The Winds Of Dune Part 5

Stilgar looked at her with his blue-within-blue eyes. "I know how."

At night, listening to the daily hordes of wailing mourners, seeing the pilgrims continue to swarm in from offworld after the death of Muad'Dib (and knowing the s.p.a.cing Guild was reaping great profits from each pa.s.sage), Stilgar concluded that such shameful excesses were decidedly non-Fremen.

He had been a friend of Paul Atreides from the moment the young man took his sietch name of Usul. He'd seen Paul kill his first man-the hotheaded Jamis, who would have been forgotten by the tribe, except that dying at the right time and by the right hand had given him a certain historical immortality.

But this this, Stilgar thought, as he stood on a crowded Arrakeen street, wearing a well-fitted stillsuit (unlike most of these offworlders, who never learned or understood proper water discipline)-this was not the Dune he remembered. was not the Dune he remembered.

Stilgar had never liked Arrakeen, nor any city for that matter: the shuffle and press of ill-prepared pilgrims, the dark-alley crime, the garbage, noise, and strange odors. Although life in the crowded sietches had changed, it was still more pure than the city. Out there, people didn't pretend to be something they were not, or they would not survive long. The desert sorted the faithful from imposters, but the city did not seem to know the difference, and actually rewarded the impure. didn't pretend to be something they were not, or they would not survive long. The desert sorted the faithful from imposters, but the city did not seem to know the difference, and actually rewarded the impure.

Hiding his disgust behind noseplugs and a filterscarf, Stilgar walked the streets, listening to atonal music that wafted from a small gathering area where a group of pilgrims from the same planet shared cultural memories. Gutters stank from piled rubbish: The crowds left so much refuse behind that there was no place to put it-even the open desert couldn't swallow it all. Bad smells were an evil omen to the Fremen, because rotting odors implied wasted moisture. He fitted his noseplugs more tightly.

In busy Arrakeen, the only place a man could be alone was inside himself. No one paid any attention to the disguised Naib as he made his way toward the Citadel of Muad'Dib. Only when he reached the gates did he reveal his ident.i.ty and give the countersign. The guards stepped back with a sudden snap of respect, as if they were clockwork mechanisms in tightly wound thumpers.

For what Stilgar intended, it would have been better if his presence had remained unnoticed, yet without the unwavering authority Muad'Dib had conferred on him, he could never achieve what Jessica had asked of him. Stilgar was breaking supposed rules, following the course of honor instead of someone else's law. He had to do this quietly and secretly, even if it required several trips, several secret nighttime missions.

Muad'Dib was not the only one who had died. At least Stilgar and Jessica remembered that....

He reached the oppressively silent quarters where Usul had lived with his beloved concubine. Sooner or later, members of the Qizarate would convert this wing of the palace into a shrine, but for now the people regarded the rooms with religious awe and left them untouched.

Atop a sand-etched stone slab, an ornate canopic jar held Chani's water. Rendered down from her small body by a huanui deathstill after the difficult and b.l.o.o.d.y birth of the twins, only twenty-two liters of water had been recovered from her body.

She'd been the daughter of Liet-Kynes before becoming the woman of Muad'Dib. A true Fremen warrior on Dune, she had fought many battles as a member of Stilgar's troop. With callused fingers, he traced the intricate markings on the outside of the jar. A tremor of superst.i.tious fear ran down his spine. Water was just water ... but could it be that Chani's ruh-spirit still lingered here? the intricate markings on the outside of the jar. A tremor of superst.i.tious fear ran down his spine. Water was just water ... but could it be that Chani's ruh-spirit still lingered here?

Her father Liet, the Imperial planetologist murdered by Harkonnens, had been the son of Pardot Kynes, who had inspired the Fremen dream of climate change on Dune. Stilgar's comrade against Harkonnen excesses, Liet had died because he'd dared to help Paul Atreides and his mother.

