The Telepath Chronicles

Part One: The Hippocratic Oath

by: Hypatia

 

Ok time to do my little preamble about the story that you are about to read and anything else of consequence that comes to mind at the time. First of all a confession, the basis of this story is not my own idea. It is based on the idea of curative telepathists devised by John Brunner in the book Telepathist. A brilliant book, if you see it well worth a read. My one minor complaint about the book was that it could have been longer. So I have owned up, it wasn’t mine. I wonder how many people who use the idea of aliens invading earth, or time travelling give thought to HG Wells?

Well that is the confession over, my conscience clear, I will carry on. I give you something I am thinking about using for a basis for a number of short stories, as it saves me getting into a novel size work for every little idea. If it works tell me, if it doesn’t work tell me. To those of you screaming about stories left hanging, I should have the next parts of Fistful of Dragons and Kingdom of the Blind out about a week after this. For your future entertainment I have a couple of decent Science Fiction pieces underway and a Napoleonic Epic/Ghost Story that is almost 300k at the moment and a lot bigger when finished.

To all those who put up with my work ‘pre-release’ I thank you and praise you for your tolerance. Special thanks go out to Lynn for the translation and introduction of punctuation into my work and Maggie Finson as a willing ear, a mine of information and a friend (Give her stories a go if you like this one…give her stories a go if you don’t, you haven’t got much to lose by trying them have you now?).

Tell me what you like and more importantly tell me what you don’t like, all comments are welcomed. (If it is the long rambling introduction by the author you don’t like, then why are you still reading it?)

Hypatia pboauk@yahoo.com

 

 

"I swear by Apollo the physician, and Aesculapius, Hygeia and Panacea and all the gods and goddesses, that,

according to my ability and judgement, I will keep this Oath and this covenant.

To reckon him who taught me this Art equally dear to me as my parents, to share my substance with him, and relieve his necessities if required; to look upon his offspring on the same footing as my own brothers, and to teach them this Art, if they shall wish to learn it, without fee or stipulation; and that by precept, lecture, and every other mode of instruction, I will impart a knowledge of the Art to my own sons, and those of my teachers, and to disciples who have signed the covenant and have taken an oath according to the law of medicine, but no one else.

I will follow that system of regimen which, according to my ability and judgment, I consider for the benefit of my patients, and abstain from whatever is deleterious and mischievous. I will give no deadly medicine to anyone if asked, nor suggest any such counsel; and in like manner I will not give to a woman an abortive remedy. With purity and with holiness I will pass my life and practise my Art.

I will not cut persons labouring under the stone, but will leave this to be done by such men as are practitioners of this work. Into whatever houses I enter, I will go into them for the benefit of the sick, and will abstain from every voluntary act of mischief and corruption; and, further, from the seduction of females or males, of freemen and slaves.

Whatever, in connection with my professional practice, or not in connection with it, I see or hear, in the life of men, which ought not to be spoken of abroad, I will not divulge, as reckoning that all such should be kept secret. While I continue to keep this Oath unviolated, may it be granted to me to enjoy life and practice of the Art, respected by all men, in all times. But should I trespass and violate this Oath, may the reverse be my lot."

Hippocrates 400BC

He closed his eyes to the world around him and concentrated, he could feel his body image melting taking a new form. This was as it should be, he knew this from his training, but it was weird. Yes, he would have the support team and a mentor for this, his first case, but this would be a real case and six people might die if he failed, himself included.

The heat was the first thing that he was aware of, a burning dry heat and a faint smell of exotic spices. He opened his eyes and focused his attention on the scene in front of him and was amazed by the exquisite detail of everything. An oriental street market was before him with a wide variety of stalls and traders. A mangy looking dog sniffed around one of the stalls in the market area of this isolated desert town and a wrinkled old man kicked it hard. It ran off yelping.

"Does the pretty lady want fruit?" the man asked him and he was brought back to reality.

"Maybe later" he answered in a soft voice that was not his own.

"I have not seen you here before, what brings a pretty young thing like you to this den of iniquity?" he asked his rotting and stained teeth commanding a lot of attention.

"I come from Baghdad" he said, the soft voice unnerving him, "on business."

"Oh, a harlot plying her trade," the old man suggested with a sneer. He spat a dark coloured liquid at his feet. "Maybe I can be your first customer?"

"Watch your manners, fool," he replied viciously, but high pitched voice. "I have killed men for far less than that. I am Sapha, Queen of Thieves and Mistress of the Night. You might just wake up in the night with your entrails decorating your room."

"Concentrate," he heard in his mind, impinging on the reality before him. "You are doing well, but you are too wooden, if you keep this up you will be spotted before you find the primary. You are Sapha, not William Hunt pretending to be Sapha. Forget everything else and be the person. Good luck and we are with you."

"I think the pretty lady speaks about things that she has heard and uses them to deny an old man a few minutes of pleasure," he said leering.

In response Sapha drew her blade. Not the cumbersome things that the men insisted on carrying, but a thin light blade. The handle was mother of pearl and platinum inlayed with enough texture that even when slick with blood it would not slide from her grip, The blade was steel, holy steel according to the man who made it, blessed by priests at many points in its life and it had come far before it was crafted in that forge in Medina. The man had said he had come from Nippon, The Land Of The Rising Sun, and his skills in metalwork were legendary, if you had the money. With a deft move she sliced through a large gourd that was on one corner of the stall and the dark liquid contents spilled over the stock attracting even more of the persistent flies to the stall. The crisp edge on the still upright remainder of the gourd was a testament to the quality of the blade and she held it close to the man’s chest, canting it over slightly so the intricate etching on the blade could be seen.

"Would you like to see what your liver looks like before you die?" she asked in a cold emotionless voice.

"No Milady," he said quickly the colour having left his face, his eyes flicked left and right hoping for the sight of a guard to summon for help. None were around and his eyes eventually locked with hers.

"Please Milady, I am just a poor trader, please don’t kill me. I have nothing that is worth your time," he pleaded.

"I am waiting for an apology, or do I take your ears instead?" she asked raising her blade so it lay against his face. He twitched slightly as the steel caressed his face and came to rest with the tip lifting the man’s earlobe.

"I am most truly sorry Milady," the man protested his voice rising in pitch as her expression remained unchanged. "I didn’t realise who you were. In this godforsaken refuge from the sands, liars are aplenty."

She pulled the blade away the tip just nicking the earlobe on the way past, letting a small trickle of blood run down the mans cheek to pool at his jawbone, before a drip fell and landed on a large yellow melon. The man looked at the drip of blood then raised his hand to his ear.

"Just something to make sure this moment is properly remembered. Because if you ever speak to me like that again, I will slice you slowly till you beg me to end your suffering," Sapha said quietly, which in this case made her voice all the more menacing. "Now you will answer my questions… Honestly as if your life depended on it."

"Yes Milady," the man said quickly still holding his ear.

"Are the rumours I have heard true," she asked, "does the guild operate freely without fear of recriminations in this town?"

