I hope you're all sitting in the warmth somewhere, are fed and comfortable, and are together with family and/or friends.

Now, take a moment to think of those around the world who are not warm; who are alone; hungry; or who are stuck in the midst of a war. This story takes place 159 years ago, but there are still people dying every day from the stupidity of man.

Before you read the following story, please take a look at the two links below:

This is a picture of the Barrack Hospital as it is today – from the outside it hasn't changed since the way it looked in 1854. It has a tower on each corner. Each side is made up of corridors – the only 'rooms' are in the towers – and if those corridors are put end to end they measure over four miles in length (remove spaces in link) www . en . wikipedia wiki/File: Selimiye_K%C4%B1%C5%9Flas%C4%

This is the actual lamp used by Florence Nightingale (remove spaces in link) www . nam . ac . uk/images / online/florence-nightingale/images/214 .jpg

Mystic Destiny

This story is part of the Black Silk/Life in the Shadows universe. This story and all characters within are copyrighted to Jan Gordon. Please do not reproduce any part of the following text without permission from the author.


Barrack Hospital, Scutari, Turkey. November 4th, 1854

It was the smell that hit her first. Rotting flesh, excrement, and death.

Sophie, with the acute senses of her kind, didn't think she could hide her disgust. However, she glanced at her leader and mentor to ascertain the other woman's reaction before allowing any sign of emotion to cross her own features. Miss Nightingale looked calm, but the set of her chin showed a determination to right the wrongs that were so evident in this charnel house that was called a hospital.

All the women were exhausted. It had been a long and tiring journey from England, but time was of the essence and they needed to quickly get organized before they could start working. There were already rumors of a looming battle and they had to be prepared for the next wave of wounded.

They were the vanguard of a new style nursing staff commissioned by the Government back in London. Miss Nightingale had brought thirty-eight women with her. All sensible, level-headed and moral females determined to help to the best of their abilities. More women were being interviewed and would, hopefully, join them in Scutari within the coming weeks.

Miss Nightingale looked around her at the mass of sick and injured military men. Her clever eyes hardened at the sight of the lice infested soldiers, the raw sewage in open buckets, and the sheer loss of hope which was almost tangible. Forever afterwards Sophie would remember that Florence had said "the strongest will be wanted at the wash tub." Sophie knew that although she was physically far stronger than any of the women, she would have to be careful not to give even the slightest hint that she was anything other than human.

Within hours of arriving at Scutari the women were settled into one of the four towers of the barracks. First, they'd had to remove the decomposing body of a Russian officer that had been left forgotten on the floor of the empty and unused rooms before they could start scrubbing and cleaning. The rooms were overrun with rats and only the zealous and industrious use of soap and water could make their quarters habitable. The ladies were to share rooms within the tower and use the great room, with its long table, as a sorting house for the equipment and stores they had brought with them from home.

December 10th, 1854

Sophie had never been so tired. For over a month she and her fellow nurses had slept little and worked hard. When they had first arrived they had taken over the laundering of linens because the contractors who had been employed by the army were more apt to steal the clothing than wash them. The soldiers had been loath to give up their meager belongings for fear of never seeing them again.

But the men had been crawling with vermin. They, their clothing, and their bedding had needed boiling to get rid of the lice. The women had washed and washed, using giant kettles. It was hot and exhausting work. Sophie had surreptitiously tried to take on the heaviest of the tasks, but even with her were panther strength it was hard work. They'd sewed mattresses. They'd badgered the orderlies into scrubbing the floors and cleaning out the clogged latrines. Miss Nightingale had quickly organized the kitchens into producing nourishing food for the patients, something, which to begin with, she had to finance from her own pocket.

Christmas was approaching and finally there was some semblance of order on the wards. Typhus and dysentery were still rife, but there was little they could do about that, other than make sure the men were as strong as possible in order to overcome their fevers.

It was early morning and bitterly cold. Sophie pulled her woolen shawl closer around her shoulders as she made her rounds. Florence was the only woman allowed to walk the wards at night, but during the day the other nurses took over. The day was dark from winter storms and Sophie was using one of the paper lanterns to light her way. She was not on her usual ward; one of the other women had fallen ill with the typhus and Sophie was walking the unfamiliar floor of another cavernous room of sick and wounded men. Some, with the patience of the rank and file soldier, were lying quietly, stoically suffering in silence. Others were groaning. A young ensign was crying for his mother. Sophie stopped by his cot and held up the lamp with one hand while with the other she smoothed the young man's hair from his forehead. He was hot and dry to the touch and she could see the telltale signs of the typhus rash on his skin. She beckoned over the orderly with the water can, and leaned over the soldier to help him sit up. The orderly passed her the dipper of water and she held it to the boy's lips. He drank a little and sighed. Laying him back down, she made a mental note to check on him in a few hours – hoping that he lived till then.