As Emperor, Muad'Dib had ensured that the dreams of Dr. Kynes endured. By his command, he had accelerated the terraforming process and established a new School of Planetology. If Muad'Dib was indeed the Lisan al-Gaib, the Shortening of the Way, then Liet-Kynes was the catalyst.

And Chani was his daughter.

The Regent and her amazon guards would curse him for what he was about to do, but Stilgar already had the blood of the Reverend Mother Mohiam on his hands, and the blood of others. He would do this.

Unstopping the heavy jar, he drained some of the liquid into liter-jon containers that were easier to handle and hide under his cloak. In order to take it all, he would need to do this at least two more times, but as captain of the guard, Stilgar had ways of avoiding detection. With his precious burden, he slipped out of Muad'Dib's quarters.

"Why would anyone do such a thing?" Alia was at first genuinely baffled, but that swiftly changed. Jessica watched the emotions sweep across her daughter's face, one after another-confusion, then outrage, then a hint of fear. "Who could have gotten into my brother's quarters?"

Ziarenka Valefor, the amazon guard reporting to them now, was a head taller than Alia, but she was so rattled by her accidental discovery that she looked to the young Regent for strength. Alia snapped an order to her guard. "Send for Duncan." With a quick bow, Ziarenka slipped away.

Shaking her head, Alia looked at her mother. "This must be another outrage committed by Bronso of Ix. After what he did at Paul's funeral, now he wants to ruin Chani's water ceremony, too. I'll denounce him! When the people learn-" outrage committed by Bronso of Ix. After what he did at Paul's funeral, now he wants to ruin Chani's water ceremony, too. I'll denounce him! When the people learn-"

Jessica cut her off. "Better that you speak to no one of this, Alia."

Alia blinked, eased herself back down. "Chani's water has been stolen. How can we just ignore it? And what can they possibly want? When a question has no obvious answer, I suspect the worst."

Jessica had already worked through the possibilities in her mind, choosing the best way to defuse an overreaction, and for Stilgar and the Fremen to get what they needed-what Chani needed-and what Alia needed.

"I didn't say to ignore the matter, but you can completely defuse it. Whoever committed this crime-one of Bronso's cronies or some other perpetrator-probably intends to cause panic and unrest. Do they want to ransom it? Threaten to profane the water in some way? Regardless, they'll expect expect you to create an uproar over it, but don't give them the satisfaction. Don't call attention to what has happened." you to create an uproar over it, but don't give them the satisfaction. Don't call attention to what has happened."

The suggestion did not sit well with Alia. "We've got to thwart their plans, whatever they are. Chani's water is gone. How are we to hold her memorial service now?"

Jessica remained calm, unconcerned. "It was water. Refill the container, and no one will ever know. If Bronso claims to have Chani's water, how can he prove it?" She didn't consider the suggestion to be devious or dishonorable. It was a solution that even the Bene Gesserit would have considered acceptable. We both get what we want. We both get what we want. "Water is water, and you can hold your memorial service as planned." "Water is water, and you can hold your memorial service as planned."

And the Fremen would have their own ceremony to honor Chani in their own way. Stilgar would be satisfied, too. As would Paul, who would know even after his own death that the right thing was being done.

Alia considered, then nodded. "That is an acceptable solution. It renders any threat impotent."

We have reports of arms merchants attempting to sell stone-burners, even after one blinded Muad'Dib and such weapons were declared illegal. The fires of a stone-burner shall be as nothing compared to the avenging spirit of Muad'Dib.

-ZIARENKA VALEFOR, chief of Alia's guardian amazons

After the funeral debacle, hapless detainees faced various forms of interrogation, guided by Alia's most aggressive priests. The late (and unlamented) Korba had called the process "customized terror." Large groups might unite in common cause, filled with grand dreams and righteous delusions, but alone and fearful in a shadowy chamber, individuals behaved quite differently. Each one had a key weakness that the inquisitors used expert methods to discover.

