to you? You're pretty weird after all.'
The eunuch had remained silent ever since they had disembarked from the Llothriall which, in itself, wasn't that unusual. What was unusual, however, was that he had a smile on his face.
'The songs are here.' He said. 'Can you not hear them? The beautiful songs.'
'No,' Jacquinto said. 'That would be just you I'm afraid.'
'Win, tell us of Morat.' Dunsany said. 'I would really like to hear the story of your people.'
Win filled his glass and, after having drank, began his story.
The Allfather — or Kerberos — had once been the home of the Moratians. But, many generations ago, some great sin had been committed against the Allfather and the people were sent out in exile from the cradle of their civilization. As to the nature of this sin, not one of the Moratian legends spoke of its origin. Maybe the shame of the ancestors was such that they had sought to erase all memory of their trespass. All the Moratians knew was that the anger of the Allfather had been so great that it had flung them into the airless gulf between worlds.
But the Allfather's anger hadn't been so great that he had abandoned his people with no hope of survival. For he had sent them out with a part of himself, an immense stone that enabled them to survive the ravages of the void.
And so — after many years of travel — they came to this world of storms and endless water.
Here the stone of the Allfather continued to guide them, shaping the waters surrounding Morat, bending the environment to the will of the people while drawing them along the decreed paths through the angry seas.
All the while the Allfather looked down on the people of Morat and his implacable face was a constant reminder of their guilt. In their ceremonies the high-priests channelled the remorse of the people; crying out to their creator in prayer and song, their hunger to return a fire that burned at the centre of their worship.
Once a year, the path that Morat followed through the dark waters brought it within sight of a small island. The Allfather seemed to hang lower and larger in the sky over this land and some people claimed that they could even make out his true face. So, it was decided that here they would build a temple in his name.
Slowly — year after year — the stones were laid. The masons worked only four days at a time, which was as long as Morat remained within view of the island, and when the temple was completed the builders had to return swiftly to their home, before it disappeared out of sight over the horizon.
The people of Morat then had to wait a whole year to christen the temple with their praise. A whole year before the currents brought them again within sight of the island.
On the first Festival of the Allfather the gathered people looked up — up through the great round hole in the temple roof that seemed to cradle their God — and sang their praises and their lamentations. And the high priests, through the use of a certain sacred lichen, freed their souls from their bodies, so that they flew through the Allfather's endless clouds where they could commune with him more directly.
But the Allfather still did not call the people of Morat home.
Yet they did not despair, for they had found a place where they could be closer to their God. Therefore, every cycle, the Moratians strove to improve themselves and each other by building a strong, just society where education and fellowship came first. And then, when they next came within sight of the island and the Festival of the Allfather was once more upon them, they offered up not just their guilt but the fruits of their labours and aspirations; showing the Allfather how his people in exile had improved, showing him how they were indeed worthy of his mercy and his love.
It was true that the Allfather still had not brought them back to their ancestral home, but for each year that the people of Morat built on their achievements they moved themselves closer to the day when they would ascend and be forever in his care.
And so, the high priests had come to realise that the Allfather had not sent his people out in exile merely as a punishment, but also as a way to reveal to the Moratians what they were capable of, to prove the glory of his creation.
'So, the Moratians believe that they come from Kerberos?' Dunsany said.
'It is not a question of belief,' said Win. 'The Moratians really do come from the Allfather, doesn't everything?'
'For many of us on Twilight, Kerberos is indeed central to our faith.' Father Maylan said. 'It is commonly held that when we die our souls fly to Kerberos, there to be joined with the Lord of All, to spend eternity in his glory.'
'See?' Win said. 'We both share that desire to return.'
'The similarities between our beliefs are striking,' Dunsany said. 'Something else that you mentioned also interests me. You spoke of this stone of the Allfather that enabled the original exiles to exist in the void between worlds and which enables you to weather the Twilight seas. It is clear that the power of this stone is considerable and I believe that the stone that sits at the heart of the Llothriall must be composed of the same material.'
'Were you given this stone by the Allfather?' Win said.
'No. I'm afraid that our stone was found by somebody else. We sort of had to steal it. Believe me, the people we took it from wouldn't have used it for so noble a purpose.'
'We are fellow travellers are we not?' Win said, refreshing everybody's glasses. 'Journeying to the glory of the Allfather.'
'Well, some of us I suppose,' said Jacquinto. 'Ignacio and I are only in it for the money.'
Win laughed and proposed a toast.
'To the glory of the Allfather.'
'The Allfather,' the crew echoed.
'So what now for the Llothriall?' Win said. 'Where shall be your next port of call?'
'Well the problem we have is that we can't get our stone to, um… work.' Dunsany said. 'You see, Emuel used to be able to unlock the power within the stone through song. But the elven runics that enabled him to do that have been broken by sorcery.'
'My friend, I'm afraid that this talk of elven runics makes no sense to me. Are these the marking on your friend's flesh?'
'Yes.' Kelos said. 'They are elf songlines.'
'May I examine them more closely Emuel?' Win said.
Emuel looked up from his plate. He was humming to himself and the beatific smile that Dunsany had noticed earlier was still on his face.
'The songs are here,' he said. 'The singing is all around us.'
Jacquinto leaned in close to Emuel, as though he was talking to a nearly deaf elderly relative. 'Emuel. The nice man wants you to take your shirt off. Can you do that?'
'Yes, of course Jacquinto,' the eunuch said. 'There's really no need to shout.'
Win gasped as Emuel took off his shirt and moved to run his hands over the text covering the eunuch's torso.
Jacquinto raised his eyebrows at Ignacio but said nothing.
'It is the holy text,' Win said. 'Emuel, your flesh is covered in the scripture of the Allfather.'
'But that's not possible,' Kelos said. 'Those are elf runes.'
'And this scarring on his chest, is where the text was damaged?' Win said, pointing to the still painful-looking wound.
'Yes, with the songline broken he no longer has access to the power of the stone.' Dunsany said.
'It is possible that the high priests may be able to do something for your friend. They will certainly want to meet him.'
'That is good news,' Dunsany said. 'The only other thing that you may need to know is that when we came to Morat, we were fleeing from some rather unpleasant creatures.'
'Well, I really wouldn't worry about them. With the power of the Allfather, there is no way that they can trouble you here.'
Chapter Sixteen
