Teleporter (a Hyllis family story #2) (23 page)

Daussie blinked. If she was capable of teleporting a gallstone completely out of the body, could she simply move one from the gallbladder into the bile duct? He stopped at a fork in the animal trail they were following. As he looked at the two paths, Daussie found herself right behind him. She reached out with her ghost. A moment later Waxman grunted and grabbed his stomach as if someone had kicked him. He stopped doubled over.

Daussie’s ghost went into Waxman again, confirming that she had in fact moved one of the smaller stones out of the bladder and into Waxman’s bile duct. She could see rippling spasms in the duct as it tried to accommodate to and push along the stone that was blocking the flow of fluids.

Waxman sagged and then sat heavily on the ground still gripping his stomach. Now he moved both hands to his abdomen, including the one holding Daussie’s leash. This pulled her closer to him though she leaned back at arm’s length to keep away.

“What’s the matter Waxman?” Peters asked querulously.

“My gut hurts!” Waxman grunted. “It’s happened before, goes away after a while.”

“Oh.” Peters said. After a moment, he continued, “If we’re going to be sitting here for a while, can I have the girl?”

Alarmed, Daussie said quickly but quietly, “I’m a healer! Maybe I can help you Mr. Waxman? In fact, I’m pretty sure I can, if you’ll promise to let me go.”

Waxman didn’t acknowledge Daussie’s plea, instead holding the loop of her leash out to Peters. “Sure,” he grunted, “just get her the
hell
away from me for a bit.”

Daussie grabbed Waxman’s sleeve in desperation, “Mr. Waxman! I really think I can help you with your pain!”

Waxman casually and brutally knocked Daussie aside with the fist at the end of the sleeve she clung to. “Get her the hell away from me. I don’t want to have to listen to it, so drag her off a ways.”

“Mr. Waxman!” Daussie called as Peters jerked her to her feet. He might not be burly like Waxman, but he was still a lot stronger than Daussie. “Mr. Waxman, I can help you!” Belatedly, she thought of removing the stone that was making Waxman miserable, but now she was too far away.

Daussie turned her attention to Peters, sending her ghost into his gallbladder.

No stones!

She’d thought things were bad, but now they were worse!

She checked Peters’ kidneys for stones as well, but didn’t find any there either! For a moment her dithering mind returned to hoping for rescue. Then she got a grip on herself.
No one’s going to show up to save me! I’ve
got
to save myself!

Daussie sent her ghost back into Peters, wandering through his body hoping for inspiration. Suddenly, as she used her ghost to sense a loop of his large intestine, she realized that she could easily kill this man. Moving a small amount of fecal matter from within his colon to just outside it, into the peritoneal cavity, would cause an infection, peritonitis. That would kill him in a few days, just like it had killed Captain Pike. Unfortunately, such a death wouldn’t occur until long after he’d finished doing whatever he intended to do to Daussie. The agonizing nature of such a death might qualify it as revenge, but it wouldn’t save her.

Peters threw her down on the ground.

Eyes wide at the realization that time was running out, Daussie’s ghost scrabbled around on the ground beneath her in hopes that she would find a pebble. A pebble that could substitute as a gallstone. She would have to grab it with her fingers and put it close enough to Peters’ abdomen that she could easily transport it within. For a second, her mother’s training revolted against the thought of moving a dirty pebble into someone’s abdomen where it would almost certainly cause infection.

Peters sat on her legs and reached for the tie holding Daussie’s pants up. That erased any concern she might have had that the pebble would do harm. Her ghost found a pebble and she managed to grasp it despite her hands being tied together. She reached up towards Peters abdomen with the pebble in her fingers and her ghost found the man’s bile duct.

Just as she did so, he got her pants loose and jerked them down. The heaving motion he made not only moved his bile duct away from her ghost, but knocked the pebble out of her fingers!

Leering, he reached back up towards her crotch.

For a moment her ghost, still out in his abdomen, moved through his stomach.

His stomach’s contents, she suddenly realized, were acid!

