Guild Of Zeroes

Chapter 11

We were huddled together in the dark around the sputtering sulphurous glow of a damaged drake lamp. Quin had taken off most of their armour so they could rest a little more comfortably. Their eyes were distant, glassy, and they kept flinching at every small noise that echoed through the tunnel. Their body might have been here with us, but their eyes were miles away. Mouse was picking through the pages he had written during his vision. From what I could tell, he was having a tough time. His brow was beaded with sweat, a smear of ink marred his left cheek and his hair was a tangled mess that stuck up at odd angles. As for myself, I was enthralled by the worn stone around us, and sat with my knees pulled tight to my chest counting all the cracks in the wall in front of me. And by that, I meant I was doing everything I could to stop myself from completely breaking down. As long as I kept counting the cracks in the wall, or noting how many times Mouse said "this doesn't make sense" then I couldn't focus on the blood and death churning beneath the surface of my mind. I couldn't focus on how close I'd come to death. I couldn't focus on the fact that people I knew were dead.

We had searched the tunnels for hours and found nothing. Nothing that was out to kill us anyway. There were heaps of mouldering old garbage that Mouse said the Guild would love to see, but none of us were interested in that right now. Wherever the Sorcerer was, it wasn't here, and with our search concluded there was nothing left to but sit and stew with the horrible memories of this morning.

The village was gone. The buildings were still there, all the fields were still there, the crops were still growing, but without people to tend them, the village would die. Chances were there was no one left to come back to it. The town was already dead. A wave of memory crashed over me, churning the darkness and gore beneath the waters and stirring it to the surface. I remembered the old farmer I had met on the road last time I had been through town. He had been so helpful and kind. This time he had come at me with a scythe and I had taken his hands off. I choked back a sob. That old man was dead thanks to me. I was a murderer.

Without a word, Quin slid over to me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. I tried to push them away but they only held on tighter.

"Quin, don't," I mumbled. "I don't deserve to be held right now."

They let go of me and frowned at me, confused. "Snip, don't say that."

I folded in on myself further, wrapping my arms around my knees. "It's true. How many of the villagers did I kill today? Five? Ten? I'm terrible, Quin. I'm a murderer."

"I don't think you got you ten," said Quin. "I barely got ten."

Another wave of memory crashed over me, drenching me with a bitter spray of blood and terror. Quin was right. They had been right in the thick of things, trading blows with the best of the enemy and making it look easy. I had barely held my own against their weakest. If it weren't for Mouse, who had the least training of all of us, I'd be dead.

"I'm sorry," I said. "You're right. I'm not as much of a Hero as you are. I wasn't really doing anything back there. I'm worthless compared to someone who can actually fight."

Quin grit their teeth, shut their eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath. "That's not what I meant." They couldn't quite keep all of the heat from their voice.

That was fine. They were right to be angry with me. I deserved it.

"I wish you weren't so hard on yourself," said Quin. They still sounded angry.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled.

"No you don't have to be sorry. It's fine."

"I'm sorry ... for being sorry too much." Great, I thought, now I'm not only the worst person, I'm not even making sense.