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“And you—”
“No, Quinn. Not me. You,” the Druid cuts me off.
“What does that even mean?”
“It means your choices matter. Including whether you choose Duncan or Dugald.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, blushing fast and hard. I glance at Dugald but he’s staring at the ground again, though I don’t miss the way his chest is heaving or the swelling in his pants.
“Don’t be coy, child. All these choices, they are the ones you have to make. Do you choose MacGregor? Do you choose Dugald? Do you choose to train, or do you run away? Choices. Everything is a choice and they’re all yours to make.”
“Yeah, but none of them are big choices. None of them decide the fate of two worlds like you all keep telling me.”
“Do they not? What is a life, Quinn?”
“I have no idea what that is supposed to mean. I know, we talked about this. A life is a series of choices, blah blah blah. Why? Why me? Why dothesechoices matter?”
“Because you hear but you do not listen. You do not make the information your own. You do notthinkwith it.”
“Great, that admonition really clarified it right up. Good job.”
The Druid frowns, his eyes narrowing as he smacks his lips.
“I’ll try to explain, again. Listen, this time, will you? A life is a series of choices, Quinn. You keep looking for the ‘one big one’ but you’ll never see it when you make it. Do you think it was a single decision that started World War II? No, it was a series of decisions made by dozens of people. Not one of them could point tothedecision they made.
Historians will try. They will label one decision, one action, but that’s a lie. The number of times it all came down to one, obvious decision in all of history are less than a handful. That’s not how it works.”
“Then how am I supposed to know? How do I decide?”
“You be you,” he says.
“Your choices matter, Quinn,” Dugald says, speaking up for the first time.
“Everyone’s choices matter! Why are mine so special?”
“Because you are the Destroyer,” the Druid says.
“Most people move along their lives, through the strings of fate, without causing any major ripples. They’re born, they live, and they die on a simple path. There are a handful of people though, to whom Fate itself bows. Their decisions cause ripples that echo throughout reality. And, at the turning point of every age, there’s you,” Dugald explains.
“Turning of every age? Moira talked about this but I’m an archaeologist. None of this makes sense with what I’ve studied. With history, with what I know to be true.”
“Bah,” the Druid scoffs dismissively. “History is a mockery of truth. Small minds positing what might have been with no ability to observe truth when it lies before them.”
“Nice, denigrate an entire study including my own degree. Way to win friends,” I counter.
“I don’t need friends, Quinn,” the Druid says. “I need you to decide and to decide correctly.”
“Magic comes in ebbs and flows. At the turning points it is decided if the next age will see an increase in magic or if it will decrease,” Dugald says, jumping in.
“You know what? Neither of you told me any of this when I asked. Now Moira has jumped into the game, and she stole all your thunder. I know this but knowing it and understanding any of it aren’t anywhere near the same ballpark. Why can’t I decide to make sure it goes back and forth equally then?”
“I told you she doesn’t listen,” the Druid mutters.
“How about you quit playing the part of the balcony heckler and actually say something useful?” I snap.
Dugald quickly drops his head and raises his hand to cover his smile. The Druid has a wide-eyed stare as if he can’t believe I told him off but I meet his gaze with a glare.
“It doesn’t work that way,” Dugald continues. “It’s not that simple.”
