Nadya smiled as Erik guided her through the street, but her movements were guarded.

"I'm going to fall! Is the blindfold really necessary, Erik?" She asked with nervous excitement, clutching to Erik's arm when her overly cautious steps caused her to stumble over her own feet.

"Yes. And the sooner you learn to trust me the sooner you can take it off," Erik chided, amused.

"Oh I trust you implicitly, it's the cobblestone I don't trust," Nadya promised, but she forced herself to walk more confidently as her husband guided her.

Their first year of marriage had been marvelous. Now half way into year two, Nadya was more in love with her husband than ever before. During their time together Erik had begun to teach his wife to read and write in Romani and French, a project which fascinated and delighted the young woman as surely as it made her ancestors turn in their graves. She was an eager student and learned quickly, amusing Erik with the depth of her frustration and the purity of her joy when she finally conquered a troublesome word. By the time Erik made the nearly blasphemous decision to teach her arithmetic, her handwriting had surpassed his own clumsily formed words.

Nadya had not known the extent to which she craved knowledge until Erik began offering it to her in spades. Erik was by far the most intelligent man Nadya had ever met or could hope to know, and while she was a keen student her husband was often an impatient teacher. Things that came readily to Erik required more than a little effort to settle with Nadya, and there were times they would sleep on opposite sides of the campfire simply because of an argument over sums or spelling.

Other nights their fights were worse. The two weeks Nadya thought she had been pregnant were perhaps the most frightening in her life, surpassing even the night her father had struck and banished her. She and Erik had never spoken about having children, and while the thought of getting married and having children seemed the most natural thing in the world to Nadya she knew that her husband did not feel the same way. Erik did not think like other men. He had not married her to spread his seed or to produce an heir. They did not need another set of hands to help them work. Erik had married her for tenderness and affection, to satisfy a need for love that ran deeper even than Nadya's thirst for knowledge.

Nadya's anxiety had been more evident than she thought, and within days he had begun to pry about her change in mood. Erik's reaction to her suspicions had been exactly has Nadya expected, but that didn't make the fight any easier to stomach. The fight had lasted for days, and the tension between them stayed until well after Nadya's monthly had returned. Things only returned to normal when Erik apologized for having been so aggressive and careless with his words and Nadya apologized for trying to keep it a secret. Fortunately she had not had another scare, and before long things returned to normal.

Erik had been planning to surprise Nadya for weeks. Since they met, they had been sharing the same great black horse on their travels. It meant limiting their belongings, often with neither of them riding in favor of carrying extra blankets or food through the winter. It was time they invest in another horse, and after a few months of saving and making excuses for staying in Turkey so the currency would be valid he had found a breeder known for producing only the highest quality horse. A few young horses were ready for travel and Nadya could have her pick. Erik had paid the man upfront and purchased a wedding band with the remaining of his savings; only a few people would ever recognize the diklo she wore as a symbol of her marriage, but nearly everyone would recognize the band on her left ring finger meant she was spoken for.

"How much longer?" Nadya asked with excited impatience.

"Not long now," Erik promised, amused. After just a few more minutes of walking, they came into a clearing filled with the low chatter. Erik stopped and moved behind Nadya to untie the blindfold.

Something felt wrong. The hair on the back of Nadya's neck stood on end as she looked around. The clearing smelled strongly of wood, leather, and horses. There was an eclectic mix of well dressed Turkish and even a few Arab and European men talking with men and women Nadya immediately recognized as Roma. This tribe was larger than her small family, and by the look of it far more accepting of the presence of gaje in their lives. "Erik, where are we?"

"A man in back in Istanbul told me about this place. The men in this tribe breed the best horses in the world they say. I've already paid them, you can pick any one you like.".

Suddenly Nadya's blood ran cold. "They're a horse tribe," she said under her breath, eyes darting over the faces of the Roma in the clearing. More than a few looked familiar and were glancing their way.

"Yes," Erik confirmed, noticing her change in behavior. "I thought you would enjoy being around your people again. They might have word about your family."

"We have to leave," Nadya said suddenly, grabbing onto her husband's arm in alarm as a tall, sturdy looking Roma man caught sight of the pair and excused himself from his Arab companion to make his way over.

"Nadya, what's-"

"Nadya Biaram, this is an unexpected delight," the man greeted.

The only thing betraying the terror coursing through her veins was the ever tightening grasp Nadya kept on her husband's arm. "Yoska Dimir," she greeted politely, and immediately Erik's blood ran cold.

"What a coincidence the two of us should cross paths, and in Turkey of all places. When your father told me you had run away I assumed I would have to send him to trial for backing out of our marriage arrangement," Yoska remarked, taking a long moment to glance over her. "Though I can see why he insisted on such a high bride price. You've grown up very nice indeed."

"You will not speak about my wife as though she were one of your horses," Erik commanded, and Yoska seemed to notice him for the first time.

If he was intimidated by Erik's menacing demeanor, he showed no sign of it. "You must be the man who seduced my bride-to-be. I've heard stories about you. They say you killed an entire troupe when you were just a boy, is that true?"

"My husband kills only with just cause. He is a good man," Nadya said with her jaw set and her chin held high.

Yoska clicked his tongue some. "When your father said you had run away with a man, he was still clinging to the hope that you had kept yourself whole. Part of the price I paid was for your virginity, after all. Still, you clearly haven't birthed any children. Perhaps I won't have to take the old man to trial after all."

