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It’s getting colder in Trench.
When Clancy first escaped, it was the height of summer. He often had to pull his jacket off for fear of overheating as he trekked through the valleys along the river, trying to find the Banditos. Falling into the river was a relief then, giving him a much needed refreshing pick-me-up. Then, he found the Banditos and autumn came quickly. The green surroundings he was only just starting to become familiar with went yellow, then brown, as the grass and plant life died in the colder weather. Frost decorated the valley every morning, driven away by the barrier of torches around the Bandito camp.
But the torches could only do so much, and winter was coming fast.
The canvas of the tent Clancy shares with Torch blocks out the worst of the biting winds that tunnel through the valley. The Banditos don’t have much but they use everything at their disposal – bed warmers, extra layers, fire. Everything is put to use to keep everyone comfortable.
Shivering, Clancy pulls on an extra hoodie. He thinks it might be Torch’s, but he’s too cold to ask permission first. He shoves his shaking fingers into the front pocket, squeezing his hands into fists to keep them as warm as possible. It smells like Torch, and for some reason that makes Clancy feel safe. He doesn’t stop to examine that thought any farther.
Tears fill his eyes as soon as he steps out of the tent, the biting wind making his eyes water. The tears fall down his cheeks, leaving a freezing river streaking down his face. He pulls one hand out of his pocket to wipe them away, sacrificing a little bit of warmth.
“Clancy!” Torch’s voice comes, and Clancy looks over to see the other man beaming at him. “You’re finally up.”
“Sorry,” Clancy apologizes automatically.
Torch shakes his head. “You don’t have to be sorry. Is that my hoodie?”
Clancy bites back another apology, shrinking into the hoodie. “It’s cold.”
“Hey, it’s ok, I don’t mind,” Torch says. “We can get you another hoodie if you need it. I think we have some extra jackets too.”
Clancy shakes his head before he even realizes he’s doing it. He doesn’t want another hoodie, he likes this one. But it is Torch’s, he can’t just steal it. “If you want it back-” he starts.
“No!” Torch says quickly. “I mean, you should keep it. You look good in it.”
The hoodie is oversized on Clancy, hanging off his frame. He can bury his face in the hood and hide his blush, which also does the job of warming the bottom half of his face. He can’t bring himself to look into Torch’s eyes, so he looks beyond him to the bustle of the Bandito camp.
A large stack of wood is piled near the firepit in the middle of camp, and more is being piled on with every moment. A few other stacks are already there, covered in tarps and blankets. A few Banditos are going around and putting up evergreen branches on anything and everything – the tents, the logs, even around each others’ necks like a gaudy, scratchy necklace.
“What’s that for?” Clancy asks.
Torch looks behind him to see what Clancy is looking at. “Oh, it’s for the bonfires.” At Clancy’s confused glance he gasped. “Oh, that’s right, this is your first winter with us. We have a lot of traditions and celebrations this time of year.”
“What kind of traditions?”
Something in Torch’s eyes lights up, a genuine delight to be sharing this with him. “Most of them won’t be for awhile, but it’s starting to get colder out here. The sun’s going to start going down sooner and coming up later. Once that starts to happen we light a big bonfire and keep it going all the way until the solstice.”
“Like your torches,” Clancy says, connecting the dots.
Torch grins, smile blinding, as he nods. “Exactly! The fire is here to keep us warm and to guide any lost souls back to camp where they’ll be safe. The sun goes away, but we light up the world anyways.”
Clancy studies the piles of wood with a newfound appreciation. “That’s beautiful.”
“We’re having a celebration tonight,” Torch says. “That’s when we light it for the first time. There’ll be eating, singing, dancing, anything you could think of.”
Anything Clancy could think of isn’t a very long list. Dema wasn’t exactly known for their parties, and the Annual Assemblage of the Glorified wasn’t something he had been invited to attend yet – and now, he never would be. Somehow, he got the feeling that this celebration with the Banditos would be better than anything Dema could come up with. But-
“I’m invited?” He asks, surprised. It seems like these traditions mean a lot to Torch, and judging from the joy radiating from the people stacking up wood and preparing, probably all the Banditos. He’s only been here a few weeks, long enough that the hair he shaved off on his first night has grown into a few centimeters of fluff.
A little bit of pity creeps into Torch’s expression, the same pity that shows up whenever Clancy mentions that he hasn’t experienced something. “Of course you are,” he says. “You’re a Bandito now, you’re one of us.”
Warmth fills Clancy’s chest at the easy inclusion. He’s been getting more comfortable around the Banditos, but there’s always some disconnect. Even among other escapees he doesn’t quite fit in. His time with the Bishops has shaped him in a different way from anyone else, and it’s often painfully obvious, especially when he tries to relate with others. Torch has been his biggest supporter, helping him out when things get too awkward and teaching him in that patient way. Even still, the Bandito camp is a community unlike any he’s ever seen before.
Things get more hectic as the sun begins to set, orange and pink streaking the sky. A large triangle of wood is set in the fire pit, leaves and sticks layered underneath for kindling. Banditos gather around the smaller fire pits, stews boiling and meat cooking, enough for everyone to feast. Children run around, excited to be able to stay up longer tonight for the celebration. The few elderly Banditos gather on a log close to the bonfire, knitting and chatting as the young people work. Occasionally one of the children runs up to them, offering them a basket of berries they’ve gathered to be approved. There’s laughter and joking from every corner of camp. Some invisible tension that always hangs over everyone’s heads is gone, replaced with the cozy feeling of celebration.