"I wouldn’t have any idea what you are talking a…" he was stopped from speaking suddenly by the blade rising again.

"Think carefully before you say another word. Your stall carries the secret marks for a ‘fence’ in three separate cities. Now I ask myself how a good fence ends up pedalling rotten fruit in a flea pit like this," Sapha said not quite loud enough to draw attention to them. "The answer I arrive at is that you are a poor fence who is wanted in so many cities that this is the only place you can live openly."

"Yes, the guild works in the open," the man whispered back to her, "but this town is off limits. None may work the citizens of Al-Wada, that is the price for immunity here and that goes for murder as well. Even the assassins hold their blades here because if The Master is displeased, the object of his displeasure is often found outside the town…in pieces," the man said with an uneasy voice.

"Thank you, that is all I wanted to know," Sapha replied sweetly, "now how do I find the Master of the Day?"

"He will not see you," the man protested, "he has no time for women."

"That was not my question," she reminded him with a threatening movement of her hand.

"The large building in the centre of the town next to the Mosque and the Christian church," he said with a pleading tone.

"So these Muslims welcome Christians but not women," Sapha said more to herself than to the man. She sheathed her blade and pulled a small gold coin from a pouch on her belt and threw it to the man.

"That is for this time and a down payment on next time," she said as the man snatched the coin out of the air.

"Yes Milady, whenever and whatever you need, you ask for Mug. All know me here," he said as he pocketed the coin and Sapha continued on her way.

The most disconcerting thing she thought, was the differences that she felt with her body. The uncomfortable feeling of the breasts trapped behind the leather armour, and the width and movement of her hips as she walked. She knew one of the secondary personalities was female and it must be her who was feeding this part of the fantasy. She would have to be on her toes though, a jealous female might be as determined and dangerous a foe as the prime telepath of the grouping.

She continued walking through the market area, on the outskirts of the town rather than the centre for some reason and marvelled at the complexity of everything. She knew that the fantasies of a Psychotic Grouping that a disturbed telepath could form were surprisingly detailed but this was something different: the textures of the different rolls of cloth on a stall, the smell of the various spices and the flies buzzing around everything. She swatted one more persistent fly that landed on her bare arm and it left a red hand mark on her golden skin, the fly escaped though.

To think that this was the fantasies of four normal people, tied together by the power of a strong telepathist, feeding each others needs and desires. It seemed more real that the real world. But if it were allowed to continue, those within the grouping would either stay like this forever as their life was sustained through artificial means or die of starvation and dehydration if it wasn’t. As she walked up the slope to the larger buildings in the centre of town lost in thought, she didn’t notice the fact that people were hurriedly leaving as they saw her. It was the voice that made her realise something was up.

"Halt there, woman," a male voice shouted loudly, bringing her from her thoughts.

"What do you want?" she demanded of the large bearded man wearing a loose decorated turban and carrying a large curved scimitar. The four men accompanying him were similarly dressed, though less ornately.

This was one of the secondary personalities, she quickly realised, her thoughts had betrayed her and the secondary caught up in a fantasy so real and so compelling, had come to rectify the fault in their individual Nirvana. Not that they had any choice; they were unwilling participants in a mentally ill persons escape from the world.

"What sort of woman are you who walks around looking like that?" the man asked. "Have you no shame or sense of decency? Be you Jew, Muslim or Christian you are welcomed in Al-Wada, but dressed like that you are unacceptable"

Sapha looked down at herself, boots on her small feet and dirty white trousers that emphasised her wide hips. A sleeveless leather tabard covered her body from her neck to her hips, curved in an interesting manner over her breasts and out again at her hips. Bare arms exposing her shoulders were the most flesh on display and that wasn’t exactly offensive.

"I dress as I like," she answered.

"Do you not have a father, husband or even a brother to forbid and control you woman? Maybe even a mother to advise you and guide you, for dressed like that you are offensive sight to all and even god would avert His eyes from you," the man said moving closer, his face red with anger.

"My father tried to take advantage of me and my sister as a child," Sapha responded. "I castrated him and left him writhing in agony as he died in the arms of the weak woman who claimed to be our mother. Since then no man or woman has forbidden me anything on pain of death."

"You have an arrogance that is unbecoming in a woman and against the law in this town. Women will know their place at all times, be that place mother, daughter, child and lady, seamstress or whore," the man shouted. "I think you need to be shown your place."

"Who is going to show me that place?" Sapha demanded. "You, the religious eunuch and your four friends? I think not. It is the fact I am an unbound woman, independent that scares you. Why? Because you aren’t enough of a man to cope with a woman like me?"

"Seize her," the man screamed and two of the men with him moved forward.

"Blessed goddess of the night give me the speed of a hawk," Sapha whispered as she drew her blade. She drew her left hand along the edge opening a cut in the palm and allowing some of the blood to stain the blade.

"She is a witch, Sir," one of the two men said as they paused before her.

"Well witch or not seize her," the leader shouted.

Sapha just hoped the team had identified the secondary that she faced at the moment, if not she was going to look rather foolish. But with neuro-stimulants given to her and a general sedative applied to the right secondary this might be interesting.

"Well die then, fools, at the hands of a Mistress of the Night," Sapha shouted and she lunged forward.

The world around her slowed. As the first guard reached slowly for his weapon at his waist her blade slashed diagonally across his lower stomach. Continuing the move she grasped firmly with both hands and brought the blade across the neck of the second man, cutting through flesh, sinew and bone with no more trouble than the gourd had been. As the head slowly tumbled towards the ground, the second pair moved slowly towards her, weapons ready. The swing of the first one she danced around the tip of the blade, the ponderous movements in this distorted time sense giving her ten or fifteen seconds to avoid it. On the safe side of the blade she took a second to decide how best to dispatch the man and thrust the tip of her blade deep into his throat. The last one was killed by a single thrust into his heart from behind, between the ribs. She allowed time to return to normal for a second, slowing her thoughts and movements down to the speed of her surroundings.

"Who are you woman? What are you?" the leader of the small group screamed, fear on his face as he fumbled for his overly large weapon.

"I am Sapha, The Mistress of the Night, to those in Baghdad," she replied ignoring the noises coming from the dying men behind her.

"That bitch of the night died. She was hung. I know this of a man who was there. It is said she kicked, screamed and pleaded all the way up the scaffold and then on the way down she soiled herself," the man said, finally getting his weapon sorted out.

"My sister," Sapha said. "Betrayed by one who hides here now."

"Well now die at the hands of a real man, bitch of night," he shouted, regaining his composure.

The two of them faced off and the large man started twirling the large sword in one hand as if it was a baton, he had a grin on his face now, his subconscious secure in the knowledge that this was his fantasy and nothing could go wrong.

Letting her thoughts speed up, Sapha dived forwards at an impossible rate to an outside observer and brought her blade down across the mans forearm that held his weapon. It passed straight through. She backed off.