Continuing on her way down the row of beds, she slowly became aware of a feeling she hadn't been expecting here amongst the sick. It was similar to the simple awareness of another were creature in the vicinity, but far more intense. She'd heard stories of her kind getting the call of destiny, but she'd never met anyone who had actually experienced it. How could it possibly be? Her steps faltered as she tried to pinpoint which man she was sensing. Stopping by each bed in turn she finally found the source of the compelling sensation.

Holding the lamp aloft once again she saw a dark complexioned man lying in the bed. He had an impressive beard growth and lay as still as death. Sophie hooked the lamp on a nail in the wall above the cot and reached down to straighten the blanket. As her hand touched the bedding, the man's hand gripped her wrist and she looked up to see him staring at her with his fevered dark eyes. There was something about those eyes that struck a familiar chord.

"Sophie?" Croaked the soldier.

She studied him, tried to imagine him without the dark whiskers. Did she know him? She sensed that she should and he seemed to know her.

"Sophie Colburn?" The soldier began to cough, a dry painful hacking sound.

She turned to call over the orderly with the water, but the man in the bed tugged on her hand to bring her attention back to him.

"Please...for the love of Bastet, you have to get me out of here," he wheezed.

Even though the voice was weak and hoarse, she knew that voice and instantly recognition dawned on her. "Giri? Giri Tandon? Is it you?" The emaciated man in the bed made a movement with his head which she took to be a 'yes.' "How did you come to be here? And so ill?" She had laughed and joked with this man at her sister's mating ceremony decades ago...soon after the end of yet another war.

"Inkerman... Rifle Brigade." Giri closed his eyes, as if searching for the strength to talk. "...not been alone...since I was injured...needed to shift, now...too weak to do it on my own." His hand convulsed on hers. "Help me, please."

Sophie leaned down to whisper. "We're different species, Giri, I can't help you shift. Although I'm older than you, I'm still too young, I don't have the experience or the power."

"Get Malik." He barely managed to get the words out before his eyes closed signifying his complete exhaustion.

She pulled back the blanket to see where and how he was wounded. Seeing bandages over his shoulder and chest and the breathlessness of his speech she assumed some kind of wound to his lungs. Inkerman? That battle had been fought over a month ago. Without being able to shift to aid in his healing, he must still be alive by sheer force of will, or possibly stubbornness. Sophie bit her lip. Get her father? If anyone could force Giri to shift it would be him. As king of the panthers he was enormously powerful. Was it too late? Was Giri too ill for shifting to help in his healing?

Sophie wondered where her father was. Her mother had mentioned they were going to stay at their home in Norfolk until after the Christmas period. If not, then the staff, who were all shifters, would know how to contact them. She had to get to the telegraph office, and went in search of Miss Nightingale to request permission to send a private message to her parents.

The Colburn Manor outside Norwich, England

"Sophie has always wanted to be a doctor, but as a woman I doubt she'll ever get a chance." Tamara sighed as she handed the full teacup to her friend, Shreya. "Hopefully she'll be able to do some good in the Crimea. The reports in The Times of the conditions in the hospital out there are quite dreadful."

Shreya frowned. "We've not heard from Giri for months."

Tam reached out to touch her friend on the arm. "Oh, I am so sorry, my dear. I didn't mean to worry you more than you already are."

The other woman sighed and shook her head. "Giri has soldiering in his blood. When this flap with Russia started he couldn't resist rejoining the Rifles. It is odd seeing him in green again, but this time without Kit by his side." She took a sip of her tea and smiled at her friend, turning the conversation in a more pleasant direction. "How are Mary and Kit? Their cub must be fifteen by now, surely?"

"They are well. Their school is very successful, and little Alice is a delight. Though at fifteen, while young, she is hardly very little anymore." Tam turned her head towards the window as she heard the crunch of carriage wheels on the gravel drive. "I wonder who that could be." She put her cup down on the tea tray and wandered to the tall windows overlooking the front of the house. "It looks like the cart from the post office in town." She watched as a man climbed down only to mount the steps and rap on the front door. Tamara turned to face the morning room door in anticipation of her butler's entry. She didn't have long to wait.

"Madam, a telegraphic communication has arrived."

An envelope sat on the silver salver in Wright's hand. She stared at it...was it good news or bad? Her hand shook slightly as she took it and opened it. Distractedly she thanked him, and was only half aware of him leaving the room as quietly as he'd entered while she tried to concentrate on Norwich postmaster's handwriting. Silently she sat down next to Shreya and handed her the missive.

Reading it, her friend cried in alarm. "We had better send a groom to find our mates, hopefully they mentioned to the stable boys in which direction they were going to be riding."