The shadows have almost taken over the entire sky when Torch stands up and calls the entire camp together. Everyone stands together by the firepit as the sun finally disappears behind the hill, leaving the valley washed in darkness.
“Winter has come,” Torch says. He doesn’t raise his voice, but it spreads easily through the camp. “The sun can no longer guide our way. So we create our own sun to light our path. The fire protects, and the fire provides.”
The last sentence is repeated by everyone, travelling through the crowd in a chorus. Clancy says it too, a second behind everyone else, glancing around to make sure no one noticed.
“Today we celebrate good fortune and togetherness,” Torch continues. “We thank Trench for all she has provided us. Trench has given us a home, carved into the valleys of the continent. She helps us welcome all lost souls to be found. She helps us survive and she helps us live.”
It’s hard to see anything in the new darkness, but the energy that spreads through the camp is hard to miss. Anticipation builds as Torch makes his way around the giant pile of wood.
“Clancy,” Torch finds him through the crowd, waving him forward. Clancy goes, trying not to bury himself in his hoodie at the thought of everyone’s eyes on him. “Will you do the honor of lighting the bonfire?” Torch holds out his namesake, one of the ever-lasting torches that are scattered around camp.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Clancy says quietly. It will be embarrassing to turn this down especially after being called in front of everyone like this, but he could never take the mortification if he did something wrong and disrespected the Banditos traditions or, worse, burned down the camp.
“It’s okay,” Torch assures him. “I’ll be right here, covering you.”
Clancy tries to force his hands steady as he takes the torch. The warmth of it is apparent, even with the small amount of fire on the end of the stick, so he can’t even imagine how hot the bonfire is going to feel.
Torch shows him where to place the torch and Clancy lowers it, silently begging his hands to hold on and not drop it. The fire catches quickly, spreading through the kindling and turning quickly into a roaring blaze.
Clancy can’t help but jump as the heat hits him like a physical force, almost losing his footing and falling forward. It’s Torch’s hand that saves him, grabbing onto his hoodie sleeve and pulling him back, closer to him, where the heat is more of a comforting presence. Still, Clancy can’t keep himself from flushing, his face feeling warmer than the fire he’s just created.
He turns and is met with Torch’s wide grin, the other man beaming at him like he’s done something miraculous. The Banditos he can see over Torch’s shoulder have similar expressions, and Clancy’s anxieties melt as he relaxes with the realization that he’s done it correctly.
”The fire protects and the fire provides,” Torch says, and again everyone repeats it. Clancy joins in this time, no longer behind everyone. He feels the acceptance and belonging settle into his bones, and he doesn’t even try to stop the smile that pulls at the corners of his lips.
The moment lingers, like time has slowed down around them, before it breaks. “Come get stew!” One Bandito announces, by one of the smaller fires. “Pass the ale,” another requests, too loud in a way that suggests they’ve already been imbibing. “We have chocolate,” someone else says, quickly becoming mobbed by children.
Clancy takes it all in as it descends into a controlled chaos. There’s conversations wherever he turns, people talking and laughing. Food is passed around, more food than he’s ever seen in his life in a variety that he’s never even considered. Couples join hands and dance by the bonfire, cheered on by friends and family, many of whom begin to sing an upbeat tune, accompanied by clapping and one child who manages to get her hands on a metal pot. Beer and ale flows, passed between the adults sometimes high above heads to keep small, sticky fingers away. Some children still manage to sneak a sip, often under the eyes of parents who carefully pretend to be distracted only to laugh at the faces the children pull when they actually taste the alcohol. It’s all so much, and like nothing Clancy has ever experienced before. He’s overwhelmed, but with all the happiness surrounding him he doesn’t think it's a bad thing.
”Come get some stew,” Torch says, and Clancy jumps. He had been so distracted by the festivities that he hadn’t realized that Torch hadn’t moved, still standing just behind him, watching him with a smile. “Yeah, it’s a lot, isn't it?"
”It’s wonderful,” Clancy says honestly. “There’s nothing like this in D- in the city.” He stumbles over the name, not even wanting to speak it out loud for fear of disrupting the atmosphere. He can barely bring himself to mention anything related to Dema out loud, not even the Bishops’ names. Some part of him that still clings to childish beliefs thinks that saying the names out loud will let them hear him, let them know where he is.
Torch’s smile fades just a little, but he recovers quickly. “No, they would never allow this much joy behind their walls.”
Another part of Clancy, the part that still clings to the city and its teachings, starts to protest, defense laying heavy on his tongue, but he swallows it down before it escapes. Because it's true — they wouldn’t like any of this. The music, the community, the food, none of it belongs in Dema.
Torch leads him over to the Banditos handing out stew. He’s handed a bowl immediately, accompanied by a warm smile from the man handing them out. Torch takes a bowl of his own, before leading Clancy to one of the benches next to the bonfire.
They eat in silence for a bit, watching the fire, before Torch speaks again. “I should probably warn you about a few more traditions we have, just so you’re not blindsided by them.”
Clancy turns his attention to Torch, wishing he had something to write these down. He doesn’t want to forget anything.
“There’ll be a few more parties like this,” Torch says. “The biggest one is on the shortest day of the year, where we stay out all night, sunset to sunrise. There’s a lot of singing and dancing around the fires, welcoming the sun back to Trench.”