The man stood there, mouth open, looking at the stump pumping blood and screamed. He screamed louder as the tip of the blade this time slashed at his groin, causing a dark red stain to appear on the green fabric.

"Well, not such a big man now, are we?" Sapha asked as the man fell to the floor screaming.

"Kill me, you bitch, and have done with it," he screamed at her and his one remaining hand tried to staunch the bleeding first from his stump, then his groin, doing neither job successfully. As the arm moved back to his groin she speared it pining the hand to his groin with the razor sharp metal.

"No, I don’t think I will kill you, yet, as you said I am a witch and with my powers I can keep you alive for years and every moment of every one of those years is going to be an agony like this." She twisted the blade to emphasise her point and the man screamed again.

"Please kill me," he pleaded, "anything but this."

"No, you will live for a long time, I think," she replied and twisted again. The man screamed again and the world seemed to shudder as if an earthquake had occurred. The man’s form was now lifeless.

"Well done," came a voice in her mind. "We got the John Doe secondary out he just woke up screaming."

She had unplugged the first of the secondaries, an unknown tramp who had become unwittingly caught up in the Telepaths dreaming. She had made the fantasy world far more unpleasant than reality and his mind had escaped from the insidious clutches of the telepath. "Two more secondaries and one Teep to go," she thought and they aren’t going to get much easier than that one.

Sapha looked down at her blade, the fading stains of her own blood being the only mark that adhered to the metal. That stain, too, would pass as the abilities it gave her passed. She looked around her at the corpses and decided this was not exactly the place to be found with blood spattered over her arms and trousers. She quickly sheathed her blade and started dodging through narrow side streets getting as far away as possible while The Goddess’s assistance lasted.

Sapha looked around her; she was in a residential district and not exactly an affluent one. Nobody was around this dingy little back street. A little pressure and the lock on a door of a grubby little hovel broke and she was inside, safe for the moment.

Inside the home was in contrast to the outside, outside it looked grubby and tatty. Inside could be seen that despite the fact that they were poor, these people had pride. Making use of a jug of water Sapha washed the blood off her arms, and then considered her trousers. All her other clothes were with her mount at a stables. Looking around the house it became obvious that the few female clothes here were not going to fit. She looked around trying to find a solution to the scarlet blood that betrayed her recent activities till her eyes rested on the ashes of a cooking fire. A handful of ashes rubbed into her trousers soon disguised the bloodstains to a certain extent and, after washing her hands again, she left a few small coins for her unknown and unwilling hosts and was gone.

Walking up the steep hill towards the fortress, Sapha kept her mind focused on who she was and why she was here. She had been informed that the man who had betrayed her sister had escaped to here. Unfortunately the man who had given her this information, a city guard officer in Baghdad, was unable to give a name. She was sure he had been speaking the truth, as it was rather late into the questioning process that he had given her the information, in exchange for a swift death. His death had then been swift, as she had promised.

Up ahead was a very affluent area of the town, the shops there were those of merchants of quality and more than a few whispers could be heard about her appearance. The song from a minaret, calling the faithful to prayer, confirmed the position of the Mosque. The church nearby was in complete contrast to the activity of the Islamic temple, it was silent and appeared neglected. Between the two buildings stood a mansion that put the mosque and the church to shame with its gaudy decorations and shows of lavish wealth. Sapha was shocked at the display.

In most cities there is a guild of thieves. It is necessary as part of the job, somewhere to find out about fencing goods and to recruit skills for larger jobs. In many towns and cities it is just a tavern with a bad reputation and a loudmouthed thug as boss. But in some cities the guild had flourished, controlling crime and making it more profitable for all. The punishment for working outside of a guild in a guild controlled city was often worse than you could expect if caught by the authorities, as the guilds, once in control, expected to stay there. All who wished to ‘Work’ a city with a guild had to plead their case and receive permission, first from an officer of the guild, or quite possibly die.

With a closed fist Sapha banged on the large wooden doors that blocked the entrance to the mansion. A small metal grilled window opened.

"What do you want?" came a male voice from within.

"I seek an audience with the Master of the Day," Sapha replied.

"You what…" the voice said with obvious surprise.

"I seek an audience with he who controls the day, the Master of the Day. Now!" Sapha answered, her patience in short supply. The window closed and the sound of a large bolt being drawn back could be heard. She stood there anticipating and waiting for it and was rewarded as the large door creaked loudly as it opened. Some things are consistent in all peoples view of the world as they see it and a large door such as this had to creak loudly.

"Enter, but you leave your weapons inside the door" came the voice from within the shadows. Sapha entered and the door closed behind her and for a moment she was blind in the dark corridor.

"Your weapons shall be left here. None will touch them." The voice said and Sapha turned to see one of the largest men she had ever seen. He had to be seven feet tall with short black hair; one side of his mouth didn’t seem to respond properly, possibly due to a scar from his eye down to his jawbone.

"You swear none will touch them?" Sapha asked.

"I swear by the goddess who lives in the dark places of a man’s soul that the weapons you leave here I will guard with my life," the man answered. Sapha nodded and unfastened her blade standing it up against the wall.

"Do you have any other weapons?" the man asked.

"I swear by The Goddess, I carry no other weapons," she replied and her skin pricked as the magic of this place reacted to her use of the goddess in this oath. Had she lied here, her life would have swiftly ended.

"Welcome Sister," the doorman said. "It is not often that a woman walks this path and though I delight in your arrival, others here will not."

"He who controls the day is not disposed to women," Sapha stated bluntly.

"That is the truth of it. If it is permission for an opportunity or skills that you seek, there are others here who will delight in your presence as, I do," The man said helpfully.

"No, my business is of treachery and betrayal, no one of lesser rank can deal with it. I would seek out your Night Master, but being a stranger in this town it would be impossible," Sapha explained.

"The Night Master sees no one," The doorman said nodding. "The door at the end of this corridor, knock and wait."

The long corridor was dark and dimly lit by lamps. With a little redesigning it could have been a bright welcoming place, but those who live by their wits of night, rarely seek bright welcoming places. After passing many doors and a large staircase Sapha came to another large wooden door. In this house the mixtures of the fantasies came to the forefront, despite the fact that outside was an Arabian Nights type scene, this was more a Lovecroft horror type setting, very gothic in feel. Sapha stood before the door for a moment then banged on it loudly with her fist three times, deciding that a knock would be out of place.

"Come," came the shouted single word response and Sapha pushed at the door. It creaked loudly.

Inside was a small windowless room, books lined all the walls and a large desk took up a large proportion of the available space. Behind the desk was an old man, possibly seventy years old with sharp piercing eyes and uncontrollable eyebrows on a narrow thin face.

"I wished no female company, now leave," he said returning his attention to papers he was studying on his desk.

"I have brought my request before he who rules the day, so now I will take it to the night," Sapha stated firmly.

"What makes you think he will even give you as much time as I have dear?" The man behind the desk asked without rising.