As her bound hands covered her crotch and blocked his questing fingers, her ghost transported a dollop of liquid from just within his stomach to just outside of it. Despite struggling as he tried to move her hands aside, Daussie was able to move blob after blob of the acidic liquid the short distance out into Peters’ peritoneal cavity.

Peters grasped the rope on Daussie’s wrists and began pulling it upward. From the direction of his gaze she thought he was intending to tie her wrists to the base of a sapling beside her head so that she could no longer protect herself. Suddenly his eyes widened. Daussie, unsure of whether this was in response to her efforts, continued pumping acid out of his stomach into his peritoneum.

Peters opened his mouth as if to say something or call out. Instead his mouth suddenly slammed shut. His jaw rigid, a horrified expression crossed his face. He let go of Daussie’s rope as his hands descended to his abdomen and he suddenly curled around his middle. Tremors wracked his body as he rolled off of her, his breath wheezing in and out.

Daussie grabbed her pants and jerked them up. She rolled to her feet and began running back down the path while she fumbled to do up her pants. She glanced around to be sure she’d chosen the direction
away
from Waxman. Once her pants were stable, she lengthened her stride, though she still couldn’t run very fast with her hands tied to one another. She raised her wrists to her mouth and pulled at the knots with her teeth while she ran, though that proved to be very difficult.

Tarc trotted down the road at a pace he thought he could maintain, casting as far ahead with his ghost as he could in order to be sure he didn’t run into an ambush. Almost as soon as the road passed into a small stand of woods, he sensed a man standing behind one of the boles.

He ran off the right side of the road and out into the forest. His ghost showed him a trail running somewhat parallel to the road there. He considered taking it around the guard, but didn’t want to leave an enemy behind him. It could be problematic to have an enemy back there if he had to flee. He considered taking the man out with an arrow, but he couldn’t be completely sure the man actually was an enemy.

Tarc paused for a moment, sorting through possible paths that his ghost showed him in the woods. Then he ran lightly along a route that would bring him up behind the man. As Tarc got closer and could make out the man’s details with his ghost, it became evident that the man had seen Tarc out on the road and followed him as he ran off to the side and into the woods. The man was nervously looking about, surely trying to figure out where Tarc had gone.

Tarc drew an arrow and nocked it. He was able to tell when the man was looking away, and crept closer only when the man would be unable to see him. When the man turned towards Tarc again he paused, quietly immobile behind various trees.

Ten yards away, Tarc stopped. Dressed in typical raider gear, the man had the hard look of the ex-soldiers who’d invaded Walterston. The man spun, wide-eyed, when he heard the creak of Tarc’s bow as he drew. Tarc said, “If you’ll answer some questions truthfully, I might let you live.”

The man sneered, “Kid, if you shoot that arrow, it’s gonna miss. When it does, I’m going to kill you a little bit at a time. I’d advise you to let the draw off that string, throw the bow and arrow down, and run like hell.” He stepped toward Tarc.

Tarc shot him in the eye. He blinked, then said under his breath, “I guess you answered the question about whether you were one of the raiders.” He shrugged, “And, I guess you also answered the question about where the rest of them are.” Tarc turned and looked on down the road. He said musingly, “I imagine they’re just little further down this road you were guarding.”

Tarc walked to the man, pulled out his arrow, wiped it on the man’s clothes, and trotted back to the road. Again he cast his ghost far ahead as he ran. He glanced up at the sun when he could see it, trying to decide if it had moved a half a fist indicating that he should start back for the crossroads. He couldn’t really tell, but it seemed like nearly a half an hour must have passed. Up ahead the woods ended. Tarc slowed and moved gingerly up to the edge of the trees.

The farm
appeared
deserted, but Tarc’s ghost told him that the house and out buildings were crowded with men. The buildings were far enough from Tarc that he had a hard time telling where they were holding the women. He certainly couldn’t tell if Daussie was among them.

Tarc turned and began to run back toward the crossroads. His half hour was up and by the time he got back there, the hour until their meeting would have passed.

When Tarc arrived at the crossroads, Lizeth was already there. Daum was a little farther away, but already in sight. Lizeth said, “Just another farm down my road. The farmers say they haven’t seen any raiders. This road doesn’t go past their place.”