For the first time, Nadya's nerve faltered as Erik pulled her behind him protectively. "She is my wife, Mister Dimir. You will not have her."

"You are mistaken, Sir. She is bought and paid for, and therefore is my property," Yoska announced, making a move to grab at Nadya's wrist and quickly finding himself faced with the tip of the blade Erik kept tucked into his boot. Instead of looking afraid, the man simply laughed. "You have some nerve. You could almost be Rom yourself."

"Touch her and I will drain every last drop of blood from your body," Erik threatened. Suddenly Nadya yelped from behind Erik and the masked man whirled to find another man had grabbed her as she kicked and struggled ferociously to free herself. Erik growled with rage and lunged at the man trying to keep his grip on Nadya, prying the man off the young woman with considerable strength. As soon as Nadya was freed from his grasp Erik fell upon the man like a cougar on its pray, sliding the blade between his ribs with nearly medical precision.

Nadya's freedom was short-lived. Several men had seen the confrontation and had come to aid, pulling Erik off the man who had tried to contain Nadya as Yoska and another man held her back.

The last thing Erik heard before his world went black was Nadya's high pitched shriek followed the loud firing of a gun.


"Look who's up," came a cheery male voice as Erik's world began to swim into focus. The memory of what had happened struck Erik like mallet as he blinked, trying desperately to sit up and shake off his confusion.

"Nadya-" Erik tried, cringing as much as the hoarse sound of his own voice as from the dull ache in his shoulder.

A gentle hand pressed Erik back onto his back. "I don't know who it is you're talking about young man, but I assure you she's not here."

As the room began to focus and Erik became more aware of his surroundings, he was filled with a sudden sense of panic. "My mask. What have you done with my mask?" He demanded, covering his face with his hand in terror.

"It's right here, but you needn't worry about it right now," the man promised, and Erik turned to face the source of the voice. The man was darker than a Turk, even darker than the darkest Gypsy Erik had come across in his childhood. His face resembled tanned leather in texture, the area around his mouth covered in coarse, peppery-gray hair. His eyes were yellowed from disease of the liver, but perhaps their most startling feature was the milky white film over eyes Erik guessed must have once been black as pitch - this strange looking man was blind.

"…I would still like it back," Erik insisted and the man obliged, picking up the black leather mask with surprising precision for a man with no sight and placing it on Erik's chest. "Thank you."

"With manners like that you must be European," the man remarked, amused. "I thought for sure you were a Gypsy or a Turkish thief." He asked, standing and moving to another end of the weather-worn tent.

Erik struggled to sit upright and finally managed, touching at the bandage over the right side of his chest. Any further to the left and he would not have woken up at all. Perhaps that would have been better, he mused. "Where am I?"

"Azerbaijan. We found you in a clearing close to the Turkish border almost a week ago. We couldn't stay long, but I insisted on taking you with us," the ancient man explained, standing to bring Erik a glass of water. Erik watched curiously as weathered old hands sought out Erik's own to make certain the cup was taken.

"Were there any Gypsies there? A young woman was taken, my wife. A man named Yoska, an important man in a tribe that breeds and sells horses has her. Please, if you know anything-"

"Calm yourself young man, before you start bleeding again. I'm sorry, but it's been months since we've had any contact with Gypsies, and the last tribe we crossed tried to rob us blind. Fortunately we're not nearly as helpless as we look."

After a deep drink from the cup he had been given, Erik put it aside and tied the mask to his face deliberately. "Thank you for your kindness, Sir."

"If she was taken by Gypsies, you won't ever find her now," the man said with a small frown. "They will have at least a week's head start, who knows in what direction."

"I won't abandon her," Erik snapped at the old man, his shoulder already beginning to throb.

"And what will she do if you die?" the old man pointed out. Erik opened his mouth as though to protest before hanging his head some. "You are no use to anyone dead, My Friend. Stay with while you heal. When you have your health, then go and find her."

As much as Erik hated to admit it, the old sage was right. A warm wet sensation was spreading along Erik's shoulder just from the effort it took to sit up in bed. The effort it would take to hunt down Yoska's tribe would surely kill him within a week. The longer Erik waited before trying to track the horse tribe lowered the odds he would ever find them, but the odds of finding Nadya were nothing if he died on the journey.

"Who are you?" Erik finally asked, allowing the man to sit beside him and work carefully at the bandage on his shoulder.

"My name is Ranjeet Kalida. I'm a merchant from Osiyan in Rajasthan, India. We are on our way home from trading in Istanbul."

"A merchant? But you're-"

"Old? Blind? Yes, yes," Agreed the man. "I suppose I should have said I was a merchant. My sons run the business now, and their sons with them. These days I am mending more broken bones than broken spice jars and porcelain, but that is the curse of age is it not? This may hurt a bit," he warned, pressing a hot cloth onto Erik's bare shoulder.

"A curse for you, but a blessing for my wife and I," Erik remarked quietly, numb to the pain as he thought of Nadya. That scream… that scream would haunt him until the day he died, even if he somehow managed to find her again.

"Not many would have stopped for a dying man on the road," Ranjeet agreed. "But I raised my boys well. There now. I think you'll be just fine if you rest."

"How did you know I was bleeding?" Erik asked suddenly, realizing that the man had changed his bandage without any prompting in spite of the loss of his vision.

"I smelled the blood on you," the old man explained, as though it were obvious. Placing the bloodied bandages into the bowl of warm water, Ranjeet stood. "Rest now. And try not to worry about your wife. If she is as resilient as you are, she will be just fine."