“On Tamat’s command,” Sidra said, “you and I will go to the sacred grove to make certain nothing has been disturbed by Reid’s presence there.” “I told Tamat all was well,” Janina answered. “Reid did not touch the Water.” “Nevertheless, you will come with me.” When Sidra used that tone, Janina knew there was no way to stop her. Obediently, she strapped the water jar to her back and walked beside the older priestess through the village, where Sidra was greeted with low bows of reverence and wishes for a pleasant day while Janina was pointedly ignored as if she were invisible. The people of Ruthlen had never been an especially kind folk. Their constant fear of renewed attack from the Cetans and their precarious perch on a tiny crescent of land at the edge of a dangerous sea did not incline them toward the gentler virtues. But they had always been honest and hardworking, and usually fair toward one another. These were necessary qualities for a community that was so few in number.