Singing – now that was something Clancy hadn’t done in a long time. It wasn’t explicitly banned in Dema, but it was heavily frowned on, especially in public. He had sometimes sung to himself in the privacy of his room, but it had become easier to just stop altogether, and he never had the chance to pick it back up.
“And next week we have a vigil on the cliffside, if you want to join,” Torch continues, oblivious to Clancy’s reminiscing. “We leave offerings for those who have gone on before us, and those still lost to the city.”
“Offerings?”
“Just little things,” Torch says. “Flowers, food, letters, things like that. Just things to remember them by. We celebrate their life, not their death.”
“I’d like to join,” Clancy decides. “I-I want to remember.” It shouldn’t feel monumental to say that, but something about it feels rebellious. Dema didn’t care about memories. When people died they were gone, buried under identical neon gravestones with no indication which belonged to who. It was antithetical to Dema, celebrating the things they did while they were still here, not for what the Bishops can use them for after their deaths.
Torch reaches out and entwines their fingers. His hand is warm in Clancy’s, a grounding presence as memories of the city threaten to overwhelm him. They sit there for a minute, until both of their breathing comes in sync, two hearts beating as one.
“There’s also something else on the last day,” Torch says, breaking the silence. “Some people choose to make gifts to exchange with the people they love.”
Gifts. He’s never given anyone a gift before.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Torch says, seeing the panic on Clancy’s face. “You just got here. Nobody would blame you if you don’t do that part. You being here, alive, is enough of a gift for us.”
It’s a nice sentiment, but- “Are you getting me a gift?”
Torch looks away guiltily. “Well, yeah, but I don’t need anything in return, okay? I make something for everyone.”
Clancy cannot let Torch make him something for nothing in return. He’s going to get Torch the best possible gift ever. Not just for this, but for everything Torch has done for him — helping him escape, looking after him, introducing him to these traditions. It’s above and beyond what Torch is required to do, especially with him being the leader of the Banditos. He could have given responsibility of Clancy off to anyone else, but he’s stuck by his side.
“Okay,” he says, just to get Torch to forget about it. “What about the stew? Is there a special recipe for these holidays?”
As Torch starts explaining that no, the stew is just stew, Clancy begins to brainstorm gift ideas. His gift has to be perfect.
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The problem is that Clancy doesn’t have a lot of personal items.
“You’re trying to find a gift for Torch, aren’t you?” Debby, one of his new friends, says as soon as he asks if there are any items laying around that no one has claim to.
He flushes immediately, burying his face in his hoodie, something that has increasingly become a habit lately, to the point that the hoodie is starting to smell more like him than Torch. “How’d you know?”
Debby raises her eyebrow. “I saw him explaining our traditions to you the other day. And with how you follow him around like a lost puppy, it’s pretty obvious who it’s for.” She studies him for a second. “Actually, with you it’s more of a lost kitten vibe.”
Clancy doesn’t know how to respond to that.
Debby takes pity on him. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”
Clancy blanks again, staring at her uncomprehendingly. “Um…what is there?”
She shakes her head sympathetically. “Oh, honey. Have you ever given a gift before?”
Gifts aren’t really a thing in Dema. Sometimes the Bishops will hand out extra food on Assemblage days, but no one really has enough to trade items for fun. Clancy knows of the concept, but he’s never put it into practice, never had the chance.
“If it's your first time, then we’re going to do it right,” Debby decides. “Okay, so gifts shouldn’t be just random things. You want to put in some thought about what the person you’re giving it to might like.”
Clancy is about to start panicking. He hadn’t realized that gift giving was so complicated. “What would Torch like?” he asks.
Debby shrugs. “I can’t tell you that. It means a lot more if it comes from you. Just take a few days and think about something for Torch. What would make him happy? Honestly, you could give him a pinecone and he’d probably cherish it, so don’t stress too much.”
Stressing too much about things is practically Clancy’s full time job, but he forces a smile and wanders off to contemplate everything Debby taught him.
He ends up by the bonfire he started, staring contemplatively into the flames. He’s so focused on the fire that he doesn’t notice when it starts snowing.
At first he thinks it's just ash from the fire, falling harmlessly onto his face. But then the next one stings his cheeks with coldness, melting quickly like a tear down his face. He holds out a hand to catch them, watching with fascination as the tiny crystalline structures melt into water in the palms of his hands. Each one is different, and so fleeting, and he wishes he weren’t so warm so he could study them a little longer.
“Here,” Torch says, and Clancy jumps at the other man’s sudden appearance next to him. He’s holding out knitted gloves, which Clancy takes gratefully. The cold water has started making his hands shake. “The snowflakes will last longer if they’re not in direct contact with your hands.”
Clancy pulls the gloves on and holds his hands out again. True to Torch’s words, the snowflakes that land don’t melt as fast, and he can observe the tiny pieces of art for a few seconds longer.
“They’re beautiful,” Clancy says. His voice is soft, like if he speaks too loudly he’ll scare them away. “It’s amazing how nature can create something like this.”
“It really is,” Torch agrees. “Trench is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Clancy looks at Torch, lit by the firelight with little white snowflakes standing out in his dark hair, cheeks flushed from the cold, and thinks that he sees something more beautiful. He doesn’t say it, just brushes some of the snowflakes out of Torch’s hair, his fingers lingering next to the other man’s face.
“It’s probably going to snow all night,” Torch says quietly. “The vigil is in the morning, but after that I want to show you something.”
