Chapter Text
Clancy grew restless. He felt stifled, like something wild and uncontrollable was building up inside of him. Days blurred into a shapeless, suffocating fog. He'd lost track of how long he'd been outside the city's gray, soulless concrete walls. How long he'd been in the wild, dangerously alive world of Trench.
How long he'd been sitting here, doing absolutely nothing.
Sure, the council told him this waiting was important. They couldn't rush into things, they had to plan everything out thoroughly and that would take time. They had to be careful with how they were going to do this. Toppling an ancient, corrupted religion and showing a city of people who were more robotic than alive how to really live wasn't easy.
He guessed they were right. But that didn't make the waiting any easier, it didn't help the persistent restlessness that grew and grew in his bones. He'd tried to fit in with the others in the camp, do the mindless, menial chores they all participated in, tried to help the council as they slowly, cautiously created a plan.
But he didn't fit in. It was so obvious with the sideways glances the others threw at him, the almost… reverence in their voices when they spoke to him. How quickly everyone always rushed to do the work for him, waved it off, told him it was nothing, he shouldn't bother himself with that—
Clancy hated it. He really, really hated it.
How was he supposed to fix it, though? He couldn't even mention it to any one else here, he'd tried. Even the Torchbearer… he didn't understand. Clancy had hoped he might, since Torchbearer seemed different from the others, too. He was different, but not in the same way Clancy felt. The Banditos didn't quite treat him with the same reverence as Clancy, but he wasn't really one of them, either. He stood apart from them, he was their leader. He was untouchable. Clancy suspected the man didn't feel fear. He envied that.
If anything, Clancy felt too much. All of his emotions roiled and simmered and gathered in his core until he wondered if he might explode from them.
Like right now. He'd been doing nothing for so long that Clancy had begun seriously considering running away. Would it be smart? Definitely not. He'd heard all about the strange, savage creatures that roamed the wilds of Trench and he knew all too well how the frequent fierce, short-lived storms could completely decimate the landscape. He wouldn't stand a chance out there alone.
Smart or not, the idea of being out there in this wild, temperamental continent felt so much better than just sitting here and doing nothing. At least he wouldn't feel useless out there.
"I gotta do something," he muttered, getting to his feet from the rock he'd been perched on, staring moodily out at the mottled gray, greens, and browns of Trench.
Clancy wandered slowly back into the camp, fighting the desire to just— bolt. He couldn't, though. Too many people depended on him, laid all their hope on him.
He wasn't worthy of it, though. Not in the slightest.
He huffed out a half-laugh as he paused on top of the final rise before he began the descent into the Bandito camp. All of those people down there… they somehow thought he could save them. Knowing that made him want to run even more.
But he didn't. He was a good little savior, he had to be, he thought as he started making his way down the steep, rocky descent into the camp. He skidded down the side of the bluff and into the camp, stones tumbling down the hillside with him.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of the oversized jacket he'd been given and entered the encampment, trying his hardest to avoid everyone's eyes. Didn't matter, he could still feel the multitude of eyes on him. They made the itch growing under his skin worse.
Somehow, he managed to shove it down for the thousandth time as he wound through the disorganized sprawl of tents, clotheslines, and huddles of Banditos, ending up at the communal cooking area.
"Glad you made it," Nyah, an older woman with gray hair wound into a no-nonsense bun shot him a tight smile, and immediately handed him a stack of wooden bowls. "It's nearing dinner hour and everyone's starving, we need all the help we can get right now,"
He nodded acknowledgement, juggling the wobbly stack of bowls as he headed over to the simmering kettles of soup. Nyah was one of the very few members of camp who didn't treat him all that differently from the others. For the next hour or so, he could pretend he was a normal Bandito, one who played an important role in the community, like the others.
Ladeling exactly one and a half ladels of thin barley broth with the occasional cube of some unidentifiable meat in it into bowls wasn't what anyone would consider exciting work. But it made Clancy feel useful, important, in a way that didn't involve being everyone's savior. It numbed the perpetual urge to flee that hovered so close to the edge of his consciousness at all times. It was an easy, familiar routine to fall into.
He missed those.
The city had been full of them, routines upon routines. Clancy found that some strange part of him missed that familiarity and he wasn't sure what it meant.
Life out here in Trench was anything but predictable. It excited him, but he feared it, too. The constant edge of fear, that thrill of knowing quite literally anything could happen…
"That's all." The familiar, gruff voice reminded him that he wasn't out in the wilds right now.
