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he had insisted he had an older brother, drawing him as a large and menacing figure, sometimes even talking to the imaginary person. There was no brother. The Gynts put it down to Tor’s longing to have one, but that was impossible. The local physic had made that painfully clear to them.
    Tor did not know what to say, so he shrugged apologetically.
    ‘It’s all right, Torkyn, this is the right decision.’ Jhon Gynt was comforting himself as much as his son.
    Ailsa started weeping again and Tor crossed the room in two strides. He could not bear this from the woman who was always in control of the situation. He rocked her gently. Soon he felt his father’s strong arms wrap themselves around them both and hold them tight, all but keening with his own despair.
    Tor lost sense of time. He could not tell how long they remained like that or when the tears finally subsided. Afterwards they talked of nothing of consequence for a few minutes; awkward conversation he would not be able to recall later. Finally, as silence once again hung heavy between them, his father took Tor’s hand in his own as his mother did the same on his other side.
    ‘Mother and I must share something special with you.’ Gynt cleared his throat. ‘This is difficult, Tor. It’s a secret we have kept for fifteen years. I had hoped we would never have to share it with anyone, least of all you, but now that you are leaving, it’s our duty to tell you.’
    Tor felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in anticipation of what was coming. For some reason, he just knew it was going to be bad.
    ‘Tell me nothing. I don’t want to hear this…please. I—whatever it is, it doesn’t matter to me.’ He searched his father’s face but found only resignation and a weighty sadness.
    ‘You must know this, Torkyn.’ Jhon pulled his son close. ‘Although you bear our name, child, I did not sire you and your mother did not birth you.’
    Tor felt his world spin momentarily into a dizzying darkness, and out of its inky depths three brilliantly coloured orbs hastened towards him. The sensation was menacing and he must have yelled out for the sound helped him return to his parents. His father was shaking him by the shoulders.
    Tor shook his head in disbelief. He could see his father talking, yet he could hear nothing save the faint thump of his blood pounding in his ears. He shook his head again to clear it.
    ‘Tor, are you listening to us?’ His mother’s red, weepy eyes implored him as much as her words.
    ‘Look at me, son, and hear my words,’ Gynt said as he held Tor’s face and stared directly into his eyes. ‘A woman came to our town fifteen winters ago. With her she had a magnificent baby boy, all swaddled up and crying he was.’ His father smiled ruefully in memory. He let go of Tor’s face and dropped his hands to his lap.
    ‘And this beautiful boy had no parents. Both had been killed; a fire we were told, which had claimed everything they had bar the child who had been spared. There was no other family. The woman had happened along whilst the village folk were fighting the fire. Someone had put the babe in her arms and she nursed it through the night. The next day no one stepped forward to claim the child. It was a poor village, you see, and one more mouth to feed, another body to clothe, was just too much.
    ‘The woman found herself with a few-months-old babe and she herself simply passing through on her way to Tal.’
    Tor wanted to stop the words but his father continued.
    ‘She took the boy, travelling many miles with him before arriving in Flat Meadows where she paid for a room overnight at the inn. Well, you know Mother Gynt—she took pity on the woman and her heart almost burst to see the child, homeless, without the love of his mother and endlessly whimpering. She had an instant bond with him which soothed his wails. As is your mother’s way, she fell hopelessly in love with the boy and begged the woman to let her keep