A strange image flitted through my head of a young man in old-fashioned dress. He had brilliant white hair and violet eyes. He was also wielding a sword, swinging it with unrestrained violence about his head. His eyes turned in my direction and I gasped involuntarily as he heaved the sword towards me.

Then he was replaced by another man of similar build and colouring. Then another and another and another. The images came so thick and fast that I felt dizzy. The only thing that seemed to change was the mode of clothing. I cried out, willing them to slow down. There were too many and it was all too quick. Nausea filled my stomach. I couldn’t take any more. It had to stop. It had to…

Another man appeared. This time he wasn’t alone; he was pressing his cheek against the rounded stomach of a heavily pregnant woman. Both of them looked at me and smiled and, unable to help myself, I smiled back. There was tenderness in their expressions – and unfathomable, immeasurable love. Even though I knew they were only in my head, I still reached out. I wanted to touch them.

The woman held out one graceful hand. If I stretched I might be able to grasp hold of her fingers. The moment I tried, however, she began to choke. Blood trickled from her mouth and she collapsed. The man roared in helpless, silent agony as she slid from his arms to the ground. His eyes filled with an anguish that turned to rage. I stepped back as he stretched out his arms and howled at the heavens. He seemed to be struggling with some terrible inner turmoil. In the past I might have made fun of the phrase ‘gnashing their teeth and renting their clothes’ but it suddenly made sense. I desperately wanted to help him, to soothe him in some way, but I had no idea how. His body writhed and his eyes bulged. Then, like a cloud passing, it was over. His eyes were clear as he turned to me.

‘Layoch,’ he said before vanishing entirely.

I fell to my knees. There was a wetness on my cheeks. It took me a moment or two to realise it was tears.

Chapter Fourteen

It took some time before I could pull myself together enough to get to my feet and start walking back. I was confused by what I’d seen and my thoughts were in free fall, tumbling one after the other as I tried to make sense of it all.

The one thing I knew was for certain was that I hated my true name. Layoch? I mean, come on. It sounded like it belonged to a boy. Had Daddy Dearest been wishing for a son? If so, maybe it was just as well he’d not stuck around long enough to meet me.