Hyllis Family Story 1: Telekinetic (29 page)

Then it clicked. He looked again at the window and used his ghost to project his voice into the room. “Dad, are you okay? I’m using my ghost to send my voice. I can see into your window—
wave something back in the room a ways. Wave once for ‘yes, I’m okay,’ and wave twice for, ‘no, there’s a problem.’”

Daum had been standing far back in the room, on a chair in the shadows where it would be hard to see him. At first, Tarc’s voice startled him. Despite the fact that the voice seemed to come from the middle of the room, Daum was gripped with fear that Tarc was in the house with him, captured by soldiers and dragged there against his will. When Tarc said he was using his ghost to project his voice, Daum felt startled to realize that his son had found yet another surprising use for their talent. He wondered if he could do the same to answer Tarc, but decided that this would be a poor time to experiment. Instead he stepped down off the chair, moved closer to the window while keeping his body out of view and waved the butt end of an arrow quickly past the window.

Tarc
’s voice said, “I saw a single wave, so I’m assuming we’re still on. Unfortunately, I don’t see Krait anywhere. I was thinking that perhaps you could send your voice back to me. But since you can’t feel very exactly where your ghost is like I can, sending it down here right now and having it wind up next to someone else in the crowd might cause probl… Oh, that gave me an idea…”

What idea?!
Daum wanted to shout.

Tarc’s attention had returned to the square. Still no sign of Krait. As his eyes swept over the soldiers, looking for Krait he noticed one of the soldiers who looked particularly skittish. Wondering desperately if this was a good idea, Tarc projected his voice to just behind the man’s head. Speaking in as low and slow a tone as he could imagine, he said, “You’re gonna die, with a hole in your eye.”

The man spun around, a panicked look on his face, swinging his sword so that it barely missed one of his fellows. The other soldier
, a sergeant, hissed at him, “Face front, Stort. The problem’s that way.” To emphasize his words, the man pointed his sword toward the townsmen.

Again,
Tarc projected a voice just behind Stort’s head. This time it said, “Asshole.” Stort’s eyes widened and his head involuntarily turned part way back over his shoulder at the sound.

Unfortunately for Stort, his head’s turning at the same time as the word, “asshole” came from his direction, only served to convince the sergeant that Stort had uttered the insult. The sergeant took one step forward and delivered a hard punch to Stort’s kidney. As
Stort dropped to his knees, gasping, the sergeant turned to the man next to Stort and said, “Take him to detention. Five days bread and water for insubordination.” The sergeant picked up Stort’s fallen sword and laid it on a bench behind him.

Encouraged,
Tarc looked down the line of soldiers, picking another who looked flighty.

Garcia nudged
Tarc in the side, faintly whispering, “A free sword on the bench!”

Tarc
nodded, then projected his voice just behind the flighty looking soldier. Once again he whispered, “You’re going to die, with a hole in your eye.”

The man’s eyes widened and he developed a twitch in one cheek, but he didn’t turn.

Tarc went down the line, doing the same to any of the soldiers who looked the least bit unsteady. He got varying reactions, ranging from startled looks, to one who dropped his sword and ran.

A set of four archers
Tarc hadn’t noticed sent a flight of arrows after the running man, but none of them hit. He disappeared around a corner.

Tarc
saw that the sergeants standing behind the front line men were beginning to look a little stressed themselves, presumably unsure what was happening to their men. He tried sending a louder, singsong voice, behind even the line of sergeants off to his right. This voice moaned, “We’re all going to die, with
holes
in our eyes.”

Several of the sergeants spun t
o look, though the rest of the men, frightened by what had happened to Stort, kept their eyes to the front. Tarc did the same, sending his voice off to the left, then further to the left, then down the left side of the formation and off to the right side of the formation.

Guards were spinning
around and looking frightened. Excited stirs and whispers ran through the townsmen.

One of the lieutenants leapt up onto the stage and bellowed, “Whoever’s throwing their voice
like that had better stop, or
this
is going to continue.” He motioned to the archers who drew and sent a flight of arrows arching high into the air above the crowd.

