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  Sally hesitated. “Assuming he’s committed crimes that deserve capital punishment, you think you’re the one who should mete it out?”

  Tarc shrugged, “Who else?”

  “The wheels of justice! Let them turn. If they don’t, the people can and should rise up in revolt!”

  Hotly, Tarc said, “And what about the girls who’re raped while we’re waiting for the wheels of justice to turn? Where’s their justice? Or those who’re murdered? Is it right to stand idly by waiting for ‘justice’ to catch up to events when you know it’s due? What about the hundreds or thousands of people who die in a revolt? Is it fair to them?!” He suddenly felt embarrassed for directing such an angry retort at Gloria’s mother. His eyes darted to Gloria.

  Gloria looked unhappy but seemed to be focusing her displeasure on her mother.

  Sally looked dismayed but didn’t say anything.

  Tarc said, “Yesterday you implied people aren’t happy with Sheriff Farley.”

  Sally nodded uncertainly.

  “But you also said that Farley’s mercenaries are the only ones with weapons and recent training. If the people of this town rose up against him, what would happen?”

  Sally’s expression got morose.

  Sally didn’t answer, but Gloria responded grimly, “It’d be a slaughter.”

  Sally said, “Carissa Womble’s organizing a peaceful protest today. Those are supposed to effect change.”

  Tarc didn’t think she knew whether it was a good idea or not. He asked, “Are you and Gloria going?”

  “I am. Gloria’s not.”

  Gloria turned suddenly to her mother, “Why not?!”

  “It might be dangerous,” her mother admitted reluctantly.

  “Then you shouldn’t go either!”

  When they started to argue, Tarc got up. He interrupted, “I’m going to go check on Mr. Blacksmith. Then I’ve got to get my stuff from the caravan and check into an inn. When and where’s the protest?”

  ***

  Tarc checked Blacksmith’s coronary arteries and moved a couple of small crusts of plaque to his spleen. Then he got the big man up and walked him around the yard a bit for exercise. He reminded Mrs. Blacksmith to brew him more willow bark tea.

  Tarc also acceded to Sally’s demands that he stay at their house again the next night.

  He went to the caravan and said his goodbyes. Those were drawn out and difficult, especially the one with Lizeth. By the time he headed back into town, it was getting close to time for Womble’s protest. In view of the events that’d occurred in the main square under Krait, Tarc found it ominous that the protest had been organized for the same location.

  Tarc led the bay horse into town. Fortunately, the guards didn’t search through the bundles of possessions he’d strapped onto the horse. Therefore he didn’t turn in his bow. He made his way to the square which was still empty. After looking around, he made his way to Arvil Tornesson’s house. He knocked on the door, remembering how he’d done so on that night so long ago.

  Bringing on a sense of déjà vu, Tornesson pulled back the curtain and peered out at him. Tornesson said, “Who’re you, and what do you want?”

  Tarc stepped closer to the window and quietly said, “Tarc Hyllis, sir. Could I talk to you for a moment?”

  Tornesson narrowed his eyes and peered at Tarc for a moment, then said, “Just a minute.”

  Tornesson let him in, then carefully surveyed his face. He shook his head, “Damn! I never would’ve recognized you with that extra height and short hair. What’re you doing back in town?” Tornesson hesitated a moment, then before Tarc could speak, he continued, “I hope you know I told everyone who’d listen what your dad did for this damned town. Not that many listened and of the ones who did, even fewer believed.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Tarc said quietly. “We appreciate what you did that night.”

  “Well, I hate the way this town treated you afterward. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Do you know about the protest that’s supposed to happen in the square today?”

  Tornesson looked surprised, “Is that intended for today?”

  Tarc nodded.

  “What of it?”

  “I’m a little worried about how Farley’s men might react. Do you think they might do something… regrettable?”

  Tornesson snorted, “Oh yeah. They’re a bunch of assholes. They’ve only killed a few people so far, but it’s just a matter of time.”

  “Would you mind if I watched the protest from your upstairs window?”

