Telekinetic

by Laurence E. Dahners

  Krait threw his head back and laughed like that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. Tarc had only begun to get a sick feeling in his gut when suddenly Krait looked back down at Will with a fierce look in his eyes. “No!” he said.

  Quick as a snake, the guard standing behind Will—between Will and the crowd—spun and lunged out, his sword plunging into Will’s left back and exploding out the front of his chest!

  The soldier kept the sword in Will for long moments, lowering it with the young man as he sagged to his knees, then finally fell forward off the sword, blood pouring out of him as the crowd collectively held its breath.

  Krait threw his head back and laughed uproariously as the soldier held his bloody sword up high. “I guess I should have warned him, we don’t fight fair.” He laughed again, “So, the only man in this town is dead! The rest of you chicken-shits can head on home and change your pants. Tell your wives and daughters that some real men have taken over. Be sure to let them know Sheriff Krait’s word is Law. In my absence, my men’s word is law. We’ll be around to collect taxes over the next few days.” He turned to some of his men, “Detail a crew of these,” he waved at the crowd,” to clean up this mess,” he waved at the dead bodies. He eyed the erstwhile Sheriff, still sobbing in his bonds, “Leave him there ‘til he’s dead. He’ll serve as an object lesson.”

  Eyes downcast, Tarc shuffled out of the square with everyone else. They were passing between guards on each side of the main street arch. Guards who held their swords at the ready, eyeing each man as if expecting a revolt. Suddenly one of the guards lunged out, plunging his sword into a burly man three places in front of Tarc. As they dragged the dying man to the side an older man Tarc thought was the young man’s father followed them crying out, “What did he do?”

  The guard stopped the older man with the tip of a bloody sword under his chin. “He looked at me!” the guard snarled. “You scum keep your eyes down. Don’t be lookin’ us in the eyes if you’re wantin’ to live.” The guard’s eyes tracked back to the older man, now up on his toes with his head tilted back as the sword dug in under his chin. “Now, the next question is what do we do with a piece of shit like this one? Someone who questions what we’ve done so far? Well, here’s your answer.” He grunted as he drove the sword up through the soft underchin, through the base of his skull and into the man’s brain. He held the man there, suspended on the point of his short sword while the man’s feet drummed and his bowels loosed.

  Then the guard dropped him to the ground next to his son and, reached out, waving the sword back and forth from Daussie to Tarc. Daussie squeaked and dropped to her knees. Tarc crouched beside her, heart pounding, stomach cramping, bladder spasming. “You two,” the man growled, “drag these carcasses over with the rest of them.” He pointed with the bloody sword over toward the stage where some of the town folk were carrying one of the deputy’s bodies over to the edge of the stage. Tarc saw Shogun and the tavern’s wagon standing beside the stage.

  Tarc took Daussie gently by the arm and guided her out of line, glancing back once at Daum.

  Daum looked angrier than Tarc had ever seen him, but he kept his eyes downcast. His lips moved and Tarc thought he saw Daum whisper inaudibly, “Not now.”

  Tarc guided Daussie to the young man lying in the slowly spreading pool of blood. “Take his right wrist,” Tarc whispered, picking up the man’s left wrist himself.

  Daussie shook her head violently and shied away.

  Tarc leaned over and hissed at her, “Do it! Or they’ll kill you too!”

  With a moan, Daussie bent and picked up the man’s wrist, holding it between her thumb and one finger like Tarc had seen her reluctantly pick up a dead bug. Tarc started pulling the body along by the wrist, but Daussie lagged behind, not only not helping, but actually being pulled along herself by the man’s wrist. Tarc saw one of the guards staring at her. He leaned closer to her, “You’re pulling like a girl! If you don’t start helping, one of them’s going to figure out who you are!”

  Daussie’s eyes widened and she gulped. She stutter-stepped around and began pulling like her life depended on it. When they got to the wagon, Tarc took the body under the arms while Daussie picked up the man’s feet. They lifted him into the wagon next to the two deputies as gently as they could, then went back for the man’s father. Daussie said with quiet disgust, “You’re covered with blood.”

