‘Master Rennic. When our lives on this vessel end, when we are reaped, we are judged on a life well-lived. Those who are judged worthy will be carried across the stars in the Navigator’s ship of bone, those who disappoint will be ground and resown by the Tiller to be reborn at the dawn of the endless winter, and those who have failed their people, as Brecki so nearly did, are severed and devoured.’

‘So?’

‘So for us, a life well-lived is a devout imperative.’ She sat back, still smiling.

‘And what constitutes a life well-lived?’ Loveless said, genuinely curious.

‘What you would expect. Great deeds. Victory, vitality, conquest, in steel and flesh.’ She waved a hand, as if curving over something invisible. ‘Pain endured, pleasure gained and given.’

Loveless seemed satisfied, her smile mirroring Ruumi’s.

‘But nothing of ethics, or moral imperative?’ Foss said. ‘Kindness to fellow man in all things?’

Ruumi’s smile faded, her response only a quizzical glance. ‘But how would that please the gods?’

‘And what about your ancestors?’ Lemon interjected. ‘Staying true to those who went before.’

Ruumi’s expression remained quizzical. ‘Those already sent to the gods had their time and received their judgement. The imperative, as your friend puts it, is in living the best life for the self. Our duty to the gods is to glory in an existence lived well, no matter what, or who, came before.’

‘Aye, but what about—’

‘Only the pieces on the board are still in the game, Clydish wench.’

‘Where does the boat go?’ Chel said over Lemon’s squawk. ‘The bone-boat, does it ever dock?’

‘Indeed: in paradise. A land of eternal conquest, eternal hunt, and eternal feast.’

‘Sounds like a recipe for eternal gut-rot,’ Lemon muttered. ‘I mean, I sleep terribly after a big meal these days, all that pissing and farting, just imagine an eternity of that.’

Rennic’s head was tilted, his eyes on Ruumi. ‘And to get to this paradise, must you die with your weapon in your hand?’

‘Not a problem for you, Gar,’ Loveless chuckled, ‘that’s how you wake up most mornings.’

Even Ruumi laughed at that. Foss watched her, frown deep, distrustful. ‘You laugh at your own gods? You mock them, allow others to do likewise?’

‘Of course!’

‘You don’t worry about angering them? They seem an ill-humoured bunch.’

‘Angering them? They are gods! What have they to fear from the mockery of mortals? What kind of gods would they be if they were cowed by the teasing squeals of piglets in their slaughterhouse? Ha! Can you imagine? Who would worship a god who craved the protection of men!’

Oksa was laughing, deep and mirthful. Foss’s frown was unmoved.

Ruumi sat forward again, warming to the conversation. ‘Tell me, I have often wondered. Your people, you have the Shepherd, yes?’

‘We do.’

‘And you have a god, a sole god, but one?’

‘We do.’

‘And are they the same?’