"I doubt they need to be called, they've probably realized something is wrong through our blood bonds. But I'll let Wright know they'll be returning directly." Tam stepped outside to speak to her butler and soon returned. The paper with Sophie's message was lying on the tea try and she picked it up to read again. Suddenly she cocked her head, listening. "I hear horses."

The jingle of harnesses and the sound of hooves on gravel heralded the return of their mates from their ride, and once again Tamara was at the window, this time to watch her mate and Adri Tandon dismount, throw the reins at a groom, and enter the house at a run.

Without stopping to remove his muddy clothes, Malik strode into the room, tall, dark-haired, his blue eyes showing concern. "What's happened? Adri and I both felt your distress."

Adri, an older version of Giri, his mutton-chop whiskers giving him a grave and authoritative air, moved to sit by his mate and take her hand. "Is it Giri? Have you had news?"

Tam looked at her mate. "We just received a telegraphic message from Sophie. Giri is in the Barrack Hospital. He's wounded and very weak. She says he's not had time alone since the battle of Inkerman and there lies the problem." Tamara sighed. "Now he's too feeble to help himself. She can't help him. They need someone more knowledgeable...more powerful. She asks if you would go to them, Mal." Tamara handed the note to her mate for him to read for himself. "Obviously she couldn't write clearly on a message that anyone could read. I'm assuming he hasn't been able to shift since being wounded in order to heal."

After quickly scanning the missive Malik passed the note over to Adri and asked, "How far can you jump in one go? Can you make it to Vienna?"

"Easily. I may not be a monarch, and though you've got a hundred or so years on me, I'm still old enough that I've got plenty of power to make it to Scutari in two jumps." He turned to Shreya. "My dear, we should return home, I'll need to pack a bag. Malik, I'll meet you back here in less than an hour. I'll need to speak with my steward before I leave."

Shreya shook her head. "There's no need for that, my dear, I can handle the estate in your absence, as you well know."

With a decisive nod her mate corrected his estimate. "I will return in thirty minutes or less." He and Shreya held hands and faded as they made the thought-jump back to their home.

"You will need to take rooms near the hospital, Mal. A place to which to take Giri, secluded enough for him to shift in safety."

Malik held his mate's elbow and guided her across the entry hall and up the wide main staircase to their room. "That will be the hardest part of this journey. I have complete confidence of our capabilities to force Giri's shift, but finding a place to lay our heads will be well nigh impossible. We may have to bivouac away from the town. There's no need to worry. I've always managed to find somewhere to lay my head, regardless of availability."

Barrack Hospital, Scutari, December 14th, 1854

"Miss Colburn."

Sophie looked up at the quiet but commanding voice of Miss Nightingale. "Yes ma'am?"

"I will take over here and accompany the doctor on the rest of his rounds. You have visitors." She took the notebook and pencil from Sophie. "I do not approve of my ladies having male visitors, even if they are relatives. However, one of the gentlemen says he is your father. I will give you the benefit of the doubt this time, but do not make a habit of it."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, Miss Nightingale."

"You will find them in my office. Do not be too long, there is much work to be done."

Sophie hurried away before Miss Nightingale changed her mind. Entering the office she flew into her father's arms. Glancing past him, she saw Adri Tandon and broke away from Malik to hold her hands out to the were tiger.

"Mr. Tandon. Giri still lives, he's very weak, but there's still hope."

"How bad is he hurt, my dear? You said in your message that he was too weak to shift – or that's what we assumed you inferred."

"Yes, sir, he's far too weak to shift. He's wounded in the chest. The surgeon says he caught some shrapnel and it punctured his lung." Sophie shook her head. "The doctor said that he must have an extremely strong constitution to survive such a serious wound. He doesn't understand how he can still be alive."

Malik caught hold of his daughter's hands and took a proper look at his youngest cub. "You look very tired, my dear. Perhaps you can request some leave. Spend some time with us; help us care for Giri?"

"There is so much work here. The only way for me to help would be to tender my resignation to Miss Nightingale, and I'm not sure how she would take that." She sat down on one of the simple wooden chairs by the desk. "But, another forty-six nurses have just arrived..." Sophie chewed on a fingernail, recalling Giri's pale, handsome face and then came to a decision. "I'll do it. I've gained considerable nursing experience and he needs me. But, we have to consider how to get Giri out of here. He's even too weak to walk."

"Adri and I have been discussing that possibility. We think we can tandem thought-jump with him. The two of us should be able to do it. If you help as well then we could certainly manage it."

"First, let me take you to him. I think in the middle of the night no would notice if we just disappeared. It's very dark on the wards, even during the day, so at night..."

The men were silent as they walked through the long corridors of the Barrack Hospital. Malik looked disturbed. "Sophie, I've fought and been otherwise involved in many wars. I've seen a lot of suffering in my lifetime. But I have never seen anything like this. How can men do this to each other?"

