When he first took the Oath, he felt no different, but as he walked down toward the beach that day, the air changed.
Looking back, he would never be able to pinpoint exactly when he had walked through time. It felt like no more than a change in the weather, the storm coming in swift out of nowhere; the taste of the air changed, and salt-stinging wind lashed him. He hunched his shoulders against its force and then realized he was perfectly comfortable, and it was whispering to him in words he didn't know but could understand perfectly.
And the boats struggling on the sea were like nothing on the water these days.
There they are, he heard, in friendly tones. The invaders. Go get 'em.
"Go get them?" he asked aloud. The waves should have drowned it out, but he thought he heard a man scream. "What, save Ireland from them?"
Do you think so?
"Well, what else would it be?"
You already know the answer.
"You can't mean what I think you do."
Why can't I?
"They're the enemy!"
Are they?
"Of course." He glowered out as one pitched over and time, with the waves and wind, slowed to a crawl.
Ronan. The quiet voice on the wind boomed in his ears now. What did you vow?
He stared. Not this. Not this.
The wizard acknowledged one Enemy and Its minions.
Surely these were among them.
No more than you.
Not this....
This. It was not the wind speaking.
He could feel them dying. He could feel the crack of wood as though it were his own bones.
It was almost too late.
"How?"
Like this.
He trusted, spoke the words he was given, and then he was no longer human. He was the rock and the sand and the wave, the salt and current and spray, the wind and the boats themselves. He could dash these men to pieces with no more thought or effort than cutting his nails, and save his home from them.
He swayed and lifted and cradled and soothed them to shore and welcomed the spearthrust to his heart.
He lay on his back, almost a boy again, the waves moving over his face without wetting him.
The water ran off him and out of him, and he walked back, and was human again for a while.
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Looking back, he would never be able to pinpoint exactly when he had walked through time. It felt like no more than a change in the weather, the storm coming in swift out of nowhere; the taste of the air changed, and salt-stinging wind lashed him. He hunched his shoulders against its force and then realized he was perfectly comfortable, and it was whispering to him in words he didn't know but could understand perfectly.
And the boats struggling on the sea were like nothing on the water these days.
There they are, he heard, in friendly tones. The invaders. Go get 'em.
"Go get them?" he asked aloud. The waves should have drowned it out, but he thought he heard a man scream. "What, save Ireland from them?"
Do you think so?
"Well, what else would it be?"
You already know the answer.
"You can't mean what I think you do."
Why can't I?
"They're the enemy!"
Are they?
"Of course." He glowered out as one pitched over and time, with the waves and wind, slowed to a crawl.
Ronan. The quiet voice on the wind boomed in his ears now. What did you vow?
He stared. Not this. Not this.
The wizard acknowledged one Enemy and Its minions.
Surely these were among them.
No more than you.
Not this....
This. It was not the wind speaking.
He could feel them dying. He could feel the crack of wood as though it were his own bones.
It was almost too late.
"How?"
Like this.
He trusted, spoke the words he was given, and then he was no longer human. He was the rock and the sand and the wave, the salt and current and spray, the wind and the boats themselves. He could dash these men to pieces with no more thought or effort than cutting his nails, and save his home from them.
He swayed and lifted and cradled and soothed them to shore and welcomed the spearthrust to his heart.
He lay on his back, almost a boy again, the waves moving over his face without wetting him.
The water ran off him and out of him, and he walked back, and was human again for a while.