Mindful Book 2
Chapter 6
More Wanderings.

With bitterness in her heart, Iona was forced to divorce her wife Dawn whom she had come so much to love. Both Dawn and her father now realised just how tenacious and determined her pursuers were and they were more than aware of just what danger Dawn’s children would be in if the military authorities ever got wind of Dawn’s telepathic children. With tears filling her eyes, Iona made her farewells and headed south through Mexico to Nicaragua to resume a new hunt for her other children. However Iona’s tears were nothing like as intense as Dawns for a couple of days after Iona’s departure, Dawn realised her unborn children would probably never see their father Iona.
Once in Managua, Iona activated yet another of her numerous personas and accessed yet another of her many alternative bank accounts. With these new identities, she returned to the United States to resume her quest. For several months, she criss-crossed the remainder of the American continent by road, rail and air whilst carefully scanning for any evidence of telepathy. She was not surprised at her lack of results and eventually she concluded her children were in neither Canada, Mexico nor the United States. Reluctantly she concluded it would require a systematic scan of the whole planet to find them. The children had learned their lessons well after the terrible battle at the military base and they had taken decisive steps to avoid being caught.

Iona was convinced her only recourse lay in telepathy. To indulge in any electronic search would immediately reveal her efforts to any watchers and her telepathic scans confirmed there were still watchers. Fortunately, that same telepathy would continue to keep Iona several steps ahead of any future hunters.

Once finally clear of the Mexican Southern border with Central America Iona felt a weight lift off her shoulders. In South America, she activated yet another long dormant bank deposit to destroy the paper trail and simultaneously assumed another identity. Next, she purchased flying lessons before buying a twin-engined private plane. A flying licence was much easier to obtain in the casual skies of Latin America.

She adopted the usual gridiron search technique and concluded after nearly a year of constant flying that her children were not in the western hemisphere. Next, she flew across the Atlantic at its narrowest part and arrived in West Africa to start searching that vast continent. Eventually her persistence proved successful.

Her tedious grid-iron search had covered the southern half of the African continent then next the endless Saharan wastes until she eventually detected feint telepathic whisperings around Luxor on The Nile.

Warm tendrils curled into her weary brain as the dark scar of the Nile Valley emerged once more from the grey Saharan wastes for the umpteenth time of her crossing its northernmost reaches.

She reflected ruefully how events reflected ‘Murphy’s Law’.
‘It had to be the extreme North-Eastern corner of Africa, the very last quarter of the map after all her countless flights over the Dark Continent’.

‘Still’, she concluded, ‘at least she hadn’t had to do Asia, Europe and Australasia’.

Weary from the constant journeying and the countless border negotiations, (Unlike her earlier youthful wanderings, this time she was in a private aircraft with all the attendant bureaucracy.) she landed at Luxor and booked into a luxury hotel, grateful for that ancient city’s extensive tourist trade.

Once settled, she did not need to rush or hide for she had temporarily shed her pursuers.

At occasional intervals, she left her telepathy in ‘receiver mode’ with occasional telepathic bursts like a lighthouse flashing. Then she simply waited for Ben’s ‘radar’ to detect her mind-waves. It was not a long wait. As she lay dozing on the crisp linen bed sheets, a cautious probe filtered into her brain as Ben nervously tested his discovery.

“Is that really you dad?”

“Yes. Long time, no see.”

The ether fell silent again. Iona concluded that Ben was being ‘super-cautious’ and obviously ‘discussing’ his stunning discovery with his sisters. Iona debated whether to probe or even transmit a signal but decided to wait again. She had no idea what advances might have been achieved by ‘normals’ so she decided to leave it to Ben to make any positive steps.

As expected, there was no more activity that day. Iona had no idea if her children had now discovered a way of blanketing their activity or if they had simply ‘closed down’ until they were certain of the situation. She realised that Ben and the girls might be every bit as cautious as she was. Perhaps they suspected a trap as well.

‘After all,’ concluded Iona, ‘until yesterday, they had believed their father was dead.’

Assuming that Ben knew at least as much as herself about any new risks to their telepathy, Iona let the matter lie and gratefully turned over to savour the air-conditioned comfort of her room.

The next morning she readily recognised her four children taking breakfast in the same hotel but she refrained from acknowledging them.

Strangely, the four appeared not to recognise her, but Iona had half expected that. They had been separated for over four years and three of those years involved intensive flying and searching through jungle, savannah and desert.

Such a strain took its toll on a girl’s complexion. Iona knew she looked nothing like the girl who had once destroyed an army. She mused that the wrinkles and premature creases in her weather-beaten features created a classic image of middle age despite her only being in her thirties. Such wrinkles and creases provided an excellent but unwelcome disguise. Besides, she had dyed her hair and was wearing her coloured contact lenses..

The four children looked exactly what they were, a group of western youngsters taking in the Egyptian thing. It was obvious to Iona that the four were well practised in secrecy and the three girls used their blocking capacity to shut Iona out. Recognising their caution, Iona carried on eating as though the four did not exist. She did however; leave her telepathy on ‘receive’ in anticipation of their eventual contact. She also made it abundantly clear that her thoughts were easily discernible. Eventually the ‘youth’ in the group discreetly caught Iona’s eye and acknowledged Iona’s thoughts. Iona finally replied.

“My, but you’re cagey son!”

“With good reason dad,” replied Ben. “We thought you were dead! What time are you going to the valley of the kings?”

“Two o’clock, when the sun’s at its hottest.”

“Why then. It’ll be bloody hot!”

“Yes, but virtually deserted except for a few sleeping guards; and it’ll be deathly quiet. I remember from last time when I was a youngster. In the early morning and evenings, the place is heaving with hordes of tourists. In the heat of the day it’s deathly still, much more like a royal graveyard. You’ll see it as it really was meant to be.”

“Thanks for the tip dad,” replied Ben, “see you there. Have you detected anybody else?”

“No.” Iona replied. “It’s still just we five, and four little native American twins; unless you’ve been uhmm.”

“Oh! Nothing like that dad Time enough for all that. So what about these ‘Indian twins’ then?”

“I’ll explain when we meet in the valley. See you later. Two o’clock, that’s when it's at its hottest and quietest. No interruptions.”

The four children recognised their father’s caution and returned to their breakfast as Iona made her way into town. There she re-acquainted herself with some old friends from her previous visit to Egypt and spent the morning kicking over the traces. Noon found her crossing the Nile and making her way to the Valley of the Kings where she finally embraced her children.

“So why here?” They chorused telepathically.

“It’s quiet, there’s no disturbances and even the tomb guards are sleeping. I want to try out some stuff by crossing over to the other side.”

“Crossing over the other side; what’s that?” Wondered Ben.
“I have an Indian Shaman for a friend. His name is ‘He-that-sees’. He uses herbs to cross over to the other side and speak to the dead. The strange thing is that when he does so, it bends space and time somehow. If he’s on the other side when I try to contact him, I can reach him from anywhere on earth.”

“Speaking to the dead! That sounds a bit dangerous,” cautioned Rebecca.

“I used to think so,” countered Iona, “but I’ve learned a lot of stuff since I last saw you. I’d like to try to cross over and walk on the other side here, in the valley of the dead.”

The four children exchanged nervous looks then turned as one. Iona knew they had been practising telepathy now for years and probably functioned almost as one entity when it suited them. She explained what she had learnt from the old Indian shaman and the four children relaxed slightly.

“You should mix it more with the natives when you travel,” suggested Iona, “you’d learn a lot more. Telepathy has made you introspective. I would have hoped you would be spreading your wings.”

“We are. Why d’ you think we’re visiting Egypt. We’ve done virtually all of Europe,” countered Rachel, “and I’m only just turned a teenager.”

“And your education?” queried Iona. “What about schooling?”

“What about it? Objected Natasha. “What can they teach us?”

“Maths and science,” suggested Iona.