Tarc said, “They’re down this road.” He jerked a thumb back over his shoulder, “I couldn’t tell if they’ve got Daussie though.”

Daum jogged up, short of breath. Lizeth said, “See anything?”

Daum shook his head despondently.

Lizeth said, “Tarc says they’re down his road. Hopefully he’s right. Now the question is, what to do?”

Tarc’s eyes widened, “Go after them!”

Lizeth shook her head, “Three of us? Against twenty to thirty of them? We already talked about that.”

Daum sighed, “I think it’s more like forty to fifty.”

Tarc frowned at his father, then realized that Daum didn’t know about the ones they’d killed last night. For that matter, Lizeth was only sure of the six guards they’d killed. She wouldn’t know that all twelve of his arrows had actually hit men in their tents.

To Daum, Lizeth said, “Tarc should keep an eye on them while you and I go back to the caravan and try to get us some reinforcements. You’ll have more influence on Norton, and I’ll have more influence on Arco.” A muscle twitched in her jaw and she sighed, “I can tell you that we’ll have a hard time convincing them. The caravan won’t want to go unguarded when they’re worried about the raiders attacking them.”

Aghast, Daum said, “They’d leave a young girl in the hands of those animals?!””

Lizeth looked at him and spoke like she was quoting, “The good of the many outweighs the tragedy of the few.” She tilted her head, “They’d
already
decided to leave the farmers’ women with those animals, remember?”

Daum swallowed and looked away from Lizeth’s eyes as he remembered saying something much like that to Daussie, was it only a day or so ago? “We’ve got to convince them!” He croaked out

“Yeah we do,” Lizeth said. “‘Cause there’s no way we’re going to get your daughter away from those scum by ourselves.”

Daum turned and hugged Tarc, “Stay well back. Don’t take a chance that we’ll lose you to them as well!” He turned to follow Lizeth, but was restrained by Tarc’s hand on his quiver. He turned to see what Tarc wanted and realized that Tarc wanted the extra arrows. Daum turned and saw Lizeth striding away. He shrugged the quiver loose into Tarc’s hands and trotted after Lizeth.

***

The pain in Waxman’s abdomen eased suddenly when the duct gallstone passed out of his bile duct and into his abdomen. He sighed and relaxed for a blessed moment, then began to wonder what Peters was doing to the girl. She hadn’t been screaming like he’d expected. Heaving himself to his feet, he started down the trail in the direction that Peters had dragged her.

To Waxman’s utter astonishment, he shortly came upon Peters lying at the side of the path in apparent agony. The man curled around his abdomen gripping it with both hands. His teeth clenched and his skin pale, Peters shook his head, but didn’t answer when Waxman asked him what had happened.

Waxman knelt and lifted Peters’ shirt, assuming that the girl must’ve gotten his knife and stabbed him somehow. There were no wounds on the man’s abdomen, nor when Waxman checked, on Peters’ back

Waxman chewed his lip for a moment, wondering if there was anything he could do for Peters. He’d never liked the man, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t provide whatever aid that could be easily and simply applied. Without knowing what was wrong with him, Waxman decided he didn’t know of anything to do. Even getting him a drink of water might be bad for him.

“Where’d the girl go?” Waxman asked, wondering if Peters would be able to answer.

Peters didn’t answer, but did point on down the trail, away from where Waxman had been when he’d been incapacitated.

Waxman rose to his feet and started down the trail after the girl at a shambling trot that he could keep up all day. He would catch the girl if she hadn’t strayed from the path. He was betting she wouldn’t think to do so.

***

Having ascertained with his ghost that none of the raiders were out and about, Tarc moved slowly up to the edge of the woods and looked out over the farm. While he’d been trotting back this way, Tarc’s mind had raced around the problem of how to free the raiders’ captives, but his thoughts hadn’t gained any traction.

He studied the layout. The raiders hadn’t set up tents, probably because they thought tents would signal their presence. With them inside the walls of the house and the barn, they were safe from Tarc’s arrows. Tarc couldn’t really approach them either. They might not have very many bows or people who shot them well, but surely he would be at great risk approaching over the open fields.

