Hyllis Family Story 1: Telekinetic (11 page)

A moment later, a very different sense told him his finger had become unpleasantly hot. He felt it with his thumb and his thumb could feel the increased heat in the tip of his index finger as well.

Tarc
filled the pitchfork with hay and carried it to Shogun. He was wondering whether he could actually kill the tissue in Mrs. Gates’ tumors with the kind of heat he could generate. His finger had been uncomfortable and he knew that he could have heated it more than he did, but didn’t want to actually burn his own finger.

Tarc
moved on about his chores, pondering ways to further test this new ability. Then, as he carried a shovelful of manure out of Shogun’s stall he suddenly focused on the green bottle-flies swarming it. He picked one fly out and tried to heat it. It immediately zipped into the air, but flew close to Tarc and Tarc’s ghost easily tracked it. After he’d been warming it for about five seconds, it fell to the floor unmoving. He nudged it with a toe.

I
t seemed to be dead
! Well,
he thought,
it looks like I can kill small amounts of tissue by heating it. At least fly-sized pieces of tissue!

He wondered whether there was any way for him to try killing a small part of a large animal and know if it worked. How could he offer to try to heat one of the tumors in Mrs. Gates if he had no idea whether or not he could kill the tumor?

When
Tarc entered the kitchen Daussie barked at him, “Dad needs your help out at the bar. Hurry!”

Tarc
rolled his eyes. His sister always seemed to think that Tarc’s chores were urgent. When Tarc arrived out in the bar his father had a cask of beer standing beside him. He must have rolled it into the bar himself, but now needed help putting it up on the cask stand. With one of them on each side, they heaved it up and slid it on to the tilted rack that held it. It would sit for a day or two to allow the sediment to fall down into the front corner before Daum tapped it.

Daum’s eyes flicked to the water barrel and he said, “Need a couple of buckets
Tarc.”

When
Tarc came back through the kitchen with the two buckets of water, Daussie was out in the great room. Tarc stopped a moment and said, “Mom?”

Eva turned to him with a questioning look.

“I can heat things with my talent.”

She blinked, “You can?”

Tarc nodded.

Eva tugged on her lower lip with her upper teeth as she looked at him consideringly. “And… what?
”

He set down the buckets and
focused on the skin at the side of his mother’s elbow.

A moment later she grabbed at her elbow, “Ow
!” she blinked down at her elbow and rubbed at it gingerly with her fingers. She looked up at Tarc, “You heated that with your… your talent?”

Tarc
nodded.

“Well,” she said
still rubbing her elbow, “I hope you’re not planning to torture poor Daussie with that?”

Tarc
blinked at her. Suddenly he realized that she didn’t see the possible utility of his being able to heat something. “What if… what if I could heat Mrs. Gates’ tumors? I… I killed a fly by heating it.”

Eva’s eyes flashed wide in surprise. She put out a hand to steady herself against the counter. “Oh!
Tarc! That might… that might…” Her eyes slipped aside; then returned to his, “Maybe you wouldn’t have to heat it to burning hot to kill the tumor. Maybe it
wouldn’t
hurt horribly. But, what if… what if the dead tissue somehow makes her sick? Well… sicker.”

Tarc
shrugged. He certainly didn’t know if Eva didn’t.

Eva stared at him musingly for another few moments
; then said, “Maybe if Mrs. Gates comes back again we’ll ask her if she wants to try something… different. Experimental.”

Daussie came back in the kitchen,
so Tarc picked up his pails of water. He headed out to the bar.

The door to Tarc’s tiny bedroom swung open and his father leaned in. “Tarc. You want to get up a little early and head over to the blacksmith’s place to look at knives?”

Suddenly
wide awake, Tarc said, “Yeah!” He rolled out of bed.

As he and Daum walked down the street, Tarc realized it had been years since they had gone somewhere together like this. The last time he could remember was when Daum had taken him to Ms. Alman’s school on his first day. After that first day Tarc had been expected to find his own way to the small building where he and many of his friends had obtained educations in the basics.

Tarc
thought wistfully that it would be nice if their family could do something besides run the tavern every day. They did go to the small fair Walterston held each year, but Tarc had always gone with Eva. Daum took Daussie to the fair. Business in the tavern was slow on fair days because many of their regular customers ate and drank out at the fair so his parents felt that two of them could go at a time. But Tarc wished they could
all
go together as a family.

Somehow the streets seemed different, walking along with his father. He looked around, realizing that nothing was really changed except for the presence of Daum. Suddenly he saw three of the hard strangers coming down the street on horses, “Dad…”

“I see them. Just keep walking.”

Tarc
worried that the men would go to the tavern with just Eva and Daussie there. Evidently Daum had the same concern as Tarc could see Daum’s eyes tracking the men. He slowed a little. Then the men turned to the right, heading down the street towards the general store.