  “I know… better his, than mine or yours.”

  “I’ll keep it together from here on out,” she whispered.

  Tarc hoped so, but thought that if he were to say that, it might have the opposite effect he wanted. He settled for “Just do the best you can.”

  They picked up the second man’s wrists and dragged him to the wagon. Dragging him seemed pretty disrespectful. They lifted him in as gently as they could. As they did Tarc’s eye became caught on the face of Deputy Jarvis’ on one of the severed heads lying in the bottom of the wagon. Letting go of the man he’d just lifted, Tarc turned to the side and threw up.

  Daussie put a hand on his shoulder as he heaved. Speaking in as deep a voice as she could manage, she said, “Let’s go now.”

  Tarc stood, wiped his face and they turned to go.

  A voice came from a ways behind them, “Boy!”

  A spike of fear shot through him and Tarc began to turn. Realizing that Daussie wasn’t turning, he elbowed her. “You too!” he whispered.

  Once they’d both turned toward the voice, Tarc, his eyes still down, said, “Yes sir?”

  “You work at the tavern, right?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Isn’t this horse and wagon from your stable?”

  “Yes sir.” Tarc said, noticing that the man hadn’t asked if the horse and wagon belonged to the tavern.

  “You drive it out to the graveyard then. There’s a crew out there digging graves. Drop off them lot,” he nodded at the bodies in the wagon, “then you can take it back to the tavern.”

  “Yes sir.” Tarc turned and got up onto the seat of the wagon. To his astonishment, Daussie went around the wagon and got up on the other side. He whispered to her, “You don’t have to go with me. You can go back to the tavern.”

  She shook her head minutely, but said nothing.

  Tarc clucked up Shogun and the old horse leaned into its harness.

  Once they were out of the square, Daussie looked around and, seeing no one near turned back to Tarc, “If you go over one street, you’ll go right by the tavern. I could get out there.” She said it as if it wouldn’t be possible for her to get out a block away and walk the intervening distance.

  At first, like in the old days, Tarc felt irritated that she wanted him to go out of his way. Then he considered what might happen to her in that intervening distance. A wave of sadness washed over him at the loss of his sister’s innocence.

  After he’d dropped Daussie off, Tarc continued through the streets toward the gate. The few people who were out and about despite the events turned and stared at the grisly load he bore in the wagon. Desperately he hoped that they understood he’d been ordered to perform this task, yet from the glares he received, he suspected that they thought him to be a collaborator.

  A block from the gate he heard running feet approaching him from behind. Fearing one of the soldiers he glanced back.

  Not a soldier, but just as awful.

  Deputy Jarvis’ young wife ran up behind the wagon, looking over the edge. Hopefully she said, “Eben’s not…”

  Tarc felt as if his own heart stopped the instant she saw her husband’s head lying there in the bottom of the wagon. She let out a piercing shriek and stretched out her arms toward her man’s dismembered corpse. After a long moment she sagged so that the only thing keeping her from falling to the street were her arms hanging over the low boards around the edge of the wagon.

  Tarc uncertainly got down off the wagon. He had no idea what to do for, or about, the piteously sobbing woman. He put a hand gently on her shoulder, “Ms. Ja
rvis,” he began hesitantly, looking around. To his dismay he saw a couple of the soldiers approaching on horseback. Worse, one was the man who’d detailed him to take the bodies to the graveyard! “Ms. Jarvis,” he began again.

  The woman didn’t react.

  She continued sobbing.

  Tarc had no idea what to do.

  He was still clumsily patting Ms. Jarvis on the shoulder and wondering what to do when behind him he heard the soldier say, “Boy!”

  “Yes sir.” Tarc said, turning and trying not to sound sullen.

  “I thought I told you to take that,” he nodded at the wagon, “to the graveyard.”

  “Yes sir, um, Deputy Jarvis’ wife, uh, saw her husband, uh, and she…”

  “What were you doing on this street?”