Worse, they had hostages. All they had to do was threaten the women to bring Tarc to a standstill.

He studied the situation. As opposed to the farm last night, there were no convenient bushes or small trees, nor any low swales to approach the farmhouse on. This farmhouse sat on a slight rise above the surrounding land and the only cover was a cornfield which, should Tarc crawl through it, still stopped fifty feet short of the house.

Having no better ideas, Tarc began circling around the farm inside the wood’s edge. He hoped that a different perspective on the problem might give him an idea, but none had come by the time he’d reached the far side.

Frustrated, he simply stood and watched for a while, hoping that the raiders might do something that would give him an idea. With an “aha” sensation, he realized that if he crept through the cornfield closer to the house his ghost could give him a better idea where the men were located and where the women were being kept. He started back around the farm through the woods to where the cornfield came near. He’d just arrived when the door of the farmhouse opened and one of the men started out along the road.

At first, Tarc thought of shooting the man. It was a long shot, but he could probably do it. Then he decided that he shouldn’t because it would warn the raiders of his presence. The man had reached the edge of the woods when Tarc realized he must be going to relieve the guard Tarc had already killed. When he found the dead guard he’d be returning to warn them anyway. With a curse, Tarc started after the man.

Initially, he intended to catch the man and try threatening him in order to obtain information. Then, he decided he didn’t have many questions for the man.

Tarc got close, drew an arrow and took a bead on the man’s back.

Tarc relaxed his draw on the bow. Without Lizeth there to
tell
him to do it, he found himself unable to simply shoot the man in the back without warning. He stood, dithering. His mind went down a path in which he captured the man.
If I capture him, what am I going to do with him?
Tarc didn’t have any rope to bind him with, but if he solved that problem it still seemed likely that the man would get himself free since Tarc couldn’t guard him.
And if I do succeed in keeping him captive, then what? There aren’t any authorities out here to turn him over to, but if there were, there isn’t any doubt about his guilt. Once they judged him, they’d simply hang him. If they
didn’t
hang him for his participation in the raiders’ atrocities, it would be a miscarriage of justice.

Tarc drew again, and this time he sent the arrow on its way. A few minutes later he dragged the man’s body out into the woods so no one would stumble across him.

***

Daussie gave up on untying her wrists with her teeth. The rope had swollen with her saliva and seemed unlikely to ever come undone. She needed a knife and she wouldn’t get one until she’d found someone else. She returned to trying to make her best possible time even running clumsily with her wrists tied to one another.

She heard something behind her.

She looked back.

Waxman!

Daussie started running as fast as she could. After a moment she glanced back and felt gratified to see that she’d gained ground on Waxman. Shortly however she began to get tired and could no longer keep up the pace. She glanced back again.

He was gaining on her again.

Resolving not to be the terrified and hopeless girl she’d been sometimes in the past, Daussie gathered her inner strength and tried to remember the calm she’d held before. She stopped and turned to face Waxman, breathing hard to get her strength back. As he closed the last distance, she stared fiercely and said, “Did you see what happened to Peters? I can do the same to you!”

Waxman didn’t slow. He cuffed her to the ground as he ran past, then stopped, scrambled back to her and put a knife to her throat. “If you
really
did that to Peters, let me warn you. The first thing
I’ll
do if I feel the least bit uncomfortable, the
very
first thing…” he held her eyes with his own, “is cut your throat.” He slid the knife slightly across her throat before lifting it away and Daussie felt a trickle of blood run down her neck.

Damping down her terror, she channeled her emotions into incandescent hate, but tried not to let it show. Instead she dropped her eyes. As Waxman jerked her up and around, then started her back down the path again, Daussie’s mind began working steadily on the problem of finding a way to use her talent to kill the man instantly.
Before
he could cut her throat.

There must be a way…

***

At a crouch, Tarc moved slowly through the corn field until he reached the corner closest to the farmhouse. To his dismay, he found four bodies had been unceremoniously dumped there. They appeared likely to have been the farmer, his wife, their son, and a grandson. With a sick feeling, Tarc surmised that the son’s wife had likely seen her loved ones die, but now was being held captive.

Or worse, there might have been a granddaughter.