And Alia needed to find answers.

During Paul's reign, he had not been innocent of such tactics himself, but had looked the other way as his surrogates conducted brutal interrogations. The criminal Bronso of Ix had been arrested and questioned then, and-against all odds-had escaped! Alia had never been able to shake her suspicion that Paul himself might have had a hand in the Ixian's release, though she couldn't understand why. Paul had not wanted to watch the interrogation of Bronso in his death cell, even though the Ixian spewed hateful rhetoric against him.

With all the billions who died in his far-reaching Jihad, why didn't her brother have the stomach for smaller unpleasantries? Having learned from Paul's mistakes, however, Alia routinely, and clandestinely, watched during key interrogations. With her own powers of observation, she sometimes picked up things that others missed. watched during key interrogations. With her own powers of observation, she sometimes picked up things that others missed.

So far, despite the most rigorous questioning of the suspects, the sessions had yielded no valid information. Either Bronso and his allies had a superhuman level of cleverness and luck in concealing their tracks, or the Ixian was acting alone. She refused to accept either answer.

On a more positive note, Alia had used the funeral episode with Bronso as a catalyst to ferret out other affronts against Muad'Dib or House Atreides. In the dark of night, Qizara police forces spread through Arrakeen, Carthag, and countless villages, knocking down doors and arresting alleged arms merchants who had been trying to sell stone-burners like the one that had blinded Paul in a pillar of fire.

When the questionable merchants were brought in, they in turn provided customer lists, and the offending weapons were rounded up and delivered to Arrakeen-for Alia's own stockpile. In these dangerous and delicate months of her fledgling Regency, Alia Atreides needed to consolidate her power and control the manufacture, distribution, and use of significant weaponry.

"Names provide names," said Valefor.

At a session of her Regent's Council, by unilateral decree, Alia amended the long-standing rules of the Great Convention that applied to atomics. Previously, Great Houses had been permitted to keep their warheads, which could be used only under strictly defined defensive circ.u.mstances. Henceforth, as a temporary emergency measure, no one except the Imperial Regent herself could possess such weaponry.

But how to pry the dangerous warheads from entrenched Landsraad families? To begin with, she set up an exchange program, under which n.o.ble houses could trade their family atomics for large rewards of spice, voting shares in CHOAM, or other perquisites. In the weeks following the Regent's decree, many Great Houses dutifully surrendered their atomics, hungry for cash and spice after the hards.h.i.+ps of the Jihad. Atomics hadn't been openly used in warfare against rival families in millennia anyway.

But some Landsraad families held out, h.o.a.rding their ancient warheads ... to no good purpose, she knew. As her priests and bureaucrats carefully noted the arrival of the weapons and stored them for "appropriate use," it soon became apparent that certain n.o.ble Houses were not quite so forthcoming. carefully noted the arrival of the weapons and stored them for "appropriate use," it soon became apparent that certain n.o.ble Houses were not quite so forthcoming.

Using that as a starting point, Alia asked Duncan to maintain a list of potentially troublesome Houses. She submitted their names to the reconst.i.tuted (and ineffective) Landsraad that had reconvened on Kaitain, and she demanded exhaustive investigations and complete disclosure of their activities during the Jihad. Alia would not be caught by surprise.

Armed with information, she would first try economic reprisals against the pa.s.sively recalcitrant worlds, but she did not rule out any options, even the application of atomics in particularly stubborn cases. After all, Paul had sterilized ninety worlds over the course of the Jihad, so what was the loss of a few more planets?

Back on Caladan, Jessica had fallen into a routine of tending her courtyard garden alone each morning for an hour or two, to contemplate the day's obligations. Now, under a daybreak sky colored beige with dust and the canary yellow of the brightening sunrise, Jessica visited one of the sealed dry-climate gardens within the Citadel of Muad'Dib. The plants required very little water-some through natural selection, others by intentional hybridization. They had grown twisted hard branches, thick-skinned leaves, sharp spines, and thorns, impenetrable defenses against the harshness of the environment.