"Most of what you see here, Father, is not a result of the war. The conditions are so bad, typhus, cholera, and dysentery rule. All we can do is to try and keep the men clean, well nourished and as comfortable as possible." She opened the door to yet another long, crowded room. "He's in here."

Adri, who, up to this point had been silent, spoke in an undertone. "How can you remember where each man is? These rooms are endless and all the men look the same."

"The simple answer is that I don't. I can't. Some make an impression and those I remember. Giri, of course, is a special case."

They fell silent as the males followed Sophie as she approached one of the beds. Giri lay in it, still as death. Standing around Giri's bed they talked in low voices. They decided that Malik and Adri would stand vigil over the young tiger and Sophie would join them an hour before dawn. With the decision made, Sophie hurried back to relieve Miss Nightingale and to tell her that a family emergency deemed it necessary for her to leave the hospital, possibly permanently.

Giri opened his eyes and thought he saw his father. He closed and opened them again and saw Malik. Was he gripped by delirium?

"Son? Can you hear me? Giri?"

Some time ago, he couldn't remember how many days had passed, but he'd been sure he'd seen Mary's little sister, Sophie. And now he was hearing his Father's voice. He must surely be dying at last. He hoped so; he didn't think he could cope with this pain any longer.

"Giri! Open your eyes, son."

Obediently, he opened his eyes and saw not only his father, but the panther king standing side by side. Not a dream. His throat was so dry he had difficulty getting words past his parched lips. Finally, he managed to croak out a plea. "Help me."

He felt a strong grip on his shoulder. "We will, Giri. We need you to hold on for a little while longer. You've lived this long, I pray that you can manage a few more hours."

With visible effort, Giri turned his head to look at the speaker. Malik's blue gaze held his; they seemed to give him strength...a will to live. He firmed his resolve, and dipped his chin in a nod of acquiescence.

Sophie slipped quietly through the dark rooms of the hospital. Miss Nightingale had not taken her resignation well, and if she was caught on the wards at night she would be in even more trouble.

She had decided not to carry a lamp due to the need for secrecy. Stealing a patient from the hospital in the dead of night would certainly arouse suspicion, followed by questions that they would prefer not to answer. Having shifted just enough to allow her eyes to become cat-like, the dismal stygian atmosphere of the hospital corridors did not hamper her progress to where her father and Mr. Tandon awaited her. Her feline night vision was more than up to the task of allowing her to avoid any obstacles. She found them sitting on the end of Giri's bed.

"We must hurry, Miss Nightingale is in the next ward, she'll be here soon." She touched her father's hand. "I haven't jumped in tandem since I was tiny, what do I do?"

"Adri and I will orchestrate the jump, you just need to gather your energy so we can tap into it. Hold on to us and we'll take Giri."

The older males held onto Giri with one hand and onto her with the other. She felt slightly light-headed as they faded away from the dark, noxious ward in the hospital and arrived in a sparsely furnished room. Sophie looked around and saw a dirt floor, a cot, and a table with two stools. Adri caught Giri before he could hit the floor and laid him gently on the bed.

Malik looked over his shoulder at his daughter as he joined his friend at Giri's side. "Sophie, please would you make up the fire. I'm going to take these bandages off; we need to see how bad the wound is before we force him to shift. We might need to abrade the wound if it's festering too badly."

"Father, I couldn't do that and I've seen it done. How would you know what to do?"

"My dear, I fought my share of battles over the centuries. I've often had to take the place of a surgeon when one wasn't to be found."

With great gentleness Adri held his son while Malik unwound the bandages from Giri's chest.

Sophie bent to her task, using the kindling that was piled ready next to the hearth. The fire caught and slowly spread warmth into the small room. "How bad is it?" Sophie pushed her way between the two powerful men and looked down at Giri. "I was told they'd removed all the pieces of shrapnel that they could see. The surgeon gave him up for dead, and then couldn't believe he was still alive when he saw him during his rounds. A human would've died. I think he's just too stubborn to have succumbed." She knew she was babbling in her nervousness. "Father, are there any candles here? I need more light."

"We purchased some oil lamps before we came to the hospital. I'll light them. There are clean bandages and some of your mother's salve in the box on the table. You were very young, and might not remember, but she saved my life once when she dug bullets out of my hide, so she knew what to send. But before you redress that wound he should shift."

Sophie moved away to give them room and to collect the box of medicants and bandages. On the table next to her mother's parcel was a large wicker basket filled with packages and vegetables. A snarl of pain made her jerk her head in the direction of the sound; a forced shift was never a pleasant experience, and for an already injured man... One of her earliest memories was being forced to shift when she was sick, a memory she quickly buried again.

