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The Tales of the Destroyer
It’s written in a bold font that swirls across the title page. I pause, looking up to find Dugald. He’s across the room, inspecting some books on the shelf there. I consider calling him over but the way him and Duncan are sniping at each other it won’t go well.
I take a deep breath and turn the page to read. I don’t know how long I read, but the pages flow past. I’m taking it in faster than I’ve ever read a book in my life. If I’d had this skill in college cramming for tests would have been so much easier.
“Quinn!” Duncan calls my name and pulls on my arm.
It jerks my attention out of the book to him. He’s standing to one side of me and Dugald is on the other.
“What?” I ask, looking between the two of them.
“Are you all right?” Duncan asks, concern on his face and in his voice.
“Of course I am,” I say, shaking my head, which feels thick. It’s a heavy, hangover feeling I get sometimes when I drank a little too much, not enough to be sick, but not at a hundred percent either. “Why?”
“You were staring at the book and your eyes were glazed over,” Dugald says.
“I’ve only been here a minute. What are you talking about?”
“No, Quinn. It’s been at least thirty minutes,” Dugald says.
I look down at the book and then it hits me. I stumble backwards as the thick cotton in my head dissipates like spiderwebs from an open flame. Dugald and Duncan grab my arms and steady me.
“Oh,” I gasp, shaking my head.
“Quinn, what is it, my love?” Duncan asks.
I look from him to Dugald and shake my head again.
“I remember,” I whisper.
“Remember what?” Dugald asks.
“All of it,” I say. “Us, the three of us. All of it.”
And I do. The memories of a hundred lives flood through and now they’re not dim ideas or mostly forgotten images; I remember them. They were real. Lifetime after lifetime, being born. Growing up, finding Dugald, then Duncan. Falling for one or the other, then making decisions that either increased or decreased magic.
I’ve lived so many lives, none of which I knew before now. It makes me feel dizzy. Uncertain, as if I’m staring down the impossible. I don’t know what to make of it, but one thing does ring clear without any doubts.
Dugald has loved me for a very long time. And so has Duncan. He and I have fallen in love time and again, but our lives are mortal. We’ve died and forgotten only to find each other again. Dugald hasn’t. He’s lived alone between my lifetimes and every time I return, he’s been there. Waiting, ready, still loving me.
Unerringly, unendingly. Carrying his flame for me across centuries.
It doesn’t change my decision, but now I understand his pain in a way I could never before grasp. How hard this has been on him. How hard it is every time I’ve not chosen him. This time, I know I’ve made the right decision, but I always have, and even now care deeply for Dugald.
“All of what?” Duncan asks.
“I am sorry,” Dugald says, because he alone knows what a blessing forgetting can be.
I nod to him, then turn to Duncan.
“Later,” I say. “We must find the book. The fate of the world does depend on it.”
Duncan’s frustration shows on his face, but I really don’t feel like we have time to try and explain all this right now. I’m not sure I could even if I try. Does he believe in past lives? Will he scoff? Those are problems for a later time. Duncan shrugs his acceptance, and this is one of the reasons I love him. He gives me space to be me and doesn’t feel any need to crowd himself in.
“I’ll keep looking,” he says.
He may be jealous, but it doesn’t control him, and he knows, deep in his heart, there is nothing to be jealous of. True jealousy can only come from distrust, and he trusts me. It’s not only in his words, but in his actions.