Upon hearing of Paul's death, she had rushed to Dune, but her thoughts had been about more than the loss of her son. An entire empire was at stake, a government that would survive or fall depending on the decisions Alia made. In all the times Jessica had thought about Paul's legacy, and how his actions and words were being distorted by popular belief, she had not pondered what might happen to the Imperium without Paul without Paul. What was the legacy of House Atreides for the children, Leto and Ghanima?

Her thoughts were interrupted when three men and a woman entered the dry-climate garden, seeking her out. They were an odd mix: Each wore a strikingly different outfit, and their facial features and skin tones left no doubt that they came from four different worlds, races, and cultures. They bore the look of governmental delegates. tones left no doubt that they came from four different worlds, races, and cultures. They bore the look of governmental delegates.

Jessica rose, standing beside a modified cholla cactus whose bent limbs looked as if they had frozen in the act of flailing. The cactus provided a s.h.i.+eld as she faced her visitors, though surely they had pa.s.sed through stringent security measures to get this far.

"We apologize for arriving unannounced, my Lady, but we hoped for privacy and candor," said the delicately built woman with porcelain white skin; blue-black hair hung to her shoulders. She seemed as stiff and formal as her diction. Jessica knew her: Nalla Tur from the Tupile Alliance. "We come to speak to you not only as the mother of Muad'Dib and the mother of the Imperial Regent, but also as the d.u.c.h.ess of Caladan."

The tall, gaunt man next to her had rich brown skin, red beads in his hair, and dull rounded gems set into the flesh of his cheeks. He spoke in a deep baritone voice. "We must talk to you of Landsraad matters. I am Hyron Baha from Midea. Regent Alia has ignored our many messages, but we hope that you can make our words heard."

Jessica ma.s.saged a soreness on the back of her own neck as she spoke cautiously. "Even if I agreed to speak on your behalf, you think too much of my power. I have no formal position here. I merely came for the funeral of my son, and I will go back to Caladan as soon as I can."

Nalla Tur answered in a brisk voice, "You are still a member of the Landsraad, by virtue of your rulers.h.i.+p of Caladan. Whether or not you choose to attend Landsraad meetings in the new hall on Kaitain, you have legal responsibilities to the reconst.i.tuted Houses."

"I have many responsibilities. What is it you ask-and on whose behalf?"

The third speaker was a squat and solid man who seemed to be made entirely of muscle adapted to a high-gravity world. Andaur, she guessed, from the man's accent. "We four are members of formerly exiled n.o.ble Houses who took refuge behind Guild s.h.i.+elds on Tupile. During the last year of Paul-Muad'Dib's reign, he signed a treaty that effectively granted us amnesty and allowed us to return to the government without fear of trial or execution."

"Now the entire Landsraad-or what's left of it-is shut out," said the dark-haired woman.

Hyron Baha crossed his arms over his chest, tossed his bead-studded strands of hair. "We have been in session on Kaitain with the representatives of ninety-eight other Houses, but the Regent grants the Lands-raad no real power. And now she has demanded that we surrender our atomics. Clearly, she means to disarm us all."

"What if we need to defend ourselves against an outside enemy? The Landsraad families are ent.i.tled to their atomics!" said the fourth representative, an obese, olive-skinned man with a shrill voice. Jessica didn't recognize him, nor did he introduce himself.

She made a placating sound. "There has been no outside enemy for ten thousand years. Maybe my daughter is more worried about intransigent Houses. Atomics haven't been used against populations for centuries, so of what use are they to you? Given the past conspiracies against my son, Alia has legitimate concerns about having atomics turned against her."

The shrill-voiced man said, "And is it better to place them in the hands of unruly Fremen fanatics? Look at the damage already done in the Jihad!"