Clancy nods without thinking. No matter what it is, he trusts Torch.
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It snows all night, leaving the world coated in a few inches of pure white snow, covering up the brown grass Clancy has come to associate Trench with. It’s disorienting, coming out of the tent into a seemingly different world, but it’s all so beautiful he can’t be mad about it. The moon is still up, its light sparkling across the snow in a magical display.
Clancy almost doesn’t want to step into the snow and break up the pristine landscape, but Torch does it first, leaving a trail of footprints from their tent to the fire. He carries his torch, unlit for once, joining the other Torchbearers where they’ve gathered in a circle. Clancy falls into the small crowd of Banditos behind them, watching in silence as the Torchbearers lower their torches into the fire and bring them back up, now lit.
Torch leads the procession, everyone moving silently. The freshly fallen snow crunches underneath them, the top layer of frost breaking easily beneath their boots. It’s a struggle, climbing the hill through the snow, but the view that awaits them makes the climb well worth the trouble.
Trench is gorgeous, covered in snow, gilded and glittering as the sun begins to peak its way over the horizon. Long, blue shadows stretch across the valley, growing shorter with every minute.
Clancy’s breath catches in his throat as he sees Dema, off in the distance. The grey walls and towers stick up from the white landscape like an ugly scar, and he can feel in his bones that it’s an abomination. Nothing like the city should be in such a magnificent place as Trench.
Torch kneels at the cliff edge, uncaring of the way the snow soaks into his pants. He surely must be freezing, but he gives no indication of it as he pulls out some dried flowers from his pocket. They’re arranged into a circle like a flower crown. Torch places it on the ground gingerly, muttering some words to it that only he can hear.
Clancy looks away, not wanting to awkwardly stare at Torch in this clearly private moment. He watches as other Banditos step forward to do the same, pulling various trinkets out of pockets. Some also have flowers, some wood carvings, some letters. Everyone of them does the same as Torch, kneeling in the snow and saying private words to whoever they’re remembering.
Clancy steps forward, pulling his own letter out of his pocket. It’s one of the last that he wrote before escaping, recreated to the best of his ability. There were still so many people left in Dema, people he left behind when he finally took his chance to escape. He remembers the people who conspired with him, the people who read his letters and understood his need to get out, to find freedom. He kneels down and silently whispers to the ground, to Trench, praying for their safety. He presses the letter into the snow, whispering names of the people who helped him, the people he couldn’t help. The people who knew they wouldn’t make it out yet still did everything in their power to get him his chance.
He opens his eyes to see Torch watching him. There’s a sort of melancholy on his face, a sadness that permeates his whole being. Clancy offers a small smile, barely more than the corners of his lips turning upwards, and Torch gives him one in return.
They stand and move to the back of the crowd, letting everyone else move in and pay their own respects. Torch’s flower crown and Clancy’s letter remain on the cliff-side, fluttering in the wind, surrounded on all sides by other people’s remembrance.
They sit in the silence of the morning as the sun finally rises all the way over the horizon, shining golden onto their offerings.
They stayed there for a while longer, watching over the Banditos as they came and went. Some come later, climbing up the hill alone, clutching offerings to their chests. Some put things down, say a few words, and leave immediately. Some stay longer, having full conversations and monologues with the air. Some just sit in silence and watch the sky brighten as the sun climbs higher and higher.
When there were only a few people left, Torch nudges Clancy’s knee with his own and stands. Clancy follows him, looking back to the people still on the cliff.
“Shouldn’t we wait for them?” he asks quietly. It seems wrong to talk too loudly now, like it would shatter the stillness in the air.
Torch shakes his head. “They’ll be a few more hours. They like to take their time with this.” He holds out a hand to Clancy. “Come on, I want to show you something.”
Clancy takes his hand, and is immediately pulled along by Torch. A quiet laugh escapes him as he’s pulled down the hill, just shy of tumbling down it with the way Torch and him slide on icy patches and particularly wet snow patches. His hand is hot where Torch’s is, even through the gloves both of them are wearing, as if he’s put his hand too close to one of the bonfires in camp.
They make it down the hill much faster than they’d gone up it, and then Torch pulls him in a new direction, away from the Bandito camp. They trudge through new snow, leaving footprints in a meandering path away from the camp, the only evidence they’d been there. It’s only a few minutes of walking, but Clancy gets out of breath fast. Walking through snow is harder than normal walking, he finds, what with him having to lift his leg higher over the snow after his foot has sunk into it. Torch walks through it like it’s second nature, not even slightly winded.
“Right here,” Torch says finally. “Look.”
Clancy looks up from concentrating on his steps to a winter wonderland. The clearing they’re in is covered in snow, as is everything else, but the way the sun hits it makes it sparkle like nothing else Clancy has seen so far. Trees line the edges of the clearing, drooping under the weight of the snow on their boughs. Icicles hang from those same branches, looking sharp and large enough to kill someone. There’s a good-sized pond underneath some trees, completely frozen over, with some dead pond grass sticking up from the frozen surface. It's all absolutely gorgeous, and like nothing he’s ever seen.
He takes a small step forward before freezing and sending Torch a worried look. It’s so perfect, and he doesn't want to ruin it with his footprints.
“It’s okay,” Torch says, stepping forward with him. “Come on, I’ll go first.”
Not willing to let go of Torch’s hand just yet, Clancy follows him dutifully. Their footprints do break up the snow, but as he looks back he can’t help but love them. They’re temporary, only here as long as the snow lasts, but it’s physical proof of their existence, that they were here in this space together.
