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He unloaded the last pieces of wood near a tent, the rations all set up for the next days. In his periphery he caught a glimpse of Clancy still in front of the fire, just near enough to feel its warmth. The last flickers were battling against their looming demise, swelling and bursting as they soaked in the oxygen around them, yet no more dry wood beneath them to keep them fully satiated.
Clancy had planted himself in front of the campfire when they had lit it before nightfall. He had stared off into the brightness, eyes equally restless and exhausted from the past few days. Torchbearer found it best to leave him be for a few hours while he himself settled the final tasks of the day. Now, he found that Clancy’s eyes had not moved from the flames. An unmoving stillness had seemingly taken hold of his body.
“What got you thinking so hard, love?” He steps closer to Clancy’s slumped figure on the log.
“Do you ever wonder about the past?”
He halts, boots heavy against the soil.
In his early stages, Torchbearer had done nothing else but rolled the past around in his head like a marble, inspecting every curve of the polished surface from every possible angle. Countless nights he had lost to sleeplessness this way, laying awake and restless, wondering and wandering in his head, and in every cycle he found nothing but disappointment. The marble did not reveal its secrets to him. Clancy slipped between his fingers, and he was left to pick up the pieces afterwards, travelling far and wide through the valleys and mountains of the unforgiving continent until a new ray of hope found him and he would pick up the torch again. While his fingers had grown accustomed to its weight, his head and heart still had cycles to catch up to but eventually he found them in sync. It never hurt less, but he learned that there are things worth the pain, a balance between loss and gain and in this steady rhythm he could almost find abidance.
His gaze fell on Clancy as he steps closer behind where the other was sitting, his hands resting in his lap. The fire was taking its last breaths before them, relishing in its last impulses, and the flickering of the golden orange danced pleasantly across Clancy’s features. Torchbearers gaze softens at the realization. This cycle had already been more gracious to them than others before; he had found the other in the fields during spring, as easy as breathing they had fallen into sync, and the amber in his eyes was almost polished to sparkle. They had picked flowers in summer, an occurrence that was rarely reserved for them.
“I tend not to,” he admits after the silence has stretched for too long, and Clancy’s leg started rocking with restlessness. His hair had grown longer, the dark locks almost curling at his neck, so very different from when he found this Clancy. As it was in all the previous cycles, Dema liked to keep his hair buzzed short, no locks to offer hiding for his lost eyes, maybe that is why he kept his face so stoic. Torchbearer let his gaze wander away from the other and to the forest that started a few meters behind the now empty fireplace. “Not anymore,” he added quietly.
With the fire now dead, the atmosphere had grown quiet around them. This late in the night most of the other banditos had already gone to rest in their tents, and the camp lay still and dark behind them. Only the forest seemed to awake at such an hour, bushes rustling faintly as its tiny creatures roamed around under the cover of darkness and the occasional guiding cries and squeaks communicated the way for their fellow travelers.
Only the darkness and the trees, unmoving and patient, listened in on their intimacy.
“I cant help but wonder…” Clancy begins, thought travelling off into the night. His restlessness was now directed at a loose thread he had found on the side of his pants, alternating between pulling it and curling it around his fingertips. “I cant seem to remember much of my past, and what I do remember is clouded in a mystery I cant seem to unravel, not matter how much I try.”
Another tiny cry jerks through the night air. It was inevitable, and he knew that. Always having to start at zero, again and again, with the previous cycles locked away deep within his soul with no way for his brain to reach, every Clancy felt the crushing oblivion clawing at his heels, making him look back only to see nothing waiting for him. Sometimes it made him stumble, made him slow, made him drag his feet in the soil on his way towards the flame waiting for him in the distance. Every Clancy started asking the same questions once he was safe at Torchbearers side, but this one voiced them earlier than others.
“I don’t like dwelling on that, usually.” Torchbearer admits, his heart growing heavy, remembering pink hair and empty vocals. Those years were always the hardest part of these cycles, and in this one they still lay ahead of them. Maybe this time, Clancy wouldn’t wander for too long, lost in the blur of vibrant blues and pinks and yellows, blinding and biting.
“What is your name?”
There it was. And Torchbearers flame extinguished just like that. He had yet to find an answer to give.
Clancy was now staring straight at him, eyes big with all of these expectations of his. The thread between his fingers had lost to him.
Torchbearer feels those expectations crowding in on him in his periphery. The branches of the trees in the distance sway softly in the calm breeze.
