An hour later, Catt was an acolyte. She didn't feel any different, and she wasn't dressed any different, but she was carrying a long wooden plank over one shoulder, and following the tiny face of a sleeping baby through the streets of the city.

The baby was swaddled into a sling on its father's back. The baby was so young that its face still had a wrinkled look to it. The baby's tiny eyelids were shut, but every so often they would open and Catt would catch a glimpse of shiny black eyes. Tiny fists...