Swordheart

by T. Kingfisher

“Your god. Why a rat?” Zale shrugged. “Why not a rat? Rats are smart and they travel with humans, but they are neither our servants nor our prey. They eat the food that we eat, they live within our homes. Who better to understand us?” Sarkis raised an eyebrow at that. Zale chuckled. “That is a priest’s answer, at any rate. Would you like a scholar’s answer as well?” “I would!” said Halla, to the surprise of no one. Zale nodded. “So far as we can tell, the Temple of the Rat originated some eight hundred years ago, in the west. A plague was decimating the cities of the old empire there. They knew that rats carried the plague, and a cult sprang up, attempting to appease the rat spirit. From there, the faith evolved and reformed.” They grinned slyly. “Of course, our understanding of treatment for the plague certainly did not hurt.” “A moment,” said Sarkis. “You know the origin of your faith? You can point to it like this? And yet still you worship this rat as your god?” The priest laughed. “Why does knowing the origin of a thing make it less holy? Do you know your grandparents?” Sarkis gave them a narrow-eyed look. “I did, yes.” “And did you love your parents less for knowing where they came from?” “I did not worship my parents.” “Some parents practically expect that, though,” muttered Halla. Sarkis started to say something, then frowned. “There are places I have been,” he admitted grudgingly, “where one’s ancestors are worshipped. One of my men came from such a place, and she...