Desert World Rebirth

by Lyn Gala

  The path straightened out, and Temar shifted back so there was an inch of space between them. “I can’t believe how fast you take those turns.”

  “I’ve been riding for a long time,” Shan said over his shoulder as he geared the engine down and let the bike coast through the stone passage that led around the main gate. The engine echoed against the smooth walls until they approached the far end. Temar’s farm was closest to the gate, and as they entered the main valley, Shan could see a number of workers walking the fields and sinking water rods into the ground every six or seven feet. Naite was walking the closest furrow, and he turned as they came down the path.

  From a distance, he looked friendly enough. He stopped to talk to another worker, offering a slap on the shoulder before he handed them his water rod and stepped over a line of potato plants. However, something in his body language still set Shan on edge. Unless he missed his guess, Naite was not happy.

  He strode across the bare ground and waited as Shan negotiated the narrow trail that led down to the valley floor. Shan had stopped, but he hadn’t yet turned off the engine when Naite started.

  “Temar, you deal with that sister of yours or I’m going to seriously consider dropping her on her head four or five times,” Naite greeted them, and from the look on his face, he wasn’t joking.

  “Hello to you too,” Shan muttered, but Temar was already getting off the bike.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “She tried ordering a whole farm’s worth of cotton seed. You put that much cotton in and you aren’t going to have any workers to pick it. That shit is miserable work, and facing a whole farm of it would make any worker worth his salt move to another farm.”

  “Oh shit. Did she—”

  “I told Young that if he even tried to fill that order that I would make it my personal mission to make sure you never paid a cent for any of it. He had no business trying to negotiate with Cyla. She doesn’t own this farm.” Naite’s hands were clenched into fists, and Shan figured that conversation had come with one or two tacit threats of a more direct variety. Naite might be a council member and one of the best workers on the planet, but his control of his temper sometimes got a little frayed.

  “But she was willing to talk to him, like she did have the authority,” Temar said wearily. Shan wished he could carry some of this burden for him, but it was Temar’s farm and Temar’s sister. Shan certainly didn’t know anything about the running of a farm. Of course, from the sounds of it, neither did Cyla.

  Naite poked a thick finger toward Temar. “Both of them need attitude adjustment. Mind you, it’s too late to change George Young’s greed, but if someone doesn’t set Cyla straight, she’s going to end up just as bad. And every time I talk to her, I get it thrown back at me that I’m a slave here.”

  Temar flinched. Naite didn’t seem too bothered by Cyla’s word choice, but then he didn’t have the same associations with slavery that Temar did. “She didn’t,” Temar said in the sort of weary tone that suggested that he fully believed she had.

  “Talk to her before I drop her in the recycler,” Naite said, and then he turned his back and strode away. A knot of workers had gathered in the potato field, but when Naite turned around, they all hurried back to their rows and started the ground probes again.

  “I can’t believe she’d do this,” Temar sighed. “Oh wait, yes I can. If the plan looks good on paper, then she’s going to believe that instead of listening to Naite. I can’t believe she threw it back at him that he’s slaved to the farm—like that means anything. He’s the one who knows how to actually run a farm.” Temar ripped off his sand veil, his voice rising with every word.

  Shan didn’t normally see Temar angry, but he understood better than most just how much a sibling could get under your skin.

  “It’s not like we don’t have bigger problems on the horizon, but no, she has to go and do this.” Without another word, Temar started for the house, his entire body tight with anger.

  Even if Temar had inherited Ben’s land to compensate him for the abuse, he hadn’t inherited Ben’s ability to work the land. Shan followed him, noticing that all the workers, including Naite, had stopped to watch them pass. More than once Temar had visited him with stories from the farm. Workers were uncomfortable around Temar. All Ben’s workers had found jobs in other valleys to avoid even looking at the man they had all failed to help. Shan could understand the guilt, even though he couldn’t forgive them for leaving Temar short of employees. Other workers avoided the place because Ben had been less than charitable toward children, and many of the families wanted to wait, to see if conditions improved, before committing to the farm. And then Cyla’s conflicts with Naite had driven off another group of workers who didn’t want to deal with the open hostility.

  Temar slammed the front door open and vanished into the house. Shan didn’t come out here often, so for a moment he stood on the porch as cobweb memories clung to him. Temar had stood on this same porch, tied and bruised. The image of that night superimposed itself over reality, and Shan could feel his guts knot as he remembered. A shout brought him back to reality, and he hurried into the house.

  “I don’t care what you—” Temar started to say, but Cyla cut him off. She looked so much like Temar that no one would ever miss that they were related, but where Temar was normally reserved, angry seemed a default emotion for her, and she was angry now, her beautiful face twisted in rage and frustration.

  “You aren’t even here. You don’t see what goes on every day. We can make this farm successful!” She was an inch or two shorter than Temar, but she got close and poked her finger in his chest.

  “Not if you drive off all the workers!”

  “There aren’t so many jobs around here that they can afford to quit when we’re paying good wages.”

  “Yes, they can. If you ask them to pick and process a farm full of cotton, they will.”

