Teleporter

by Laurence E. Dahners

  Tarc nodded.

  Daum sighed, “So much for the hope that they’d had enough this morning, eh?” He got out his big knife and started cutting up the pork.

  Tarc started shaving a nice dry piece of wood for a fire starter. “Yeah… I think I’m going to have nightmares tonight. Even though those guys were… awful human beings, shooting them seemed…” he trailed off, not sure what to say.

  Daum knew what his son was saying, he felt it himself. He cast about for something to say to ease Tarc’s mind. He hadn’t thought of anything that sounded convincing to himself yet, when Lizeth approached them.

  “Mr. Hyllis?”

  Daum nodded at her, wondering what she might want.

  “Um, I’m thinking about going out to scout the raiders place tonight.”

  Daum’s eyes widened a little. He said, “Okay.”

  “If we’re going to decide what to do, we need to know more about them,” she said, sounding like she was trying to convince herself to some extent.

  Daum waited for her to say more, but then finally said, “I guess that sounds reasonable. I don’t know very much about this kind of business though.”

  “It’s not a business,” she said darkly. “It’s more like a war.”

  Daum shrugged, “Just a saying.”

  “Anyway, it’d be nice to have someone along to watch my back. An experienced fighter.”

  Daum said, “I’m not an experienced fighter!”

  “You expect me to believe that after the shooting you did this morning?!”

  Daum sighed disconsolately, “Last week was the first time I’d ever killed anyone. I’m pretty good with a bow, but that’s about it.” He glanced around the landscape, “Do you even know where to start looking?”

  “Prichard’s folks think they’re camping on a farm a little farther along the road.”

  “Why aren’t you taking one of the other guards?”

  Lizeth glanced back over her shoulder, “Arco doesn’t want us to go. If two of us left, he’d be sure to notice it. Besides,” she scuffed a toe in the dirt and looked back up at him with a weak smile, “none of them want to go.”

  “Well, neither do I. I’m good at shooting arrows, not at skulking around in the night. You’ll have to find somebody else.”

  She nodded at him, “Well, thank you for considering my request.” She turned and left, spine stiff but obviously disappointed.

  Tarc stood from where he’d been working on the fire and stepped closer to his father. “Dad! You’d be great at skulking around in the dark! You’d know if anyone was nearby, and your talent would help you choose a quiet place to set your feet.”

  Daum stared at his son, “You want me to risk my life scouting?”

  “No!” Tarc looked down, then back up, “We’re all risking our lives with this mess! I just don’t think it would be that dangerous to go with her.”

  Slowly Daum said, “Arco doesn’t think we should try to scout them and he’s the one that knows the most about this business. If he doesn’t think we should do it and won’t commit himself or any of the guards to it, I don’t want to do it.” He studied his son for a minute then blinked, “And, don’t you decide that you’re going to go with her either!”

  That evening, after the Hyllises had finished serving dinner to about two thirds of the caravan, Amelia Prichard showed up at their wagon. She was carrying a round metal dish with steam rising off of it. A big smile on her face, she walked up to Eva and said, “I owe you an extreme debt of gratitude. I feel so much better since you treated me last night.” She held out the metal dish, “I brought you an apple pie.” She lifted her other hand, “And this cheddar tastes really good with it.”

  Daussie had stepped closer to Mrs. Prichard, eager to examine her. Even in the lamplight she could tell that the woman’s sallow complexion had markedly improved. Sending her ghost into the woman’s abdomen, she saw that the dilated biliary duct system was back down to a nearly normal size.

  Eva exclaimed over the pie and the cheese, and even more over the silver that Mrs. Prichard pressed into her hand. She settled Prichard on one of their small folding stools. Soon Eva had cut slices of the pie and slivers of the cheese for each of the Hyllises as well as for Mrs. Prichard. As they ate they spoke cheerfully of virtually anything but the presence of the raiders in the area.

  When everyone had finished eating, Eva leaned forward and said, “Although we took out the gallstone that was plugging your ducts last night, I think it’s important that you understand you still have a lot of stones in your gallbladder.”