“Just book learning. We don’t need schools for that,” observed Rebecca, “we can read minds.”

” All right, I’m not going to argue with the four of you. God forbid! Who am I to judge?

So anyway, to change the subject, what have you been doing with yourselves?”

The four children started chattering eagerly as they returned to the River Nile. The rest of the afternoon was spent sitting on the banks of the Nile enjoying cool lemon sherbets while they described their adventures since leaving America with their mothers. Eventually the telepathic conversation finally waned and they explained how they worked their telepathy as a group.

“As Ben said; we’ve enjoyed touring Europe and visiting all the interesting places; the Grand Tour,” finished Rebecca who, as the oldest girl, often spoke for the four of them.

Ben seeming to take a back seat unless the issues directly affected him.

Iona accepted their explanations then described her intentions. Her ideas roused the children’s interest and they cautiously agreed to provide any ‘logistical telepathic support’ if she needed it whilst crossing to the ‘dark side’.

For the interim however, they indulged in the tourist trip and savoured what Luxor had to offer. That evening, Iona visited several apothecaries and purchased many different African equivalents of ‘He that sees’ American herbs.

She knew her purchases would arouse the interest of any individual who might have some residual knowledge of the ancient Egyptian ways so she made no secret of her actions and left a clear trail back to her room. It was barely minutes before a knock on her door confirmed her expectations. A scan ensured the caller was ‘bona-fides’ and she invited a nervous woman in.

The woman was dressed in a threadbare bourka and niqab that completely hid her body and face. There was also a faintly unpleasant odour beneath the liberal doses of cheap scent. Iona recognised a frightened Egyptian peasant woman.

Drawing on her earlier teenaged learning of Arabic, they conversed for several minutes before Iona finally put the woman at her ease. Eventually she disrobed her outer covering down to her jebella and revealed herself younger than Iona had unwittingly assumed. The tattoos around her eyes had made her appear wrinkled and the niqab had served to hide the rest her beautiful face. She smiled readily as Iona prepared some mint tea.

“So why did you follow me?” asked Iona.

“Your herbs you bought. I was the beggar by the door. I watched you in the apothecary, those herbs point to the dark side.”

“Do you fear that side?” asked Iona easily.

The girl frowned slightly as she tried to size Iona up

“Are you not afraid of it?”

“Of what?” countered Iona enigmatically.

“The dark side, the forces of evil.”

“Why d’ you think of them as evil? Have you walked with them? Have you dealt with them?”

“Only slightly. The Imam warns against them, Islam warns of their power and their danger.”

“Only if used for Evil. If used for knowledge or good, they serve well.”

“Are you a witch?” asked the girl.

“No. I simply search for knowledge and fulfilment.”

“On the dark side,” argued the girl.

“There is light there as well. I have seen light when I cross.”

“So, you do travel there.”

“Yes. I won’t deny it. Have you crossed over?”

Iona pretended not to know but telepathy already gave her the answers.

“Only once,” replied the girl truthfully, “I tried it when I was alone. I only made it to the gates, I was afraid, and the herbs made me sick.”

“Hmm, a bad way to do things. Didn’t you have a guide?”

“Not here, not in Egypt, not in the Realm of Islam. I would be charged with witchcraft.”

“What, in Egypt? I’ve always found Egyptians to be urbane and educated.”

“That’s in the cities. It’s not like that in my small village. They already condemn me for refusing to enter an arranged marriage and for running away from home to live here in the big city.”

Iona recognised the age-old equation of the abnormal individual seeking anonymity and safety in the big city. She was simply a bright young peasant girl trying to improve her lot and refusing to accept what others had planned for her. Iona returned to the girl’s attempts to cross over to the dark side.

“So you tried crossing alone. I’m surprised you got back at all.”

“I had to stop at the big black wall. It would not let me pass. Will you teach me?” pleaded the girl.

“You were lucky you could not cross. The other side is very dangerous. Why did you do it? What drives you? What d’ you seek?”

“I have no living, no wage. I have to beg.”

“And if I do teach you, how will you earn your living?”

“As a seer, a fortune teller.”

“But you might abuse those skills. Use them for blackmail.”

Iona had already studied the girl’s intentions and found little malice or intent. If Iona’s telepathy had detected the faintest whisper of evil, the girl would never have crossed the threshold of Iona’s hotel room. The girl became agitated.

“No! There is no evil in my heart. I only wish to learn the gifts. To help others as I needed help.”

“What help was that?”

The girl fell silent, reluctant to divulge her anxiety. Iona already knew but it remained for the girl to reveal it, to cleanse it from her soul. The silence grew oppressive but Iona sat patiently. Iona always recognised an abused individual, (a fellow traveller) when she met one. Eventually the girl whispered.

“I need money.”

“Of course. They all do.”

“No! I’m not begging. I will not beg from you. I need to earn money. I have strange dreams and visions. They frighten me. If I can learn what they mean- “The girl trailed off uncertainly.

“You might be able to explain dreams for others,” finished Iona, “and then charge for your interpretations.”

The girl nodded as her gaze fell disconsolately to the floor.

“But– there’s a problem with your faith, Islam.”

Again, the girl nodded in silence. Iona read the girl’s tension and fear. Slowly she looked up again and met Iona’s gaze.

“In my village, they are superstitious. Because I refused to become an arranged bride, because I refused to become the baby-making machine of some ignorant farmer, I was accused of being evil. They accused me of witchcraft because of my strange dreams. I had to run away.

Luxor is not a big city and my brothers are searching for me. If they find me, they will drag me back or more probably kill me to avenge the family honour.
My family had already contracted to have me married. I want to go to Cairo. It’s easier to hide and there are doctors there.”

“Doctors?” queried Iona.

“Yes. I am inf- infib,”

The girl stumbled with her words, almost dumb with fear and shame. Iona recognised what the girl was trying to tell her. Again, telepathy put her ahead as she realised the girl had been severely mutilated at birth or soon after. Softly Iona whispered the word to try to encourage a full revelation.

“Infibulated.”

The girl nodded as tears started to run and she tried to continue.

“And- and cir- circumcised.”

Iona felt a familiar wave of revulsion tighten into a knot in her belly.

‘The girl had been cruelly disfigured. If she had been forced to marry, she would have suffered horrendous agony on her wedding night.

Before her wedding, ignorant old women would have cut the scar that had partially sealed her vagina since infancy.

Now Iona recognised the unpleasant odour. With a partially blocked vagina to ensure virginity, there was no rapid escape for her menstrual discharges and no proper access for sanitary dressings or, more importantly, female hygiene. She only had a tiny vestigial opening to allow a reduced unhygienic flow. The girl would always smell thus until her scar was opened fully and she was properly able to attend her needs. Then, with the scabs barely healed, she would have been virtually raped by some ignorant loutish farmer who had become her husband by arrangement.

Her wedding night would have been a nightmare. There would have been no joy or pleasure for her. The crude ‘circumcision’ at birth would have removed any normal pleasurable sensations for her. With virtually no clitoris, it would have been nothing more than a mechanical penetration to get her pregnant. As a woman, she was destined to become little more than an unfeeling reproduction machine.

By western mores, every sex act would have been virtually an agonising rape. No foreplay, no lubrication, no ‘consent’, simply a brutal, tearing invasion of her desensitised womanhood.’

Iona shuddered for she knew all about rape. Gently she reached out and stroked the girl’s tear stained face as she spoke.

“So you hope there is a doctor in Cairo who can help you?”

The girl nodded hopefully.

“Do you know of one for definite?” asked Iona recognising the girl’s uncertainty.

The girl’s gaze fell floorward again and she wagged her head slowly before speaking.

“No but I need money to find out. My bus fare, medical fees and everything.”

“That will take a lot of money,” cautioned Iona.

“It’s that or I kill myself!” protested the girl.

