The Soul Mate

CHAPTER THREE

Serbia, 1065 A.C.E

“Emilian! Emilian! Hurry, before my mami sees!” Treime giggled at his surprised look as she tore past him. Colorful petals now sprinkled the countryside as her long black hair blew out behind her. The wildflowers and intricate braids that had been woven into her hair for the earlier festival were both lost to the wind.

His footsteps behind were a heavy stampede. Her little heart began to race in anticipation the louder and closer they grew. Treime’s excitement was palpable; it was easy to ignore the dirty looks and nasty comments from the Gaje villagers as they ran past them.

Treime let loose a scream of frustration as the tips of his fingers brushed against her back. He was gaining on her. Again.

On a whim she changed direction toward the village well near the outskirts of the forest, but she hadn’t been fast enough. Emilian’s hands slipped around her middle and in mid run she was swung up through the air as Emilian began to laugh.

He crushed her against him and twirled until she gasped for air.

“Ah puţin o…” He laughed harder. “You’ll never be faster than me. It’s just not possible.”

His dark brown eyes flashed gray as he set her down and tapped her on the nose. Treime stomped her feet and crossed her arms over her chest. “Why?”

Emilian shrugged unapologetically, still grinning. “Well for starters because you’re 9 and I’m 16 but mostly because you’re a girl.”

Treime, suddenly angry, grabbed his wrist and released forth a string of the most unfeminine curses she could think of.

She waited for Emilian to start laughing. He always did when she cursed. He’d taught her most of them. Instead he’d grown unusually quiet, his eyes somewhat unfocused as he stared down at her.

“Emilian?” She shook his wrist, feeling his warm skin twitch under her hand. Treime loved the way their skin warmed when it touched. It never did that when she touched anyone else and she’d never told anyone about it either.

She wanted it to be their secret. Someday, she though, when she was older, she would tell Emilian about it too.

Emilian jerked his arm out of her grasp and frowned at her. Treime’s lower lip started to tremble. Did he know? Was he mad?

“Go home Treime, no more playing today.”

“But Emi-

“Go.” His eyes had turned gray and Treime’s entire body warmed at the sight of them. Whenever Emilian’s eyes changed color, all she wanted was to be closer to him, to hug him, to hear his stories, and the songs he sung, even though she’d heard them all a hundred times before.

“Don’t make me say it again Treime,” Emilian’s eyes flashed white with anger. Treime backed slowly away from him, no longer recognizing her friend. Suddenly, Emilian’s fist shot out, connecting with the solid stone wall surrounding the well. With a scream, Treime ran from him, stopping only when she found a wide tree trunk to hide behind.

He brought his hand back to him covered in blood.

“Are you hurt?” A small voice asked.

A village girl was approaching the well clutching a large bucket to her chest.

“I could help you,” The girl said.

Slowly, he turned toward the villager and Treime watched in astonishment as her best friend smiled at the silly girl.

Was he going to talk to her, a Gaje? They thought the Romani people were thieving beggar scum. Her clan had to move all the time because of people like her.

Holding out his injured hand for the Gaje girl’s inspection, Emilian waited until she was close. Then, using his good hand, he pulled her forward and her bucket fell to the ground. Treime saw his magic before the girl did. It was just a small amount of fire that Emilian pressed against the girl’s chest.

Where a typical village girl would have probably run screaming if a Roma boy had kissed her, this girl melted into Emilian’s arms. She watched as Emilian led the love struck girl into the woods, already untying the laces on her bodice.