"Because if he refuses I will awaken this town. How long do you feel your protected position will remain if the nobles of this town are selectively targeted?" Sapha asked.

"The penalties for unauthorised activity is death," the man replied.

"The penalty is for those who are caught," Sapha replied.

"You irritate me now girl, standing there arrogantly assuming you have the need or the right to talk to me. Now leave!" he shouted.

"I inform you, as Mistress of the Night of what was the guild in Baghdad, you have a traitor in your midst. One who broke his oath. I will kill him and any who stand in my way when I find him." She turned and walked out of the room slamming the door behind her and walked back towards the door.

"The Mistress of the Night was hung in Baghdad, girl, so I know you lie," came the voice of the old man behind her, "and any who kill in Al-Wada relinquish the protection of The Guild and The Goddess."

"I relinquish the protection of The Goddess only if I lie," Sapha shouted back without turning to face the man, "as for The Guild, this place has no right to call itself a part of the Guild."

She walked up to the door and picked up her blade strapping it back around her waist.

"Thank you for watching my blade," she said to the large doorman.

"It was a pleasure, especially with one who understands when an oath is sworn to The Goddess no threats are needed. Go in good fortune, Sister," the man said.

"May the Goddess silence your footfalls and keep your fingers nimble, keeper of the door," Sapha replied.

"Stop her," came a voice down the hall of the old man.

"I may stop any who try to enter master, but once inside all may leave freely," the doorman shouted back apologetically.

"Let that girl go, you dribbling fool, and the guild will renounce you!" the voice screamed in rage.

"Go Sister, you entered freely and with peaceful intent, so you may leave freely," the man said, unbolting the door.

"If she leaves, your body will be outside the gate before the sun rises tomorrow!" the man screamed in fury. The large man picked up a massive two-handed sword that had kept the oriental blade company and walked out into the sunlight with Sapha, hotly pursued by the Master of the Day.

"Come back here! I order you!" he screamed. Sapha turned to face him. Standing there blinking in the sunlight, it became obvious he was a feeble old man in crumpled clothes.

"You have tried to break the sanctity of a Guild house, in that you show your disrespect and disregard for The Goddess. There is but one penalty and I will carry it out in my own time. The noises you hear in the night will be just noises, because when I come to kill you, I will not creep in the shadows," Sapha said to him.

"You?…a woman!…kill me? I would like to see you try!" he shouted at her. She drew her blade, walked forwards and slid it deep into his stomach with one swift movement that the unarmed man was unable to counter.

"There, you have seen," she said pulling the blade out and re-sheathing it.

The old man sank to the floor grasping his stomach where a bloodstain was spreading. His hands clasped at it and he wailed loudly. Sapha and the doorman walked away at a sedate pace down the hill, his noisy death quieting with distance.

"What is your name Sister?" the doorman asked.

"Sapha of Baghdad," she answered looking at the man. He wore what looked like a monks robes and in the daylight the paralysis of one side of his face was obvious.

"Sapha of Baghdad, even in my years spent here, I have heard of you. May I accompany you for a while as I have no other plans?" he asked, looking down at her.

"Your name?" she asked.

"Vincent," he answered.

"Vincent, I will not let you accompany me for what you did in there, you did as you should have and for that all I give are my thanks. But as one who can be trusted, I welcome you," she spat on her hand and offered it to him. "Till we must travel separate paths."

He paused for a moment. It wasn’t quite the contract he expected. Usually it would have involved oaths of loyalty and unquestioning obedience and division of profits. He spat on his hand and grasped hers, dwarfing it in his and pumped it vigorously.

"Until we must travel different paths," he said approvingly. "Now may I suggest we get out of this town, as it will become decidedly unhealthy rather soon."

"It wasn’t too healthy earlier. I met a guard officer who objected to the way I was dressed," Sapha admitted.

"Isaiah of the guard?" Vincent asked.

"I didn’t ask his name," Sapha replied.

"You ran from him?" asked Vincent his voice almost pleading.

"No, I killed him," Sapha admitted.

"By all that is holy, why did you do this to me?" he asked the heavens.

"Because, when I come back, I am going to need someone who knows his way around," Sapha said gently, "and you have been brought to me with a purpose. For that place is abhorrent to everything the Guild stands for. You would think they were Stonemasons. Now we need another camel for you, without paying over the odds."

"You are going to buy a camel, rather than steal one?" he said in an astonished tone of voice.

"Yes, because at the moment, all attention is going to be on someone fleeing the city. They don’t know what I look like, as only you and the dead know what I look like. So we spend and then leave quietly," Sapha said in a tone that would brook no argument.

At a sedate pace they walked through the market area, down towards the stall of Mug the fruitier. There didn’t seem to be any increased activity in the market area.

"I need a decent mount for my companion here," Sapha said to the man still at his stall.

"There are many around, help yourself," Mug suggested.

"I wish to buy a camel, at a reasonable price for a reasonable animal," Sapha said firmly, "then you will forget ever seeing me until I return."

"What is in it for me?" he asked.

"A coin or two for your assistance and silence," Sapha said in a quiet tone, "and if your silence is not forthcoming then your life will be forfeit."

"Sister here can be most unpleasant to those who displease her," Vincent said.

"So she is another zealot like you" Mug replied, "but what would you know of what she is capable, unless it was her who gave you your pretty looks?"

"Listen little man, Isaiah of the guard is dead as is the Master of the Day," Vincent replied. "Now do as she says."

Mug paled visibly at the words. "Talk to the nomad outside the town walls, he never has many, but what he has are good stock for the price."

"Retrieving Sapha’s mount from the stabling near the town walls, they walked towards the gate where people were entering and leaving the town. The guards were very much in evidence and seemed to be quite relaxed.

"Can you tell me where to find the Nomad who sells camels?" Sapha asked one of the gaudily dressed men talking and laughing with some of the local men.

"Out the gate and follow your nose. You can’t miss the camel shit," the man answered with a long look at her. He then returned his attention to the conversation, which took hushed tones, then erupted in laughter.

"Sister, why did you risk it?" Vincent asked as he led Sapha’s beast beside her.

"Because the last thing they will be looking for is someone who talks to the guards," she answered. "I think he is that way."

They passed along the stalls outside the city gate and along the walls. These were not as respectable as the stalls inside, many of them selling goods of more than slightly questionable origin.

"You will need some clothes and some armour," Sapha said as she picked through the clothes and odd pieces of armour in one stall.

"No, it is disrespectful to wear armour, it shows I distrust in the lady’s care of me," Vincent replied.

"Well at least we need to get you some other robes, you look too much like a monk for my tastes. Something that will make you blend in a bit easier," she said dropping a leather jerkin stained with blood. "There is nothing here, unless you wish Bedouin robes?"

"They are functional, I have no objections," Vincent admitted with little emotion.

"Do you have anything better?" she asked the woman who was running the stall.

"It depends if you have the silver?" she said without moving.

"I am just asking you for my health," Sapha said scathingly and waved a garment barely fit for a rag at her, "now have you anything better than these or do I go elsewhere?"