  Prichard smiled, “Well, I wouldn’t know about that, all I know is that I feel fine.”

  Eva said, “We have a new treatment that… we think would work to remove your gallstones. Getting rid of the rest of them could keep you from having attacks for a long time. At least until you formed new gallstones.”

  Amelia narrowed her eyes and studied Eva’s face. “You ‘think’? How many times have you done this?”

  Eva shrugged, “You’d be the first.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Amelia said slowly. “These stones are inside me here?” she said pointing at her abdomen.

  Eva nodded.

  “And how are you thinking you’d get them out? You’re not talking about cutting me open are you?”

  “Um, no. We have a trick involving a cup with some moonshine placed right over your gallbladder.”

  Mrs. Prichard stared at Eva for a moment then broke into a smile, “You’re kidding right?”

  “No, we’ve been…”

  An acerbic voice came over Eva’s shoulder, “She’s not kidding. They’ve been doing it to me for my cancer for a while now. Even though I thought it was a complete load of crap, just like you’re obviously thinking, I am feeling a lot better.”

  Eva and Daussie looked back, Mrs. Gates!

  “In fact, I’m over here hoping to get another treatment myself.” She snorted, “Honestly? My head still thinks it’s a load of crap, but my body… wants to keep feeling better.”

  A little while later, they had Gates lying on one side of the trailer with Tarc holding a cup containing a splash of moonshine over her pelvis. Amelia Prichard lay on the other side of the trailer with Daussie leaning over her and holding a cup against her abdominal wall right over the liver. The gallstones were small and it was only a few inches from her gallbladder to the cup, so Daussie could move one or two per second. Unfortunately, there were a lot of them.

  When Daussie was done, they pulled the cup away from Amelia’s side. Tarc and the four women stared into the cup. It held a slushy pile of dark green gallstones, ranging in size from pebbles to sand.

  Amelia said, “Well, I still wonder whether you might have used one of those tricks I’ve seen magicians do with their cups at the fair. But if it wasn’t, I guess I’m pretty glad you pulled all those rocks out of me.”

  “Unfortunately,” Eva said, “you’ll probably keep making more stones. So, you’ll probably have the same problem again someday.” Wistfully she said, “Maybe we’ll be back on another trip and can take out some more of them then. In the old days they took peoples gallbladders out to prevent recurrence, but we don’t know how to do that anymore.”

  ***

  Tarc was getting ready to go to bed. It was earlier than his usual time, but he had to stand a watch again tonight. He’d taken off his boots and was about to crawl into the tent when he saw Lizeth walk up to the little single tent she slept in. He walked barefoot over to where she was taking off her own boots. “Lizeth?”

  “Hmmm?” she said, glancing at him, but obviously still thinking about something else.

  “I’ll go with you.”

  She frowned, obviously puzzled, “Where?”

  “On your scouting mission, the one you talked to my dad about.”

  “Oh!” she said, obviously surprised. “No, no need. It’s probably better if I go by myself anyway.”

  “Oh come on!” Tarc said, exasper
ated. “You need someone to watch your back!”

  “Yeah, but someone experienced. Sorry Tarc, I like you and all, but you’re just a kid.”

  “That’s just crazy. What are you, eighteen? That’s only a couple of years older than I am.”

  Lizeth sighed, “Yeah, I’m eighteen, but I’ve grown up in the school of hard knocks. A lot of experience has been packed into my eighteen years. This is your first time away from Walterston isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Tarc said feeling somewhat sheepish.

  She reached out and patted him on the shoulder, “I appreciate the offer though. You’d better get some rest, so you’ll be ready for your watch tonight.”

  Tarc felt humiliated. He wanted to say, “My arrows killed six of those eleven soldiers today!” but bragging about killing seemed like the worst form of crassness. He certainly couldn’t tell her that his talent had guided all eleven arrows home.