Iona’s telepathy recognised the real forces of pain, anger and despair that signalled the very real intent of suicide. The girl was deadly serious and the threat of her brothers was very real. Iona examined the girl’s memories and images and concluded the girl was telling nothing but truth. She decided to help the girl.

Additionally, the girl had been brutally infibulated, - ‘probably within a few days of birth in some crude, unhygienic village ritual-, to ensure virginity on the wedding night.

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“That’s old for an unmarried girl from the country. How long have you left your village?”
“Nearly a year. I refused every marriage contract since I was fifteen. That’s why I was accused of being a witch.”

“That figures,” concluded Iona. “Well I will take you under my wing as of now. You can stay here in the hotel and I will sort it with the manager. We will have to get you out of those clothes though and properly washed. The hotel is a little sensitive about its clientele and those shabby rags will embarrass them. It surprises me that you got past the door. A little shopping is needed but first we embark upon our first crossing over to the ‘dark side’ as you call it.”

The girl’s eyes widened slightly with nervousness.

“What; here in the hotel?”

“Yes. It’s the safest place, nobody will disturb us. This is one of the top presidential apartments. Normally a guest taking these rooms would have their own personal staff and the rooms reflect this. There are three en-suite bedrooms and I have my own mini kitchen. I can prepare some herbs here.”

So saying, Iona stepped into the mini kitchen and started boiling some water as she prepared an assortment of herbs. The girl watched then accepted Iona’s invitation to assist. As she pulverised some seeds, she soon realised there were two different dosages.

“Why two?” she asked.

“We are different in many ways. Herbs affect us differently.”

“How can I trust you?” continued the girl.

“You’ll just have to. You came to me remember. You obviously know a little about the herbs otherwise you would not have noticed my purchases. Have you seen anything dangerous being added?”

Iona’s logic persuaded the girl for she was desperate. After an hour spent preparing the herbs, the pair settled on opposite sofas took their doses and fell into a trance.

It was Iona’s first crossing since leaving the Indian nations. The herbs were different from those used by ‘He that sees’ but there were no complications. The accompanying girl was stunned to learn that the Dark Side actually had light and that the light actually felt friendly. There was no threat and the girl sensed an all-enveloping sense of warmth.

Iona felt the girl’s excitement mount and decided that enough had been achieved. Tomorrow she wanted to take her four children on a similar crossing so practising with an Arab peasant girl had been a useful test.
Iona was already awake and brewing some more tea when the girl finally recovered from her trance.

“Back with us I see.”

The girl swayed drunkenly and blinked uncertainly as she woke. Cautiously she took the proffered cup and sipped it as though testing it.

“Go on. It’s not poisoned.”

So saying, Iona lifted the cup and took a substantial drink to reassure the girl.

“If I’d wanted to kill you I could have easily done it whilst you were sleeping.”

The girl met her gaze and nodded before apologising.

“I’m Sorry. I’m still nervous.”

“Yes you must learn to trust me. How did you enjoy your trip?”

“It wasn’t what I expected.”

“And what did you expect?” pressed Iona. “The descent into the pit, flames and purgatory, tortured souls, the great Satan?”

“Yes, something like that.”

“Don’t believe everything your Imam tells you. The gateway to the other side is not the gate to hell.”

“Is it wrong to cross over?” asked the girl.

“I don’t think so. It’s never harmed me; done me some good in fact.”

“How?”

“It’s a long story; too long to tell now. Come on, the shops will be opening soon; we need to get you tidied up and washed.”

The girl cringed self-consciously.

“Is it noticeable?”

“To a woman’s nose, yes.”

“I- I cannot prevent it.”

“We’ll get that sorted by and by. For now, go and shower. I’ll pop down to the hotel foyer and buy some strong perfume.”

When Iona returned, the girl was still showering so she started preparing herbs for tomorrow’s crossing with her children. Eventually the girl emerged and Iona nodded to the perfume.

“It’s cheap but strong. That and the shower should help to disguise your problem.”

The girl sniffed the perfume then recognised the smell of Iona’s boiling herbs.

“What are they for?”

“I cross again tomorrow. Not with you though.”

“Why not?”

“I have other rows to hoe. Come on, get dressed.”

The girl re-robed quickly and they visited the souk. There, in its narrow shady alleys, they quickly assembled a modest wardrobe and bought a new black burkah. Iona quickly recognised its purpose to cover the girl from head to toe and prevent recognition by her brothers. The burqa and niqab served as a perfect cover. It provided anonymity and invisibility. Iona so admired the girl’s simple tactic that she bought an outfit for herself.

The following morning Iona debated taking the girl along to meet her children in the Valley of the Kings but decided against it. The less people knew of telepathy, the better. The girl could not stay in Iona’s room so she agreed to go into the town and return in the late afternoon.
At breakfast, in their burkahs, Iona and the girl got some strange stares from other guests but she ignored them and they continued chatting until eleven. Then they parted at the hotel steps. Iona’s four children were already across the river and waiting for their father as they rendezvoused at the taxi rank and shared a cab to the valley. It was gone noon when they arrived in the scorching heat of ‘The Valley of the Kings’.

In the deathly silence, they found a secluded corner and Iona explained her intentions before handing out the herbs.

“I’m hoping that our combined resources might enable us to reach further into the other side than a single visitor can. My native Indian guide, ‘He that sees’, always believed if more people crossed over together, they could achieve more.”

In this Iona proved ‘He that sees’ to be right but even she was pleasantly surprised to learn how much more could be done. She knew that on Thursdays, the Native American children often crossed over in the early morning and the time difference coincided with the late evening in Egypt. She was pleased and excited to ‘meet’ with the Indian children who had done exactly as she had hoped. Across the vast earthly distances, she ‘introduced’ her children to the Indian children, their mother Dawn and her first nations father He that Sees. Everybody savoured the exchange before reluctantly returning to their earthly bodies.

For the children it had proved a valuable exercise and demonstrated a heretofore-unknown aspect of their abilities. From now on, they could arrange to ‘meet’ on the other side whilst thousands of miles apart. It remained only to teach each child about the herbs and the trance. All five decided to stick with ‘He that Sees’ techniques, and after finalising the details, they returned separately to the hotel.
Iona found the Egyptian peasant girl waiting nervously in the foyer. A scan told her the girl had encountered her brothers in the souk but they had not recognised her under the all-embracing bourka and niqab. Up in the room, they arranged to travel to Cairo that night and the girl was stunned to learn that Iona had her own aeroplane.

The following morning she met Iona’s four children who had decided to avail themselves of the flight and accompany their father to Cairo.Once in the huge bustling city, the children separated from their father again whilst the girl stuck like glue to Iona. She was a frightened peasant girl in Cairo’s unfamiliar, raucous, urban chaos. Once in the quiet air-conditioned sanctuary of another hotel apartment, she slumped gratefully into a large sofa then turned curiously to Iona.

“Why do your children call you father?”

Iona shrugged easily.

“Because I am their father.”

“But you are a- a woman.”

“I’m not.”

The girl tensed nervously as Iona passed her a cup of tea and settled on the sofa opposite her.

“But you- you look like a woman; you behave like a woman. Are- are you a eunuch?”
Iona smiled at the girl’s natural tendency to associate any sexual dysphoria with her own Koranic education and customs.

“Good gracious no. I am complete and I function normally. How could I be a father if I was a eunuch?”

The girl accepted Iona’s explanation but Iona noticed a distinct stiffening in the girl’s demeanour. ‘The relationship had changed and Iona knew she would have to put the girl at ease.

“You’re quite safe. I do not act like a man. I will not harm you. Have I done anything yet to cause you fear or harm?”
The girl hesitated then wagged her head. Until she had met the children, she had thought Iona to be entirely a woman. She breathed deeply as she hazarded a question.

“Why do you live as a woman?”

“It’s another long story. You’d better make yourself comfortable.”