She started searching through bags of stock that weren’t on display and eventually, after many rejections, two acceptable garments were found, though both were lacking in length. The garments paid for, they continued down to the sound of irritated camels.

Camels have few redeeming features. They are noisy, smelly, unpleasant and vicious. But to cover long distances in the desert there is nothing better. The one known as ‘The Nomad’ obviously knew his beasts, he was filthy and smelled of camel. But they looked acceptable.

"A fine beast you have there," he said running forward to see Sapha’s mount. "I can give you a good price."

"We wish to buy rather than sell," Sapha replied quickly. He looked disappointed.

"Well, all my animals are good beasts," he replied without taking his eyes off Sapha’s mount, "but they are not cheap. But a lady who has a beast like this would know that."

"You can save the sweet talk. I am not parting with my beast, though I may be parted with some gold, if you have the right beast at the right price," Sapha replied with a smile which dragged the attention of The Nomad away from her beast.

"I have good beasts, but it is a wrench to sell them, that I can hardly bare," The Nomad explained. "This pain can only be cured by much gold."

"No, no, I will not have it!" Sapha shouted loudly, getting attention on her from all the surrounding stalls and starting to walk off.

"Lady, have I said something to offend you?" The Nomad asked rushing after her.

"How could I live with myself?" she asked.

"What do you mean, Mistress?" he asked her confused.

"How could I live with myself, if I deprived you of a lover? No gold could recompense you for that loss and I have not the coins to even try," she told him getting a laugh from nearby people.

"Not lovers," The Nomad corrected defensively, "more like children. I have nurtured and watched them grow."

"So you are going to let them make their own way in the world then?" Sapha enquired.

"For the right price then, on both sides, yes," he said with a grin cracking his leather like face. "Come, let me introduce you to one who is as a daughter to me."

With one of The Nomad’s daughters underneath Vincent, they headed away from the town. They needed a place to work from. Above all, when working, the rule is have somewhere safe to escape to. That was the prime function of The Guild, to provide a refuge for those who live by the night and their wits. Now, at least opposed by The Guild, if not openly against them, they needed somewhere outside the city. Vincent knew of such a place, almost a full days ride from the city. They rode long into the night to make the refuge. The temperature dropped rapidly as they rode. Sapha removed a long cloak from the pack her camel carried and wrapped it around herself. Huddled up, perched high on the back of the ungainly beast, Sapha looked up at the stars, stars she did not recognise.

"Do you know the stars, Vincent?" She asked to break the silence.

"I know some. There is The Goddess on the horizon peeking over to see the arguments of Baal and Mot whose crowns she stole, not that they need a reason to argue. One is the summer, one is the winter, one is life and one is death. Some call them Angra Mainyu and Ahura Mazda, the destructor and the creator. However they are called, they chase each other around the sky in perpetual anger both only needing to look up to see the other but never able to catch the other. Over there is a Griffon and those there are said to represent a serpent," he said as he pointed different groups of stars out. "I can’t see some of them, but others seem more real than the rest. The Goddess there, watching us is one of the most real."

"She is real. That is why she is watching," Sapha replied quietly, "watching over all who live by their wits."

The refuge was a stone dwelling built on a rocky outcrop, amongst the sand. It did have a well, which they eventually found where it had been covered by stone slabs and a layer of sand. The water was drinkable and the accommodation meagre, but with a fire in the hearth and some food in their belly, they found it more acceptable. The food and the drink though, created a new problem: toilets didn’t fit with this fantasy reality. Twenty minutes after she left to go outside, Sapha returned, now dressed in some dark trousers after finding that things were not as controllable as a woman. As they lay down to sleep on separate sides of the room, she tried to remember what it was like outside. It was fading like a dream; she couldn’t remember what her name was supposed to be, Bill…William or something. She could hardly remember what it was like to have a penis; she definitely knew what it was like to have her vagina and how irritating sand was. She reached up and tried to feel her breast through the leather of the armour, a futile exercise and a side of her she had foresworn since the day The Guild, her Guild, was betrayed in Baghdad.

She shivered as she remembered the night when the guards broke in at dawn. She had heard the screams as people she had known and had trusted her, were cut down indiscriminately. She had rushed in the direction of the battle when Salim, her Master of the Day, had intercepted her and argued that her safety came first. Refusing his advice, she had turned to join the battle, when Salim had hit her from behind. Consciousness returned in a cellar with a youngster new to the guild no more than fifteen years old. Salim had left her in his charge, as he himself joined the fight. In a Guild house with only fifteen members present, forty-three guards had perished, as had eleven of those present. Salim had fought to the death, but rumour had it that he took The Goddess a large number with him. She always looks favourably on those who bring her gifts.

Sapha’s sister had died that afternoon, mistakenly identified as Sapha and there was nothing she could do for her, or the young man who died with her. The thing was, only one of Sapha’s family lived for The Goddess and lived by her wits, and she still lived, while a ‘good Christian woman’ died. It was an injustice that would be rectified as The Goddess demanded restitution.

"You do not sleep Sister?" came Vincent’s voice quietly enquiring.

"No," she admitted. "I am a creature of the darkness. While The Goddess watches the world my thoughts will not rest."

"You are truly favoured by her. What are your plans, Sister?" he asked.

"Vengeance," She replied.

"The lady does not seek vengeance. It is not in her nature," Vincent answered with concern in his voice.

"I seek an oath breaker. One who betrayed my guild in Baghdad, one who fled here for some reason and I now wonder if the whole situation is part of a broader conspiracy," she mused on her last comment for a while.

"What do you suspect?" Vincent demanded.

"It seems strange that one comes to betray the most successful guild in Persia from this de-fanged excuse for a pack of thieves here. Could it be the destruction of our guild that was sought and my destruction? To bring Baghdad under control like here?" Sapha said her rage building as the ideas took form.

"The Lord of Al-Wada, Hasmir, is known in Baghdad. He is a favourite of court in that city," Vincent answered and Sapha could hear the anger rising in his voice.

"How did The Guild in Al-Wada get turned?" Sapha asked him.

"I know not. I came four years ago seeking sanctuary after a bungled raid on a camel train. We were expected and only I escaped, with this to enhance my looks," he traced his finger down the scar on his face.

"Why have you stayed since?" Sapha asked him.

"Because I swore an oath to The Goddess to abide by The Guild rules, to do as the officers of The Guild decree. Since then I have been trapped," he answered.

"We need answers and the place to find them is at The Guild or off Hasmir," Sapha replied. "We sleep now, then we plan tomorrow."

"Goodnight Sister," he said and was silent. Sapha was left to her thoughts for a long time.

A walled town is not the easiest thing to enter without alerting the guards to your presence. Al-Wada was well defended and with only one gate into the town, options were limited. They entered the city before dusk, Sapha dressed in the all covering yashmak. Vincent in his Bedouin robes and with an arrogant swagger. Inside the gate the market was packing up, the customers having left.

