The Winds of Dune (41 page)

Flying over the open desert, Gurney passed several low ridges, black islands in the sand that he did not find satisfactory. At last he selected a reef of rock far enough outside their anticipated flight path. He
circled, then fiddled with the control panel. “I can contrive a minor malfunction in one of the engines so that the ’thopter log shows we were required to land and make repairs.”

“Good thinking, Gurney.”

He set them down on the rugged surface, where they were entirely alone. “There, my Lady, I hope this place will serve. I know of no Fremen caches or formal sietches near here. It’s too small to be worth anything.” His glass-splinter eyes were bright, but she saw a dread within them: He did not relish the prospect of what she would have to say.

Jessica fitted her noseplugs, adjusted her face mask, checked other fittings on her stillsuit. “Come, we will go outside onto the rocks, away from the ’thopter.” She couldn’t be too careful. Saying little, she and her two companions went outside into the quiet desert night.

Jessica led them to a sheltered overhang of dark rock, where they could still see the ’thopter sitting like a large, ungainly insect where it had landed. Wind whispered around them as they found places to sit on the hard surfaces. “This will do fine,” she said.

Irulan composed herself, waiting attentively in the shelter of rock. “I’m eager to hear you explain why you seem to keep defending, or at least shielding, Bronso.”

Gurney perked up. “I would like to know that as well, my Lady, but I refrained from asking questions, as you requested.”

“You’ll know the hard truth I learned about Paul, and you’ll know why—wrongly—I decided that I had to kill my own son.”

Before her listeners could recover from what she had said, Jessica drew a long breath, marshaled her thoughts, and spoke openly. “After the death of Earl Rhombur in 10,188, House Vernius remained estranged from House Atreides for a long time. But twelve years later, during the worst excesses of the Jihad, while Paul was Emperor, events conspired to bring the two Great Houses together again. . . .”

PART IV
10, 200 AG

T
HE
R
EIGN OF
E
MPEROR
P
AUL
-M
UAD
’D
IB

It has been seven years since the fall of Shaddam IV, who remains in exile on Salusa Secundus. Two years have passed since Count Fenring’s failed assassination attempt on Paul Atreides.

Muad’Dib’s Jihad rages across hundreds of worlds, but Lady Jessica and Gurney Halleck have withdrawn to Caladan, hoping to avoid the bloodshed and fanaticism.

There are those who think that to revere Muad’Dib takes nothing more than the utterance of a prayer, the lighting of a candle, and the casting of a pinch of sand over one’s shoulder. There are those who think that building shrines, waving banners, and collecting trinkets is sufficient. I have even heard of those who slice open their hands to spill blood on the ground because they think this honors Muad’Dib. Why does my son need more careless blood spilled in his name? He has enough of that. If you truly wish to honor Muad’Dib, then do it with your
heart,
your
mind,
and your
soul.
And never assume you know the complete Muad’Dib; there is much about him that can never be revealed.

—
LADY JESSICA
, address to pilgrims at the Cala City Spaceport

F
ollowing the fall of Shaddam IV, Paul’s zealous followers had surged across the Imperium for seven years. The prospect of peace seemed as distant as sunshine during Caladan’s months-long stormy season.

Unable to stomach the absurd distortions spread by the Qizarate and Muad’Dib’s propaganda machine, Jessica had left Arrakis and returned to Caladan, where she kept her opinions private and ruled her people with the assistance of Gurney Halleck.

But because of the fervor that Muad’Dib inspired, pilgrims followed her—great numbers of them—and clamored for her blessings.

Before the end of the Corrino Imperium, Caladan had been only a secondary world ruled by a somewhat ordinary Landsraad family. Though the leaders of House Atreides were well liked in the Landsraad, they had never been as wealthy or powerful as House Harkonnen, House Ecaz, House Richese, or others at the front ranks.

Ruling the Imperium from his distant throne on Dune, Paul-Muad’Dib had not visited his home world in some time, yet pilgrims still came to Caladan, and they kept coming. The Cala City spaceport was not designed to accommodate the relentless traffic that swept down like a
raging flood. Veterans of uncounted battles, desperate refugees, and pilgrims too infirm to fight—all went to touch the soil upon which Muad’Dib had spent his childhood, and to take a little of it home with them.. . .

Jessica glided down a staircase to the main level of Castle Caladan, knowing that a crowd waited inside the audience chamber, where Leto had once listened to the complaints, demands, and needs of his people. More than twenty generations of Atreides had done the same before him. Jessica could not break that tradition now.

Outside on the winding path that led up from the seaside village, she heard the clink of hammers as stonemasons repaired cobblestones and added gravel. Gardeners uprooted dying shrubs and planted new ones, knowing they would have to repeat the process in less than a month. Despite posted signs and guards patrolling the road, offworld pilgrims pocketed pebbles and plucked leaves from bushes as keepsakes of their visit to holy Caladan.

Offworlders came in a variety of clothing styles, carrying ribbons with the name of Muad’Dib, holding tiny sacks filled with sand that purportedly came from Arrakis, or collectibles said to have some connection with the Holy Emperor. Most of these items were cheaply made or fraudulent, or both.