  Tornesson’s eyes widened as he grasped what Tarc was really asking. He glanced toward the door, “Is your dad here?”

  “No, sir. But I’ve gotten to be a pretty good shot myself. If something bad starts to happen… I might be able to stop it.” He shrugged, “Or slow it down.”

  Tornesson looked at Tarc for several long moments, assessing. “Sure. Let me take you up there.”

  Before they went up, Tornesson helped Tarc put the bay horse in one of the little stalls at the back of the house.

  Upstairs, Tarc cracked the window and looked out over the square. Tornesson said, “I know you haven’t been around. Do you know the players in this little drama?”

  “No, sir. Can you fill me in?”

  “I’ll do better than that. If you’ll carry up a couple of chairs, I’ll get us something to drink. Then I’ll tell you what’s going on as it unfolds.”

  “Don’t you want to go visit some relatives like last time? Distance yourself from anything I might do?”

  “No. If you have to do something for this town again, the least I can do is have the balls to help.”

  ~~~

  By the time they’d brought up chairs and Tornesson had brewed some tea, people were starting to gather in the square. Tarc felt relieved he couldn’t see any of Farley’s mercenary deputies. Maybe they’ll be able to have a peaceful demonstration, send some kind of message to Farley and make a difference; all without getting anyone hurt, he thought with some hope.

  Tornesson told Tarc what he knew about how Farley’d been managing the town. Most of what he knew was rumor and innuendo except that his son had been present when the money Krait had looted from the town was recovered. His son had made rough estimates of just how much coin that’d been and concluded that only a small percentage had been returned to the people. “Either Farley kept a huge chunk, or, if he gave it all to the banks,” Tornesson rolled his eyes doubtfully at this, “they kept a huge chunk. I suspect Farley and the banks of both keeping medium-sized chunks.”

  “You said his deputies have killed some people?”

  “Yeah. They say those people died, ‘In the course of being arrested.’ This includes people who got in an argument with a deputy at a bar.” Tornesson sighed, “Essentially, if you get crosswise of a deputy, you’re likely to be over-enthusiastically arrested and die in the process.”

  “Any women get raped?”

  “By deputies?”

  Tarc nodded.

  Tornesson shook his head, “Not women from here in town. There’re rumors about women outside the city.” He shrugged, “There’re always rumors about bad stuff, but how true it is…?”

  Tarc looked out the window. The square had gotten crowded while he and Tornesson were talking. A woman, Tornesson said she was Ms. Womble, got up on the stand and started talking. She focused on taxes and Farley’s failure to return the money Krait had stolen.

  Womble introduced a man named Hernandez. His oration was a lot more incendiary than Womble’s. The crowd started to rumble even though the man didn’t seem to be inciting them to violence—just telling them they should be angry.

  When Tarc heard something rhythmic, his first thought was that the crowd was stamping its feet or chanting. But, when he looked closer, he got the sense that crowd seemed frightened. Their heads had turned to the left.

  Tarc’s ghirit sensed a triple file of deputies coming down a side street just before they marched in a
t the crowd’s left. They acted a lot more like military men than police.

  Tornesson said, “The man at the head of that troop is Farley’s chief of deputies Waygin Lee. He’s a right bastard. Killed someone in a bar fight himself and there’re rumors he committed a lot of atrocities before he hired on here. If Farley’s let him off his leash there’s probably gonna be some bad trouble.”

  “Crap,” Tarc said, kneeling and starting to unwrap the bundle containing his bow and quiver. He stood the quiver in easy reach by the window and strung the bow. When he looked out again the troop had lined up between the speakers on their platform and the crowd in the square.

  Several of the deputies in the back row were facing the speakers, but the rest were facing out at the nervous-looking crowd. Waygin Lee climbed up onto the platform. Tarc got out his glasses and put them on. He didn’t like wearing them, but he needed to be able to see what was going on across the square which—since he was mildly nearsighted—he couldn’t do very well.

  Tornesson said, “Those’re some really nice looking spectacles!”

  Tarc nodded. “What do you think’s about to happen out there?”

  “Bad shit.”

