by Lyn Gala
“Where are they now?”
Sua jerked her head to the north. “Out working fields. The guys are weeding today. Considering that Ben hasn’t come back with Temar bound, the boy must be in a mood to work.”
“Bound?” Shan’s mouth went dry. He never thought Ben would be the sort to chain a slave.
Already, Sua was nodding her head. “The boy’s first day here… you should have seen the fit he threw. About as quick as Ben untied him, Cardan made a poorly considered comment about the boy’s sister. Temar went near mad. To hear it from him, Cyla is a saint, and George Young is a water thief who murdered his mother in order to steal the Gazer land, and the rest of us are in on it all. He knocked over a pile of feed, broke two lanterns, and led the men on quite the chase before Marcos pinned him. And when Marcos finally got hands on him, Temar all but collapsed, trembling and flinching. The boy caused havoc.”
She pulled the leather tie out of her hair and ran her fingers through dark curls before retying the strip. “Ben has his hands full. He had to take the boy up to the main house and keep him there for three days before he trusted the boy to not go wild. And even now, let the wrong word fall, and he’ll curse you back seven generations.”
Shan’s stomach soured. The helplessness and the flares of anger—the fear and the fury—that was a pattern he knew well enough, and he’d only seen one sort of betrayal that caused a person to react so wildly. Shan closed his eyes and cursed himself for never trying to reach out to the boy before. “Lord have mercy on Erqu Gazer’s soul, because right now I am not feeling charitable toward the man,” Shan whispered.
While Sua didn’t answer, her nod and her grim look made it clear that she agreed. So Shan wasn’t the only one to suspect the boy had been abused by that sandcat of a drunken father. Only, Temar wasn’t a boy now. He was a young man who’d been stripped of his rights, very likely because he’d been hurt and confused and no one had stepped in to protect him when he’d needed it. If Shan could dig Erqu Gazer up and bring that man back to life for one minute, he’d have more than a few words for that old drunk.
“I should go and talk to him.”
“I know Ben would appreciate someone reaching out to the boy. His patience has to be near an end.” Sua reached out and touched his arm. “You’ll help?” Shan suspected that this had to be hard on everyone at the farm. No one liked to see a young man hurting so much, but to know that he’d been your neighbor and you allowed that to happen…. Shan mentally made a note to spend a little more time out here.
“I’ll certainly try,” Shan promised her before he turned his steps toward the north field, where he’d seen people working. Sua nodded and turned her attention back to her pipes.
The paths here were narrow, and Shan chose to walk rather than risk his tires taking out the plants on the edge of the field. Ben ran a careful farm. Most of the fields were well watered, but the paths were so dry that puffs of dust rose with his steps. The first workers Shan saw were straddling the line of half-grown plants and pulling tiny weeds before they could steal too much water. The small intruders were collected in bags for the incinerator, so that their nutrients would end up back in the soil. Men and women nodded to him as he passed. Not everyone in town attended church, and few of the farmers or farm workers found it worth their time to make the trip every week, but he knew them all from weddings and funerals and Landfall celebrations and council business.
Ben was working the edge of the field where the weeds were worst, his broad back burdened with a large bag. Temar was the small figure working beside him. Shan sighed in regret. The boy had been remarkable, and even without a parent to buy him an apprenticeship, he would have found a skilled worker to sponsor him if he hadn’t attacked George Young’s water supply.
His deep blue eyes had always haunted Shan when the boy had come to service, watching with an expression that Shan could never quite understand. He was a beautiful boy… rather, he had been a beautiful boy. Now he was a beautiful man who could have made an enviable future for himself. He had a giving soul and had always been the first to lift a burden or open a door for someone in need. Shan had seen the eyes of most of the unmarried women and half the unmarried men following Temar with longing, either because of his physical beauty or his inherent goodness. Now, he was likely facing a lifetime of unskilled labor.
“Ben!” Shan called out. Ben turned, an awkward movement with his legs straddling the row of plants.
“Shan!” he called out in obvious pleasure. “What, have you come to see how honest workers make a living?” he teased.
“Considering how often I have to repair pews after your honest workers break the joints, I think I already know,” Shan teased right back as he closed the distance between them.
A frown crossed Ben’s face. “There’s not something wrong, is there?” His eyes darted over to Temar. Shan got his first look at Temar. The boy was sweating and had started to put on more muscle, but the only thing Shan could see at first was the leather gag covering his mouth. Shan stared at it until Temar dropped his head and blushed, and then Shan tore his eyes away and looked at Ben for some sort of explanation.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Ben stepped clear of the field, his hands held up as though to hold off an attack.
“You should let him hear the boy, then he’d know why he’s on four days’ restriction,” one of the other workers called from the next row. Shan vaguely remembered her from a wedding. “The boy needs to learn to think before he says things that will make others demand work days from him to compensate for his slander.”
“He’s slandering you?” Shan asked Ben in a shocked voice.
