The Enemy Soulmate

By G. Wulfing

When people who are fated to be soulmates meet for the first time, matching, tattoo-like 'soulmarks' appear on their bodies. Eighteen-year-old Fedir had hoped that his soulmate would be a girl; a nice, friendly girl from his own tribe. But, whilst hunting in the forest near his village, he spies a young man from an enemy tribe, and, to Fedir’s horror, his soulmark appears.
Soulmarks cannot be obliterated, and fate is immutable. Fedir is afraid that his people will kill or exile him when they find out that his soulmate is an enemy. He wonders if he should just kill his wretched soulmate while he has the chance, and solve the whole problem with one bloody deed, perhaps doing both himself and his soulmate a favour ... but can he bring himself to murder the person who is supposed to become his dearest friend?
Meanwhile, Asheena has already been exiled from his tribe because his soulmark appeared when he set eyes on Fedir. He is heartbroken, homeless, with no support and no future, except perhaps a lonely existence in the wilderness or a risky trek to some faraway land.
Now he, Fedir, and Fedir’s tribe are all faced with a dilemma: what do they do about the fact that Fedir and Asheena should be enemies but are in fact soulmates?

• Language: English
• Publisher: G. Wulfing
• Release date: Nov 30, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370099382

G. Wulfing

G. Wulfing, author of kidult fantasy and other bits of magic, is a freak. They have been obsessed with reading since they learned how to do it, and obsessed with writing since they discovered the fantasy genre a few years later. G. Wulfing has no gender, and is of varying age. G. Wulfing lives amidst the beautiful scenery of New Zealand, prefers animals to people, and requires solitude, books, music, chocolate, and masala chai lattes in order to remain functional.

Book preview

The Enemy Soulmate

Published by G. Wulfing at Smashwords

Copyright 2017 G. Wulfing

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This story is dedicated to my consultant,

whose knowledge of pre-medieval life in Western Europe was indispensable and time-saving …

… and who is, in fact, my soulmate.

T’vaya athar eos alusaa, eth t’e’ahvah hrr.

I would also like to thank Em Krebaum, the artist whose art of Fedir and Asheena is featured on the cover. Em is highly talented and was superb to work with, and commissioning him to depict my characters was a joy.

angryjerkandstrawboy.tumblr.com

emkprivateart.wixsite.com/creationmythproject

Further thanks go to the brilliant DrRiptide, who created the background and turned both his and Em’s art into a book cover.

drriptide.deviantart.com

Table of contents:

The Enemy Soulmate

Epilogue

About G. Wulfing

The Enemy Soulmate

Stooped in a thicket of green leaves, Fedir waited, slowing his breathing, his gaze fixed on the grassy bank opposite, about fifty paces away. His left hand gripped his bow, and the gloved fingers of his right held a nocked arrow in place on the string. His battered old linen satchel, and his slim leather hunting quiver with just four arrows in it, were strapped securely aslant his back. At any moment, his target would move into view, into a gap in the Summer foliage that surrounded Fedir. It was late afternoon, after the greatest heat of the day, and the sky was vivid blue, patched with puffy white clouds, with just a slight breeze: a lovely day to be hunting in the forest. This particular prey, however, was not one that Fedir had been hunting for: this was sheer opportunity.

Fedir took one slow, quiet breath. He could hear his own heart thumping. He had never killed a human before.

Another breath. Any second now.

Another breath.

A slight, black-haired, tawny-skinned youth, apparently near Fedir’s age of eighteen, wearing on his back a large leather backpack, a bagged bow and a leather quiver, walked into view in the gap between the leaves through which Fedir was peering, crossing the bank from right to left. Fifty paces with a clear path between him and the target: not a difficult shot, but Fedir would probably only get one chance at it: if he missed, then, depending on what the arrow hit and how noisy the impact was, the youth may well realise that he was being hunted. Fedir tensed his muscles, lifting the bow and beginning to draw it even as he tracked his target’s progress from right to left across the small gap, all in one arc, moving smoothly but carefully lest he betray himself by making the bushes rustle. He had only a couple of seconds before the youth would be past the gap and out of sight —

The youth sat down. At this shifting of his target from up to down, instead of right to left, Fedir faltered, his aim broken, slacking some of the tension on his bowstring. The youth had parked himself on the near end of a low, mossy, half-mouldered log that lay aslant the bank. He was still in profile to Fedir, but now a smaller target – almost folded in half as he perched on his low seat. However, he was stationary: perfect.

Fedir tensed his muscles again, his feet still planted firmly on the leaf litter. He had the luxury of taking his time to aim, now. Anyone from his village could make this shot.

Suddenly Fedir’s left wrist buzzed and throbbed as though it were inflamed. His arm spasmed, almost dropping the weapon. He gasped, crouched, half dropping and half placing the bow and arrow on the ground, unnocking the arrow as he did so, tore off his left glove and fumbled at the straps of his bracer to see what insect was stinging him and how much damage it was doing.

The leather bracer dropped to the leaf litter, and Fedir yanked back his sleeve. There, blooming black on the pale underside of his left wrist, was a shape like a many-pointed star. It looked very like a tattoo. As Fedir watched, wide eyed, its edges became crisper, clearer, until within a few seconds it was clear, every edge and tip of every ray perfect and sharp. There was no swelling of the skin around it, as there would be around a fresh tattoo, but the black had a hint of red to it, like ink mixed with blood.