Daum’s shoulders relaxed and he picked up his pace, “Let’s make this quick.”

Sally, John Blacksmith’s wife,
asked, “What kind of knife are you looking for?”

“Small throwing knives,” Daum said, looking around the room where they kept their wares.
He frowned, “Why don’t you have any swords anymore?”

“Men from out of town bought them all,” she said brightly. “Business has been great! John’s working up some more right now.”

Daum glanced at Tarc, a worried look on his face. He turned back to Sally, “Rough looking men? We’ve had some of those down at the tavern, I’m not sure I’m happy to know you’re selling them swords.”

Sally’s face tightened, “They have good coin. Did you refuse to serve them at your tavern? I’m not sure
I’m
happy these rough looking men are getting drunk!” She grimaced; then waved her hands as if to smooth over her irritated rudeness. “Sorry. We
all
have a living to make. John did ask some of the deputies about those men and whether we should be selling them swords. The deputies said the Sheriff wasn’t worried about them.”

Daum frowned, “Yeah, sorry.
It’s hard to turn away anyone who can pay good coin. Do you know if anyone has mentioned these men to Captain Pike?”

Captain Pike headed up the local defense force made up of the townspeople. The sergeants at the drill center worked under him. He was nominally under the Sheriff, like the deputies who kept the peace, but the captain tended to argue with the Sheriff
a lot more than other citizens. Tarc understood what his father was saying. Even if the Sheriff wasn’t worried, the captain might be.

Sally shook her head, “No, and you’re right, somebody should make sure he knows. Will you be seeing him?”

Daum turned to Tarc, “After we’re done here, can you run by the armory and invite the captain to come by the tavern for a free beer?”

Tarc
nodded.

Daum turned back to Sally
and gave her a weak grin, “Well, did the strangers buy all your throwing knives as well?”

She shook her head, “No, but there’s never been
all that much demand for those. We only have a few over here.” She walked to the end of the counter and opened the cabinet under it. Pulling out a small shallow box, she set it up on the counter. In it were seven pairs of knives.

Tarc
’s eyes were immediately drawn to three pairs of knives that were relatively small with long narrow blades. Daum apparently liked the looks of the same three pairs. He pulled them towards the edge and pushed one member of each pair toward Tarc. One at a time Daum picked up the three knives left in front of him and weighed their balance. He looked up at Sally, “Can we try throwing them?”

“Sure,” she said, “just drop the bar
into the door behind you there and I’ll take you out back. We have a post for you to throw at. Are you sure you don’t want to take something a little heavier? Those are kind of light.”

Daum shook his head as
Tarc put the bar on the door. She led them through the shop and out into the yard behind it. Tarc could hear John’s hammer clanging as he pounded something into shape, presumably one of his new swords. They saw a suspiciously man sized post stood to one side of the little yard. Sally waved at it, “Give it your best shot,” she said.

Daum threw the largest of the three knives he had in his hand, but it missed the post completely. “Whoops, sorry.”

Sally waved dismissively, “Don’t worry about it. Knife throwing takes a lot of practice if you want to be any good. Go ahead and throw the other two, then we’ll go fetch.”

Daum
threw the other two, and both hit. The smallest one was fairly close to the middle of the post. Tarc’s ghost could feel it curving slightly to the right as it flew.

Sally smiled, “Well, maybe you
should
get the small knives if you can throw them
that
well. What do you think? Do you want to buy a pair?”

Daum jerked a thumb at
Tarc, “Is it okay if Tarc throws the ones he’s got? We’re each buying a pair.”

Sally nodded, though
Tarc thought she looked dubious about giving a kid his age throwing knives. He stepped up and hefted the largest of the three knives he still held. He knew that it would be hard to control, so he took extra care lining up. The throw was off a little to the left and probably would have missed the post but his ghost was able to push it back almost to the midline. It stuck in the post about an inch off-center to the left with a solid “thunk.”

“Pretty good
, kid,” Sally said.

Tarc
felt irritated that she had qualified her “good.” He felt certain that she was actually attributing his hit almost entirely to luck. He lined up with the medium-size blade and threw it. Its weight was much more controllable. So, despite throwing it a little high and to the right, he brought it down to stick in the post
exactly
in the center and therefore about an inch to the right of his first knife.

Sally goggled a little
; then said, “
Very
nice!”

Daum cleared his throat.
Tarc realized that Daum didn’t want him showing off and possibly alerting people to his talent. He threw the third and smallest knife, again placing it exactly where he wanted it to go, but this time the target he chose was about 8 inches down and 2 inches to the right.

Sally chuckled, “Well, you’re human after all!
But that was still really good.”

Daum and Sally dickered a bit.