  ~~~

  Sally Blacksmith watched Waygin Lee walk across the platform toward Womble and Hernandez, a sick feeling rising in her gullet. She wanted to turn and run, but unfortunately, she’d arrived early enough to be in the middle of the second row. Lots of people had crowded in around her.

  Womble looked anxious but resolved.

  Hernandez was edging away. He looked plainly frightened despite the rabble-rousing words he’d been using before the deputies arrived. Neither of the two leaders were saying anything.

  Lee turned to the crowd and bellowed, “This is an unlawful gathering. Disperse.”

  In view of how frightened he looked, Hernandez surprised Sally by shouting, “There’s no law against gathering in peaceful protest!”

  Lee whirled, unsheathing his sword as he turned.

  He stabbed Hernandez.

  He stabbed Womble.

  His men drew their swords.

  Holy mother of God! Sally thought disbelievingly.

  As Hernandez and Womble were falling, Lee turned back to the front and bellowed, “My word is the law!”

  An arrow transfixed Lee’s skull.

  It entered through his left eye, just like the one that’d taken down Krait.

  A loud voice boomed, seeming to come from above the rank of deputies. “Put your swords away. These citizens aren’t breaking the law. They’ve committed no crimes. If you hurt them without trial, you’re gonna die, with a hole in your eye.” As she’d heard had happened back in Krait’s time, the voice ominously repeated itself, “You’re gonna die, with a hole in your eye.”

  Sally saw the deputies’ eyes rolling wildly around, then they started moving their entire heads. Most of them were looking above themselves, from where the voice—impossibly—seemed to be coming. Several of them sheathed their swords. In a panicked tone, one of them shouted, “Lee’s dead!”

  Another stepped forward from the front rank and took a wild swing across the front of the crowd with his sword, slicing several people with its tip. He held up his bloody sword and shouted, “Go back home! Now!”

  Though it had to have entered through his eye, the feathers of an arrow instead seemed to suddenly sprout from the deputy’s eye.

  He fell like a tree become lumber.

  What the hell just happened? Sally wondered, glancing back. Is Tarc’s dad here after all?

  The eyes of the deputies in the front rank went to their fallen comrade. Most of the rest sheathed their swords as well. A number of them turned and ran.

  One of them, looking shaken, called the others to order and marched them away.

  Sally was wondering what to do when she realized a number of the people around her were looking anxiously at her. A woman said, “Ms. Blacksmith! What should we do?!”

  Oh God, how did I get appointed the leader of this cluster FUBAR? she wondered. Then she thought, Do the obvious first. That’ll give you time to think about the hard decisions. Trying for a commanding voice, she boomed, “If you know anything about healing, see if you can help Womble or Hernandez. If you know any good healers, go get ’em. Any other people who were hurt, take them up near Womble and Hernandez so the healers can find ’em. People who’re willing to go confront Farley about this, gather to me. If you’ve got weapons hidden away, now’d be the time to get ’em out and bring them to meet us at Farley’s place.”

  Sally kept barking orders. To her surprise, people seemed to be doing what she told them. Even more remarkably, they were doing it without argument. Some asked questions or requested clarification. As if she’d planned it all out ahead of time, she was able to give them answers that simply appeared in her consciousness without effort. Even she wondered how she was doing it.

  Before she started leading her people to Farley’s house, she stopped to check on Womble and Hernandez.

  Hernandez was dead. She turned to the pale Womble…

  The first thing she recognized was Tarc, crouched over Womble’s supine body. Then she realized the head next to his belonged to Gloria. I told her to stay away from this place! Sally bent down to tell her daughter to get the hell away from there, but then stopped as she heard Tarc say, “… just the liquid.” He pointed at the center of Carissa’s abdomen, “Move it back into that big vessel.”

  “But I can’t move very much…!”

  “Every little bit helps,” Tarc said patiently.