He can’t help but grin at that. Life in Dema is so temporary. No one makes a mark in life, and after death they’re buried under an identical neon gravestone just like every other person. This, here, was evidence left on purpose, showing that they were alive. Showing that they were together at this moment.
Torch glances back and breaks into a grin as well. “Do you know how to ice skate?”
“No!” Clancy says.
“I’ll show you,” Torch says. He drops Clancy’s hand and immediately cold air rushes into the space it just occupied. “Let me just check the ice first.”
He leaves Clancy on the bank and steps forward cautiously onto the ice. He inches forward carefully, testing it for any weak points as he gets a few feet out from the shore. Finally, he lightly jumps. They both freeze, waiting for cracking sounds to fill the air, but it holds strong.
“Perfect,” Torch declares. He holds his hand up, beckoning Clancy forwards. “Come join me!”
Clancy moves slowly, trying to keep his feet firmly below him as he moves. The soles of his boots have good tread, but he still slips and slides as he crosses the few feet to Torch. He almost falls right at the last minute, his boot catching on a protrusion in the ice, but Torch quickly grabs his arm and pulls him up, pulling Clancy into his chest in the process.
For a minute Clancy forgets where they are and relaxes into the hold. Torch is so warm, and the wind has been biting at his nose. He feels safe in Torch’s arms, even in the middle of a frozen pond. He allows himself to indulge for a few seconds, before he pushes himself up to stand on his own feet.
“Have you ever skated before?” Torch asks.
Clancy shakes his head. He knows of the concept, but he never had the opportunity to try it. “Don’t we need skates?”
“We don’t have any, so we just make do with the boots,” Torch laughs. “It’s actually easier this way. Less balancing.”
Clancy tries to walk at first, unused to the ice below him, but it quickly becomes clear that sliding his feet allows for more control, even if sometimes he slides a bit farther than he was aiming for. Torch shows him up by doing fancy spins and jumps, even if he has to windmill his arms to keep balance after some of them.
They’re basically doing the equivalent of shuffling around for an hour, but it’s some of the most fun Clancy has ever had. He doesn’t think he’s ever smiled this much, so much so that his cheeks are hurting. Torch makes him laugh until his stomach muscles hurt, and he’s doubled over in the middle of the ice.
They both collapse onto the ice, uncaring of the way the light layer of snow dusting the pond soaks into their clothes. Torch’s hand meets Clancy’s and they cling onto each other like it's second nature, like they look for each other without even thinking about it.
“I never thought I would feel this way,” Clancy says breathlessly, looking up at the white-gray sky.
“What way?” Torch asks.
“Happy,” Clancy answers. “Really, truly happy.”
Torch’s hand squeezes his, assurance that they’re present in that moment, both feeling the exact same way. It ground Clancy more than the cold pricking at his face, more than the dampness as melting snow sneaks under his hoodie.
“I know exactly what you mean,” Torch says. “And I’m happy too.”
They lay there for a while, just basking in the winter sun and the company of each other until the snow gets too cold to ignore. They sit up just in time to catch a deer stepping cautiously into the clearing, freezing when their movements start. They freeze as well, as soon as they lock eyes with her.
She’s a gorgeous doe, large antlers still standing proudly on her head, dusted with snow just like the tree branches. She watches them warily, all three of them locked in a standoff that none of them were willing to break.
“She’s a doe, but she has antlers,” Torch says quietly, awe clear in his voice. “That’s a once in a lifetime sight.”
She clearly decides they’re not a threat, and moves closer to a tree to rub her head against it like she’s trying to scratch an itch she can’t reach.
“Should we try to help?” Clancy asks as the rubbing gets more intense.
“No, I think she’s trying to-” a cracking sound cuts Torch off as one of the doe’s antlers falls off.
Clancy can’t help but gasp at the sound. “Is she okay? Does that hurt?” He asks anxiously.
“No, it’s completely natural,” Torch assures him. “Usually shedding happens later in the winter, but her antlers might develop and shed quicker than a buck’s. Don’t worry, it's painless.”
She looks at them with surprisingly intelligent eyes then, apparently deciding that they aren’t going to move first, she turns and disappears back into the treeline, leaving only her hoof-prints and the fallen antler as the only proof of her existence.
“That was…” Clancy starts, then trails off when he realizes he doesn’t know how to finish his thought.
“A gift from Trench,” Torch says. He walks over and picks up the antler, looking at it reverently in the morning sun. “It’s perfect.”
“Are you going to do something with it?” Clancy asks.
Torch shrugs. “Maybe. They’re useful for making tools and stuff. I’ll see what we need when I’m back at camp.”
They leave the clearing behind, covered in their footprints, and follow the path they left back to camp.
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Everything always comes back to music.
Since he was a child, he’s longed to create, even when that wasn’t a viable option in Dema. He scribbled poems about Vialism in his school textbooks, hummed tunes to the Glorious Gones, sang the Bishop's praises. It’s been a long time since any of that inspired him, and within the walls of Dema there wasn’t anything to replace it.
Now, out in Trench, Clancy feels that impulse once again.
His fingers tap out rhythms before he even realizes they’re moving. While doing chores around camp, his mind connects rhymes into structure like he never stopped. He has to stop himself from humming out loud when he zones out staring into the fire.
