I looked at Darius, who continued to send energy to Miky, having no idea that it was being immediately drawn into the link binding the girl to her brother, and wondered if the ability to gift spirit energy was common among gypsy folk, or if it was unique to Darius. Had it to do with the fact that his own body caused him constant pain? Certainly the beasthealer must be more than usually aware of his spirit, to use it in such a way, and had not his unrequited love of Kella been a sickness of the spirit as much as of the flesh? Indeed, this must be what lay behind his almost miraculous ability to care for beasts. He could heal their spirit as well as tending to their flesh.

I wondered if he had tried to heal Angina’s spirit before turning his attention to Miky. Or had he known there was no hope for the boy? Some impulse made me reach out and dip my spirit hand into the red slash of colour in the boy’s aura. Immediately I saw the face of the man who had shot the arrow into him. I had not realised it in the White Valley, but he had spoken to Angina after the lad had fallen. I saw brutish spite and loathing in his eyes. ‘Not dead yet, Freak?’ he hissed. ‘I will kill you just as I dashed out the brains of the Misfit whelp my bondmate bore,’ he hissed. He drew out his sword to deliver the killing blow, only to be cut down himself by a gypsy arrow.

I drew back, appalled.

Angina’s spirit-form shifted and firmed into the same scaled creature I had seen in my dreams. In touching his wound, I had brought him to an awareness of his spirit and now he looked at me and, though its lips did not move, I heard his voice as if from very far away. I do not wish to live in a world where men with dark joy in their eyes kill their own babies.

‘Not all men hate like that,’ I whispered.

No, but that man’s hate poisoned me. I want to go into the stream. It sings an end to remembering that I yearn for. But I do not want to take Miky with me. Use the black sword and sever the link between us before it is too late.