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boy.”
    Temar glanced up, not sure what he was supposed to say. Naite made no secret about having been enslaved himself, but he hadn’t faced ten years.
    “It does get easier. And the ability to think before acting is a skill worth developing. Work hard to please your master, and Ben will give you credit for it. He’s a fair man, and you could shorten your sentence by earning his respect.” Naite gave him another slap on the arm, and then he was gone. Temar watched Naite walk toward the line of storage sheds, lined up along the edge of town to keep the worst of the winds off the houses. As he walked, his footsteps made divots in the ground that slowly vanished as the wind shifted the sands. Out of some perverse need to test his bonds, Temar pulled against the leash, but he didn’t have more than an inch of room, and the bindings were far too well tied for him to free himself, even if he put in an honest effort to do so.
    Instead, he watched Naite go into another of the empty feed sheds. Before Naite could come out with his sister leashed and ready to hear her sentence, Ben Gratu came out of the general store, already slipping his sand veil over his hat as he walked toward the sled. Time to learn to be a slave to his master. Temar’s stomach was knotting already.

Chapter 4

     
     
    S ITTING in the passenger seat, Temar held tightly to the hand grip. With his hands still tied, he was having trouble keeping his balance as the sled lurched and bounced over the sand slopes. The engine whined as it pushed them up to the top of an enormous dune. For a second, they balanced on the ridge, and then the sled tipped over onto the downward side. Temar braced himself as the engine cut out to allow gravity to drag the sled down the far side.
    “I have to admit, I’m a little flummoxed about what to do with you,” Ben Gratu said, once the noise of the engine had fallen. Only the wind answered, whistling past them as the sled slid down the sand. Clouds of dust followed them. Temar coughed. His own sand veil had come off when Landholder Young’s men had grabbed them, and the sand stung his eyes and made his throat burn. “We’ll be home soon enough. We need to get you a veil. I thought you were smarter than to wander around without one,” Ben said, but then the engine kicked on as they reached the bottom of the dune, and they couldn’t talk over the scream of the machine as it shoved them up the slope of the next dune.
    In the past, Temar would have insisted he was smart, but now that was somewhat questionable. His wrists ached, not as much from the rope as from the fact that he kept instinctively trying to pull his hands in different directions as the sled listed from one side to the other. A smart man wouldn’t have ended up a slave, and a smart man would be smart enough to stop fighting the bindings. Obviously, he fell a little short of the mark.
    With a final lurch, the sled reached the top of this new dune, and Temar could see the rocky ridge that marked the beginning of Spence Valley. His father’s farm was a narrow strip pressed up against the west rockface, with Young’s farm on the far end and Ben’s farm on the near end. Temar had driven past Ben’s place dozens of times, but now he’d be living and working there. The sled’s engine cut off again, and Ben deployed the sails from the sides to guide the sled toward the south entrance to the valley.
    “I know you’re not the best on a plow, so maybe we can find some other work for you,” Ben offered. Temar wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. He’d work wherever he got assigned. “Your father always bragged about your math. He thought you’d join the skilled workers and take up pipe work, or maybe electrical or engine work.”
    “I liked glass work,” Temar answered.
    “He’d mentioned that,” Ben agreed. His hands were huge, and for a second, he concentrated on pulling on the yoke of the sled, forcing it south of the rock without slowing at all.