It still feels wrong, like he’s doing something he shouldn’t be, but if anything the Banditos encourage music. He hears people sing in rhythmic tunes while doing menial tasks, accompanying their repetitive motions with song. Children chant rhymes, slapping their hands together in game, squealing in delight when they fail to complete the complicated hand motions correctly. Everyone falls quiet when a group harmonizes together after dinner, singing a melody that is at once haunting and comforting – I could take the high road, but I know that I’m going low.
Clancy’s throat itches, his entire being begging him to join in, to raise his voice in their chorus. But every time he stops himself, unable to take that final step into rebellion. He doesn’t know why, but he feels that this would be the final step in leaving the city behind forever, and some part of him isn't willing to do that just yet.
He catches Torch watching him more and more these days, especially when his mouth opens to sing, before closing quickly. Every time he does, Torch gives him encouraging glances, but he can never let himself give in.
Still, in the privacy of their shared tent he watches Torch on the other cot in the dim firelight and words fall into place before he can stop them. He tries to forget them, but they stick in his mind, a tune he can’t forget.
Torch gave him a journal when he first escaped, messy and unrefined but perfect for writing down his thoughts, which often come so fast that his hands move before his brain has finished thinking them. The paper has a rough texture, so different from the white, uniform sheets of Dema. Debby had shown him how the Banditos reused paper, melting down old scraps to recreate into new blank pages. It was a fascinating process, and he can tell the journal was made with many of those reused pages. It adds something to it, that these pages have been used many times before falling into his hands. He carries the stories of countless others in this book, paving the way so he can write his own words now.
He flips past the beginnings of letters that no longer need to be sent, ramblings from nights where his brain won’t shut up until he’s gotten all the words down, lyrics and poems frantically scratched out after he’d realized what he was writing. Almost every page is covered in his writings.
The new lyrics go down easily, words flowing like the river he’d fallen in all those weeks ago. Verses come easily now that he’s not forcing himself to stop. One page becomes two, then three, various ideas forming structure with an ease he’s not used to. He’s letting himself feel and then allowing himself to react to those feelings for the first time in a long time.
Clancy stares down at the pages, full of music that he can finally see taking shape. And it’s all because of Torch.
Torch, who’s become his guiding light. Torch, who showed him the way and is still at his side, even now. Torch, who believes in him, somehow. Torch, who found him.
“What are you writing?” Torch asks when Clancy’s pencil finally stops moving. He’s on the other side of the tent, giving Clancy space to write in private, a consideration that lights a fire in Clancy’s chest.
“You’ll see,” Clancy says, a smile spreading on his face. “I’ll show you one day.”
₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊
The final day of celebrations is on the shortest day of the year. The sun starts going down about mid-afternoon, leaving the valley awash in golden light as they eat a small lunch, preparing for the large feast that night.
The bonfire is still going as strong as it was when Clancy first lit it, kindled every hour to keep it from going out. It’s done its job as a beacon, multiple groups of Banditos using it as a guide when they got turned around in the snowy landscape. Clancy feels oddly proud about that. It was the fire that did all the work, but he’d started it and stoked it a few times. He feels connected to it, in a way, and to the Banditos that it helped.
Singing and dancing starts as soon as everyone gathers around the bonfire. The atmosphere is light and happy, even as the sky darkens farther. While the day is shorter than ever, the night is long, and the Banditos do everything in their power to keep spirits up.
Debby’s girlfriend, Jenna, pulls him into their mini-circle of dancing, encouraging him to loosen up when he tries to rigidly copy their movements. They laugh as he trips over his own feet, but it doesn’t feel mean. He laughs too, feeling a warmth in his chest that’s becoming all too familiar the longer he stays with the Banditos.
Clancy catches Torch watching him a few times, a warm smile on his face. He grins back, all crooked teeth and unrestrained joy, finally letting himself feel free, all these months after his escape. It only took Torch’s kindness and the community of the Banditos for him to finally shake off the dismal grayness of the city.
Later, before the children are forced to go to sleep, they gather around Torch and beg for a story. Torch laughs, but he settles them all down before expertly launching into a story. One story becomes two, becomes three, until the children are yawning and practically falling asleep at his feet.
A few of them force themselves to stay awake to hear the endings, shaking their friends when their heads fall to their chests for a few too many seconds.
“Can you tell the Trench story?” One asks. Her voice is tired, but her eyes are bright as she asks for what is clearly a favorite, for her and the other children. Even the sleepiest child opens his eyes, leaning forward in fascination as Torch begins.
Clancy settles onto a log nearby, just as curious as the children. The stories before had been more fantastical, with dragons and strange fuzzy creatures all named Ned. This one is more grounded, but the mythology of the continent is apparent in every word.
“Trench wasn’t always here for us,” Torch begins, his voice hushed like he was letting them in on a secret. Even the adults hanging around lean in, desperate to hang onto every word. “Once, a long time ago, this was just land. No one lived here except the vultures and the deer and the rabbits. Then, one day the first Banditos arrived.”
The fire crackled loudly, and Clancy would swear to even the Bishops that it was brighter than before.
“There weren’t many of us back then,” Torch continues, “This was before the city, before the camps, before any of us can remember. The first Banditos were running from something, looking for anything better. And they found Trench.”
A few of the children cheer, only to get shushed by their friends. Torch smiles at them, waiting patiently for them to quiet down to continue.
“There were two leaders,” he says. “Two best friends who loved each other more than anything. They volunteered to explore farther, to try and find anything that could help their small group. And so they went out together, scared and inexperienced, but always together. Never alone.”