  “Uh…” Tarc’s heart thumped again in his chest as he wondered how to excuse his detour to drop off Daussie. Suddenly, he realized he had what would appear to be a good reason, “I was hoping to avoid people on Main Street, uh…” he waved vaguely at the woman sobbing against the wagon.

  The soldier who’d been talking to Tarc grimaced and rolled his eyes. The other soldier though, slid down off his horse and approached the wagon. Tarc’s eyes darted up and down the narrow street hoping to find some support.

  It stood as empty as a beggar’s dreams.

  Tarc turned and backed up against the wagon, wondering if he should try to run. Involuntarily, he shuffled a few tiny steps to the side, clearing a path for his escape. The soldier didn’t attack him though. Instead he stepped to Ms. Jarvis, grabbed the back of her dress and dragged her to her feet. He turned her and looked at her face, pretty despite the tears and the agonized look.

  Tarc took a couple of steps back. His knees felt weak. Again he scanned the street for help but it remained empty.

  Letting go of the back of her dress the soldier grabbed the front with both hands, ripping it open to expose her breasts. The man gaped at them a moment, then said, “Them’r mighty fine.”

  Still holding Ms. Jarvis up by the shredded front of her dress, he turned to the soldier still up on his horse and barked a cruel laugh, “This bitch just thought she had problems befo…”

  Whatever else the man had been about to say cut off as Tarc’s knife buried itself hilt deep in his left eye.

  Tarc turned, reaching back over his shoulder for his second knife.

  The soldier on the horse was turning toward Tarc, eyes widening.

  Tarc’s hand flew forward.

  The soldier ducked as his sword scraped out of its scabbard.

  Terror flashed over the soldier’s face as, impossibly Tarc’s knife followed his head as it attempted to evade.

  The knife plunged into his left eye.

  The horse bucked once in response to the convulsion in its rider, throwing the soldier to the ground.

  Tarc turned to Jarvis’ wife, but she’d clasped her ruined dress about her and begun sprinting away down the street. Desperately anxious to be away from this scene, Tarc leapt to recover his knives, wipe them on the soldier’s sleeves and remount the wagon. Shogun pulled the wagon forward and its wheel stopped on, then bumped over the would-be rapist’s arm.

  As he turned the first corner he came to, he glanced back, relieved to see the street still as empty as before.

  Except for two dead men and their horses.

  As Tarc had expected, the invaders now manned the gate. As he pulled up, one swaggered up to the wagon. “Ah, takin’ a load of shit to the field I see?”

  Tarc kept his eyes downcast and made no response.

  “Hey, you’re the boy works at the Tavern, ain’tcha?”

  Tarc nodded.

  “I’zat hot li’l honey I heard waits tables there back at work yet?”

  Tarc shook his head, disgust, fear, and anger warring for his soul.

  The man laughed, “Well, you tell her Taso, for one, is dyin’ to make her acquaintance, eh?” He slapped Tarc on the back heartily, “Meanwhile, you’d better get that load out of here before it stinks up the town.”

  As if an afterthought, as the wagon rolled through the gate, the man said, “And be rememberin’ that if’n you don’t come back, we’ll be killin’ a couple of members of your family, whosomever that might be.”

  Another spike of horror shot through Tarc. For a moment he felt gratified to realize that the soldiers didn’t seem to realize that the tavern was a family business, but he knew it would only take a few questions for them to figure it out.

  ***

  When Tarc arrived back at the tavern later in the afternoon, the first thing he did was pull the wagon up next to the well. He trotted to the kitchen and opened the back door. Eva turned, saw Tarc, and let out a little shriek. She started towards him.

  Tarc held up his hands to halt her, “It’s not my blood. Eva stopped just short of him and he felt sure she must be examining him with her ghost.

  She relaxed.

  He said, “If you’ll hand me the buckets, I’ll wash myself and the wagon. I’ll need clean clothes.”

  She handed him the buckets, “Get Dodge to wash the wagon. I’ll need you in here as soon as possible to wait tables.”

  “Where is Dau-Dodge?”