Tarc
’s gut clenched. He closed his eyes and sent his ghost out in an expanding sphere. He felt the arrows falling as he wondered if he could possibly guide them to spaces between the townsmen. With dismay he felt how the townsmen were so packed together that there was virtually no safe place for the arrows to fall. The best he could do…

The arrows fell and screams rent the air.
Tarc’s eyes blinked open, anger filling him. He’d only been able to bring the arrows down away from the center body mass of any of the people they’d struck. Still, there was an arrow in a shoulder, an arrow in a thigh, and one in a foot. A single arrow he’d been able to bring down to the dirt in a small gap. His eyes snapped shut again, another flight of arrows was in the air. All
four
of these hurt someone. Again Tarc kept them from hitting anyone directly in the body, but they remained serious injuries.

Tarc’s
eyes snapped open to see if the archers were about to launch another flight. They had arrows nocked, but they were looking towards the center of the stage where Krait now stood. The giant man threw his head back and laughed. He stepped forward to speak.

Tarc
sent his voice up into the room with Daum, “Krait’s here! Give me a single wave if you’re ready?”

Krait said, “So
someone
in this town has managed to kill a few of my men.” He laughed, “This cowardly bastard’s trademark is to stab my men in the eye. Now I
know
that someone in this town knows who the son of a bitch is. I have a simple plan.”

Tarc
saw a single flashing wave of the feathered end of an arrow behind the window. He sent his voice up to the room, “Okay, shoot when you’re ready.”

Krait continued, “What
is
this simple plan you may ask? Well, we’re just gonna keep sending arrows into the sky over you, killing or maiming you poor men, four at a time… until one of you… decides to tell me who the bastard is.”

Tarc
had sent his ghost out to its extreme range at the window of Tornesson’s house. He felt the arrow burst out the window. This was different than usual. Usually he had a lot of control when an arrow first left the bow near him and less and less control as the arrow flew. This time, he had little control at the start, but as it approached and went over his head he gained better and better control.

Tarc
’s world moved in slow motion. To his dismay he realized the arrow was too low. Though Tarc had lifted the arrowhead, the arrow would strike chest high.

Krait held a shield on his left arm
!

Tarc
strained to lift the arrow a little higher, but failed. It plunged into the shield with a loud “thock.” At the last moment, realizing he couldn’t actually hit Krait, Tarc had centered it on the shield.

It
stuck perfectly into the snake’s head of Krait’s heraldic device.

Tarc
’s eyes widened as he realized the arrow had seated itself in the snake’s left eye.

Tarc
expected that their plan had failed. Surely, Krait would turn and run, making it nearly impossible to hit him with another arrow… Suddenly Tarc realized another arrow was already on the way.

Krait was
not
turning to flee, but had turned his narrowed eyes to search for the source of the arrows. He probably thought the first one had been a very lucky shot.

Tarc
’s ghost began to steer the arrow.

This one was high enough.
Tarc began to pull it downwards, a much easier task than lifting it.

Krait saw it coming, but evidently judged it to be too high. He lowered his head a little and pointed with his sword towards the window.

People later would describe how the arrow curved
impossibly
downward.

At the last moment, Krait’s eyes widened and he began to move his head to the right.

The arrow curved after him.

Krait fell over backwards
. He fell rigidly like a tree falls, landing on his back, heels drumming, bowels farting, an arrow standing tall from his left eye.

Everyone, soldiers and townsmen alike stood, stunned. Then Krait’s lieutenant who’d been on the stage with him, turned to look towards Torneson’s house.

The feathered fletching of an arrow suddenly appeared in the lieutenant’s left eye. It looked as if it had grown out from the man’s eyes, rather than being in the butt end of an arrow which had just plunged through the man’s skull.

As he fell, fifteen or so of Krait’s soldiers turned and started to run, several of them dropping their swords.

Beside Tarc, Garcia bellowed, “Kill the bastards!” He pushed forward on the men in front of him and the tight grouping of the townsmen started to expand.