"Oh, already?" Clancy blinked, surprised to find that the stack of bowls had vanished and the soup was very nearly gone.
"That's what I said," Nyah said, shaking her head as she handed him a bowl. "Go eat, you've more 'n earned it."
"Thank you," he said quietly, accepting the bowl, and not meeting her eyes.
More than earned it… he hadn't earned any of this, not really.
He sighed, walking off to the outskirts of the camp. He didn't exactly enjoy eating out here by himself, but it was better than being watched constantly.
Clancy settled down on the flattest rock he could find and started shoveling spoonfuls of the mostly flavorless broth mechanically into his mouth. Food was simply another task, something to fuel his body and keep him going. That, at least, was one constant between this world and the city.
"You're restless again." The voice sounded fairly amused.
Clancy had to force himself not to jump. "You scared me," he said accusingly.
"Everything scares you," The Torchbearer said with a sideways glance as he settled himself on a rock near Clancy's. "And you're restless, that doesn't help."
"Yeah, well." Clancy muttered, staring into his half-empty bowl of barley broth. He poked the lone chunk of nearly colorless meat with his spoon. "Nothin' I can do about that."
Torchbearer sighed, long and heavy. He looked down, digging the toe of his boot into the loose sand. "You know why we can't move against them. Not yet."
"I know what the council says. And it's stupid," Clancy couldn't help his acidic tone. All of the impatience and pent-up feeling he'd been trying to ignore for so long began to bubble up.
"I agree." Torchbearer looked at him, his expression as calm and inscrutable as ever.
"So do something about it, you're supposed to be their leader!" Clancy said, getting to his feet. He actually thought he might explode if he stayed still for another instant. "Just— let some of us go out to scout the city. Set up a watch or something, figure out what they use to guard the wall."
Torchbearer narrowed his eyes slightly, studying Clancy closely.
"Please." Clancy's voice dropped, shifting almost to a whisper, aching with the weight of everything he felt. "I need to do something,"
The Torchbearer finally looked away. "I can talk to the council tonight." His voice was equally low as Clancy's.
Clancy stilled. He let out a long, shaky sigh. "Thank you," he mumbled.
Torchbearer nodded, still not meeting his eyes.
Clancy didn't regret a thing, even when Atlas, one of the council members, roused him at some stupidly early hour. He stumbled from his tent into the grayish, not-quite light outside, shivering at the chill in the air.
Atlas wore a dark green cape and had a large pack over one shoulder. He handed Clancy a pack and a narrow metal tube, silent and emotionless as ever. Clancy wondered if he was human sometimes, he never seemed to react to anything or feel anything.
Upon further investigation, the tube turned out to be a telescope. Clancy held it tightly, the chill of the metal sinking into his hand and slowly mellowing out as the telescope warmed. silent and expressionless as ever.
Atlas led him out of the camp and through the wilds, fording rivers, skidding down valleys, and hiking over ridges.
Trench was strangely beautiful, as always, but it was even more beautiful now. Mists lay heavy over the ground, shrouding everything in mystery. The sun had begun to rise, scarlet-orange rays washing everything in their light.
As they traveled, Clancy began to recognize landmarks. Certain boulders, or oddly shaped bluffs just felt familiar. He knew this area, he'd been here countless times before. Despite himself, his heart rate picked up, an instinctive reaction triggered by the ghosts of memories from the previous times he'd been here.
The landscape changed almost imperceptibly as they approached Dema. Thick grasses became sparse, more often than not, he saw moss-covered rocks, or barren ground than the wild, vibrantly alive green that was so plentiful elsewhere in Trench.
The ground they were on now was nearly barren of any forms of life.
Understandable, Clancy thought with a bitter smile. Life in any form didn't do so well in that concrete prison.
Ahead of him, Atlas held up a hand, signaling him to stop. He dropped into a crouch behind a rocky outcropping. Mere dozens of feet away from the outcropping, the ground dropped away into the steep slopes that became the valley Dema was nestled in.
"We'll start here," he said, keeping his voice lower than normal.
So what's the plan?" Clancy asked Atlas, fighting to sound as normal as possible, as if he hadn't been waiting for this moment for months, waiting for the chance to do something, to live up to the expectations everyone seemed to have of him.