  “Probably hiding in the stable. She’s pretty traumatized… but we’ve got to get her back doing stuff, instead of…” Eva’s voice caught, “of moping.” Her own hands were wringing her apron.

  Tarc frowned, “You think she’ll be able to wash the blood out of the wagon?”

  Eva’s shoulders slumped, “I wish…” She started again, “I think we should act like she can. She’s going to have to be… tougher. Both of you are going to have to do… things that kids your age shouldn’t have to do.”

  Tarc wondered if Daum had told his mother about the men he’d killed last night. Rather than say anything about how horrible that had made him feel though, he only said, “Okay.” No need to burden his mother with more than she already carried.

  He went to the stable first. “Daussie?” he called.

  No response.

  At first he turned to start looking in the stalls, but then he realized his ghost would work as well in the day as it had at night. He expanded it and found one warm spot up in the hayloft, behind the stack of hay bales. “Daussie!” he called again. When the spot didn’t move, he sighed and started up the ladder into the loft. When he got there he realized that she’d not only hidden behind the stack but had covered herself with loose hay. He nudged her with a toe, “Daussie, come on. We need your help.”

  She gasped and sat up. “How did you find me?” She looked panicked.

  “I knew you were here and… where you would hide.” He saw the fear in her eyes, “It was a good hiding place.” He spoke as reassuringly as he could, “Someone who didn’t know the stable wouldn’t have been able to find you under that stuff.”

  “We need to leave this horrible town!”

  Tarc shrugged, “Maybe, but we can’t leave now. We’d have to climb over the wall and they’re probably going to be guarding it. Now, the rest of us need your help. Come on.” He held out a hand and she took it. He pulled her to her feet. “I’m going to wait tables; you’ve got to keep doing my jobs.”

  She shuddered, but said nothing.

  “Come on.” He started down the ladder, worried about what he’d do if she didn’t follow, but a moment later she came after him.

  He dropped a bucket into the well and cranked it back up. He tossed one full bucket of water into the back of the wagon and told Daussie to fill a bucket for Shogun. Even in the late afternoon the late spring air was cool. The well water even colder, but Tarc took off the bloody shirt and poured another bucket of water over himself. He wiped himself off with the cleaner back part of the shirt. Shogun was drinking thirstily and Daussie just stood there watching the horse.

  She seemed to need to be told everything she needed to do. Tarc thought her mind must be going over and over recent events. “Dodge,” he said.

  D
aussie didn’t respond.

  “Dodge!”

  She looked up.

  “Get the mop and clean the wagon. Then put the wagon and Shogun back in the stable.”

  Daussie’s eyes flashed wide and shot to the bloody floor of the wagon.

  Tarc knew from years of experience that she was about to protest. He rode over her, “Don’t say you ‘can’t,’ someone’s got to do it and you can’t go in and wait on the soldiers.” He paused to give her a moment to think, “I’m sure Mom needs wood and water too.”

  Daussie grimaced, but after a second’s hesitation she nodded sharply and limped for the kitchen to get the mop.

  ***

  At dinner, like at breakfast, there were no townspeople eating at the tavern. The room was packed with soldiers however, all demanding food.

  None of them paid.

  Many repeated the jeer from the morning about only paying when the “beautiful girl” was back to wait on them. They all seemed to have heard of Daussie, even though only a few could actually have seen her during the scouting visits prior to the invasion.

  Daum helped Eva in the kitchen and also waited tables as apparently Krait had forbidden any drinking for the next few days.

  First they ran out of chicken, then they ran out of sausage, then finally the last of the pork was gone too. Krait had just seated himself when Daum came out of the kitchen to say that the tavern was out of meat, having only carrots and potatoes now.

  Krait stood and stalked to Daum, “And why aren’t you serving my men meat?!”

  Daum kept his eyes downcast, “They haven’t been paying. Without money we can’t buy meat.”

  Tarc reached behind his neck as if to scratch. Daum saw him do it and gave a little shake of the head. Tarc knew he’d never survive throwing a knife at Krait in a room full of the man’s soldiers, but he had decided that he couldn’t let the man kill his father either.