One of the sergeants fell, an arrow through his head.

A voice high above the crowd moaned loudly enough for all to hear, “They’re all gonna die… with holes in their eyes!”

The crowd bellowed and surged outward.

All
the soldiers started running.

Most of the
invading soldiers had fled the town. Those who hadn’t, had been hunted down by the angry mob and killed. Sgt. Garcia, the most senior military man left, had organized a watch for the walls to be sure the bastards who’d fled didn’t return.

Garcia had drafted Tarc to the walls, but
Stevenson the butcher came and spoke to the sergeant. “Eva Hyllis says she needs Tarc. She’s trying to take care of the men who were injured by the arrows in the square and needs his help.”

Tarc was standing near enough that he heard this conversation. Garcia turned to him and nodded.

Tarc took off at a trot, hoping that he wouldn’t have to use his talent for an extended period. He’d just gotten over his headache from what he’d done in the square.

When Tarc got back to the tavern, five of the seven men who’d been struck by arrows were laid out on the tables inside. Eva and Daussie were washing out wounds and applying bandages. Daum was apparently in the kitchen trying to rustle up some food.

The room was crowded with people, and as Tarc walked in
he heard one of them commenting on how lucky the town had been that no one had been struck in the head or body.

He
went to Eva, “What can I do?”

She indicated the man on the next table with her eyes. “Check on Mr. Morris there.
An arrow cut partly through his radial artery and it won’t stop bleeding. I’ve had some of the men holding pressure above and below the wound and that’s kept him from bleeding to death, but any time they let go the blood starts pouring out again.”

Tarc blinked, “What do you want
me
to do?”

“Look at it, see if you have any ideas. Wash it out,” she pointed with her chin, “there’s more saline over there and some sterile rags.
”

Startled, Tarc looked over
at Morris. He had no idea what he might do for a bleeding artery and was about to say so, but then realized his mother’s attention was back on the wound she was working with. He went over to Morris, then realized he couldn’t very well just hover over the wound, sending his ghost in without doing anything. He went back and got some of the saline and one of the bundles holding some rags.

Back at Morris’s side, he poured some of the saline in the wound and used his ghost to slosh it around. He opened the bundle and took out one of the rags, carefully dabbing at the wound.

Morris groaned and said, “Should you be doing that?”

Tarc gave Morris what he hoped looked like a confident smile and said, “Yes, Eva asked me to clean your wound.
I’ve been learning the business for a while now.” He had seated himself and now he sent his ghost into the wound as he gently dabbed at it. Sure enough, as soon as he found it, his ghost could feel a defect in the wall of the radial artery. He asked the man who had been holding pressure to let off for a second, “So we can see if it’s still bleeding.”

The man did and blood immediately spurted out of the hole
.

Tarc blinked and dabbed at the fresh blood
, wondering what could possibly be done? He went back to Eva and shrugged, saying quietly, “I don’t
have
any ideas; you’ll have to
tell
me what to do.”

She looked at him and frowned. “
I
don’t have any ideas either. That’s why I sent you over there.”

Taken aback, Tarc thought for a moment,
“Could we sew up the hole, like we did…” He hoped that she knew he meant the hole in Pike’s intestine.

“It would take a tiny needle and thread. We don’t have anything that small.”

“What do you do when someone has an amputation? All the blood vessels must be cut then, how do you stop
them
from bleeding?”

“Oh, we just hold pressure for a while. When vessels are cut all
the way through, they spasm off and stop bleeding by themselves. I’ve
heard
before that when they’re only cut partly through, they just keep bleeding, but I’ve never seen it myself.”

“Why don’t you just cut it the rest of the way through them?”

Eva stared at him for a moment, then said, “Well, that’s the best idea I’ve heard. Go ahead.” She motioned with her chin again, “Some sterile scissors are in the package over there next to the sterile rags.”

“Me?!” Tarc hissed wide-eyed.

Eva just nodded. “Don’t cut anything else besides that artery though.” Her attention turned back to the wound she was working on.