  Not having any idea what the bizarre mumbling was about, Sally said, “Gloria! You get yourself—”

  Tarc interrupted Sally by reaching up and grabbing her wrist without even looking to see where she was. His grip was firm. Not painful, but strong enough to solidly capture Sally’s attention. Sounding just as patient as he had when he was talking to Gloria a moment before, he said, “I’ll take care of Gloria. You take care of the town.”

  “I want her to—”

  Pulling Sally’s wrist, Tarc brought her ear down close to his mouth. In a no-nonsense tone, he said, “Gloria’s saving Ms. Womble’s life. I’ll keep her safe. You take your people and deal with Farley. I’ll explain later.”

  Sally stared at them for a moment, then flipped her eyes to Gloria. Her daughter wasn’t doing anything! What kind of imaginary bullshit is he selling her?! Is he trying to get in her pants by making her think he’s teaching her how to heal people?! After a moment she decided Tarc wouldn’t get in her pants during a crisis in the middle of the day. And Sally really did have other urgent things to do. And we all owe him for what he and his dad did about Krait… Not enough to let him seduce my daughter, but at least enough to let them pretend they’re healing Carissa Womble.

  She rose and started gathering the people who wanted to go with her to confront Farley. As they left the square, she glanced back at Tarc and Gloria. They were still kneeling over Womble. She thought, I have no doubt he saved John’s life yesterday. Why do I think he’s just pretending to heal Carissa?

  She shook her head. But neither he nor Gloria are actually doing anything! she thought plaintively.

  ~~~

  Gloria couldn’t believe she was actually moving blood from Ms. Womble’s abdomen into one of the big veins. When Lee’d stabbed Womble, the sword had entered her liver. Gloria knew this because Tarc had guided her to sensing inside Womble then showed her where the wound was. Apparently, he was trying to stop the bleeding. He’d pointed out the blood surrounding Ms. Womble’s intestines, then pointed out a huge vein running behind Womble’s intestines and asked her to teleport the liquid blood into the vein.

  It hadn’t been easy at all to find the structures Tarc was telling her to work with. She’d seen guts in chickens but never really looked at them carefully. Tarc’d use his fingers to point at what he wanted her to work on, then wiggle it with his telekinesis until she was certain she was sensing the correct structure.
r />   She was moving the blood, trying to be careful not to move anything that wasn’t completely liquid—as Tarc had emphasized how quickly that could be fatal. She was moving a quantity about as big as her finger every couple of seconds because Tarc had emphasized that if she did it faster and got a headache she’d be unable to do it at all.

  Eventually, it got to be hard to find pools of blood big enough to move an entire finger’s quantity, but then right after she’d teleported a finger’s worth, a large quantity flowed into that area. Tarc said, “I got the bleeding stopped, so now I’m trying to push the liquid blood to you so you can move it easier.”

  She said, “Thanks for letting me do this.”

  “Thanks for saving Ms. Womble.”

  “It’s not like you needed me. I know you could’ve done it yourself. But I appreciate the opportunity to be part of it… and learn more about my talent.”

  He shook his head. “I could’ve stopped the bleeding by myself, but I couldn’t have given her blood back to her. I’m pretty sure she would’ve died without getting her blood back.” He shrugged, “Of course, she still might not make it. If you lose a lot of blood, your organs can fail even after you get the blood back.”

  Gloria looked up and saw Ms. Womble staring at them with wide eyes.

  Suddenly a man appeared at their sides, looking apprehensive and angry.

  Mr. Womble, Gloria thought.

  He said, “Carissa! I told you not to come down here! What the hell happened?” Womble stepped back when Tarc unfolded to his full height.

  Tarc said. “She was stabbed with a sword.”

  “What?!” Womble said, looking down again at his wife. “No!” Gloria recognized the moment his eyes focused on the bloody cut in the right side of her jacket. “Oh my God!” he said, suddenly frightened as he knelt beside her. “Carissa!”

  His wife unhappily said, “It was supposed to be peaceful…”

  Womble folded back the right side of her jacket, then her blouse, exposing the wound. “Oh!”

  Carissa said, “Is it bad?”

  Womble pitched over beside his wife, unconscious.

  Gloria thought, At least he didn’t fall on her.