  “It’s the most profitable of—”

  This time Temar cut her off. “Because it’s the worst one to grow. No one produces a lot of cotton because it’s a miserable crop, and you’re asking people to pick a whole farm full.”

  “Just for a year or two.”

  “We won’t have any workers after a week or two.”

  Shan stood back and watched them, not sure that he could do anything to help, so he plastered himself to a wall and waited.

  “This is just like you, always assuming that something can’t be done. Well, I can do it.” She spun on her heels and started to walk away, but Temar reached out and grabbed her arm, forcing her back around. When she came around, her fists were up, and Shan took a step forward. Sibling hatred was normal, but he wouldn’t stand by and let it turn into a fistfight.

  “No, you can’t.” Temar stared at her, his own anger clear in every taut muscle and the stiff line of his shoulders.

  “Don’t you even—”

  “It’s my farm!” Temar shouted, and Shan could see those words hit Cyla. Her mouth was open, ready to shout back, but she froze. “The council erased the slave term for both of us, but the farm is mine,” Temar said again, though this time his voice was quieter. The council had reason for that. Only Temar had been raped, so they had decided to give the land to Temar alone.

  “Just because I was wrong about George Young,” Cyla said, but now her words were slow and careful. Oh, the anger was still there, but she was hiding it. When someone mentioned Ben or Temar’s abuse, Cyla’s reaction could be a little unpredictable, and Shan inched closer. He understood how guilt could spur on the darker emotions, but Cyla needed to stop before she really hurt someone with this anger and this aggression.

  Temar backed away and sat on the couch. “This isn’t about you being wrong. We were both wrong about George and about Ben.”

  “Then why won’t you trust my judgment in this?” Cyla’s anger starting rising again, and her cheeks turned deep pink. “Two years of cotton would—”

  “Ruin the damn farm!” Temar snapp
ed.

  Cyla physically pulled back, and Temar dropped his head for a moment, looking as weary as Shan had ever seen him. He wanted to go sit next to Temar, but he instinctively knew that if Cyla thought they were ganging up on her, two against one, that would feed her anger more, so he waited.

  “Cyla, I love you, but the cotton is a mistake, and we can’t afford to waste the money on seed.”

  Cyla didn’t answer, but from the way she set her jaw, she didn’t agree. If Cyla and Naite ever decided to get together and have children, Shan figured he’d have to find another planet to live on. Any child of theirs would terrorize universes. It was probably a good thing that they hated each other. The worst part was that Cyla was such a small woman, with light hair and fair skin that pinked every time she got angry. A person expected a man of Naite’s size to have some rage, but tiny little Cyla seemed to have twice as much. It was frightening to watch her go off on someone.

  “So,” she said slowly, “you’re taking away my allowance?” The words were nasty and sarcastic enough that Temar flinched away from them.

  For long seconds, Temar was silent. As the more reasonable end of his own sibling rivalry, Shan understood how frustrating idiot brothers and sisters could be. That didn’t mean he knew how to help.

  “I know how much you want this farm to be a success.” Temar had a tight rein on his emotions, so that when he looked up at her, Shan couldn’t even tell what he was thinking.

  “And it can be. I can—”

  “No.” Temar stood. “No, let me talk.” Cyla rolled her eyes, but she fell silent. Maybe she was starting to understand that she didn’t have the power here.

  “I love you, and I know how much it would kill you to ruin this farm.”

  Her mouth came open, and Temar held up a hand to stop her from interrupting.

  “And if you keep fighting Naite, you will ruin the farm. He knows what it takes to make one profitable, and he’s the one I picked to manage the farm. So, either you will start treating him like the farm manager, a man who has the right to say what happens—”

  “But,” Cyla said, and Temar raised his voice without losing the reasonable tone.

  “Or I will hire you an apprenticeship somewhere far, far away and ban you from this land.”

  Cyla lost all color from her face in one heartbeat’s time. “You wouldn’t,” she said softly, but she sounded scared now. Shan could see Temar flinched from the pain, but he had to give the man credit for pressing forward.

  “I would. I would rather have you angry with me forever than watch you destroy this farm and then live with the guilt and shame of that. Our family doesn’t deal with grief well, and you don’t deal with failure well,” Temar said firmly. He drew himself up straight and looked at her. “One more example of you disrespecting Naite or trying to make decisions for the farm, and you will be out. You will not be allowed back here until you’re trained as a skilled worker.” Without waiting for agreement, Temar turned and hurried out of the house.

  Shan was left alone, Cyla staring at him as if he’d had some part in this. She might be a hellcat, but right now her pain was so close to the surface Shan could see it. If he were still a priest, he knew how he’d start the conversation. As Temar’s lover, he wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t a neutral party in all this, and part of him wanted to take this moment when her defenses were down to yell at her for making Temar’s life more difficult. Rather than do that, he turned and followed Temar back out into the midday sun.

  It took him a second to find Temar where he stood in the shade of the barn, watching the fields. The workers had vanished. At noon, even the screens that covered the valley and caught the dew offered only minimal protection, so they were probably doing indoor chores. Either that, or they’d all decided to give Temar some privacy for that fight. Of course, on a farm, privacy was relative. Most of them had probably stayed close enough to hear at least part of the fight. They’d want to know if Temar planned to back down to Cyla. If he had, they probably would have gone out looking for other jobs.