"Don't get caught," Atlas replied, the hint of a smile playing around the edges of his mouth. "We stay within eyeshot of the other parties and cover the city's perimeter. We are not going to engage with anyone in the city, our job is to assess what their security looks like and if there are any potential entrance points." He spoke slowly and clearly, looking directly into Clancy's eyes.
Clancy looked away.
"I'll behave," he mumbled, fidgeting with the zipper on his jacket.
"Good."
Clancy stared out into the heavy mists that gathered in the valley below them. He knew what lie beyond the deceptively soft fog. "But we— we can't see anything in this fog," he pointed out.
Atlas sighed heavily. "We can't risk getting closer, they usually have patrols on the city walls. And you know there's not much shelter on the slope. We have the telescope for a reason,"
Clancy nodded silently, not trusting himself to speak. The itchy, almost explosive feeling was back. This wasn't good enough, he silently screamed.
He crouched next to Atlas and angled the telescope towards the valley floor where Dema crouched.
…nothing. He could vaguely make out the shape of the Bishops' towers, perhaps the shape of the wall.
"I told you," he mumbled, tossing the telescope to the ground and rising. He tore a hand through his hair and paced, needing an outlet for the frenetic energy flooding his body. "This—this won't do any good. We all know they use the vultures as surveillance, we— we're using telescope and crossing our fingers!" Clancy laughed, the sound shaky and wild.
He'd known it'd turn out like this, somehow. They were too cautious. The Banditos wouldn't get anywhere if they didn't take risks. Playing it safe wouldn't get you anywhere.
Playing it safe got you trapped in the city. None of them had played safe when they'd escaped, had they?
"I'm going down there." He decided abruptly, hands shaking.
"What?" Atlas stared at him, confusion written on his features.
"I'm going down there," Clancy repeated. He really meant it. This was the only way they'd learn anything.
He started towards the slope, his movements jittery with nervous energy.
Atlas shouted after him, but didn't move. He was too afraid.
Clancy had forgotten how steep the descent into the valley was. He skidded several feet with every step he took, loose soil and pebbles raining down into the thick mists. He knew this slope, though. He'd been up and down it enough times that he wasn't too worried about taking the wrong step and falling down it, or twisting his ankle in a dip.
The mist thinned as he went farther and farther down, till he could clearly see the gray, uniform city laid out below him.
Clancy swallowed hard, standing still for a moment and staring at the city that haunted him. In this moment, Dema almost looked… peaceful.
Above him, the soft, barely audible swish of wings caught his attention.
He swore, eyes widening as he searched the mists for the bird.
Sure enough, a ragged black silhouette with glowing yellow eyes soared above him.
They knew he was here. They knew—
His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart rate picking up, but he couldn't muster the strength to move.
Across the valley, someone shouted.
Clancy's head snapped up automatically, searching for whoever had shouted. Was it one of them?
Instead, his eyes found a figure clad in green, with a yellow cross on his chest.
"Torchbearer," he whispered, gaze locked on the distant figure.
More shouting from below sent the icy fear racing through his veins again. People were swarming up the steep slope, people who could only have come from Dema. But they weren't running for him.
No, they were heading for Torchbearer.
"No—" Clancy breathed, still frozen, unable to do anything but watch.
"Go!" Torchbearer shouted at him, sprinting across the uneven ground, seemingly ignorant of the group of at least seven people in gray who were so horribly close to him.
Clancy shook his head slowly, wanting to yell something, warn Torchbearer, stop this.
But he couldn't. All he could do was watch as Torchbearer was tackled to the ground and held there as the people in gray bound his hands behind his back.
Torchbearer's expression didn't change, he just stared at Clancy, the look in his eyes telling him to run, to move. To do something.
"We need to move," he'd swear that was Torchbearer's voice, that he could feel Torchbearer's strong, reassuring hand on his shoulder.
It couldn't be. He knew it couldn't be, but it jolted him into motion.
Clancy scrambled desperately, breathlessly up the side of the valley, not letting himself look back. Not until he made it to the top, where he collapsed, breathless, eyes filling with stinging tears as he stared into the valley below, searching the fog for Torchbearer.
He didn't see anything, only endless billows of cold, gray-white mist.
Clancy let his head drop, his forehead resting on the sand, his mind playing that horrible moment on repeat: Torchbearer, forced onto the ground, his hands roughly pulled behind his back, gray soldiers, or guards, or something, swarming him…
And it was his fault.
Some savior he was turning out to be.