The girl drew her legs under her body in a defensive posture and rearranged her bourka to envelope herself completely. Iona smiled at the girl’s modesty. ‘Such caution was a typical defence for a woman in her rigid uneducated world. The girl was a child of her oppressive rural upbringing.’

Iona ignored the girl’s behaviour and poured herself a second cup of tea as she related her life story. It was dark when she finished and she invited the girl to accompany her into the souk for a meal at a restaurant belonging to a lady who had been Iona’s friend during her teenaged wanderings. The girl was reluctant at first but Iona finally persuaded her and they visited the restaurant where old friendships were once again renewed. The proprietress readily gave Iona the names of several doctors who specialised in correcting the wrongs of ignorance inflicted on countless African girls.

When they returned that night to the hotel suite, the girl locked her bedroom door for the first time and Iona smiled.

‘Poor kid. As though anybody could do anything to her with her vagina so cruelly mutilated.’
In the morning, Iona discussed the list of doctors with the girl then arranged to meet her restaurateur friend to consult some of the doctors.
The following week, the girl underwent surgery.

It was a different girl who finally emerged from the hospital chattering and giggling as she savoured her new correct condition. Iona smiled sympathetically. The doctor had advised her privately that the clitorectomy had been a particularly invasive and crude affair. There was little tissue left for any repair work and the girl would probably never enjoy the full satisfaction of a proper orgasm. Iona decided not to tell the girl. What she never knew, she would never miss. Sadly Iona’s hopes in this were dashed.

Some days later, Iona heard the girl grunting agitatedly in the shower and wailing softly as the water splattered intermittently betraying her efforts to climax.

“Are you all right Fatima? What’s wrong?”

The girl fell silent then finally emerged with her face beetroot red.

“I don’t know. It is since the operation. I now have needs down there but there is no relief.”

Iona frowned. Another visit to the doctor was called for.

The following morning a worried Iona emerged from the doctor’s clinic. It seemed that occasionally, complications followed surgery involving amputation. This was the appearance of a ‘Phantom Limb Syndrome’. If any nerves were improperly separated, the damaged ends sometimes ‘short-circuited’ and transmitted false sensations to the brain. To the injured individual this often felt like a ‘Phantom Limb’. In Fatima’s case, the doctor’s remedial efforts had partially returned sensation to Fatima’s mutilated clitoral nerves but there was no proper clitoral bud to complete the climactic satisfaction. Fatima kept feeling horny but was unable to satisfy her urges. The situation was serious for the poor girl was becoming demented with need. Iona debated employing a unique solution for it would mean betraying her telepathy.

That night Iona’s mind was made up for her. Throughout the dark hours she was tormented by Fatima’s frustrated whimperings that finally erupted into a shriek of tortured pain as the desperate girl inadvertently ruptured some of the doctor’s careful ‘needle-work’ and drew blood from the mutilated depression that had briefly held her infant clitoris.

Fatima’s shriek was followed by a wail of terror as she struggled with her locked bedroom door and screamed for Iona to come and help her stop the bleeding.

In the shower, Iona carefully inspected Fatima’s ruined femininity and desperately staunched the blood as the girl slowly calmed down and sobbed her anguish.

“Help me Iona! In the name of Allah, help me! Surely he did not mean for this!”

“Allah certainly did not mean this to be done to any woman!” reassured Iona. “Islam forbids this. I know for I have spoken to many Muslim scholars. Islam condemns mutilation.”

“What am I to do?” begged Fatima as she pressed her finger urgently against Iona’s temporary dressing, partly to staunch the blood and partly to assuage the constant demands of her frustrated libido.

“In the morning I will try to help you. For now, I will make you a herbal sleeping draught to knock you out.”

“Please, please!” pleaded Fatima, “I cannot stand much more of this!”

So saying, Iona busied herself in the kitchen and brewed the strongest herbal potion she knew. She found the girl curled into a tensed ball so she gently brought the cup to Fatima’s feverish lips.

“There. That should knock you out. When you wake, at least your body will be rested. We will deal with your libido come morning.”

Fatima whispered ‘thank you’ softly as the herbs took hold and she drifted into oblivion.
Iona slept easier with Fatima knocked senseless by the herbs. No rabid mutterings or cries came from the girl’s bedroom and a quiet calm settled over the hotel suite. The sun was well risen before Fatima woke and stepped cautiously to Iona’s bedroom. She studied the sleeping Iona and decided to confirm if the pretty, western lady really was what she claimed to be, a man.
Iona woke to find the Arab girl’s fingers already inveigling their cautious way into her groin. A suppressed gasp of realisation declared Fatima’s discovery of Iona’s tumescent organ as she realised that Iona was telling the truth. Gently Iona grasped the girl’s offending hand and held it against her semi rigid erection as she whispered.

“Satisfied now?”

The startled girl squeaked with fear then tried to offer an apology.

“I’m sorry. I was just checking to see-.”

“If I was telling the truth,” finished Iona.

“Y- yes.”

“And now that you know for certain, what are your plans?”

“I- I-, nothing, why?”

“Good. Then nothing more shall come of it. Now get out of my room while I dress.”

Fatima slinked guiltily away and prepared a cup of tea by way of apology. Iona smiled when a gentle knock presaged the girl’s return with the tray. Iona had just showered and was only wearing her peignoir. As she turned to answer the girl’s knock, she inadvertently revealed her ripe breasts and fully erect penis. The girl stood staring sheepishly.

“Just put it on the table and stop gaping. You look like a startled fawn.”

The girl continued staring but Iona refused to close her nightdress.

“Well don’t be afraid girl. I’m not going to do anything. Why are you staring like that?”

“It’s your- your thing. It- it’s different. It stands like a soldier.”

Iona realised that the girl had been raised in the strict rigid culture of Egypt’s peasant community. She may never have been told anything about a man’s penis and certainly nothing about erections. As an older sister, she might have seen her baby brother’s penises, but never an adult specimen. Out of respect for the girl’s innocence, Iona turned and slipped some knickers on before re-tying her peignoir under her breasts.

Fatima recovered her composure and placed the tray before sitting on the bed. Iona realised the girl had some questions so she sat on the dressing able stool to reassure her. Any closer approach might have sent the wrong signals.

“Come on Fatima, out with it.”

“Your thing. Is that how it works?”

” Yes. It gets hard and becomes erect.”

“And- and you become aroused; ready to- to do it.”

“I become aroused but I do not necessarily ‘do it’ as you so succinctly put it.”

“But you are ready. I saw it. That’s when men take their pleasures.”

“And who told you that?”

“It is the way. The women told me. When the man is ready he is like- like you are now.”

“And what if the woman is not ready?” countered Iona.

Fatima fell silent. The idea that a woman could be ‘ready’ or ‘not ready’ was alien to her. The idea that a woman should have a choice, a free will, was new. That was the very reasoning behind the brutal mutilation she had suffered as a new-born.
Once a girl was ‘sealed’ at birth, she could never be ‘ready’ as it were. The instance of ‘becoming ready’ was determined by the oppressive climate of her primitive culture. Once a marriage was arranged, she would be ‘made ready’ for sex just before the wedding. After that, she became the property of her husband and free will would continue to be denied her.

All this was utterly contrary to the laws of Islam, but ignorance, illiteracy and oppression prevented many poor African women from ever learning the truth. Fatima had demonstrated supreme courage by escaping the culture trap and this courage endeared her to Iona.
Iona continued supportively.

“You have already answered my question by your courage Fatima. Your escape from the village was your statement of free will.”
The girl looked up tearfully.

“But free to do what? What of this- this- “she hesitated searching for words to describe the sensations from her groin, “this need, this itch-, down here.”