Oh no.

No. That was impossible.

Fedir rose from his crouch to the gap in the leaves, and positively hurled his glance around the clearing in the forest, looking to the trees on either side, the grass and small bushes in front, the grassy, tree-topped bank beyond, the sky above and the leaf litter at his feet, even over his shoulder into the thicket, hoping against hope that somehow there was someone else nearby, someone he had seen without realising he’d seen them, someone who wasn’t the enemy …

But his brain told him that there was no one else around, and his gut told him that this black-haired boy was it.

His soulmate.

There was no one else it could be.

For an instant, Fedir had the sickening urge to cut off his own hand above the wrist.

His mouth suddenly went dry. He stood, panting quietly, staring in horror at the black, spider-like mark on his pale skin, against the backdrop of fine blue veins. No, no, no, this was all wrong! His soulmark had appeared, but —

He looked out of the bushes again, at the young male seated on the grass-covered bank. That person could not possibly be his soulmate – he was the enemy!

And Fedir wasn’t even attracted to males! His soulmate was supposed to be a girl, a nice friendly girl who would laugh at his jokes — He didn’t necessarily want to get married and have children, and he knew that many people were surprised by the soulmate that fate chose for them; but for some reason that Fedir couldn’t really express, even to himself, he had always sort of assumed or hoped that his soulmate would be female … Having a male soulmate was simply not part of the plan, dammit! And he couldn’t have one from the Vasari tribe, he just couldn’t! Unheard-of! Unthinkable!

Staring again at the mark on his wrist, Fedir tried to control his breathing, which was becoming heavier by the moment. If he were too loud, he might be discovered.

The burning, throbbing sensation had rapidly faded to a minor but distracting buzzing. Fedir tried to focus his thoughts. A soulmark did not appear until its owner become aware of their soulmate, so as long as that other youth did not discover Fedir, his tattoo would not appear.

If Fedir could slink away from here without being spotted, the Vasari boy would not find a soulmark appearing on his wrist.

His throat drying and his heart going mad in his chest, Fedir peeped through the leaves to see what the youth was doing. He was still sitting on the log, had pulled off his waterskin, quiver, backpack, and his bow in its bag, all of which now sat at his feet; and was eating something – some sort of pastry, it seemed, presumably taken from his backpack. He wore simple clothes: a tunic and trousers of drab greens and greys, and brown leather boots and belt: an outfit not dissimilar to Fedir’s, designed for working outdoors or travelling, and good for being camouflaged in the forest. He was slight, as most Vasari were: – slight but wiry, and clever and ruthless as snakes. He wore a hood, but it currently lay in folds on his upper back, even though the sun was warm and the bank exposed. He was armed: a long knife, probably for hunting and fighting, hung from his belt on his left hip. Its sheath seemed to be coloured in earthy blues and greens. The youth probably had an eating knife or general-purpose knife on his right hip, which Fedir couldn’t see, and no doubt a pouch or two on his belt. His black hair was straight and glossy, cut all around his head to about the tops of his ears, and shaven below that: a typical Vasari haircut, quite different from the habit of Fedir’s people of letting their hair – fair, brown, blonde or red – grow long and then braiding it in a myriad of styles. Vasari people looked like tawny mushrooms with their caps dipped in tar, Fedir’s people said.

Fedir fumed silently to himself. The youth wasn’t even attractive! A Vasari! If Fedir didn’t know better, he’d think there must have been some sort of mistake. How could he possibly be fated to love a Vasari?! How on earth was that supposed to work?!

It couldn’t. There was no way this could end well.

Fedir swallowed. His mouth was still so dry, but he dared not risk making unnecessary noise by pulling the waterskin off his back to drink some of the watered-down wine therein. He sank into a crouch beside his bow to think.

The youth still seemed unaware of him. So long as the Vasari never perceived Fedir, the youth’s soulmark would not appear, and Fedir could wait here in silence until the youth moved on – oblivious to the fact that his fated soulmate was from an enemy tribe and crouching in the bushes fifty paces away.

In fact, if Fedir could avoid the boy forever, the boy need never know of him.

Fedir gulped.

That would be easier said than done. Could he guarantee that he would never be glimpsed by the black-haired boy until after his, Fedir’s, death?

On the road? In a skirmish? Whilst patrolling, or on sentry duty, or at one of the big markets several days’ journey away where people from many tribes and races mingled?

No. No one could guarantee such a thing. Besides, it was said that soulmates always found each other eventually.

Unless …

Fedir looked down at his bow.

If the black-haired boy died here and now, as had been the initial opportunistic plan, Fedir’s problem would be solved. Solved in an instant.

Fedir’s very core seemed to waver.

If he killed the boy – his supposed soulmate – the mark on Fedir’s wrist would not disappear, at least not at once. Sometimes the soulmark on a living soulmate faded after their soulmate died; sometimes not. It depended on the person, apparently. Fedir would most likely not be able to keep the mark hidden for long, and once someone in his village saw it Fedir would have to explain what had happened. But the shame of having his soulmate be an enemy would be countered by the fact that Fedir had been