“How did they survive?” one boy asks.
“They almost didn’t,” Torch answers. “Trench is dangerous, even now, and especially back then. One of them got very injured, enough that his friend was scared he wouldn’t make it.”
That sends a hush over the gathered audience. One smaller child looks like she’s about to cry, and she’s quickly pulled into a hug by her older brother. Clancy can feel tears prick at his own eyes. It reminds him of his own escape, the introduction to dangers he’d never even considered behind the wall. There were many times he thought he wasn’t going to make it as well, before Torch had found him.
“The injured friend was barely breathing and getting weaker by the minute. So his friend called out to someone, anyone, to help his friend. He dug his hands into the dirt beneath them and begged for help. But it was too late – his friend’s eyes closed for the last time, and he died.”
The little girl bursts into tears now, and a few other sniffles spread throughout the group.
“Hey, it's okay, it's okay,” Torch assures them. “There’s a happy ending, I promise.” It should break the immersion, to have the ending spoiled, but even the adults who clearly know the story well breathe a sigh of relief at the assurance. “As the first man died his blood soaked into the earth, and the pleading of his friend traveled with it. The blood made a path through the ground, and brought something back with it.”
The whole camp is quiet, as if scared to even breathe and miss a word, the snapping and crackling of the fire the only sound other than Torch’s voice.
“The man’s pleading caught the attention of the continent, and his friend’s sacrifice woke her up. Trench saw what had happened and took pity on the friends and gave life back to them. All around them the brown, dying grass brightened to a lively green. Rabbits and vultures gathered around, watching them curiously. Vivid yellow daisies sprouted around them, decorating the valley with color. One grew right in between the friend’s hands as he came back to life, breathing once again in the bright sunlight.”
Clancy breathes a sigh of relief before he could stop himself, captivated by the story. It was a simple story, without even character names to get attached to, but the love for Trench and what she could do was clear through the words used, and Torch’s tone of voice. The reverence and respect is mirrored in the reactions of the Banditos, who surely had heard this story hundreds of times, yet still quieted down to hear it all once again.
“Trench gave them a fire that night, and guided them to a safe place to set up camp. She provided them with food, with shelter, and led them back to their people at the end of it. She helped them lead the Banditos across the continent to the valley where the first Bandito camp was set up. Trench is what made it possible for us to be here, for us to live. We honor that every day with our songs, with our praise, even with just our lives. And ever since then, we make sure to thank Trench for all she’s done, and all she will do for us.”
It was strange to think of a landmass as a sentient being, but Clancy can see the appeal to it. Trench was so wonderfully alive, even in the dead of winter, and the thought of her looking out for them, being there when they needed help, would surely have helped a lot of Banditos make it through tough situations. It helps him too, to think that maybe Trench guided him to the Banditos when he needed them the most.
With the children ushered off to bed the party resumed, but quieter than before. Many of the adults break off from dancing to sit and talk in groups, either telling more stories or just chatting with friends. Torch came and sat next to Clancy, so close that their knees brushed with every movement.
“So, what did you think?” Torch asks.
“It was wonderful,” Clancy says. “Is it true?”
“It’s as true as you want it to be,” Torch says, a frustratingly vague answer. He knows it too, a spark of humor in his eyes as Clancy sends him an unamused glare. “There’s no way to verify if it actually happened, but I like to believe it did. Trench has provided so much to me and the Banditos, and I think she would help us like that if it happened again.”
“It sounds a lot like the Glorious Gones but…good,” Clancy says hesitantly. He doesn’t want to insult Torch or his beliefs, but the parallels were there.
To his surprise, Torch doesn’t get mad. He just nods his head, like he’s thought about this before. “I think so too,” he confesses. “That’s another reason why I think it's real. The Bishops have managed to take Trench’s gift and twist it somehow, to use it for their own benefit. That’s why Dema feels so sick, you know?”
Clancy nods. “It does, doesn’t it?” He hadn’t noticed it when he was still living there. It was all he’d ever known. But now, out in Trench, he looks back on his time there and he can recognize the sickly cloying feeling that clogged the back of his throat, like poison that went down sweeter than it came up.
“But I don’t want to think about the city anymore tonight,” Torch says. “Today is a night to celebrate. Tonight is for joy.”
“Yeah,” Clancy agrees. “I don’t want to think about them ever again.”
Torch stood up, offering a hand to Clancy. “Let’s go to the tent, I want to give you your gift.”
Clancy grins and takes his hand. Neither of them moves to let go as they walk, holding hands in a way that has become very common over the holidays. No one notices as they sneak off, giggling to each other like teenagers doing something they shouldn’t be.
The party is comforting background noise as they duck into the tent, already aglow with the light of a lantern. It’s warm and inviting and has become more of a home to Clancy than the gray concrete building he grew up in ever were. Even just walking through the front calms him down, letting him relax in a way he never has before.
Torch sits him down on his cot and hands him something wrapped in cloth. It’s a strange shape and weirdly pointy, so Clancy wastes no time in unwrapping it and seeing what it is.
It’s a deer antler, the one they watched the doe drop, but Torch has carved into it little intricate patterns and symbols that spiral up the bone. It’s so detailed and so beautiful, and it’s so impressive that Clancy can’t believe it was done in only the last week.
“It’s amazing,” Clancy says, running a hand along the carvings, mapping them out with his fingertips. “Torch, this is gorgeous.”