Tears of empathy momentarily blurred her vision and as she blinked them away as she saw three large felines where the males had been. She recognized her father and Mr. Tandon in their animal forms, but she'd never seen Giri as a tiger. He was beautiful, but so very lethargic, almost comatose. She felt tears spring to her eyes again. Just the act of shifting caused their magic to aid healing, and as she watched, the three of them turned back into men. Giri's father tenderly laid his son back down on the cot and leaned down to kiss forehead.

Malik and Adri moved away as she returned to the bedside. Sophie placed the bandages and salve on the mattress and looked at Giri's chest. The wound had closed, but on closer inspection it was an angry red and weeping. "Father, I don't know why this hasn't healed already. His constitution should have been strong enough to overcome such a wound with a single shift. Perhaps there is damage inside." She felt the young man's forehead which seemed cool to the touch. "He doesn't seem to have a fever, though, which would mean there's something else wrong."

Adri placed a kettle of water on the fire hook to heat. "Having seen the conditions in that hellhole where he was, it's my opinion that the wound became entrenched instead of beginning to heal." He went to stand by the table and began to unpack the basket she'd noticed earlier. "We'll let him recover from the shift and do it again in a few hours. With each successive shift the magic should help heal him even more. In the meantime, Sophie, use some of your mother's salve and put the clean bandage on him. We'll make some beef stew with the provisions we brought and hopefully by this evening he'll be able to eat something."

As the day progressed they each took a turn watching over the young tiger while the others slept on the floor. Malik and Adri forced a shift on Giri twice more and by evening he was awake, still very weak and in a lot of pain, but there was a definite improvement. He had managed to drink a little liquid from the stew but chewing the chunks of food proved to be too much for him.

The following morning Sophie removed the bandages to inspect the wound and found it to be far less angry and already beginning to scab. She breathed a sigh of relief and covered it again with clean linen. She was just tying it off when she felt Giri's gaze upon her. Looking up at his face, she smiled.

His voice was hoarse from disuse. "I thought I dreamed of you. But it was real wasn't it? You really were there in that hellhole of a hospital?"

"Yes, Giri. I was one of Miss Nightingale's nurses." Sophie cleared away the soiled bandages, came back to the bedside and took hold of his hand.

"Was?" He frowned.

"I resigned in order to come and care for you."

Adri came and stood by his son. "You're back with us, then?"

"Yes, Father. I think you made me shift, am I right? Thank you for helping."

"You should thank Sophie. It was she who telegraphed her father for help. If she hadn't discovered you, we would've been none the wiser and you would've died in that charnel house." He patted Giri's free hand. "Now that you're on the road to recovery, I think I should use the telegraph to let your mother know the good news."

Malik stood up from his seat at the rickety wooden table. "Sophie, I'm going into town with Adri. We'll bring back some more supplies. You'll be all right while we're gone?" He cocked one brow at her and then looked pointedly at her hand.

Sophie realized she was still holding Giri's hand and gently let go. "We'll be fine, Father."

With her father and Mr. Tandon gone, Sophie glanced towards Giri and suddenly felt shy. The feeling puzzled her. She'd been alone with patients before and was sure it wasn't that. If she was honest with herself she would have to admit that it was the way Giri's eyes never left her as she moved about the room, straightening things that didn't need to be tidied. Finally, she pulled herself together and went back to his bedside.

Her stomach felt like a flock of butterflies had taken up residence in it and their fluttering was fighting to be heard in her voice. She swallowed and then cleared her throat. "How are you feeling? Is there anything I can get for you?"

"Weak as a newborn cub. I think rest is all I need now. But I'll be up and around soon and ready to rejoin my regiment."

Horrified that he intended to go back and fight, her earlier shyness dissipated only to be instantly replaced by a surge of anger and frustration. "You intend to go back to the front lines again? What? You didn't succeed in getting killed the first time, you are going to try again?"

"I've no intention of getting injured again."

"Like you had no intention last time?"

He was silent. 'Ha,' she thought, 'he has no answer to that.'

"Why do you care what becomes of me?"

She couldn't believe he needed to ask. "Why? You are the son of my parents' best friends. You are my brother-in-law's life-long friend. How could I not care?"

He watched her through hooded eyes. "It's more than that, isn't it Sophie? You feel it too, don't you?"

It was her turn to fall silent. She thought back to that night less than a week ago when she'd felt him as she'd walked the ward checking on the patients. It hadn't been the normal sensation of another were in the vicinity. That, she'd felt many times since coming to the Crimea. No, it had been a deeper feeling. Like a whisper from the goddess Bastet. Almost a divine command.

"Yes, I do. But we met decades ago. I don't remember feeling anything then. It's been years since we last saw each other, so why now?"

"Perhaps it is because Bastet thinks this is the right time." He attempted to smile, but Sophie could see that he was tiring and it almost seemed like too much effort.