Tarc turned, feeling like he was in a daze. He went to the table and picked up the package he thought Eva had meant. Holding it up he said, “Mom, these?”

She glanced at the package and nodded.

He walked over to Mr. Morris and sat down next to his forearm. He picked up the bottle with the sterile saline
and poured some more into it, then dabbed it fairly dry with the sterile rag. He left the rag on top of the wound. Unwrapping the scissors he kept their points from touching anything so that they would stay sterile. He moved the tips into the wound underneath the rag.

He didn’t want Morris, or the man holding the pressure, to know what he was doing
so he looked up at Morris, “Are you hurting a lot Mr. Morris?” As he said it, he used his ghost to guide the scissors in until they were just touching the hole in the artery.

Morris said, “It doesn’t feel great. But the places where John is holding the pressure are starting to hurt worse than the wound.”

Wanting to distract both of the men, Tarc said, “Can you hold your other hand up in the air?” Sure enough, when Morris lifted his left hand into the air, both Morris’s and John’s eyes turned to watch it.

Tarc opened the scissors, advanced them a couple of millimeters until the tips were on both sides of the artery, but not protruding beyond it. He snipped the scissors shut and felt the artery part.
The two ends recoiled a little. Lifting the scissors out of the wound he laid their tips back on the sterile wrapper they had come in. His ghost felt the ends of the artery separating and crinkling up. They narrowed and the opening in the artery virtually disappeared.
That must be the “spasm” Mom was talking about,
he thought to himself.

Tarc held the sterile rag over the wound for another couple of minutes then looked up at John. “Can you let the pressure off again for a second? Let’s see if it’s still bleeding.”

Lifting his hands up, John said, “Sure. I can use a break.” He wiggled his fingers around and then put them back down on Morris’s forearm. “Pressure again?”

Tarc lifted the sterile rag as if looking to see if the bleeding had resumed, even though he knew it had not.
“No, it looks good. I think you can take a little longer break.”

He got up and walked over to talk to Eva, wondering what to do next. She was suturing the wound that she had been cleaning earlier, the man gasping each time she stuck the needle through his skin, but otherwise stoically enduring it. He told Eva
that the bleeding had stopped and asked her what to do next.

She grinned
up at him and said, “Good!”

Somehow Tarc knew that she meant more than
just that it was good that the bleeding had stopped. She was simultaneously complimenting
him
. He felt a warm glow.

Eva said, “Watch what I’m doing here, and then I’ll have you suture up Mr. Morris’s wound.”

Tarc’s eyes widened again…

Later, when the casualties from the square had been taken care of, Tarc remembered to go down and check on Capt. Pike. When he got there, the Captain was unnaturally still. With dismay, he sent his ghost into the Captain’s chest.

The Captain’s
heart wasn’t beating, and the blood in it was clotted. Blinking back tears, Tarc went up to tell his parents.

Eva put a hand on his shoulder, “It’s very sad, I know. Worse because we all respected him. But,” she said heavily, “we can’t win them all. In fact, in the long run we eventually lose them all.”

Tarc glanced around the big room, and to his astonishment saw Mrs. Gates sitting at the usual treatment table. Eva saw the direction of his gaze and said dryly, “Yes, she’s back and just as irritating as she ever was. This time however, she does say that she thinks we might be making her better.” Eva grinned up at Tarc and widened her eyes at him. “I checked inside of her and the tumors you’ve treated so far seem to have be just scar tissue now.” She raised an eyebrow, “I guess you’ve got more work ahead of you.”

That night, as the Hyllises got ready for bed, Tarc helped Daussie move her stuff out of his room and back into hers. They didn’t talk much, but what they did have to say to each other was pleasant.

That had never happened before
!

Tarc found it bizarre that such a horrible
series of events could have been the spark that made him realize just how important his family was to him, even the sister he’d always thought he despised. As he turned to leave her room, he had a thought and looked back at her, “Dauss? Where’s the sun?”

She pointed right at it, almost straight down through the floor.

The End

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Try the next in the series, to be published someday soon.