"Mug, you will find somewhere to hide us until it is dark," Sapha whispered to the fruit seller making him jerk around in shock.

"Is that you, Lady?" he asked.

"Yes, now we need shelter for a few hours as we work best by night," Vincent said towering over the man.

"It is not safe, all are after you. The guild and the city have a bounty on your heads," Mug replied virtually squirming under Vincent’s gaze.

"Yet they do not know what Sister here looks like," Vincent said accusingly, "unless of course you have spoken?"

"No, no, never," the man pleaded. "You were seen leaving together. Your looks could not be hidden and they took notice of the lady with you. I will shelter you, but please…only for a short time"

"Do not worry," Sapha replied gently, "a few hours and we will be gone. Soon though you may be able to resume your original calling."

"No lady," he answered with an impudent grin, "goat herding is not something I ever wish to return to."

Leaving Mug’s surprisingly comfortable home, they stripped the outer clothes they wore and were left in their working clothes. These garments were specially modified so anything that was needed, be it knife or lock-pick, was at hand and to be found instantly in the dark. Though Vincent had expressed his disapproval, she wore her sword across her back. Neither of them wore armour, for at night their protection came from The Goddess alone.

An open area was between the last of the elegant houses and the wall, which enclosed Hasmir’s mansion. One man outside guarded the gate and was dressed in a uniform. For a long time they just observed the bored man illuminated by a single lantern above the gate. After a long while, a second man came out through the gate yawning and stretching. He talked to the first guard for a few minutes. An arrangement seemed to be made and the original guard walked inside. They left it another ten minutes then made their move.

Vincent moved left, Sapha moved right along side roads. Well away from the illumination provided by the lantern above the gate she ran across the open space to the wall. Hugging the wall she shuffled closer to the gate almost within the area that was lit. She coughed loudly.

"Whose there?" came a voice from the guard.

She coughed again and was silent.

"Who is there?" the guard demanded.

"I am lost," she said with a drunken slur to her voice, but remaining out of the guards sight.

"Where are you?" he asked peering into the dark.

"Stuck, I can’t walk any more," she replied and the guard walked towards her. Behind him a large shadow erupted and sped across the area of illumination and grabbed the guard. As Sapha came out of the shadows, she could see the man struggling and scrabbling at his neck. But the garrotte that was preventing his screaming was held with the force of Vincent’s massive hands. Death was inevitable and swift.

Working in silence the two of them entered the gate and just inside could be seen the light of a small guardroom. She peeked through the window and could see one man asleep in a chair, with his head on his arms at a table. Vincent made a motion across his neck with one hand and Sapha shook her head. Killing was occasionally necessary but should never be indiscriminate. Slipping in silently they had the man trussed up and gagged in a matter of moments, seeing the dagger of Sapha at his throat, he did not struggle.

They made their way across the elaborate gardens towards the house. Something was wrong here Sapha felt. The gardens and the red brick mansion with the columns didn’t belong here, she didn’t know why but something was very wrong with the world. The lock on the door delayed them less than ten seconds and they were inside. Again something didn’t seem right she decided as they crossed a black and white marbled entrance hall, with a grand staircase leading up. This place shouldn’t be here.

They made their way upstairs silently and began listening at doors, then opening them. All were empty. Vincent made a motion with his hand, as he placed his ear against the last door, showing that he had heard something. The door opened silently. Inside, in the gloom, could be seen two figures in a large canopied bed. Sapha indicated that Vincent should take the man furthest away and she would take the woman.

"Make a noise and I will slit your throat," She whispered to the woman as she placed a hand over her mouth. Movement from the other side of the bed indicated that the man was awake.

"Tie him up," Sapha whispered, "if he makes a noise his lady here will not look so pretty."

The man was tied up and placed back on the bed by Vincent, as was the woman after a moment or two of persuasion. The room secured, Sapha moved across to the man.

"If you make too much noise, I will kill you and your wife slowly. Nod if you understand," she said the man nodded and she removed his gag.

"This town is protected," he said in a whisper, "leave now and I will not tell the guild of this nights work."

Sapha just looked at the man, again something was wrong. This was a European, a fat European as lord of a Persian town. Something was niggling at the back of her mind something she should be remembering, but it wouldn’t come back to her.

"You will answer my questions honestly and quietly and you may live," Sapha said emphasising the point by drawing her sword. The fat man nodded rapidly, his silk pyjamas that he wore becoming stained with sweat.

"How did you corrupt The Guild and what did you do in Baghdad?" she demanded.

"Nothing, I didn’t do anything," he said.

"Goddess take the life slowly from this woman for yourself," Sapha whispered and drew her hand along the blade, letting her blood stain it. She turned to the woman lying on top of the bed facing her husband.

"Roll him over," Sapha instructed Vincent. "He should see this."

She let the blade touch the woman, a dark haired woman with large breasts and long legs visible under the skimpy garment she wore. She struggled and tried to pull away to no avail. The first thing to see was that her hair began to become grey and becoming thinner and straggly. The lines on her face deepened giving it the texture of withered fruit and the breasts that she was obviously so proud of began to sag and spread. Her body twisted and contorted as the years suddenly began to advance quickly for her.

"You can stop this at any point," Sapha said as the gag slipped further into the woman’s mouth as her teeth disappeared. Her hands twisted into claws and her spine became bent as the years ravaged her body. Her beloved husband was silent. Sapha removed the blade from the woman leaving a trembling withered crone.

"Do you realise what you have sentenced her to?" Sapha demanded of the man, he shook his head.

"Fifty or sixty years of life like that," she said pointing to the woman who was weeping from her cataract covered eyes.

"So," he said bluntly. "I will find another."

"You would leave her alone like this for your refusal?" Sapha asked her fury building.

"Yes," he said without pity and the world around them shuddered.

"What was that?" Vincent demanded.

"The Goddess has shown her mercy," Sapha said indicating the lifeless form of the crone.

"She couldn’t bare to live like that unloved, so The Goddess took her," she explained to the two confused men.

"We have got the woman. Good work," came a voice in Sapha’s head.

"Who said that?" she asked of the two men who both looked confused at her question.

"Sister, is The Goddess talking to you?" Vincent asked.

"Possibly, I don’t know," she admitted.

"The Goddess favours you, Sister. I have never seen such as I have tonight. Should we continue?" he enquired unsure.

"Yes," Sapha insisted. "But we need to find something he loves more than his wife."

Sapha looked at her blade, the bloodstains from her invocation gone. She slid the blade up his trouser leg the garment parting at its touch.

"Roll him on his back," she told Vincent and cut up the other trouser leg when he did.

The man lay there exposed from the waist down;, a massive penis lay between his thighs almost down to his knee while flaccid. With the tip of her blade she teased it and unwillingly, it began to react.

"No, please no," the man whispered as the monster rose to more that a foot and a half in length.

"How did this arrangement start?" Sapha demanded tracing the tip of the blade over the deep purple coloured head, beads of blood beginning to form along the patterns she traced.

