Telekinetic

by Laurence E. Dahners

  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.

  Epilogue

  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

  I hope you liked the book!

  If so, please give it a positive review on Amazon.

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

  Author’s Afterword

  This is a comment on the “science” in this science fiction novel. I have always been partial to science fiction that posed a “what if” question. Not everything in the story has to be scientifically plausible, but you suspend your disbelief regarding one or two things that aren’t thought to be possible. Essentially you ask, “what if” something (such as faster than light travel) were possible, how might that change our world?

  So, in this story the central question is, “What if someone really could move things with their mind? Certainly, telekinesis is a staple of science fiction, fantasy, comic books and magicians. Many of the stories posit someone with tremendous power, the power to move or demolish buildings etc. This story asks, “What if the telekinetic force was small? A gentle push here or there, not even as strong as a finger and only working over short distances?” I believe that the answer to this “what if” is, that even a very weak telekinetic power would enable its owner to do amazing things, only a few of which are in evidence in this first book of a planned series.

  One thing that giving much thought to this question makes evident is that, unfortunately, no one can really bend spoons with their mind. If they really were able to do that, surely they could find more amazing, wonderful and remunerative things to do with their power than showing off as a magician.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to acknowledge the editing and advice of Gail Gilman, Nora Dahners, Elene Trull, Allen Dietz, Hamilton Elliot, Kat Lind, Kerry McIntyre, and Abiola Streete, each of whom significantly improved this story.

 

 

 
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