  ***

  Tarc had just started his watch on top of the shooting platform over the guard wagon. He had a reflector lantern and would occasionally sweep the surrounding fields with its beam. Although he did this, as he’d been instructed, he didn’t really watch the beam because his ghost could sense considerably farther out than he could see in the meager beam.

  When he first detected one of the raiders’ scouts approaching along the fence line from the direction of the woods, he did feel the temptation to try to point the beam at him. Before he did so, he realized that the beam wouldn’t reach and that pointing it directly at the man would suggest he had some other means of detection. So, Tarc kept sweeping the beam slowly back and forth without watching it at all as he focused all of his attention on what his ghost told him about the man.

  Although Tarc could detect the man readily enough, sensing what weapons the man carried was difficult because they weren’t warm. As the man approached, Tarc apprehensively realized that he was carrying a bow. The man stopped about forty yards away, just behind the fence post at the corner of the little pasture Prichard kept for the caravan’s animals.

  This was considerably closer than the scouts had come the previous night. Tarc uneasily wondered whether the man had a purpose beyond scouting. He had assumed that they approached the night before just to be sure that the caravan hadn’t begun to leave in the dark. Forty yards seemed closer than necessary to be sure the caravan wasn’t loading up. Especially in view of the fires the caravan was keeping. The flames had to outline the wagons and any activity to someone out there in the dark.

  Suddenly, Tarc heard Lizeth’s voice. She was the roving guard, coming around to check on the others. “See anything Tarc?” she asked quietly.

  “Um, no, but I heard something.” He replied in a similar low tone. “It sounded like someone stepped on something out that direction.” He turned the weak beam of his lantern directly toward the scout. The man immediately hunched down behind the fence post, though Tarc couldn’t see either the post or the man in the weak lantern beam using just his eyes.

  He sensed Lizeth with his ghost. She was shading her eyes, presumably to keep extraneous light out of them, and peering out along the beam of the lantern. “I don’t see anything, do you?” she said.”

  “No, but I sure think there’s someone out there.”

  “Well,” she said, obviously assuming that Tarc had imagined things, “keep your eye out. Call me if you see anything.”

  Lizeth moved on. Tarc glanced down but could hardly see her in her dark clothing. However, his ghost sense could easily follow her shapely form and vaguely catlike stride. It wasn’t exactly like she was nude, her clothes, slightly warmed by her body lay over the more definite image of her figure. But, in Tarc’s mind, the slender, muscular and quite feminine shape of the body inside the clothing strongly predominated. He followed her until she was far enough away that her form no longer tantalized him.

  When Tarc turned his attention back to the scout, he realized in full panic mode that the man was stringing his bow. Tarc fumbled for his own bow. In the dark he had to turn his attention from the scout to finding the string of his own bow when he dropped it. Once he had the bow strung he turned his attention back to the scout out there in the darkness. Simultaneously he fumbled with his right hand for an arrow in one of the quivers built into the little protective wall on the front of the shooting platform.

  The man had leaned back, his left arm pushed up into the air and the right pulled back. He was about to drop a high arching arrow into the caravan! With people and animals packed so tightly together he had an excellent chance of hitting a target. Just killing one of the animals would slow the caravan when it tried to leave. Striking people would terrorize the caravan.

  Of course, if the arrow hit Tarc, that would be highly undesirable too.

  His ghost saw the man release an arrow and reach for another.

  Tarc’s suddenly thick fingers fumbled with the arrow like in a bad dream. He wondered why he hadn’t had this problem yesterday, not realizing that the smoldering anger he’d felt when the man attacked Lizeth had kept him from feeling fear.

  Tarc’s arrow tumbled from his clumsy fingers!

  Tarc’s ghost found the scout’s arrow falling into the caravan. It came down out in the middle of the circle. Tarc faintly heard the whump of it penetrating the large body of the animal it came down on, but he wasn’t sure what it had hit until he heard the squealing of a mule.

  Tarc was kneeling, trying to find the arrow he’d dropped, when he realized he should just get another one out of the quiver. He stood back up, found the quiver, and pulled out an arrow. He almost stopped when another arrow came out with it; after all, he’d always stopped if an extra arrow came out during target practice. He didn’t want them to fall and be damaged. Cursing himself, he let the extra arrow fall and fumbled the one he had onto his bowstring.

