Hyllis Family Story 1: Telekinetic (9 page)

Tarc
looked at the wall. He’d never noticed before that there was one knot that was quite large at about 3 to 4 inches in diameter. The wall was moderately splintered around it, as if Tarc would not be the first to use it as a target. They were 30 feet from the wall, fairly far compared to the distances Tarc had thrown his knife so far. He was tempted to walk closer, but instead simply threw it from where he stood. He guided it with his ghost, but the knife was large and at that distance he had little effect near the end of its travel. Nonetheless, it did stick in the wood right at the edge of the knot.

Garcia slapped him on the shoulder, “Not bad! Was that luck or skill?”

Tarc shrugged. Garcia pulled one of his two throwing knives out of its sheath and handed it to Tarc. “Show me how you’re holding it.”

Tarc
took the knife, excited to be allowed to handle a real throwing knife. However, as soon as he had it in his hand he was dismayed to realize that it was quite heavy. He would have trouble controlling it with his ghost. He showed Garcia the way he’d been gripping the knife.

Garcia had him place his index finger out straight along the back of the knife. Then he gave
Tarc some pointers on how to throw, guiding his arm and body through the motions slowly with his hands. “Stroke that pointer finger off the back of the handle as the knife leaves your hand. That’ll slow down any last bits of rotation and help prevent spin.” Tarc went through the motion by himself; then Garcia said, “Okay, try to put that one in the knot.”

Tarc
went through the throwing motion slowly one more time; then threw it. He guided it to the knot as best he could, though it was hard to influence such a heavy knife very much. This time it hit about an inch from the edge of the knot, burying its point on the opposite side from Tarc’s own knife.

Garcia slapped him on the shoulder again, “Get out! Are you really that good?”

Tarc had been feeling embarrassed that he hadn’t hit the knot with either throw, but now realized that even hitting close from 30 feet must be pretty good. The sergeant proved that by throwing his own knife next. It stuck in an inch to the left and about 5 inches high. Tarc trotted down to the wall and got all three knives. When he got back to Garcia he was hoping the sergeant would give him some more pointers and let him throw the sergeant’s knives a few more times, but the bell rang.

“No rest for the wicked,” Garcia laughed, taking his knives.
He winked, “If you’re that good with the sword, your opponents are in for a rough time today. We’ll throw knives again some other day.”

Tarc’s ghost provided no help with the sword so he took a couple of good beatings in the practice ring. His distraction with thoughts about throwing knives probably contributed something to his losses.

They moved on to archery. Tarc felt very excited over the prospect of trying to guide an arrow with his ghost. After all they didn’t carry much weight and so he should have fairly good control. Unfortunately, they flew a long way and he would have little influence at distance.

Grabbing a bracer and a marked bow
with blue, Tarc picked up a quiver of arrows and moved to the shooting line. The first arrow he pulled out had a slight bow to it. Unfortunately, almost all of the practice arrows had minor flaws. The best arrows stood in quivers at the wall tower armories, ready to be distributed in case of an attack. He nocked it on the bowstring, then brought the bow up and pushed his left hand out. Seeing his target over the tip of the arrow, he let fly.

Tarc
’s ghost let him feel that the arrow’s track would fly slightly to the left. He used his talent to guide it back to the right. He could also feel that he hadn’t lofted the arrow enough. He lifted the head of the arrow and it flew a little higher, however he could tell that this also slowed the arrow. In fact when it struck the target, it hit just below the yellow bullseye but penetrated poorly. It dangled sadly from its point.

Sergeant
Banes chose this moment to arrive behind Tarc, “Well, young Hyllis, good aim, but that shot lacked oomph. T’would merely piss off our enemy, eh?”

“Yes
sir,” Tarc said, feeling disappointed. He thought that striking so close to the bullseye deserved more praise. Pulling another arrow, he nocked it and fired again. This time he intentionally aimed a little high. As it left the bow he could tell it would miss the entire target without the influence of his ghost. However, he reached out and pulled the tip down, feeling surprise that somehow his ghost knew just how much to lower the tip to compensate for his initially high aim. His ghost followed the arrow to the target, influencing it less and less as it traveled, but having some effect right up to the moment it buried its head deeply into the exact center of the bullseye!

“Ho!
Young Hyllis!” Banes began a slow clap which brought all the other archers’ attention to Tarc’s target. He bellowed so everyone at the line would hear, “I’ll buy a beer at Hyllis’ tavern for anyone who beats that shot today!”

Tarc
felt his cheeks heating as everyone turned to stare at him. He heard a number of them muttering, “lucky,” but nonetheless enjoyed feeling their envy. Worried that he shouldn’t suddenly gain an astonishing ability in archery for fear people might suspect his talent; he didn’t follow that shot with more bullseyes. Instead he purposefully took aim at a spot in the red ring that
surrounded
the bullseye. He buried his next arrow
exactly
where he aimed, on the inside border of the circle of red paint just to the right of the yellow center. The next one he put on the edge of the red paint directly below the yellow bullseye. About to place one the same distance to the left, he realized that he was forming a pattern on the target that anyone would recognize had been purposeful. Instead, he continued placing arrows within an inch or so of where he aimed them, but aiming them at various locations that he tried to make
look
random. He put some in the yellow center, and some in the red ring around it, but none as far out as the blue second ring.

His sudden ability to place arrows almost exactly where he wanted them to go
sent a sudden rash of goosebumps run down his right side. Glancing right and left he saw that, even purposefully scattering his shots, his arrows clustered much tighter than anyone else’s. Banes noticed this too and came over to stand behind him. “Where did this sudden ability come from Hyllis?”