He hadn’t been able to gather more answers, he never could. The only thing he could offer was always the same: the age-old tale of the prodigal son and his torchbearer, forever entangled in a cycle of devotion and sacrifice. Clancy stumbling, falling, failing, until he climbs the tower in the end. Clancy loving, holding, kissing, until he sinks into Torchbearers embrace, again and again. Clancy never remembers, and Torchbearer can never forget.
He knows he has to move, now. Bridging the gap between them, he takes his place next to Clancy on the log.
Soothed by the proximity, Clancy continues. “It doesn’t feel like a name, does it?” His voice was hesitant, as if by speaking too much he might forsake them both. Torchbearer could practically feel the storm that was raging inside the others head. He pulls Clancy’s hands into his own, offering for him to channel his jumbled mind without it interfering with his spoken words. “Clancy… it doesn’t belong to me. It sounds weird hearing others say it, and I… I don’t know how to describe it. But it feels more like a title?”
The other breathes for a second, fingers lost between Torchbearers, soft and warm, before continuing: “Some days it feels wrong, like I’m not Clancy, not really.”
When Clancy’s doesn’t continue for a few seconds, he fears it is his time to speak. Torchbearer exhales audibly, shuddering, gathering his thoughts. Clancy’s fingers still for a moment.
“I have carried this title way too long, Clancy. You’re right. I don’t remember anything past Torchbearer, either.”
“So you feel it?” Clancy pounces on his answer, “That it still takes a few moments too long to react to what people call you?”
“Yeah…” He looks at Clancy, those doe-eyes wide. Maybe understanding, finding that he is not alone in his wandering is enough for this Clancy?
“I cant help it; I want to remember. There are days where it feels so close, like I can taste it at the back of my tongue, but it will not reveal itself to me.”
“I don’t think it is granted to us to step outside of this,” he squeezes Clancy’s hand lightly, “outside of us.”
“You think it’s pointless?”
The question weighs heavy on him. He cannot let Clancy lose hope before he hasn’t truly begun to pick up his role. Taking the others face between his hands, he finds Clancy’s eyes with his own. “I have tried too much and come out the other side unsuccessful.”
He had nothing to offer to the other but his hands clinging to Clancy’s as they stumbled together through the darkness. Never finding the roots they were tied to, just the winding paths stretching over the horizon and the sharp crossroads that tied their lives to each other. In the overarching story told by destiny, they were nothing but means to an end, pawns being moved over the chess board. The words were already written for them; they were simply turning the pages and followed along the curves and dots of the black ink.
Clancy nestles closer to him, briefly closing his eyes. When he opens them again, a sliver of resignation has clouded the amber. “I just wish to know, it’s like I’m missing a piece of myself.”
Torchbearer nodded along. “I have felt that way for way too long, now.”
He had lived through cycles with nothing to show, nothing learned, nothing gained.
“But you don’t anymore?”
“I have come to accept my fate, and I cant bear any more pointless endeavors. There is something, though, that keeps my sanity from slipping. Want to know what it is?”
“What?” Bright-eyed, Clancy looks at him with wonder. Torchbearer would find himself equally lost in his misery without the light of those amber eyes guiding him.
He smiles fondly, nudging his face closer and placing a small kiss on the corner of Clancy’s mouth. “Knowing that our fates belong together; the string of fate that binds us to each other. The Torchbearer will always carry the torch for his Clancy.” Emphasizing his point, he presses another kiss on his lips, head tipping to the side as they fit effortlessly together. The must have used Clancy’s face as a mold to create Torchbearer, the perfect companion to complete him, fitting so neatly against the others features, filling Clancy’s crevices and making him whole.
“I’m always destined to meet you again.” Torchbearer whispers against Clancy’s lips. “In the whisper of the wind and in the rustling of the trees, I will always find you. Your spirit will fall into my hands, and I will guide you, not matter who you think you are or how lost you get.”
Clancy’s breath falls in sync with his own and for a few moments they just hold on to that: each other, the comfortable warmth of the others hands, the certainty of their intertwined fates.
“I know its not the answer you have been hoping for.” Torchbearer adds softly, admitting to his defeat.
When he looks up into the night sky, the stars have wandered far and high, presenting their cryptic asterisms with a soft glow. “Let’s go to bed, love. Its late.” And Clancy squeezes his hand at that, maybe unsatisfied with their conversation, unfulfilled and still just as lost as before. But he follows Torchbearer to their tent, laying down for their nightly rest and waits for slumber to take him.
He does not know his real name; will never learn it, but he will bear the title of Clancy if it ensures that Torchbearer will take the place beside him.