"It was the Master of the Night," he began babbling, "before he was Master of the Night, he betrayed The Guild here on condition that he was allowed to set up again with him in charge and receiving a payment for preventing crime here."

"The one who calls himself Master of the Night was a traitor?" she demanded.

"Yes and he was richly rewarded for his time in Baghdad as well," the man said quickly.

"Is that all you know?" Sapha whispered the blade drawing more blood.

"Yes I swear, oh god, I swear," he pleaded.

"Vincent, leave now. I will meet you outside The Guild," Sapha told him quietly.

"But Sister, your safety…" he protested.

"The Goddess watches me," Sapha replied and the man left silently. Sapha opened a window and looked out into the night, The Goddess visible over the wall.

"You, Hasmir, are a man without redemption. You are repulsive in look, manner and character. Your only outstanding feature is between your legs," Sapha indicated the engorged penis and the man looked at her. The blade whistled through the air and Hasmir gave a gurgle. Lying on his thigh was at least three quarters of his prised manhood detached. He began a low off key wail, building in volume and Sapha picked up the detached organ and shoved it in his open mouth.

"That is for your disregard of the woman you called wife," she said viciously, outside the room, noises could now be heard of men running.

"Oh blessed Goddess give me the speed I require at this my time of need" she said drawing blood with her blade. She turned and in a blur of motion launched herself out of the window. She hit the ground, one floor below, running. As she crossed the gardens towards the gate the world gave a shudder again.

"Lady you are too forgiving," she whispered.

"He is here screaming and moaning," The Goddess answered in her mind.

"Good! May it last an eternity," Sapha replied to her deity.

"What…are you there, William?" the voice enquired.

"My lady?" Sapha said, pausing outside the gate totally confused. The Goddess was silent though.

Outside the great house of The Guild, Sapha found Vincent, skulking in the shadows.

"The Goddess took him, too?" he asked.

"Yes," Sapha said with satisfaction in her voice. "She says he is screaming."

"The Goddess is not one to displease," Vincent admitted. "What do we do now, just walk in?"

"Yes," Sapha said, "the covenant has been broken here and I come to do as The Goddess wishes."

"But Sister…" he said the concern returning and she shook her head silencing him.

She walked to the great door where she had first met Vincent and indicated that he should stand back. She could feel the power of The Goddess within her. Banging three times with the hilt of her sword she took a deep breath.

"As one who does The Goddess’s bidding, I declare that this Guild has broken its covenant with her. With the name of her who walks in the night and she who watches all, I demand entry!" Sapha shouted, then she paused and spoke the single word, the name of a Goddess, "Illyana!"

The doors exploded in all directions, the largest piece no more than kindling. Vincent dived to the ground, as the pieces became deadly projectiles. Sapha stood firm, not one piece touching her. She walked into the building.

"All who live by the mercy of The Goddess lay down your weapons now and you shall not be harmed," she shouted, "all others will die!"

A man with an improvised club ran towards her. She stepped sideways and swung her sword at waist height at the man, his body separated into two halves. His upper half struggling to remain alive as his internal organs littered the floor.

"Sister DOWN!" came Vincent’s voice and something whistled through the air as she dropped. A dagger returned in the opposite direction and a man fell down the stairs.

"Where are the Master of the Night’s quarters?" she asked of him with a smile of gratitude.

"Upstairs, second floor, at the rear of the Guild house," he replied and the two of them made their way up the stairs.

On the second floor, a half dressed figure came bursting out of one of the rooms.

"Who are you?" it demanded in a voice that Sapha recognised.

"Why Dominick, after receiving the shelter of my Guild and my home as a guest new to Baghdad, then betraying us, I would have thought you would remember," Sapha said in a faintly amused tone of voice, but with an edge of steel.

"Sapha?" he said his lean face losing colour.

"Who else?" she asked. "Or have you betrayed so many you can’t remember?"

"No, I didn’t," he pleaded as the two of them approached.

"By The Goddess, I swear I didn’t betray you," he screamed at them then screamed again as The Goddess responded to his lie in her name.

His body erupted in flame, the skin crisping and burning, but his life remained. He screamed and writhed in agony as he burnt and his body rose into the air.

"Behold what becomes of an oath breaker," Vincent bellowed as Dominick’s body still writhing and still burning floated down the stairs with Sapha and Vincent following. Some men dropped their weapons and fled into the night as the burning form moved along the dark hallway illuminating all. Faces of those that stayed showed shock and revulsion at what they saw.

"Make way for one who broke his oath with The Goddess," Vincent cried out and the few who stood in the way rapidly parted. At the doorway the figure hung for a minute screaming the smell of burning flesh filled the house.

"I am Sapha! I am Mistress of the Night here! Does any wish to challenge?" she shouted, none responded.

"So be it," she said and the body was thrown out as if it was a rag doll. A wind blew through the hall removing the smoke and the smell and as the silent people watched the fragments of the door reformed. The door shut with a loud creak.

"Tomorrow I will be granting permission for you to work," Sapha said to the men and teenage boys looking at her. "No one works without my permission. No killing and take from only those who can afford the loss."

She walked upstairs with Vincent following, the world shuddered and the screams stopped outside.

"One more," came the voice of The Goddess in her mind, "the Teep."

"What?" she said loudly.

"Sister, what is it?" Vincent asked his face full of concern.

"Nothing, just The Goddess," she replied, "her voice is clear, her meaning is not."

"I have heard The Goddess before, calling me to her," Vincent admitted as they entered Dominick’s room. "I should leave."

"No Vincent," she said stopping him. "I need a Master of the day and I need to hold my friend tightly."

"Sister…" he said turning around to her.

"Sapha," she said firmly throwing her arms around him and holding him tight.

"But Sapha…" he protested trying to pull away from her as his excitement became obvious to her.

"Do you not wish it, as I do," she asked her breasts tight with excitement and her groin demanding attention.

"I did not wish you to be offended by one such as I, presuming such a thing," he said gently and placed his arms around her.

"You are a good man, a honest friend and cannot be turned from your principles," Sapha said to him, then traced the scar, which so worried him.

"This is just an indication of your bravery. But if you do not wish to share my bed and my life…" she said with disappointment in her voice.

He picked her up in his massive arms and deposited her on the bed.

"What are the rules to this little arrangement?" he asked with a grin looking down at her.

"Till we must travel separate paths?" she suggested with a grin and he smiled and kissed her.

"No," he said when she released him. She looked at him unsure. "Until we rule the night between us, across the world."

She pulled him back to her mouth and kissed him hard and passionately. His hands were working at her clothing pulling at it.

"NO," came a voice in her mind, she pushed it away.

"Oh yes," she said as her breasts were uncovered to his gaze. She looked down, the modest mounds seeming out of place for some reason she couldn’t identify. Her worries evaporated as his mouth found an engorged nipple, sending tingles across her body.