Relieved to find an excuse to end the awkward conversation, but compelled by compassion, she nodded. "You need to rest. We'll talk about this later." She straightened the meager blanket covering him and then, almost as if her hand acted on its own, she laid her palm against his cheek. "Sleep. We will discuss it later, I promise."

She watched him as his eyes closed and his breathing evened out. He was going to be all right. It would take a few more days, but he would soon be up and about. Pulling one of the hard chairs toward the hearth, she sat down and held her hands out to the flames.

Were cats were governed by the goddess Bastet, but apart from the ceremony that resulted in Kit's conversion to a mountain cat she'd never had any kind of contact with her. Father, she knew, communed with her often, but as monarch that was as it should be.

She scowled. How dare the goddess decide who would be her mate! Sophie wanted to do so much more with her life before she settled down to being a mother. Besides, Giri was a tiger not a panther, although that wasn't really a barrier. Different species of weres could mate, it was rare – shifters often preferred to stay with their own kind – but not completely unheard of. Unlike animals, offspring from a cross-species mating amongst weres would be perfectly capable of continuing the line. Sophie frowned at the thought of children; having cubs was not part of her plan for the future, at least not for the next hundred years or so.

No. What it all boiled down to was that she didn't like being forced into anything. She wanted to make up her own mind. She wanted to fall in love. Finally, she admitted to herself the root of her uneasiness. She was fond of Giri. Always had been, ever since she was a cub. Sure, as a girl she had even spun daydreams about him. But love? Yes, she had feelings for him and was definitely attracted to him as a man, but was attraction love? Could it lead to love?

Sophie remembered the story of how her parents had met. Her mother had related how her marriage to Malik had been arranged and, although they'd had their troubles over the centuries, they now seemed comfortable with each other. No, Sophie balked at being pushed into a mating not of her choosing. She wanted to become a doctor. Nursing was just a stop-gap until she found an institution that would accept female students.

It wasn't long before her father returned with more provisions and she set about making some hot nourishing soup. "This reminds me of the old kitchen on the farm in Ireland. Do you remember, Father, how we had to cook in a pot hanging over the fire?"

"Your mother and I will have to move back there soon. I'm sure people are becoming suspicious of us in Norfolk. Though, I'm sure your mother will want a modern range put in before we make the move." He went to stand by Giri's cot and looked down at the boy. "His color is better. Sophie, have you checked his wound?"

"No, I thought it better to let him sleep." She bit her lip wondering if she should talk to her father about their suspicions with regard to Bastet. Deciding that if she was going to do so, she should broach the subject now before Mr. Tandon returned. "Father...back in the Barrack Hospital, I didn't find Giri by accident."

"I assumed you came across him during the course of your duties." He looked up at her with interest.

"Well, yes, but it was more than that. I...we...believe that Bastet led me to him. We both feel a...connection." Sophie looked her father in the eye, hoping he would discount their feelings.

Malik nodded. "If Bastet has willed it, then there is no denying it. The two of you will have to mate, sooner or later, but it will happen." Her face must have shown her frustration with the situation for he moved over to her and pulled her into his arms. "Sophie, my dear, it's not that bad is it? Giri is a good male. He's kind and honorable. He'll make you a worthy mate."

"But there's so much I planned on doing before I mated," she pouted. Oh she knew she was behaving like a young spoiled cub but at the moment that's exactly what she felt like. She rested her head on her father's shoulder, tears springing to her eyes.

As her crying subsided to hiccups, Giri's voice floated to them from the other side of the room. He'd obviously not been asleep and had been lying quietly listening to their conversation. "Sophie, I'm sure the goddess doesn't want us to rush into anything. Besides, there is still a war to fight and win. Once we're back home we can consider the situation seriously. But, while we're here we can spend as much time with each other as the army allows us; get to know each other better. We don't have to prove the old saying to be true."

Sophie shook her head in puzzlement and moved closer to him. "What old saying?"

"Marry in haste, repent at leisure." Giri said, and then chuckled. And then, lowering his voice, he continued, "I can think of much more pleasurable things to do with our leisure time."

She felt her face flush with heat at his intimation. But before Sophie could say anything, the door opened wafting the bitter cold into the room as Adri returned. Giri turned his head to the wall and closed his eyes as she returned to the fire. She had the impression that Giri did not want his father to know what Bastet had decided for them.

Adri rubbed his hands and held them out to warm them before the fire. "Malik, I will be glad to see the back of this place. I've seen squalor in India, but never on this scale. Some of the things floating in the harbor don't bear close scrutiny." He shook his head. "No wonder people get sick at that hospital, it overlooks the cesspool that masquerades as a port." He turned to Sophie and asked, "What will you do now? Return home with your father?"

She stirred the soup slowly. "I hadn't given it a thought. But, no, I don't think I will. I suppose I could go cap in hand back to Miss Nightingale and beg her to take me back. I must admit I don't relish the prospect."