Jessica could not dispute that, but there were things she could not say to this group. She showed no reaction, though they looked for one in her.

"We are talking about the Landsraad." Nalla Tur sounded impatient. "For millennia, we provided checks and balances against supreme Corrino rule. By virtue of our rights and long-standing tradition, we must must be part of the current government. Even Muad'Dib knew the wisdom in letting the Landsraad continue. The Regent Alia should not rule without us." be part of the current government. Even Muad'Dib knew the wisdom in letting the Landsraad continue. The Regent Alia should not rule without us."

Jessica didn't accept all of their arguments. "Muad'Dib has been gone only a month. You expect the entire government to change back to the way it was so swiftly?"

The stocky man from the high-gravity planet sounded conciliatory. Yes, his accent was definitely from Andaur. "Your son paid only lip service to the reconst.i.tuted Landsraad, and the Regent is even less receptive to shared governmental responsibilities. We need your help. We cannot allow Alia to become a tyrant."

Jessica scowled. "A tyrant? You should choose your words carefully in my presence." She made a warning gesture and accidentally b.u.mped her hand against the spines of the enhanced cholla cactus, drawing blood from her palm. her hand against the spines of the enhanced cholla cactus, drawing blood from her palm.

"Apologies, great Lady, but we only seek the best for all concerned, and we need your help desperately."

"I will speak with my daughter when the opportunity arises, as both her mother and-as you say-as a Landsraad representative. But she is the Regent, and I can't guarantee that she will listen to either."

Hyron Baha bowed formally, letting the red beads in his hair dangle in front of his face. "We've all been affected by the Jihad, Lady Jessica. We all know the human race will be generations recovering from the last few years. We should not let it grow worse."

Jessica glanced down at her hand, then at the cactus. For every move I make, there will be sharp hazards For every move I make, there will be sharp hazards, she thought, and caution cannot protect me from all of them and caution cannot protect me from all of them.

Paul was a reflection of our father, Duke Leto the Just. I, however, am not a reflection of only our mother, Jessica, but of all the mothers before me. From that vast repository of Other Memories, I am the beneficiary of great wisdom.

-ST. ALIA OF THE KNIFE

Jessica felt she needed to pay her respects to Paul in a more private manner; it was neither a Bene Gesserit nor a political need, but the need of a mother to say goodbye to her son. Thanks to Stilgar, she would also soon attend a traditional, solemn, and secret Fremen memorial ceremony for Chani ... but Alia did not know about that.

After breakfast, Jessica told her daughter that she wanted to go out to Sietch Tabr to visit the place from which Paul had walked off into the dunes, releasing his body to the desert planet, while leaving his memory firmly ensconced in legend.

Alia smiled at her uncertainly, her expression that of a daughter longing for acceptance from her mother. Despite possessing wisdom beyond her years, Alia was physically a teenager, growing into her body, discovering the world with her own senses. "I'll go with you, Mother. It is a pilgrimage we should make together ... for Paul."

Jessica realized that she had been thinking primarily of herself and her son, giving inadequate consideration to Alia. Have I always brushed my daughter aside, without realizing it? Have I always brushed my daughter aside, without realizing it? Jessica had lost Duke Leto, and now Paul-leaving her with only Alia. Jessica chastised herself for the slight, then said, "I'd be glad to have you accompany me." Jessica had lost Duke Leto, and now Paul-leaving her with only Alia. Jessica chastised herself for the slight, then said, "I'd be glad to have you accompany me."

They made quick preparations for an informal journey out to the sietch, neither of them wanting to make this into a grand procession of sycophants and wailing priests. Now that the public funeral was over, Alia seemed to understand her mother's need for privacy; maybe the girl felt it herself as well. sietch, neither of them wanting to make this into a grand procession of sycophants and wailing priests. Now that the public funeral was over, Alia seemed to understand her mother's need for privacy; maybe the girl felt it herself as well.