“The carvings are for protection and good will,” Torch explains, watching him closely in the dim light. “The symbols are for fair travels and healing. Keep it with you and Trench will care for you.”
Clancy looks over the carvings with a new appreciation. Every pattern had been laid intentionally by Torch to protect Clancy, to keep him safe. Gratefulness and love swell in his chest, warming him from the inside out. He knew in that moment what he had been denying to himself for so long – he loves Torch. He loves him beyond any love he’d ever felt before.
“I have a gift for you too,” he says, hardly able to tear his eyes away from the gift in his hands.
“You really didn’t have to get me anything,” Torch says.
“I didn’t get you anything,” Clancy shakes his head. “I wrote you a song.”
Torch goes very still, tilting his head like a confused puppy. “A song? I didn’t know you wrote music.”
“I haven’t for a long time,” Clancy admits. “Dema and Vialism used to be my inspiration. I didn’t know anything other than that, so that’s all I wrote. But then I grew up and I grew disillusioned with the city and everything it offered. I couldn’t write about that anymore, and I didn’t have anything to replace it, so I just stopped.” He looks up, locking eyes with Torch. He wants the other man to really hear these next words. “And then you found me.”
Torch’s face breaks open, concern and confusion switching to delight and love, and Clancy knows in that moment that Torch loves him too. The air between them buzzes like something's been awakened, some strange energy hanging between them, connecting them to each other.
Clancy clutches the antler to his chest as he closes his eyes and begins to sing. He starts slow and rough, his voice not used to performance. He stumbles on a few of the words, mind racing as he tries to remember the words he wrote only a few nights ago.
The cot dips next to him and a hand lands on his. His eyes fly open, the words caught in his throat, to see Torch sitting next to him now, watching him with warm eyes.
“Take your time,” Torch encourages him.
Clancy turns his hand over to interlace their fingers and takes a breath. This time his voice is stronger and he barely has to think of the words. He keeps his eyes on Torch and the words come naturally, just as quickly as they had when he was first writing them down. His soul knows the song better than his heart does, and once he stops overthinking it flows out of him like a waterfall.
Can you find me? He sings, and he sees the answer in Torch’s eyes.
Yes, always.
When he finishes the last note it rings in the air, as if they were in an acoustic music hall instead of the canvas tent. Even the distant noise of the party is drowned out, everything caught on that one note. He’s breathing hard, like he just finished working out instead of pouring his soul out to the most important person in his life.
Clancy braces himself for judgement, all the confidence in him draining out in a second as Torch stays silent, just watching him.
“What do you think?” He asks before he can stop himself.
Instead of answering, Torch leans forward and kisses him.
Clancy melts into it before he even realizes it's happening. Their lips meet perfectly, fitting together like two missing pieces of a puzzle. One of Torch’s hands comes up to cup his face, gently guiding him, and the touch of skin on skin feels like fire on his cheek. The world quiets and even the flickering flame in their lantern seems to slow, like time itself has stopped for this moment. They’re the only two people on earth, and the only things that matter are the feeling of Torch’s chapped lips on his, Torch’s eyelashes brushing against his cheek when they get too close, Torch’s knee pressed against his.
Torch breaks their kiss eventually, laughing slightly when Clancy follows instinctively, trying to press their lips back together. They both giggle a little, as if they’ve suddenly become school children again.
“It was amazing,” Torch says finally. “You’re incredible.”
“You liked it?” Clancy asks, lips still tingling with the evidence that Torch liked it.
Torch pretends to think, making an exaggerated face. “It needs some drums,” he decides.
Clancy smacks his arm playfully and pulls him in for another kiss.
₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊
True to tradition, the party goes on all night into the morning. The dancing and singing becomes less common as people grow tired, but the bonfires are kept up and conversation never runs dry – and neither do cups.
As the sky begins to lighten once again, the children are woken up to see the sunset, and the adults finally get a second wind, murmurs and enthusiasm spreading through the camp as everyone gathers around the main bonfire, the one Clancy lit all those weeks ago.
“Today marks the return of the sun,” Torch said, standing before all of them. “We made it through the darkest night. The days will last longer from now on, and the night will retreat until next year. The cycle begins again, giving us all opportunities for new beginnings. Maybe these last few weeks weren’t what we planned. Maybe things didn’t work out the way we wanted them to. Maybe we had a hard time. But now the sun rises, and we will try again.”
The Banditos cheer as the sun breaks over the horizon, and everything is awash in golden light. The party begins anew, everyone filled with more energy than before. Singing echoes through the valleys, awakening Trench.
Clancy moves next to Torch and links their arms. They both watch the sun rise, shining on all the new possibilities that lay before them. They could go anywhere, do anything. Either way, Clancy knew that Torch would be right by his side.
“New beginnings,” he says. “Like us.”
“Exactly like us,” Torch says.
As Clancy looks over the valley, full of laughter and family and community he had never known before, he sends thanks to Trench for allowing this, for letting this thrive and grow and be here for him to join.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice you stealing my words,” Clancy says playfully.
“What can I say,” Torch says, leaning over and kissing him on the head. “You’re just so inspiring.”
Clancy laughs and relaxes into Torch’s warmth. The city is behind him, finally out of sight and out of mind. He’s found contentment here, like he’s finally somewhere he could build a life and live to live not just to survive. He’s finally happy, finally content, and finally he feels like he fits in.
He’s finally a Bandito.