Iona thought long and hard as the girl squirmed self-consciously. If she were to try to resolve Fatima’s frustration, she would somehow have to enter the girl’s mind. Just as she had previously used her telepathy to kill or stun, now she would have to use it to somehow stimulate the girl’s libido. It was going to be a massive test of her telepathy and she would have to reveal her telepathic gift to the primitive girl. God alone knew what effect invading her mind would have on Fatima’s primitive superstitious upbringing. The more Iona considered the idea, the more she realised she would have to warn the girl first.

‘Still’, concluded Iona’ ‘at least Fatima knew about the ‘dark side’ so they were already part way there.’
As she sipped her tea, Iona sighed resignedly.

“Oh well, I suppose I’d better let you in on some secrets. God knows; you already consider me to be a witch or warlock.”

“I don’t!” gasped Fatima trying to deny her inner feelings.

“You do,” countered Iona, “you try to compare me to some of the images, your Imam conjured up during Koran lessons. The trouble is, I just don’t fit any of the terrible images he tried to frighten the children with, do I? No dragons or serpents, no horned beasts of the pit.”

Fatima gazed nervously into Iona’s smiling eyes. The soft easy smile of the strange western lady just did not sit with the terrible warnings uttered by the stern old Imam.

“How did you know about that- the Imam?” whispered Fatima fearfully.

“I know lots of things about you. I know I need not fear you. I must also add that you need not fear me.”

“What? What do you know about me?” urged Fatima.

Iona described a few details of Iona’s memory and the girl’s jaw sagged with terror.

“You can see inside me! You know my thoughts!”

“Yes Fatima. That is my secret but you need not fear it. I do not use it for evil unless evil is used against me. I know your heart is pure.”
For long minutes, Fatima sat silent on the bed, studying the floor as she gathered her racing thoughts. Eventually she turned again to Iona.

“You are truly a magi, aren’t you?”

“A magi-?” wondered Iona aloud.

“Yes. A wise person like those visitors at the birth of your prophet Jesus.”
Iona realised that Fatima meant ‘The Three wise men’.

“If a magi is your word for a telepath, then yes; I am a magi.”

“What did you call it?” asked Fatima.

“A telepath, I took the Arabic extraction for the Greek root. I’m not sure if it translates well going through English.”

“I do not know your word, but I have no proper schooling. Why do you speak of distance?” asked Fatima.

“I can travel into your thoughts from a distance. I see now that you are frightened. Do not be, your thoughts are clean and honest.”

Again, Fatima fell silent before eventually asking the next question.

“How can your magic help me?

“I’m not sure yet. I have many skills but I have never tried to remedy your problem. I can only offer to help. I might fail.”

“Will it harm me?” asked Fatima.

“I do not think so, but I cannot promise.”

“What will you do?”

Iona explained about her limited telekinesis inside the brain and how she could affect the neural pathways. If Fatima were willing, she, Iona, would try to find an alternative neural pathway to total orgasm; perhaps even create a new one. This said, Iona knew better than anybody, the risks and obstacles ahead.

Fatima had no understanding of any part of Iona’s plan but she was desperate for a cure. Iona’s mind raced ahead as she considered several different strategies. Finally, she concluded that a journey via the ‘dark side’ might be the best starting point.
Iona could harness ‘He that sees’ extensive experience as well as Dawn’s female perspective. The Shoshone shamans were well used to ‘travelling’ for medical reasons and women’s problems sometimes stemmed from dissatisfaction with their sexual circumstances. The shaman’s experience in dealing with such problems would prove invaluable to Iona. Fatima’s problems quite definitely originated from that quarter.

Finally, Fatima was already familiar with this journeying to the ‘dark side’ and Iona needed to give the girl all the reassurance she could.
She explained her strategy to Fatima who sat silently contemplating the idea before reluctantly giving assent. The frustration in her loins was becoming life threatening. Fatima was becoming suicidal.

Iona then spent the rest of the morning explaining her telepathy to Fatima who listened entranced by Iona’s explanations and repulsed by the experiences Iona recounted.

“Your life has been a trial,” observed the girl tearfully.

“Think of it as a rite of passage. I am still angry with much that I remember but I can temper that anger. When I see good, I am rewarded twenty-fold. In you I see good, I am therefore prepared to try and help. Your cure is my reward.”

Fatima leaned forward and tearfully embraced the older woman then they started to prepare the herbs in the kitchen.

For two days they experimented with crossing over, then as Thursday rolled around, they prepared to meet ‘He that Sees and his daughter Dawn. Both Shoshone shamans proved immensely helpful and Dawn even offered to join Iona inside Fatima’s mind.
Fatima agreed with this for she was still not entirely comfortable with Iona’s maleness. To have a ‘man’ going unaccompanied through her most intimate sexuality and digging into one’s deepest secrets seemed somehow tantamount to rape. She was grateful for Dawn’s offer. Iona would thus be ‘chaperoned’ according to strict Islamic custom. Dawn for her part was excited at the prospect of entering another person’s mind for strictly medical reasons. It was a unique opportunity to extend her knowledge.

Their efforts occupied the remainder of Thursday and with the time difference, Iona and Fatima did not come out of their trance until the following Friday morning. It was the Muslim Sabbath and Fatima left to go the mosque to give thanks. Iona was exhausted with her efforts and simply slept all day, thankful that the raucous growl of the city was calmed by the peace of the Sabbath. That evening, Fatima returned to find Iona still asleep. For a moment, she was concerned then she remembered Iona’s words about telepathy using much energy. She concluded that whatever Iona had done inside her head was successful; she no longer suffered from the inexorable demands of her phantom clitoris. She would test Iona’s cure later that evening.

Carefully, she prepared some herbal tea then gently wakened Iona as the sun was setting. After showering, Iona visited the hotel restaurant to assuage the painful hunger pangs.

Fatima watched fascinated at the huge amounts of food disappearing off Iona’s plate.

‘Another aspect of Iona’s gift,’ Fatima concluded amusedly, ‘eat like a hog yet never grow fat it seemed. Good for a western woman but Arab men liked their women large. That was another reason Fatima felt uncomfortable about marriage and children. She had watched many overweight Arab mothers huffing and puffing around her primitive village.

The prospect of daily struggling just to haul one’s fat bulk up from the banks of the Nile after every laundry session had horrified her.
Fatima had prayed that there was something better and glad now that she had finally mustered the courage to escape. This Iona, this strange western soothsayer, had really proved a blessing. Fatima studied the older woman quarrying into the food. The strange western woman was very delicate and gentle about the eating process but the food still disappeared at a prodigious rate.

“Do you always eat like that?” Fatima asked.

Iona looked over the heaped plate and smiled.

“Only after a heavy session of telepathy and curing you was a major effort.”

“When can I try the cure?”

“Whenever you like, there’s no surgery or scarring as such. I simply re-directed some sensations to other parts of your body. You will find out when you experiment with your body. Would you like to try tonight?”

“Will you be there in case anything goes wrong?”

“I’ll have to be there. There’s nobody else who can get inside your head.”

Fatima relaxed slightly.

“What will I feel?”

“The sensations you would normally feel if you had an entire clitoris are now re-directed to your nipples. If you stimulate your nipples enough, you will bring yourself to a clitoral climax.”

“What will that feel like?”

“Your first night of true love. You will feel as though the man of your dreams has taken you. You know, every woman’s fantasy; the mysterious desert hero, the prince in white coming to rescue you on his galloping white stallion, all of that and no pain. Do not be afraid when it comes, just let your soul fly. I will be in the next room if you need me.”
Fatima’s heart missed a beat. She had never imagined Iona to have any sense of romance. Every night during her village life, Fatima had lain on the squalid rush mat of her primitive bed and dreamed of some hero rescuing her from the drudgery. Now it seemed, all her dreams were to come true. She fretted as Iona plodded through her meal then she arose impatiently before Iona had wiped her lips.

“There’s no hurry Fatima. You’ve got all night.”

“And I’ve waited all my life.”
Iona shrugged, signed the meal chit and followed the girl through the foyer to the lifts. Once in the privacy of the apartment, the girl turned to Iona and asked.

