Out of all of the surviving crew of the Llothriall, though, it was surely Bestion who looked the most lost. For him, the absence of his god was bad enough, but he was utterly appalled to find himself amongst a people without faith. Illiun’s people put no faith in any god, and Bestion would spend hours sitting with them, arguing points of theology, trying to make them see that a life without God was a life without hope. And they would argue that on countless worlds they had seen the damage that faith had done: whole planets devastated by conflict wrought in the name of one deity or another; innocent people punished or murdered for espousing ideas at odds with an established church.

“Can you not see, Bestion,” Shalim said to him one evening, “that a life without a god is a life without tyranny? Does having a god make you any more capable of appreciating the wonder of existence, or the majesty of the universe?”

But rather than being swayed by these arguments, Bestion was frustrated and even angered. Once, when he had been on the point of boiling over with rage, Silus had stepped in, taking the priest outside the camp and sitting with him at the edge of the lamplight.

“Bestion, you shouldn’t let these challenges to your faith affect you so. They should strengthen you, not bring you to despair. Father Maylan once told me that there are many paths to God.”

“But there is no god, Silus. Look up. His absence is there for all to see.”

Without the presence of Kerberos — or the Allfather, as Bestion called the deity — it was clear that there was nothing Silus could say to the priest that would reassure him. Though the settlers continued to try to reach out to him, Bestion was becoming increasingly distant, often walking far ahead of the main group. Silus worried that they would lose him in the desert, but each night he would return to the camp, sitting beyond the warmth of the campfires and gazing into the heavens, as though willing his god to return.