Eventually Tarc and Daum left the blacksmith’s shop with the two smallest pairs of knives in paired sheaths that strapped over their shoulders. The straps were set up to holster the handles of the knives just below and behind their necks. That way they could reach up over their shoulder to grab the knife with their arms already cocked to throw.

Tarc
had expected to have to give up his working knife, but it remained at his belt. Daum said he didn’t want people seeing them working with knives that were designed to be weapons. Nor did he want them going around visibly carrying weapons. With the holsters underneath the loose heavy shirts they normally wore, the knives weren’t noticeable. However, should the blades ever be needed, they would have to reach down inside their collars for the knives.

Feeling a little heady
about his new possessions, Tarc headed off to the drill center to pass Daum’s invitation to Captain Pike.

Pike was meeting with someone else, so Tarc cooled his heels in the courtyard of the armory there at the drill center while he waited. He felt desperately anxious to practice throwing his new knives and wanted to throw them from the holsters. However, he had the feeling that Daum didn’t really want anyone to know that they were carrying throwing knives in ‘over shoulder holsters,’ so he resisted the temptation.

As the courtyard was empty, he decided it would be okay to practice throwing the knives as long as he wasn’t pulling them out from behind his head. He
stepped into a corner and, after using his talent to check around for any warm bodies that might be close enough to be watching, pulled the knives out. He walked back out into the courtyard and began throwing the blades at the timbers of the wall. Just in case someone was observing him he threw each knife at a different mark 6 to 12 inches apart. That way if someone saw them hit, they would likely think he was missing his target by a reasonable margin. He threw the knives from varying distances ranging from 6 to 25 feet so that he would get used to the way the knives fell as they traveled through the air. With the arrows he had been able to lift the tips to compensate for a low shot by having them
fly
upward a little. The knives didn’t fly, so he could only lift them with brute effort from his ghost. This made it important that he adjust his aim point upward to compensate for the fall of the knife as it traveled.

After throwing for a bit, he realized there wasn’t any reason he couldn’t practice throwing from a starting position just behind his shoulder where the holsters would be. He started throwing harder, whipping the knives across the distance so that they stuck into the wall hard enough he had to wiggle them out.

He’d just thrown the knives a solid 20 feet to stick into two adjoining logs when his ghost felt a couple of bodies coming out of Pike’s office. Tarc walked to the wall to retrieve his blades and was wiggling the first one loose when Pike stepped out and focused on him. The other man turned and walked away without apparently noticing Tarc.

Tarc
wiggled his second blade loose and walked over, “Captain Pike, my dad asked me to invite you down to the tavern for a free beer. He’d like to talk to you about some of the strangers we’ve been seeing.”

Pike’s eyes narrowed a moment,
“You’re the Hyllis boy, right?”

“Yes
sir.”

Pike’s eyes went down to the knives
Tarc held in his left hand. “Got yourself a nice pair of throwing knives I see.”

“Yes
sir.”

“Fancy yourself as pretty good?”

Tarc shrugged, suddenly embarrassed.

“Let’s see what you can do then. Put them as close as you can to the big knot there, height
about the same as a man’s head.” Pike pointed loosely, but Tarc immediately saw a 6 inch diameter swirl around a big knot in the wood that had to be the one Pike meant.

Tarc
threw his knives, carefully spotting one below left and the second above right, each a couple inches from the edge of the large knot.

Pike barked a laugh. “Pretty good
, boy. If you could’ve averaged them some, one would be in your opponent’s left eye and the other in his right! Keep working on it and you’ll be deadly.” He paused considering, “Tell your Pa I’ll be along sometime this afternoon.”

“Yes
sir,” Tarc said turning toward the wall his knives had stuck into and starting to wonder whether he could find a place to put the knives back in their sheaths so he wouldn’t be wandering through the street with them in his hand.

“Your dad’s
Hyllis the archer isn’t he?” Pike said behind him.

“Yes
sir,” Tarc said, turning back.

“
Are you the son Sgt. Banes says is going to make a good archer himself?”

Banes mentioned me to Pike?!
A feeling of pride suffused over Tarc, “I hope so sir.”

“I do too son, I do too.” Pike turned back towards his office
, effectively dismissing Tarc.

Tarc
walked on over to the wall and pulled his knives out of the timbers. He felt around the courtyard with his ghost and, detecting no one, slipped the knives back over his shoulder and into their sheaths. One cool thing about his ghost was that it told him exactly where the points of his knives were relative to the throat of the sheath. He could slide the knives into the sheaths without having to feel around for the openings. His ghost even helped him slide the point of the knife inside his shirt on the way to the sheath.

When Tarc got back to the tavern, Denny Smith was just leaving his mother. At first he worried that she hadn’t gotten better. Then he worried that his mother would get him involved in examining her again, something that had embarrassed him last time.