  Shan covered the distance between them, pulling off his sand veil and wiping the sweat from his neck. “You handled that well,” he offered.

  “I think I’m going to throw up.” Temar leaned against the bleached white wood of the barn, his eyes closed and sweat gathering along his nose.

  “You gave her a choice, and you did it without being cruel.” That last part wasn’t entirely true, but Temar had gone out of his way to avoid being intentionally cruel, and Shan was impressed. He’d never handled his brother that well, that was for sure. Considering how he and Naite had treated each other when they’d been on the council together, Shan was surprised the other council members hadn’t killed them both.

  “I don’t want to send her away,” Temar whispered. He really was a ghastly shade of white.

  “Will you?”

  Temar opened his eyes and looked at Shan, misery etched into his face. “Yes.”

  Shan nodded and looked around at the farm with its neat rows of potato plants and solid buildings. “Good, because you’re right that she’s going to hate herself if she ruins all this,” Shan said.

  “Well, hopefully she’ll see that eventually, because right now, she hates me.”

  “At least she’ll have something new to obsess about for a while.” Shan waited until Temar looked at him with a confused frown. “She can try and come up with ways to make money off the crazy people from space.” Shan pointed up toward the sky.

  “Oh God.” Temar thunked his head back against the barn and closed his eyes. “Can you believe I actually forgot that for a few minutes?”

  “Yeah, I can.” Shan watched as the barn door opened and Naite stood there. He looked pretty damn self-satisfied, which meant he’d probably eavesdropped on the whole conversation. Shan bit down on an urge to say something very cutting about Naite’s morals. The problem was, Naite wouldn’t give a damn what Shan thought, so it wasn’t worth saying.

  “Are you two going to stand out in the heat like idiots?” he asked.

  Temar rolled his head to the side and looked at Naite wearily. “I was thinking about it. I was also thinking of vomiting.”

  Naite snorted. “Get your asses in here. Idiots.” He disappeared inside, the barn door thunking shut behind him.

  “Naite will have the fans going in there,” Shan offered. It really was miserably hot, and the heat wouldn’t start breaking for a couple of hours. Of course, on the open desert, it wouldn’t really break until sundown, but at least the ride to Landing was a short one from here.

  “Fine. I guess I can throw up in there as well as out here,” Temar said. He pushed away from the barn, and his hand came up and caught Shan’s shoulder as he steadied himself.

  “You okay?”

  “Not really. I’m not even sure I’m joking about throwing up.”

  “But you followed through and did the right thing,” Shan pointed out. “So if you have to throw up, remember that.”

  “Great,” Temar said dryly before he headed for the barn door. Shan followed, his hand coming down to rest on Temar’s back. Temar smiled at him.

  “So,” Shan said as he pushed the door open. The fans moved the air quickly enough to give an illusion of cool, but Shan could still feel the sweat gathering along his spine. “Guess who we talked to today?” he said to Naite.

  Temar lost his balance and stumbled a bit as he gave a rough laugh that sounded almost like he was choking. Shan got a hand under Temar’s arm to make sure he didn’t fall.

  “What the hell is wrong with you two?” Naite demanded.

  “Oh, you’re not even going to believe this one,” Shan said. This was going to be one hell of a story, and as a council member, Naite was going to get a chance to call Shan all kinds of an idiot for stepping in this pipe trap. “It all started when Temar asked about the war,” he started the story, wondering how many times he was going to have to tell it.

  Chapter 9

  LILIAN sat w
ith her hands steepled in front of her, but Shan had never seen her look so utterly shocked. Kevin and Bari had both pushed back their chairs, their faces utterly devoid of emotion, and Dee’eta Sun clutched the edge of the table as though she needed to hang on to something. Shan had expected Div to represent the church, but the new priest who’d trained at White Hills sat in Div’s place, her mouth literally hanging open. She was a heavy woman with a large belly and more years than a newly trained apprentice usually had. Shan had heard rumors that she came to the priesthood after losing her two children to a cave-in in one of the local caverns, where they’d been playing. The kids over at White Hills had deep, cool caves to explore, and it wasn’t all that unusual a story for the town.

  “Twenty years,” she asked, her voice squeaking, and Shan wished her could remember her name.

  “So many years of rationing and fights over water, and they’ve been finished with their war for twenty years.” Kevin slammed his hand down on the table so hard that the sound echoed off the metal walls of the council room. Lurching up out of his chair, he turned his back on the group and stood looking out the same window Shan had once looked out, when the group had debated enslaving Temar. It felt like another lifetime.

  “Lilian, you should go,” Shan offered. “I’ll use the communications station to introduce you to the commander.” If anyone could handle recalcitrant alliances, Lilian could. However, she shook her head before Shan even finished.

  “No, I won’t go,” she said firmly.

  “You would be the best choice,” Bari pointed out. “All the towns and valleys respect how much you’ve done to help negotiate peaceful solutions in some tricky cases.”