Malik looked thoughtful. "I heard some stories while I was in town today. Tell me, have you heard tell of a woman called Mrs. Mary Seacole?"

"Why yes, Miss Nightingale allowed her to stay at the Hospital when she first arrived in Scutari. I heard she'd taken a ship across to the Crimea."

"I was told that she has already started to work wonders." Malik stretched his legs out toward the fire.

"Mrs. Seacole? I've not heard of her, who is she?" Adri asked.

"Mary Seacole is a Jamaican Creole and has some experience in healing," explained Malik. "She has opened the British Hotel in the Crimea. Sells goods, nourishing meals, and doctors anyone who needs her help. I hear that the soldiers would much rather go to her than come here to Scutari."

Sophie looked up from where she was cutting vegetables prior to adding them to the soup. "Miss Nightingale thinks her a charlatan, but I've heard the men praise her skills."

Malik looked pointedly at his cub. "You could do worse than offer to help her. If she's as skilled as they say you could learn much from her."

"Thank you, Father, I will give your suggestion serious consideration."

Sometime later, Sophie removed Giri's bandages to clean and inspect his injury. "The wound is closed and the flesh is beginning to look healthy. I think with another shift and a good night's sleep you'll be almost recovered." She rested her fingertips on his shoulder and met his gaze. Though she had felt a connection with Giri before, this time something stronger, almost like a spark passed through her fingers to her heart; whether her feelings were indeed her own or an emotion planted by Bastet she could no longer ignore the strength of them. Giri covered her hand with his and squeezed gently, as if to say he felt it, too. With a sigh she stepped back.

"I may have asked earlier when I wasn't fully conscious, but I find I can't remember much. Tell me, where are we?"

Adri brought over a wooden bowl of soup. "When Malik and I arrived in Scutari there was no room at the proverbial inn, so when we found this shepherd's hut unoccupied we appropriated it." He handed the bowl to his son before going back to the table to eat his meal. "I think we can go back to England tomorrow."

"We?" Giri's sharp tone made Sophie look up from where she was serving herself some of the hearty broth.

"Yes. Your mother will want to continue nursing you back to full strength." Adri didn't look at his son as he spoke and missed the mulish look on the young male's face.

"I will not desert, Father. I'm a soldier and I will stay here until my duty is complete. I need to get back to my men."

"I had a suspicion you'd say that. I'm not looking forward to explaining to your mother that you'd rather stay here."

"Father, don't twist my words. My duty lies here." He slanted a glance at Sophie and continued, "Perhaps my destiny as well."

Adri didn't appear to notice the underlying meaning of his son's words. "Hrumph. Well, you've been your own man for a long time now; I can't demand you return with me."

"Thank you, Father."

Sophie sat down on the end of Giri's cot and, holding the bowl on her knees she turned her head to speak quietly to him. "I think I should consider traveling over the sea to the Crimean peninsular, don't you? Mrs. Seacole appears to be someone with considerable knowledge of medicine. I think I could learn a lot from her."

"The British Hotel is very close to the front. You'd be close to my regiment's quarters, and I overheard men in the hospital talk of Mrs. Seacole. She runs her place like a home and we should be able to find time to see each other." Giri stretched his hand out as if to touch her, but she began to eat and moved out of his reach while remaining seated at the end of the mattress.

In a louder voice he addressed her father. "Sir, what news of Kit and Mary? How is Louise?"

Malik brought the young tiger up to date on all the news from home and they talked until Sophie noticed Giri was fighting to stay awake. Standing, she put a stop to the conversation and suggested that he shift once again before settling down to sleep.

She busied herself, clearing away the dishes while Malik and Adri shared their power with Giri once more to help him make the shift.

The night was quiet, but Sophie found sleep elusive. Her emotions were in turmoil. When she finally did drift off she dreamed of the goddess. When she awoke the next morning she couldn't remember details, but the image of Bastet stayed with her.

Malik and Adri were already moving around the hut and she gave up trying to hold onto the threads of her dream. Sophie washed her hands and face and went to check on Giri. He was sitting up on the edge of his bed dressed in a clean uniform that his father had brought from England.

Sophie frowned and told him to take off the jacket and shirt so she could check his injury. "I do not want to admit this because it means you'll go back to the fighting, but your wound seems almost healed. Another day and it'll just be a memory." She held up his shirt and jacket for him to get dressed and returned to the table.

The four of them, with Giri joining them at the table for the first time, shared a quick meal of bread and cheese washed down by hot, strong tea. Giri stood to bid his father and Malik farewell and Sophie hugged her father. "Thank you for coming to help. Giri would never have recovered on his own."

