Desert World Rebirth by Lyn Gala Page A

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