  The scout had fired another arrow before Tarc brought his own arrow to bear on the ghostly image of his opponent.

  Tarc fired. Instantly, he could tell he hadn’t given the arrow enough loft! He lifted the arrowhead with his talent as he fumbled for another arrow with his right hand. A second later the arrow’s fletching dragged the ground for a second before it skidded into the fence post the scout stood behind.

  The scout’s second arrow was falling. Remembering what he’d done in the square, Tarc reached out and guided it down to land between two of the beasts in the circle.

  Tarc had out another arrow. As he drew, the scout released a third arrow. He eased his own draw so he could follow the scout’s arrow. This one was coming down on a wagon across the circle! Tarc reached out and pulled on it, but he didn’t have much control at this distance. He did manage to pull it nearly to the side of the wagon, but thought it might have hit someone’s hand.

  Immediately turning his attention back to his own arrow, Tarc drew and loosed. Unfortunately, the scout was drawing his own! Tarc was torn: guide his own arrow to its target, or guide the scout’s so it would miss? In the square he’d applied a little guidance to each of multiple arrows, but they’d been fairly close to one another and going similar directions. Most importantly they were all coming closer which gave him better and better control. With these going in opposite directions he knew it would take him precious moments to transfer his attention from one to the other!

  With a sense of desperation he decided to control his own arrow. If it was too far off to bring it home into his opponent, he would then transfer all of his attention to the arrow coming into the caravan. His shot was pretty good. He was pulling it to go into his opponent’s head like he had in the morning when suddenly he realized there would be many questions if he shot the man in the skull, in the dark, at a long distance. He steered it down and into the man’s right shoulder. As soon as he was sure it was going to hit, he turned his attention to the scout’s falling arrow.

  From the shouting Tarc heard, someone had found an arrow. Now others in the caravan knew what was causing the commotion. The falling arrow was about to hit anoth
er of the animals. It was already too close to impact for Tarc to do much, but he managed to push it far enough that it hit the animal’s haunch rather than mid body. This time the squeal of a horse pealed out over the camp.

  His ghost sense told Tarc the animals were surging back and forth in a panic. The caravaners were out of their tents and some, mostly women he thought, were trying to calm the animals. Others were getting weapons and peering out between the wagons looking for assailants.

  Tarc turned his attention back to the scout. The man knelt, left hand to right shoulder where Tarc could faintly sense his arrow protruding, mostly out the back. The man staggered to his feet and stumbled away toward the woods. Tarc knelt to pick up the arrows he’d dropped into the shooting platform. Below him he heard Lizeth’s voice, “Tarc, dammit! Get your light pointing out there! We’ve got to find that son of a bitch who’s shooting at us!”

  Tarc stood back up with the lantern he’d set down when he started shooting. He pointed it out over the fields and swept it around.

  It showed nothing of course.

  With the enemy gone and the animals panicking inside the caravan’s circle, they needed Tarc a lot more inside the camp with the animals than they did up on the shooting platform pointing his light out over an empty field!

  Desperately, he wished he could explain it to them.

  Most of Tarc’s watch was taken up with the settling of the caravan back down. The arrow that landed in a wagon had in fact hit Jesse Carter’s hand. Actually only her finger, which it effectively amputated. Eva merely washed and bandaged the stump. The arrow that hit the mule went through its intestine and the mule had to be put down. The arrow in the horse’s haunch only injured muscle. Eva advised drawing it out and hoping the wound didn’t get infected. Getting the arrow out of the agitated horse was difficult though and the horse neighing in pain made it difficult to calm the rest of the animals.

  Two of the guards went out with lanterns and swept around looking for the archer. Their suspicion was that he might be lying in wait for the camp to settle down, whereupon he would send in some more arrows. As a terror ploy, that did sound reasonable to Tarc even though he knew the man was gone.