Thinking that Banes didn’t know the half of his new ability,
Tarc shrugged and said, “I think I’ve just gotten strong enough to use the blue bow without trembling sir.” With a sudden thought he followed up by saying, “Those pointers you gave me last time have really taken hold today.” He hoped the sergeant didn’t remember just how badly he’d shot last week.

The sergeant stood staring at
Tarc’s target for a moment, then said musingly, “Last week… you shot terribly. This week… you’re shooting so well I’d swear you must have snuck down there and stuck the arrows in the target by hand!” He turned and looked at Tarc, then looked back down at the targets and said, “Well, young Hyllis, if you can keep shooting like that; you’ll be helping your father defend the town from the towers.”

The towers!
Tarc thought with a thrill of excitement. The towers were where the very best archers stood to pick off enemy commanders. The very assignment he’d always dreamed of…

On their walk back home Jacob excitedly asked, “Can you teach me to shoot like that?”

“Uh,”
Tarc said, unsure how to respond. “I can try, but I think Sgt. Banes can probably teach you a lot better than I can.”

“Oh come on!” Jacob sai
d dancing a few steps alongside Tarc as they walked, “Even Banes puts some in the blue ring sometimes.
All
of yours were in the yellow or the red!”

Tarc
suddenly realized he’d never watched Banes shooting. He’d never thought that the town’s master archer might put some in the blue ring. To Jacob he said, “I think I was just… really lucky today. I probably won’t do that well in the future and if I do, I wouldn’t know how to teach you. Banes has been teaching forever!”

“I saw you
throwing knives with Garcia. You’re
really
good at that too. I’ve got a couple of small throwing knives my uncle left me. I’ll
give
you one, if you’ll teach me how to throw and shoot.”

Tarc
had been wondering how he could get a small throwing knife. One more suited to control by his ghost. He’d considered visiting John the blacksmith to look over the knives the smith had for sale. Unfortunately, Tarc knew those knives would cost far more than he could afford on the tiny share of the tavern’s earnings that his parents paid him each week. Perhaps if he traded in his own knife and used some of the little money he’d saved, he could get a knife better balanced for throwing? However, he didn’t think his father would be happy if Tarc traded his working knife for one designed as a weapon.

Knowing that he couldn’t actually teach his friend archery or knife throwing
Tarc decided it would be dishonest to make the trade. “I’ll try to teach you, but you don’t need to give me anything unless you actually do get a lot better.”

“You’ve got a deal!” Jacob put out his hand and
Tarc slapped it.

***

Tarc carried in the last two buckets of barley malt and poured it into the tank. Daum came in from the kitchen side of the brew room carrying buckets of hot water. Daum had been at his own drill practice, though his practices were much shorter. He only had to maintain the skills he already had after all.

Tarc
was glad to see him. Even though Tarc felt that he understood the brewing process pretty well, he always feared that he might make a mistake and ruin an entire batch when Daum left him to do some of the steps alone.

Daum quickly quizzed
Tarc on what he had done so far. Pleased with Tarc’s answers, he grinned at his son and said, “We’ll make a brewer out of you yet.” As Daum and Tarc stirred the wort, Daum looked up at him and said, “Sgt. Banes says you did fairly well at archery earlier this week?”

Tarc
shrugged.

“Don’t shrug at me boy. That’s something to be proud of.”

“Yes Dad.”

Daum studied his son for a moment
; then said, “He also told me you shot terribly the week before?”

Tarc
nodded.

Daum grinned at him. “
So, this week you used your talent to guide the arrows?”

Sudden realization washed over
Tarc. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t grasped that the reason Daum was an archer had to do with Daum’s talent. “Yes,” he breathed. “You guide your arrows too, don’t you?”

Daum nodded
, but gave a little shrug. “But it doesn’t help all that much. By the time I can tell exactly how the arrow is going to miss, it’s so far away that I can’t influence it much anymore. I have to shoot it pretty well in the first place.” He narrowed his eyes at his son, “From what the sergeant says, either your basic archery skills are much better than I would think, or somehow you’re able to do something different than I can with your talent?”

“Uh, maybe. As soon as it leaves the bow, I can tell where it’s going. Can’t you?”

“A little. But I only have a vague idea that it’s going to miss in one direction or another. Even that lets me
start
pushing it back on target while it’s close enough to influence it strongly, but I can’t make more than a few inches of difference.” Daum pulled four different sized pebbles out of his pocket and set them on top of the tank. “I think you can push harder than I can. Which of these is the biggest you can move?”

None of them were all that big, so
Tarc reached out and lifted the biggest one into the air.

Daum’s eyes widened. “That’s amazing!” he breathed
as he picked up the small stones and began climbing down. “I can’t
lift
even the little one, only slide the three smallest around on a smooth surface. No wonder you’re already ‘archer’ class.” He turned to study his son with narrowed eyes, “If you can lift a pebble that large…” he paused, “the Sarge said all your arrows were in the yellow or red. Was that the best you could do?”

Tarc
shook his head.

“How close to your mark
can
you get at target distance?”

Tarc
held up his fingers about 2 to 3 inches apart. He thought he actually could shoot within an inch every time, but didn’t want to brag.

Daum stepped to
Tarc and clapped arms enthusiastically around him. “You’re gonna make us proud son!”

Embarrassed
, but filled with pride, Tarc self-consciously hugged his father back. Embracing him, Tarc noticed with some surprise that he was nearly as tall as his father. When his father pushed him back out to arm’s length, Tarc said, “You know we can do the same thing with thrown knives?”

Daum stared at him with a surprised look for a moment
; then barked a laugh. “I suppose we can! Do you want to show me?”