The pair dressed in the simple garb of pilgrims so they could walk to the public landing areas without anyone remarking on their presence. Duncan would meet them at the pad, where he had readied an ornithopter for the flight across the desert.

Moving through the Arrakeen streets, Jessica immersed herself in the sights and sounds, sensing the clamoring energy of the populace: all those minds and souls generating a collective power that drove the human race forward. Here she and Alia were merely another mother and daughter, indistinguishable from others in the crowd. She wondered how many of those parents felt awkward around their children. Other teenage girls had entirely different troubles than the ones that weighed so heavily on Alia's mind.

"When I learned you were coming here," the girl said suddenly, "I looked forward to talking with you, hearing your advice. Paul valued your opinion, Mother, and I I value you as well. But I know you don't approve of some of my initial decisions as Regent. I am only doing what I believe is necessary and what Paul would have wanted." value you as well. But I know you don't approve of some of my initial decisions as Regent. I am only doing what I believe is necessary and what Paul would have wanted."

Jessica's reply was noncommittal. "Paul made many decisions that troubled me, too." Despite her second-guessing of her son's leaders.h.i.+p, she had come to realize that he did indeed see a much larger picture, a vast landscape of time and destiny with only a very faint and treacherous path through it. He had a terrible purpose that few others could grasp. He had been right right and knew it so firmly that his mother's disapproval had not swayed him in the least. In retrospect, Jessica realized that Paul had done some of the same things for which she now resented Alia. Maybe she had a blind spot where her daughter was concerned. "I'm worried, both as a mother and as a human being. I can't help but fear that you are about to slide off the edge of a precipice." and knew it so firmly that his mother's disapproval had not swayed him in the least. In retrospect, Jessica realized that Paul had done some of the same things for which she now resented Alia. Maybe she had a blind spot where her daughter was concerned. "I'm worried, both as a mother and as a human being. I can't help but fear that you are about to slide off the edge of a precipice."

Alia's response was filled with confidence. "My footing is sure, and I'm pragmatic."

"And I have no interest in ruling the Imperium. There doesn't need to be friction between us."

Alia laughed, touched her mother's sleeve. "Of course there is friction between us, for we are too much alike. I have all your memories within me."

"Only my memories up to the moment of your birth. I've learned and changed much since then."

"And so have I, Mother. So have I."

At the edge of the s.p.a.ceport, they pa.s.sed a bazaar that had sprung up as a temporary camp of vendors and their wares. Over the course of decades, it had grown and evolved into a permanent fixture in Arrakeen. Polymer tarps formed artificial ceilings to s.h.i.+eld pilgrims and curiosity seekers alike from the unrelenting sun. Large intake fans sucked in air and filtered out every drop of wasted moisture.

Fortune-tellers sat at booths, staring at ornate and colorful cards, doing readings from the enhanced Dune Tarot, with ill.u.s.trations drawn to include recent events and the tragic loss of Muad'Dib; the artwork on the card of the Blind Man was particularly eerie. Most of the merchants, Jessica saw, offered religious icons, holy relics, and other "sacred" paraphernalia-all sorts of garbage-to which they had applied dubious "authentications" of their significance.

"This cloak was worn by Muad'Dib himself!" a man shouted, then named a price astronomical enough to "prove" the item's provenance. Half a dozen vendors claimed to possess the original Atreides signet ring and accused one another of being liars. Alia, of course, had the genuine ring locked away back at the fortress citadel. Other salespeople hawked items supposedly touched by Muad'Dib or blessed by him or-for the bargain-conscious-merely glimpsed by him, as if his gaze imparted some sort of residual holiness.

The sheer tonnage of material in the bazaar was absurd, and this was only one shopping complex. Hundreds more were scattered throughout Arrakeen, and similar markets had sprung up on countless planets. Jessica stared in dismay. "My son has become a tourist attraction. Fodder for charlatans taking advantage of customers who are easily-and willingly-duped."