“What do I do?”

Iona’s eyes narrowed slightly with surprise. Having had her crucial ‘trigger button’ cruelly excised at birth, Fatima was painfully ignorant of any masturbatory techniques. Iona took Fatima’s shoulders and directed her to the bed.
After undressing Fatima down to her matching bra and panty set, she sat beside her on the bed and guided the girl’s nervous finger to one of the erect nipples growing stiffer by the second inside the soft satiny bra cups. Gently Iona rubbed the back of Fatima’s thumbnail smoothly over one of the turgid satin covered bumps. Fatima gasped with surprise then squeaked with delight. The satiny sensation transmitted through Fatima’s soft bra cup and sent a shock of delight arrowing down her ‘milk-lines’ towards her groin. Fatima’s knees collapsed as the shock struck its preordained target and she let out a groan.

Gently Iona took Fatima’s other hand and directed it to the other turgid nipple. As the shock amplified, Fatima let out a throaty grunt and closed her eyes. Her frustrated libido now finally took control.
As the girl squirmed and writhed in ecstasy, Iona quietly shut the door and slipped to the privacy of her own room. There she lay on her own bed and carefully probed into Fatima’s mind as the girl rode her dreams to nirvana.
Iona was tempted to enter the whole of Fatima’s mind and share her orgasmic pleasure but then concluded it would be an unfair invasion of her privacy. It was probably the girl’s first orgasm and most young people usually enjoyed that rite of passage in the privacy of their own minds if not their own beds.

Eventually Fatima’s muffled squeals subsided to a breathless whimpering until the girl finally fell silent. Iona decided it was time for a cup of tea and knocked gently on the heavy dividing door.
“Who-is-it?” replied Fatima nervously.
“Who d’ you think it is, silly?”
“Oh, it’s you! Come in.”
Iona entered and placed the tray on the table. Then she turned and smiled knowingly as she studied the shambolic bed. Fatima’s normally long straight hair was twisted and tangled into sweaty strands and the bedclothes lay scattered in crumpled heaps.

“Enjoyed yourself, I see.”

“You could have warned me,” giggled Fatima.

“What and spoil your surprise.”

“Is this how it should be?”

“For a normal girl, yes.”

“So what they did to me in the village, as a baby, that was to stop this.”

“Yes. To tame your libido, to stop you straying.”

Fatima’s eyes glittered with remembered anger as she recollected other brutal abuses of her rights.

“The bastards!”

“Yes indeed,” agreed Iona, “sadly however, you will always have to masturbate your nipples to achieve an orgasm. It’s the best I could do
I’m afraid.”

Fatima rose unsteadily to her knees and reached out to embrace Iona.

“It was the best. How will I ever thank you?”

“I’m afraid you’ll never enjoy intercourse with a man; unless you can fondle your nipples, or unless he’s prepared to do it.”
Fatima puckered her lips then lifted both breasts to her lips and squinted knowingly up at Iona as she sucked them and twitched with pleasure.

“If I can do this while he takes me like a dog, then I will manage.”

“Well – yes, - I suppose so. I suppose where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

Fatima replaced her breasts into the frilly cups of her nightdress and shuffled on her knees across the bed to the bedside table. As she moved, she suddenly felt the wet sheet.

“Damn! I must have wet myself.”

“I don’t think so,” reassured Iona, “it is normal when a woman is pleasured properly. You wouldn’t have realised because you were concentrating on your nipples. It is simply your love juices flowing. Without them, there would be no lubrication and penetration would be painful. I am glad for you. When the time comes, if you ever want to have a baby, your body will serve you well.”
Fatima slid self-consciously off the bed and studied the tell-tale damp patch. Then she looked guiltily at Iona.

“You have given me back my life. What is your price?”

Iona wagged her head and smiled.

“There is no price. I have done you no favours. Unless I teach you the secrets of the other side, you will have no means of support. You have little education for other jobs, so you have much to learn.”

Fatima considered Iona’s words and nodded slowly.

“Can you teach me telepathy?”

“No. I was born with that.”

“But your children have it.”

“Only from me. I don’t think there is another way; at least, I don’t know of one.”

“Why cannot my children have it then?”

Iona knew it had to come- the inevitable request. The wish to give their children every advantage seemed almost primordial to women. Fatima was no exception; she wanted a telepathic child.

“I cannot marry you,” declared Iona.” If you bore my child out of wedlock, your people would condemn you as a harlot. Islamic law can be strict.”

“Not here, not in Cairo. Nobody need know. Anyway, I will have to stay with you until I have learned the arts of travelling to the other side. Your skill with herbs will take me a long time to learn. I could carry our child as I learn.”

“I cannot stay with you for I cannot stay long in one place. If you wish to learn all my secrets, you will have to stay with me- follow me. Whither I go, you must go.”

“Why must you always be moving?”

“Others want my secrets, or my seed.”

“Who?”

“Governments, people, evil people. They would use telepathy for evil.”

“And you will not let them,” observed the Arab girl.

“No.”

Fatima misread Iona’s answer and sagged despondently. She thought Iona’s answer applied to all, including her. Iona read the girl’s disappointment and took her hand gently.”

“It does not apply to individuals. I know you are not evil, I read it in here.” (Iona tapped her own forehead as she continued.) “If you want my child, you must be prepared to travel far. You will be with child as we travel and that could be hard for you.”

“That is no hardship. I will have no life here in Cairo until I have your knowledge of the herbs and the other side. How will I pay for it?”

“That knowledge will be free; it was given to me freely. If you have my child, I will support it. It will be no hardship and it is every father’s obligation. When next we visit ‘He that sees’ and his granddaughter, Dawn, they will explain.”
Fatima seemed to sag with relief then smiled enigmatically.

“How will we make the child?”

“As god designed it,” replied Iona, “adopting Fatima’s Islamic background as a starting point to circumvent her moral and religious reservations about illegitimacy.”

“But- but it would be wrong for me to sleep with another woman. The Koran says- “
Iona interrupted quickly.

“Fatima, I am not a woman! Although I dress as a woman, look like a woman, behave like a woman and sometimes even think like a woman, God made me a man!”

Fatima relaxed and Iona smiled inwardly.

‘The first time Iona had declared her masculinity to Fatima, the poor girl had tensed up with fear. Now, this second time, the girl had relaxed. Once Fatima had committed herself to having Iona’s child, her natural mothering instincts had conjoined with her primitive rural perspectives to surmount the moral issues in her mind. Now her Muslim morality could bypass the obstacle of her future child’s legitimacy.
‘If the child was recognised and protected by the father and properly supported, then it’s essential rights to nurture and education, were respected. Islamic law was fulfilled as far as the child was concerned. As to Islam and her own life, well Allah was all forgiving and all merciful. It was the Imams and the mutilators who had been cruel to her.’

Fatima was not a stupid girl, in fact her determination to seek a better life was proof of her innate intellect. Iona’s ideas therefore seemed a reasonable compromise between her growing ‘modern’ perspective and the strictures of her rustic upbringing.
‘Allah would surely forgive any girl who nurtured her child and fulfilled her motherly obligations, especially if the child’s father supported the child. From the child’s point of view, it was a marriage in all but the narrow letter of very bad laws.’

” Will my child be able to see you? To visit you as any child visits its father.”

“Yes, within the bounds of my fugacy. Later your child will be able to cross over and bring us together howsoever we are separated.”

“You mean like you and ‘He that sees’?”

“And my other children. Your child will have telepathic brothers and sisters. They will also watch over him or her. Your child will never be lonely.”

This finally decided it for Fatima. To have a telepathic child, would settle her maternalistic needs whilst ensuring her telepathic child would have all the advantages in the new world order. Fatima was a bright intelligent girl who could readily see what the future held. Iona smiled knowingly as she recognised the familiar emotions and thoughts whirling in Fatima’s brain. Gently she slid onto the bed and invited Fatima to join her.