"No! This must not happen! This is not the way it should be," came the voice in her mind. She put her arms around Vincent’s head keeping it at her breast.

"Oh my sweet man," she said and gasped as his hand delved between her legs.

He began stripping her clothing, delighting in each piece of flesh he uncovered. Teasing her to the brink and then stopping as he continued his adoration of her body. He stopped and she realised that she was totally unclothed on the bed. All sensations were magnified by an answering response in her groin and breasts. Between her legs was slick with her excitement.

Vincent swiftly stripped his clothing, his penis springing to attention as it was released from its confines. The size shocked and scared her as battle and fear of death hadn’t.

"Vincent," she said her voice hoarse with passion, but her mouth dry from fear. "This is my first time."

"My Lady of the Night, you honour me above all others," Vincent said tenderly. "I will be gentle."

He caressed her body one last time, his organ urgently jabbing at her thigh, leaving a sticky trail.

"This will not happen," came a scream in her mind, she ignored it.

"Yes! Now my lover," Sapha whispered and opened her legs for him. He crawled over her, dwarfing her with his immensity, his penis a hot tickle making her giggle as it crossed her belly. Then the humour deserted her as it lodged at the entrance to her body. She raised her knees to give him easier access to her body, though all she wanted to do was run and scream. But this was her man, the quiet mountain who, over the last two days, had impressed her at every turn. He thrust forward into her tearing something on the way.

"Oooh," she moaned in pain and pleasure as the object carried on its relentless path. This was her man the man she would rule with.

"Yes my love," she said running her hands up his arms to his shoulders seeming so far above her. She pulled him down onto her so that she was crushed into the mattress with the relentless pounding in and out of her body of his passion. The sensations were building, the blood pounding in her ears and another noise, she couldn’t identify, screaming possibly?

"NO!" The shout came deafening them both, all passion forgotten. The building shook and the ceiling above them crumbled, debris falling on both of them. As they fought to get off the bed and reach their weapons, a huge hand grabbed Vincent and drew him through what had been the ceiling.

"NO!" Sapha screamed in rage, grabbing her sword, her nudity forgotten. She rushed out of the room and down the stairs, outside where others were fleeing.

A dark figure loomed over the Guild house, the night cloaking it from view. Screaming could be heard from high above, Vincent’s screaming.

"The Goddess has come," a man screamed pointing to the west. The stars of The Goddess were gone, a black space in the place where she should be peeking over the horizon. Sapha paused trying to see how to attack the creature that had seized her lover. Something fell at The Goddess’s feet a, shapeless lump that raised what may have been a hand and looked imploringly in Sapha’s direction with a bloody mess that had, what was recognisable as an eye, in it. It sank to the ground and the world shuddered.

"NO!" Sapha shouted her defiance at the figure. "Be you Goddess or demon, for that you will die."

She ran forward, towards a foot longer than she was tall and sliced at the back of the ankle. A scream of rage came from above and the figure fell to the ground demolishing what was left of The Guild house.

Sapha ran towards the head of the fallen figure and looked at the face of her beloved goddess. The goddess looked at her, black expressionless eyes in a skin as black as the void between the stars.

"You killed him, the one I loved," Sapha said raising the blade high, "for that you shall die!"

The Goddess opened her mouth and breathed on Sapha an air white-hot. The skin on her body crisped and pealed, her sight dimmed as her eyes boiled and she screamed.

"William," came a voice in her darkness. "William, can you hear me boy?"

It was an accented voice, a female voice and it was concerned. She sat up and found that she was in a bed, her breasts were gone.

"What have you…" she stopped her voice had changed it was deeper and strange memories were returning.

"William, you’re out, you are back," came the voice and he looked around. A small woman in a white coat with grey hair stood at the end of the bed. Sapha or was it William looked at her.

"Illyana?" he asked this older incarnation of The Goddess.

"That is Professor Dubrovnik to you, young man," she said with a stern voice, "but that can pass for now."

She struggled to get out of the bed and was shocked by hairy feet that appeared from beneath the sheet. She/he stood up and looked around.

"There is a mirror in there," The Professor said indicating a door. Sapha walked through it and was faced by an image. It was an image of a young man in his early twenties; greasy unkempt hair and a few spots graced his face. He was dressed in a hospital gown. His body was gangly and angular having not yet filled out after his adolescence. It was him that he was looking at and the Sapha element still so much part of him, was appalled.

"Do not worry, William," The Professor said gently, "you will be a handsome man in a few years."

He reached down between his legs and found his testicles and penis still there. He was relieved and shocked.

"Give it a day or two and Sapha will fade into the background," Illyana, his goddess said walking next to him. He felt exposed in the hospital gown.

"Listen to me, William Hunt," she said firmly drawing his attention down to her. She was diminutive in stature but he could feel the power of her mind.

"You are a lucky young man, that was a nasty twist that Harrison had for you. It is not often the Teep will be a minor character observing. He drew you into the grouping and I pulled you out. Now get back into bed till tomorrow. Don’t worry about what I might see. I have grandchildren older than you," she said laughing as he tried to protect his modesty. He slipped into the bed as she ordered.

"Have I failed then, Professor?" he asked dejectedly.

"What gives you that idea my boy?" she said gently "It was a bastard of a grouping that. You broke four out before I needed to step in. The only reason he got to you was that he used emotions and love on you rather than fighting you openly. An area where you are decidedly inexperienced"

William blushed and looked down at his feet creating lumps in the pale green blanket.

"Listen, inexperience is not a crime, you saved four lives today. You worry about your looks and you are insecure about yourself." Illyana paused for a moment and took his hand with her toy like hand, wrinkled with age. "You are worried about your looks, do not be. You look like a normal young man, but you have something special, a mind that is truly exceptional and a personality that will risk his mind to save others. You will find love and, I hope, it is what you deserve."

"Thank you," he answered wanting to weep openly, but unwilling to do so in front of her. "But what I did to those people, it was terrible, will they ever recover?"

"The healing arts are not always gentle or without risks to the practitioner and patient. At the end of the day if you can say what you did was in the patients best interest, then you can go home with a clear conscience. But please remember, especially here in my department, you will lose patients, you will lose colleagues and you may lose yourself," the professor said giving his hand a tighter squeeze. "But there is no better place to be privileged to work."

"I will leave you now, for a while," she said and walked out the door closing it behind her. A young woman, a technician who had overseen the procedure, stood there anxiously chewing on a fingernail.

"Is he…is he," she asked unable to say the words.

"Relax Susan, he is well, a little shaken but well," the old lady said to her.

"Oh good," Susan blurted out caught somewhere between joy and tears.

"He will be a brilliant Curative Telepathist, given time and support. Go and see him, dear," Illyana told her gently and walked away, heading out of the ward and along the busy hospital corridor. She thought about checking, just to see if she had gone in to see William. But Susan had been so concerned about him she decided against it. There are some things you do not need to be a telepathist to see.

 

The End?…(Is it worth another…Tell me…)

 

 

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