” His voice is wavering, shaky. Childish.

Clancy doesn’t point out his behavior as they leave the cave. The chill of nightfall slowly fades as sunlight streaks through the heavy clouds. Warmth calms Josh’s frayed nerves. He stretches, grasping for handfuls of sunshine. He twists, joints and vertebrae popping. He catches sight of Clancy.

The Apprentice stands shocked still several paces behind Josh. He turns his hands over and over again, eyeing how the light bounces off his skin. He’s mesmerized.

“It’s better in the summer.” Josh breathes out, taking in real fresh air.

Clancy jumps, “It gets better?” His voice is small, like his brother’s the first morning they spent in Trench. It’s pure wonder.

“Yeah.” Is all Josh can reply with.

“The sun is warmer here than in the city.” His voice is distant, under layers of curtains.

Stepping forward, Josh hums in agreement.

Time ticks on uncomfortably slow. Clancy is always five steps behind him, mumbling to himself every new discovery. His list was getting too long for Josh’s liking. So far, he's laid eyes on six different species of fern, four different colors of wildflowers, two types of moss, a wild rabbit, a hawk, and a field mouse. It was almost pathetic. He never makes any comments directly to Josh, in all honesty he doesn’t mind. He only ever whispers in puzzled tones to himself.

The morning is uneventful, traveling through the valley. Josh stops their trek to pick more garlic a handful of times. The afternoon brings Josh handing the Apprentice a fabric wrapped bundle of jerky and mixed nuts, which he promptly rejects. A wary bite of shame washes over Josh as he’s reminded the Clergy of Dema don’t consume meat. Clancy could have had the nuts, but Josh suspects it’s the same reason as the night before. The afternoon led them out of the valley of cliffs to the flatlands. The pair stuck to the rocky riverbed as the color wash of sunset creeped up. Wolves invited Josh back to the plains he called home, howling their calls. Clancy flinched at every call and response. Josh smirked. Inky black had settled over Trench by the time the bonfire flickered into focus.

”About ten minutes now,” Josh hums, switching the weight of his pack, “Your feet hurt yet?” His voice was squeaky, uneasy from the tense walk back from the cave.

“Not funny,” Clancy deadpans.

Something hard collides with the heel of his boot, his step stutters. A breathy chuckle from behind. Josh’s teeth grind together.

”I’m taking you around back. You’re not showing up dressed like that.”

Clancy doesn’t reply.

The Bandito camp is settled by the bed of the fork of the river. Grimy tents dot the landscape. Most tents hued brown or gray, made from stolen tarps from the city and sewn together. Flaking yellow paint is scrawn on the tents, icons of birds or flowers or simply abstract designs. Almost all the tents are built for one to three people except for a pair. In the middle of the circular camp rises a large tent, made of mismatched tarps. Over the top of it is a painted mural of birds soaring over the cliffs of Trench. Shadows weave around it. The other is considerably smaller, but still larger than the lodgings, it settles at the back of camp.

Chatter rises over the roar of the bonfire as Josh leads Clancy around the back of camp. Josh had a knack for going unnoticed and undetected, mostly. If not in their tents, all of the resident Banditos are gathered around the bonfire, distracted by their conversations and chores. With a flick of the wrist, Josh guides Clancy to the mouth of a particularly tattered tent. It’s held together by patches of newer tarps and yellow tape. A silhouette of a vulture decorates the side.Warmth glows from within a figure reflects back. With a smile Josh lifts the flap.

”Jordan!” He sing-songs mindlessly, stepping inside nonchalantly.

The figure turns, dark curls similar to his own bouncing. Jordan is a little younger than Josh. The tail end of baby fat still on his cheeks, still hardly a teenager. His tree trunk eyes go wide. Josh raises an eyebrow instinctively, forgetting the presence beside him.

Jordan turns from the notebook on his lap, “Josh, swear to me my eyes are lying.”

Josh huffs, “Unfortunately no. Go get Mark.”

Jordan is a blur out the tent, not flinching when his shoulder collides with Clancy’s. Josh throws his pack on a messy bed pallet, he slumps down on the other, limbs wild.

“Get comfy, Clancy. It’s gonna be a long night for us both.”

”It’s Apprentice Clancy.”

Josh bites back the urge to scream.