Fatima’s teacup rattled on the saucer betraying her nerves as she placed it on the table and lay back on the bed.

“Are we to do it now?”

“Only if you wish. Your body is ready, you are ovulating.”

“Ov- ovu- what?”

“You are in season, ready to conceive.”

“In season! I am not a mare, a bitch from the street. I want it to be the real thing. I have read lots of stories-.”

“What you have read is probably romantic drivel. I cannot love you. I cannot explain now. You do not know much about me. Time is pressing. They will trace my plane very quickly and I must move on. If you want my child, now is best. I can promise you it will be pleasant. There will be no pain during conception. As to the birth, I can’t answer.”

Fatima squinted curiously then grinned knowingly as she reached up to embrace Iona. As the satiny cups of their silky nightdresses brushed together, their nipples stiffened and the turgid buds fenced eagerly. Fatima gave a shudder of delight. Within moments, darting twinges of pleasure took that urgency to Fatima’s loins. Iona’s silky nightie tented and slithered erotically as her stiffening response searched knowingly for Fatima’s divide. For a few minutes, the slithery silky nighties tantalised the pair as the frictionless motion frustrated their attempts to conjoin. The transvestite Iona savoured this delightful sensation until Fatima growled with frustration and tugged the frilly hems up past their rounded bellies to bring their naked bodies together. Iona’s hard penis ‘plopped’ with unexpected ease into Fatima’s eager soaking body and Iona realised the doctor had worked extra hard to ensure that Fatima’s virginal scabbard would not cause the girl any pain. Mentally, Iona saluted the doctor and realised she was obviously a concerned and compassionate soul who did her best to remedy the damages done by an ignorant Islamic village society to a helpless female baby.

Once conjoined, Iona entered Fatima’s mind and gently co-ordinated the girls’ bodily and mental needs until Fatima exploded in a mountainous, convulsive orgasm. For several minutes, Fatima’s body arched and plunged in a frenzy of excitement as Iona’s tiny body struggled to ride the storm during the peak of her own ejaculation. Eventually Fatima’s paroxysms subsided and her thundering heart slowed to a deep regular thump as she sucked mightily for air. The tiny Iona slumped happily between the girl’s heaving breasts and Fatima giggled as Iona’s hair tickled her nipples.

“Stop that or you’ll have me off again.”

“D’ you want it again?” asked Iona.

“Not yet, let’s wait until tonight. I’m hungry, shall we go and eat?”

Iona also felt the pangs of hunger pinch her belly and she slithered easily off Fatima’s satin encased torso. As they sat up, their nighties clung together with static and they giggled as the sparks crackled.

“It must be love,” whispered Fatima as she stroked the silky material of Iona’s nightie and caused more sparks to whisper between them.
Iona grinned and invited Fatima to share her bath where they indulged in more play before visiting the hotel restaurant. To avoid any recognition Fatima wore her bourka and Iona followed suit. It was marvellous how the long anonymous cloak gave them privacy and she grinned inwardly. After eating, they decided to savour the cool of the evening by visiting the souk.

As the pair wandered along the maze of narrow alleys, Iona felt her children reaching out from across the city. She paused by a brilliantly lit gold shop and absorbed Ben’s long-distance telepathic message.

“There are two men searching for you dad. They are older brothers of the girl accompanying you. Are you OK?”

Iona reassured her children and they agreed to meet on the banks of the Nile. There they confirmed that one of the doctor’s appointment clerks had inadvertently revealed some snippet of information that had filtered down to Luxor. The brothers had learned of it and made their way to Cairo. They already knew the address of the woman doctor and anticipated forcing Fatima’s address from her. Armed with this knowledge, Iona decided to stop them finally. Ben’s long-range telepathy had easily located the brothers so the family laid a trap.
The following morning they located the brothers making their purposeful way to the lady doctor’s surgery. Iona and Ben followed them into the building as the daughters and Fatima waited outside. Like the bullies they were, they burst open the lady doctor’s consulting room door and were about to start beating the knowledge of their sister’s whereabouts out of her.

As the doctor stiffened in her chair her terrified gaze turned from the menacing brothers to the strange pair who had appeared, as if by magic, in the doorway behind them. Ben stood silent as the bullying brothers turned to confront the diminutive Arab woman in the all-enveloping bourka.

” Bugger off you little cow! We’ve got business to settle with this bitch.”

“Would that business be your sister Fatima?” asked Iona in perfect Arabic.

The brothers tensed and turned to confront the tiny woman.

“What do you know of her?”

“That she is afraid of you and she is trying to escape from you.”

“Where is she?”

“Safe.”

“Tell us or we’ll kill you.”

“I think not,” cautioned Iona softly.

“Tell us bitch!” cursed the nearer man as he grabbed at the diminutive woman.

When the man’s hand touched Iona’s shoulder, Ben lashed out and the man slumped unconscious to the floor. In reality, Iona and Ben had co-operated telepathically and Iona’s telepathic punch had actually done the damage. The other brother however, tried to avenge his brother’s injury and quickly followed his brother to the floor. Within seconds, both men were unconscious and the lady doctor stared dumbfounded at the strange pair.

“Thank you and who are you?”
Iona removed her bourka and the lady doctor gaped thankfully.

“Iona! Praise be to Allah. They would have killed me.”

“They still will unless we stop them for good,” cautioned Iona.

“How?”

“Teach them a lesson they will not forget.”

“What would you suggest?”

“Wait, I will speak with Fatima. Go and fetch her Ben.”

Iona quickly established that both brothers were fathers with large families so any damage to their masculinity would not affect their family’s economic prospects There were plenty of sons already born of Fatima’s hard used sisters in law. Indeed, both women were worn out with constant childbearing.

Iona wanted to remove the brother’s penises and let them understand the horror of Fatima’s mutilation first-hand but the doctor refused to do this. She was compassionate and explained that the brother’s subsequent sexual frustrations might be taken out on the wives. Besides, the damage would be too obvious and they would be able to prove assault.

Far better to technically castrate them and keep them unconscious for a few weeks until the pain had subsided. With a pair of disconnected and sterile but still sensitive testicles in their scrotums, producing neither sperm nor testosterone, they would take a long time to realise that they could not function sexually and lacked any sex drive. Their de-sexed, circumcised wives would also finally enjoy permanent relief from their husband’s previously brutish and constant demands.

Iona acceded to this and the castrations duly went ahead. Six weeks later, long after Iona and Fatima had left Africa, the evil brothers woke in a dark alley in their own village wondering where the missing weeks had gone. The trail had gone cold and they reluctantly returned to their families in the upper Nile valley. The two wives enjoyed a peaceful reunion with their gentled, emasculated husbands.

Naturally at first, the brothers were alarmed that there `equipment’ would not work but being too arrogant and proud to seek medical help, they ascribed their inability to function as `real men’ to have been the result of some evil curse put upon them by their evil younger sister. They were too afraid to go looking again and it would not have mattered anyway. Fatima had escaped Egypt with Iona and her family.
With no urges to bother them, the brothers settled to working their farms and their exhausted wives at last found a well earned and deserving peace.

Iona and Fatima were free to pursue Fatima’s education about herbs and attend upon Fatima’s forthcoming motherhood. Iona had long wished to visit India and there meet with Indian holy men to discuss and research their investigations into the other-worlds and strange dimensions. After a last few weeks organising a passport for Fatima, (once again in a false name and after several handsome bribes to corrupt officials,) Fatima was ready to travel. Iona’s little plane `leapfrogged/ via Dubai, and Pakistan to eventually arrive in Mumbai.
For several months the group settled in India where both Iona and Fatima savoured the attention and affection of Iona’s older children as they eagerly anticipated the arrival of yet another telepathic sibling. Simultaneously, Iona and her children took the splendid opportunity to enhance their earning capacity by trading upon the huge and rapidly growing Indian financial markets and thus expanding their portfolios.
Soon they were insulated for ever from any vagaries in the financial markets.