“Me? God no.” Ben shook his head. “But if George catches wind of half the slander that’s been flying around this farm, I doubt I’ll be able to keep him from demanding a month of work days from the boy. I know you’re on the council, Shan, and I hate putting you on the spot, but we need to make sure that, no matter what happens, we keep the young fool separated from George.” That shocked Shan, but now that he thought about it, it shouldn’t. Those who were abused often turned their anger somewhere… on a neighbor or even themselves, but the human body couldn’t hold that much hate without it spilling over.
“George would work him half to death and go out of his way to find tortures for the lad,” the woman in the next row agreed. “Which we’re not going to let happen.” The look she gave Temar was full of sympathy, but the boy ducked his head lower, so that his face and the gag vanished behind a veil of blond hair.
“The workers have been great,” Ben nodded. “We’re all trying to keep a lid on this young one.” Ben didn’t say anything more, but from the worried expression on his face when he looked at Temar, it was clear that he’d come to the same conclusion Shan had. Ben reached over and put a hand out for Temar, and Temar took it, allowing Ben to help balance him as he stepped over the plants and took his place next to Ben.
“And I thought Cyla was the one with the temper,” Shan admitted. He’d actually been quite worried about her, but maybe he’d been worried about the wrong Gazer, the whole time. At the mention of his sister’s name, Temar’s head came up. Ben immediately put a comforting arm around the boy’s shoulders and pulled him close. Shan watched in concern as Temar leaned into the other man, obviously seeking safety and comfort. Certainly, Temar was young, and after the death of his father and the loss of his freedom, Shan expected to see the psychological damage of slavery, but this needy fear went beyond what he had expected.
“I think the temper was inherited by both.” Ben looked down. “Sometimes I’m quite amazed at the fury that comes out of him, but he’s learning to control himself, and when he can’t, he’s learning there are consequences.” Ben reached up and brushed a bit of hair back from Temar’s face and at the same time touched the gag.
“I actually came out to talk to Temar, since he’d missed services,” Shan said, hoping Ben would catch his hint, but it was a workday, and if Temar’s owner had im
posed a punishment, Shan had no business to interfere. If this were anyone other than Ben Gratu, Shan wouldn’t even suggest that he make an exception for him. But Ben was already reaching for the latch on the leather strap that went behind Temar’s head.
“I think talking is healthy for the boy, if he can control his mouth.” Ben pulled the gag off, and there was a mouthpiece that went inside Temar’s mouth and then connected to the strap that went around his head. It was dark with saliva. “Can you control your mouth? Can you honestly think about what is going to come out of your mouth and weigh the potential consequences of your words?” Ben put a finger under Temar’s chin and pushed up so that Temar had to make eye contact with him.
“Yes, I can,” Temar agreed quietly.
“Good boy.” Ben smiled and gave the boy a pat on the back. “He’s still under restrictions because his mouth is really quite remarkable, so when you two are done, put this back on before you return him,” Ben said, holding out the leather gag. Shan instinctively took what Ben offered, even though it sent a shiver of revulsion through him to do that to another human being. The leather was soft in his hand, and Ben had clearly had a worker spend a lot of time and effort to make something that wouldn’t hurt the boy, but it still made Shan’s heart ache. “Go show Shan what a mess I have on my north border, Temar. I think the council will be hearing about that soon enough.”
Ben gave Temar one last slap on the arm before he stepped back into the field and turned his attention to the weeds. The other workers who had slowed to watch the conversation returned to their own work.
Temar didn’t say anything, but he set off for the north border, and Shan watched him for a second before hurrying to follow. The boy looked in good enough health. He was walking with a stiffness in his gait, but even good workers had trouble keeping up with Ben Gratu, and Temar wasn’t physically prepared for heavy farm work.
“I’ve missed seeing you in church,” Shan offered. He fingered the edge of the gag, feeling the soft leather and trying to ignore his deep sense of disquiet.
Temar’s step faltered for a second, but then he continued his steady walk toward his father’s old farm. George owned the land now, but no doubt he was using the water ration on his own land, without tilling the weed-infested Gazer farm.
Shan frowned, not sure how to start this conversation. Normally, slaves would come to him in confession, and when they sat down, they wanted to talk. They were hungry to sit in the dark and let their fears spill out. They wanted him to solve their problems, to tell them how to fix lives that had spun out of control. Shan had told the story of Job so often that, for all of his shortcomings in Biblical history, he could cite that book by the verse. However, he wasn’t sure how to get a reluctant slave to start talking.
“I thought I might travel to Red Plain next week and visit Cyla.” Shan hadn’t been planning that up until now, but looking at the tentative hold Temar had on his own psyche, now he was concerned about how Cyla might be reacting in a new town with a new slave status.
Temar stopped and looked at the ground in front of Shan. He chewed on his chapped lower lip and seemed to be weighing something in his own mind, but he didn’t say a word.
“Would you like to send her a message?” Shan asked.
Temar’s gaze came up to meet his for a second before those bright, blue eyes darted off to the distant cliffs. “Can you tell me if she’s well?” he finally asked, his voice whisper soft.
“I will come back and tell you everything she says and how she looks,” Shan promised. Temar swallowed nervously and then turned toward the Gazer place again.