With his arms still around his precious youngest child, he whispered in her ear. "Thank the goddess, child. It was she who led you to your destiny, now it's up to you to embrace it." He stepped back and shook Giri's hand. "I'm proud of you, young man. In my opinion, you've made the right decision to remain in the service of your adopted country. I wish you well, and please, check on my daughter from time to time."

"I will sir, and thank you once again."

Giri and Sophie stood side by side, watching their parents fade as they made the first jump on their way back home.

Sophie turned away and busied herself with tidying the bedding on Giri's cot. She sensed, rather than heard, Giri's approach, jumping slightly when his hands came to rest on her shoulders. Slowly, he turned her to face him.

"Would it be so bad to spend your life with me? I'm not such a bad catch you know. My parents are very wealthy, I don't drink to excess, gamble, or keep a string of mistresses. I would try to be a good mate to you." He gave her a crooked smile.

Reaching up to touch his cheek, Sophie smiled. "No, it wouldn't be so bad. But to make the transition from friend to lover is a big leap, whether or not it's with the goddess' blessing. I'm not averse to a future spent with you, as long as that future doesn't start right now. I'd like to take things slowly."

Giri leaned down and touched his lips softly to hers. "Slow and steady. I can live with that." Taking her hand in his, he smiled at her. "Let's make the jump to Mrs. Seacole's British Hotel together and then I'll find and rejoin my battalion."

Christmas Eve, the "British Hotel" on the Crimean peninsular

Sophie looked around at the main room. From the inside one would never be able to imagine that the entire structure was built out of flotsam and jetsam and old bits of metal Mrs. Seacole had found on the waterfront. She and Giri had arrived in the Crimea a week earlier. Giri had returned directly to his regiment and Sophie went in search of Mary Seacole, who, on hearing that Sophie had spent a few weeks at Scutari, welcomed her with open arms and a warm, loving heart.

Mary Seacole was the antithesis of Florence Nightingale. She had an instinctive talent for medicine, using remedies her mother had taught her as she grew up in Jamaica. No wonder the men much preferred to come to her than to hospital in Scutari. Sophie knew she would learn much from her in the coming months.

It was Christmas Eve and one of the men had found a rather sad looking tree and had dragged it in. They'd set it up in a corner and had just finished decorating it with angels cut from starched linen, and stars fashioned from used tin cans. Candles were in short supply so the tree was not lit, but it looked quite nice even without lights. Mary was intent on getting everyone to sing carols this evening.

Sophie, however, was not feeling very festive. She'd seen Giri but once since arriving in the Crimea. He'd come to tell her they were moving camp and he didn't know when he would see her again, but would try and get word to her from time to time. The mystical connection that Bastet had settled upon them was getting stronger, and she hadn't wanted him to leave. They'd shared a kiss that had made her toes curl in her boots and now she would be spending Christmas without him. She still dreamed of the goddess at night, but lately Giri was coming to her more and more in her dreams. Whether it was destiny or love, she didn't know, and no longer cared. All she knew was that her world was a better place with Giri in it. But right now, she missed him terribly.

In a corner of the room two sailors were trying out their instruments, a fiddle and a concertina, to the accompaniment of much merriment and ribald comments from their friends. Then a young midshipman began to sing, his young voice high and clear. The musicians picked up the tune and soon all the men were singing along. Mrs. Seacole entered the room and added her voice to the chorus. She looked across at Sophie and smiled at her, beckoning her to join them, but Sophie only had eyes for the man in green standing in the doorway.

Giri opened his arms in an invitation, which Sophie responded to by running across the room and throwing herself into his embrace.

"I've missed you, Giri."

His arms wrapped around her, holding her tight, his mouth pressed close to her ear. "Merry Christmas, my destiny, my own little Sophie."

She leaned back and looked up at his dear face, tears of happiness filling her eyes. "Merry Christmas, Giri, my destiny, my love."

Giri picked her up off the ground and swept her around to the accompaniment of a cheer from Mary Seacole and the British servicemen gathered around the tree. And then, without hesitation, their lips met in a deep kiss that was a promise of a wonderful future together.

End

Historical Note

The Crimean War was the first war that had official war correspondents at the front. With the advent of the telegraph, reports reached London, at first within a day or two, and then as the war dragged on, within hours. Not only were there reporters at the front but also photographers and there are many photos available on line.

Florence Nightingale, for so long hailed as a heroine, apparently wasn't much of a nurse. She was an amazing administrator and did a lot of good for the poor and the sick back in England after the Crimean War. But, her role during the war was blown out of all proportion by the press and her family at the time.

Mrs. Mary Seacole was a real person and, although forgotten for more than a century, she is now considered the most important black woman in British history. If you're interested in finding out more about Mrs. Seacole there is an amazing documentary about her on YouTube. (remove spaces in link) www . youtube watch?v=RIrim4r-LbY