Entering the chamber, Jessica strengthened her resolve when she saw the sheer number of people there. Gurney had arrived early to sort those who wished to present petitions from the larger number of visitors who simply wanted to glimpse the mother of Muad’Dib. Of those who asked to address her directly, Gurney gave precedence to the true Caladan natives, and relegated to the end of the line those who merely wanted to prostrate themselves before her.

When Jessica walked down the aisle to the front of the room, a hush rippled before her, followed by a curling aftershock of whispered awe. She kept her gaze forward, knowing that if she deigned to notice any particular supplicants, they would reach out their hands or raise up their children for blessings.

If Reverend Mother Mohiam could see her now! Jessica wondered if her old teacher would be impressed or disgusted. The Bene Gesserits despised and feared what Paul had become, though they themselves had worked for many generations to create a Kwisatz Haderach. Under
Muad’Dib’s reign, the Sisterhood had fallen on excessively hard times, and Paul made no secret of how much he resented them. Even so, the women continued to make overtures to Jessica, pleading for her assistance and understanding. So far, she had ignored them. They had done enough damage, as far as she was concerned.

Beside her elevated chair at the front of the room, Gurney stood like a master at arms. Though he was an earl in his own right and an esteemed hero of many battles, he abdicated authority to Jessica whenever she took her duchy seat. “Very well, let’s begin,” she said. “You people must have more important things to do than stay here all day.” The audience members seemed not to notice her wry humor.

Jessica recognized the first supplicant who stepped forward, a bearded old man clad in traditional fishing clothes, wearing a medallion on a blue ribbon around his neck. With a potbelly and stick-thin legs, Mayor Jeron Horvu had been the elected leader of Cala City for most of his life, groomed by the Old Duke himself.

The mayor was obviously distressed. His cheeks were gaunt, his eyes red and weary from lack of sleep. He gave Jessica a quick formal bow, which some in the audience regarded as an insufficient display of reverence. “My Lady, we are
besieged
. I implore you to help us. Save our world.”

Many pilgrims looked from side to side with clenched fists, ready to fight anyone who dared to threaten Caladan . . . not realizing that the Mayor referred to
them
.

“Describe exactly what you mean, Jeron.” She leaned forward to encourage him. “I’ve always known you to have the best interests of Caladan and its people at heart.”

“All these offworlders!” Horvu gestured behind him at the crowds. “They say they come to honor Paul Atreides, the son of our noble Duke, yet they plunder our towns, trample the headlands, muddy the shores! I’m sure they mean well,” he added quickly, trying to placate the angry buzzing that rose in the audience chamber, “but their intentions are irrelevant when everything we hold dear is stripped barren.”

“Go on, man, be specific,” Gurney prodded. “These others need to hear it.”

The old man began to tick off items on his fingers. “Just last week, we had to replace three docks down in the harbor because the wood was
so badly splintered and weakened from countless people taking slivers as mementos. Simply because Duke Leto Atreides used to dock his boat
Victor
there!” He rolled his eyes to show how absurd he considered the idea to be.

“Our inns have been ransacked. Our streets overflow with people who sleep in the gutters, steal things from merchants, and justify their thievery by claiming that ‘Muad’Dib would be generous to all of his followers’! And let’s not forget those charlatan souvenir vendors who sell counterfeit scraps of things they say Muad’Dib touched or blessed. It is well known that they simply gather any items they can find and sell them to gullible pilgrims, who pay sizeable sums, with or without proof.”

Now that his passion had gained momentum, Horvu did not slow down. “The fishing waters are so crowded with tourist boats that our catches have drastically decreased, at a time when there are thousands more mouths to feed! Our very way of life is being trampled, Lady Jessica. Please help us.” Horvu raised his hands. “Please, make them stop coming.”

“You must not, Sayyadina!” someone cried from the audience. “This is the first home of Muad’Dib, a sacred place on the Hajj. The Messiah will strike down anyone who denies us, with a vengeful bolt from the heavens!” Shouts of support sounded.

Horvu quailed at the sheer venom in the audience’s reaction, but Jessica rose to her feet. She’d had enough. “It is not for the Emperor Paul-Muad’Dib to strike
anyone
down from Heaven. That is the purview of God Himself. How dare you insult both God and my son by pretending he has such power!” The people were shocked into silence by her words. “Don’t you want to be protected from those who would cheat you? Very well, this is my command. As a first step, I order that all vendors must prove their claims to
my
satisfaction before they are allowed to market any artifacts.

“Second, I hereby alter our law: Anyone caught stealing from the good people of Caladan will be considered to have stolen from Muad’Dib himself. Let a Qizarate court deal with them.” That stunned them into silence, since all knew how harshly the priests would punish such a crime.

“And third: We will limit the number of pilgrims who come here, and those who are allowed to visit Caladan will henceforth be charged
a substantial fee for their visa, with the funds used to replace things damaged or stolen by pilgrims.” Satisfied with the pronouncement, she nodded to herself. “Gurney, please work with Mayor Horvu to develop and implement a suitable plan.” She added a hard edge to her words, a ripple of Voice to take advantage of the reverence these followers held. “Thus, I have spoken, in the sacred name of Muad’Dib.”