Eventually Fatima came to term and in the care of the best hospital in Mumbai she safely delivered of a daughter. When she discovered it was a girl, Fatima was a little disappointed.

“But why?” Begged Iona who was overjoyed at the event.

“I would have preferred a boy. A boy can carry on my name. Boys are superior.”

Iona became a little angry at this remark. After having been educating for nine months, she thought that Fatima would at least have modified her cultural perspective a little bit. Sadly the primitive customs and perspectives inculcated into her from her earliest remembrances were so deeply rooted that it would be impossible to dig them out of Fatima’s psyche. Reluctantly Iona had to go back to fundamental principles of godliness to somehow persuade Fatima of the equality of both sexes. Carefully she spoke to Fatima as the girl, now recovered from her birthing ordeal, savoured the joy of suckling her baby for the first time. Iona’s telepathic adjustments of Fatima’s physiology had already turned any sensations in her nipples into a trigger device for other pleasures and already Fatima was experiencing a delightful frisson of tension as she nursed her child. Iona spoke softly.

“Consider this Fatima. What have you just achieved?”

“Why a baby of course, this little beauty.”

“Exactly. Now, can a man do that? Can a man produce a living thing, a child; a child as beautiful as her?”

“Well, - no.” Conceded Fatima.

“Precisely. Now do you believe that God had a hand in the creation of Man?”

“Of course. The Quran says so. Are you questioning my faith?”

“So the union of a man and a woman are all part of God’s plan.”

“Well, yes. A man must lie with a woman to beget children.”

“Well at least we agree on that,” smiled Iona, “and do you agree that they, that is the man and the woman, contribute equal parts?”

“Huh, after what I’ve just been put through, I’m not so sure of that!”

Once again, Iona smiled. Already, Fatima’s perspective was changing through the lens of motherhood.

“Well yes, precisely. The father was only there for the conception while you carried the baby to term and bore it. A long process, you’ll agree.”

“Are you trying to tell me something I don’t already know?” Scoffed Fatima. Why you were only there for the pleasures. What do you know of motherhood?”

Iona was pleased with Fatima’s disdainful response. It showed that she was coming to terms with her overwhelming part in the production of Miriam for that was the name Fatima had chosen for her daughter. Fatima was becoming more independent and stronger willed and that would serve her well when confronted by her brothers in Islam. They would no longer be able to bully her and condemn her as a prostitute or a beggar. Besides, Fatima’s newfound wealth would insulate her from such abusive approaches.

Now Iona chose the religious route to try and surmount Fatima’s disappointment in the sex of her child.

Fatima, you have demonstrated that you hold your faith dear to you and I have to respect that, but now I am going to explain my beliefs.
“I believe in God, yes, - I do, - that’s the same God as the God of Abraham, Moses Jesus and Mohammed. The one God, the true God.
I believe that God to be the God of love, compassion, mercy and forgiveness, the same God who judges us on the other side. I’m not sure how close I come to God when I `cross over’ and to tell the truth I don’t want to know. I’ve done some bad things in my time but I believe I was simply defending myself, my gifts and my children’s gifts from people who are more evil than I, People who would probably abuse those gifts and somehow oppress none gifted others long after I am gone. They would try to keep the gift only to themselves and somehow oppress others whom they deem to be their enemies.”

“Develop a super-race,” observed Fatima disgustedly.

“Exactly. I don’t want that. I’ve known enough of what it’s like to be adjudged the lesser mortal, the sub being, the one to be cast aside when push comes to shove in the survival stakes; the last in the queue. I’ve been there Fatima. It’s a very dark place.”

“So how does this affect the sex of my child?”

“I believe that a telepathic boy child brought up with many of the conceits that Islam ascribes to men over women, mostly through perverted misinterpretations of the Quran, would have problems reconciling his gifts to perceived unbelievers’ infidels and all that stuff.

I believe it is far better for telepathy to be brought to Muslims via a woman; a woman who is reared compassionately, lovingly and tenderly. If mankind is to reach successfully for this next evolutionary challenge then it behoves the old faiths to reconcile themselves to the advent of telepathy where lies, deceits and cruelty will be swiftly winkled out and dealt with.”

“Punished,” pressed Fatima hopefully.

“No. Not punished. That’s just it. Punishment hurts in telepathy. Pain and anguish travel too well by telepathy. Killing is desperately destructive to a telepath. Just ask my children. They simply cannot get their heads around my ability to kill and wound by telepathy. It shocked and stunned them to see me do it when I rescued them from the military research base in America. Even after I had physically rescued my children and their mothers from the very jaws of hell, they still shrank from me in horror. They could not reconcile their telepathy with my awful sickness. None of my children can kill with telepathy. That is a dysfunction created in me by a traumatic childhood. My children still fear me because of this awful disability I have. The ability to kill. They try to love me but this; - this killing thing gets in the way. It is not the normal path of telepathy. That is why I am trying to introduce telepathy carefully, in tiny doses around the world. Later as their ranks expand, it will be safer for them to add to the ranks.

That is where you come in Fatima. By learning of the ways of telepathy, an ordinary human can cross over using certain herbs and skills, you will in some small part be joining my children and especially our child Miriam, in that ascent into telepathy. Miriam will have to share her telepathy with her half brothers and sisters, that is where you, and Dawn and `He-that-sees, will help her. Even as a young child, she will have the sheer delight of being able to `speak’ with her siblings half a world away. I never had that. I only had madness and the darkness of a singular loneliness.”

Fatima fell silent for already she could sense that Iona was preparing the path of separation. A sense of foreboding overtook her as Iona continued.

“In my perspective Fatima, men and women are equal because we are all equal before God. God judges the soul, not the flesh.”

“I see,” conceded Fatima, “so are you leaving me?”

“Not yet. You are not yet fully conversant with the herbs. Once you are, I’ll be gone.”

“Spreading the word, spreading the seed.” Observed Fatima shrewdly.

“Put like that: yes.”

Fatima nodded resignedly. She had seen it coming but was reluctant to face the pain of separation. Iona sensed her pain and it sent the inevitable lance of hurt through her mind. Reluctantly she decided to remain for sufficient time for Fatima to wean her daughter then needs must and she would make her farewells. Thus Iona stayed with Fatima for over two years in Mumbai.

During those years Fatima finally reconciled herself to her faith. Using her telepathy, Iona eventually found an Imam with very compassionate, liberal views and genuinely Islamic ways whom Fatima finally found she could relate to. The particular factor that endeared Fatima to the Imam was his compassionate and respectful acceptance of Fatima’s apparently illegitimate child, Miriam.

Having excellent Arabic born of her Egyptian roots, Fatima found a job as a teacher in the mosque and this endeared her to the mosque’s congregation. Fatima did not of course need the money; indeed her personal fortune enabled her to teach Arabic at the mosque without a fee. However, Fatima was adamant that she would only interpret Islam as she felt it should be taught, as a compassionate, tolerant and caring faith. Fatima had at last found peace and purpose in her life for her newly learned medicinal skills also won her many friends.
After a couple of years, it was a happy Iona who was finally able to say farewell to a contented Muslim mother who was yet again pregnant to Iona for a second time. Once again, it was Iona who used her telepathy to convince the Imam that Fatima’s second daughter was also to be respected and loved as a child of the mosque’s congregation and not to be pilloried for her apparent illegitimacy. Few men could resist a good telepathic warning that was akin almost to a message from God. The Imam was firmly convinced.

Miriam’s younger sister Maha duly arrived in rude good health to complete Fatima’s happiness. Sadly, Iona was soon to leave as she moved on to address her plan to spread telepathy amongst as many peoples as she could. In this she had already realised that her son Ben was preparing to indulge in the same duties. Soon Iona would know of telepathic grandchildren.