Shan followed. He’d never felt so helpless in his life. Div would know how to approach this, but Shan never felt the guiding hand of God the way Div had. Oh, God had helped him more than once, but God hadn’t given him Div’s talent to read wounded souls.
“Has Naite come to see you and tell you his inspirational tales from slavery?” Shan finally asked. Temar shook his head, his blond hair flopping to the sides. He should cut it, but maybe Ben hoped long hair would protect the boy’s neck from sunburn.
“Naite loves to tell slaves how this can be a chance to fix your life. I’m not sure whether it helps or just makes people feel more trapped and resentful, but he does mean well. Our father was not what you might call a paragon of fatherly love, and sometimes I suspect that Naite inherited our father’s ability to completely ignore a person’s emotional needs. He’ll tell that tale, even if the slave he’s talking to is nodding off with sleep or trembling with anger.”
That made Temar look over his shoulder, his eyebrows lowering in confusion, but he still didn’t speak. For someone that Ben had accused of talking too much, Temar was remarkably silent.
“Our mother died young, just as yours did.” Shan watched the boy, studying him for some sort of reaction. Looking at the similarities in their lives, Shan was an idiot for not suspecting abuse. A man, alone with two children, isolated on a farm and not hiring in workers. Erqu Gazer and Yan Polli could have been twins.
Temar stopped and reached up to rest his hand on a line of windwood posts that marked the boundary of Ben’s land. Looking out, Shan could see the clumps of pipe trap weeds and the trailing vines of creepweed covering the land. “God’s mercy,” Shan breathed. The farm was ten times worse than he’d expected.
“Cyla and I always worked to keep the fields clear,” Temar said softly, the first words he’d spoken without prompting, and Shan believed him. One month without the two young Gazers trying to control the weeds, and the farm had exploded into a full crop of pestilence.
“Given this evidence, I dare say you and Cyla had been working hard to control the problem.” Shan bent down and tugged on a creepweed that had crossed into Ben’s property. Even though the plant had only put up two leaves, the roots were so deep Shan couldn’t pull the whole plant up, and the green of the plant broke off in his hands. “They’ve put in roots. Come harvest end, someone will bring this to the council.” Shan grimaced at the thought of dealing with George. He’d throw a fit, but if he didn’t burn off this land and bring in the deep-till equipment to rip out the weeds, he’d have to forfeit it.
“I suppose it’s hard seeing the land go to ruin like this,” Shan offered gently. Temar stood by the windwood post and shrugged. However, he stared out at his old home.
“I should go back now.” Temar glanced over, but he didn’t meet Shan’s gaze—he stared at the leather gag in Shan’s hand. Shan closed his fist around the soft leather.
“I want to help you.”
Temar took a step back as though afraid, and for a second, he searched Shan with suspicious eyes. Shan’s heart broke. Why hadn’t he ever noticed how lost and broken the boy was? “Please,” Shan said, offering his empty hand.
Temar’s eyes went from his face to his outstretched hand before darting off to the side and settling on the distant cliff. “Stable water levels were part of the terraform process.”
The change in topics mystified Shan, but the Lord did work in mysterious ways, and sometimes abused young men were even more mysterious. “The sun-net captures enough moisture from the air to replace what is lost from the ground, so yes, the system is stable.” Shan shrugged. “Or the system would be stable, if the inner worlds had finished the terraforming. Right now, we’re holding our own though, and we aren’t losing enough to threaten our lives or the lives of our children.” Shan didn’t say that, if the inner planets continued their wars, their grandchildren would be on dangerously tight water rationing, and their great grandchildren would be dying of thirst, but that was an open secret on Livre. As soon as children were old enough to study planetary ecology in school, they could complete the equations for themselves.
Temar nodded and looked out onto the fields.
“Is there something that worries you?” Shan asked. He risked taking a step closer.
“Many things.” Temar sounded so lost that Shan wanted to make a promise that he would make things better, but there
was no “better” to be had. The emotion vanished from Temar’s face. “I need to go back.” He looked down at the gag again. Shan followed his gaze and found himself looking at the strip of leather, but he couldn’t bring himself to fasten the gag around Temar’s face. The boy was so devoid of words now that it seemed a cruelty to take the rest from him.
The boy reached out, and Shan allowed him to take the gag. Shan watched while Temar slipped the flat flap into his mouth and then bucked the strap around his head. He took a second to pull out wisps of hair that had been caught under the leather, and then he started walking back toward the field where Ben was working.
Shan followed from a distance, oddly bothered by the boy’s willingness to put that thing back on himself. Actually, he was bothered by many things, starting at the wary look in Temar’s eye and his obvious need of Ben’s protection and ending with that odd, disjointed bit of conversation about water. It was almost as if Temar’s mind had slipped for a second, thoughts tumbling down into illogic.
Unfortunately, this visit had done nothing to ease Shan’s worries, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say to young Temar, so he just followed him back to the field where Ben and the others worked to pull weeds that had obviously seeded from the Gazer place. With the whole Gazer farm going to seed, they would soon have more. Everyone in the valley would suffer, but with his farm next door, Ben would catch the majority of the trouble.