"I happen to know," Siona said. "It is on the old charts as Shuloch, which means 'haunted place.' The Oral History says great crimes were committed here before all of the inhabitants were wiped out."
"Jacurutu," Idaho whispered, recalling the old legends of the water stealers. He glanced around, looking for the evidence of dunes and ridges; there was nothing-only two older men with placid faces returning with lnmeir. The men wore faded blue trousers and ragged shirts. Their feet were bare.
"Did you know this place?" Siona asked.
"Only as a name in a legend."
"Some say there are ghosts," she said, "but I do not believe
Inmeir stopped in front of Idaho and motioned the two barefooted men to wait behind her. "The quarters are poor but adequate," she said, "unless you would care to stay in one of the private residences." She turned and looked at Siona as she said this.
"We will decide later," Siona said. She took Idaho's arm. "The Commander and I wish to stroll through Goygoa and admire the sights."
Inmeir shaped her mouth to speak, but remained silent.
Idaho allowed Siona to lead him past the peering faces of the two local men.
"I will send two guards with you," Inmeir called out.
Siona stopped and turned. "Is it not safe in Goygoa?"
"It is very peaceful here," one of the men said.
"Then we will not need guards,' Siona said. "Have them guard the 'thopter."
Again, she led Idaho toward the village.
"All right," Idaho said, disengaging his arm from Siona's grasp. "What is this place'.'"
"It is very likely that you will find this a very restful place." Siona said. "It is not like the old Shuloch at all. Very peaceful."
"You're up to something," Idaho said, striding beside her. "What is it?"
"I've always heard that gholas were full of questions," Siona said. ", too, have questions." `Oh'?' "What was he like in your day, the man Leto?"
"Which one?"
"Yes, I forget there were two-the grandfather and our Leto. I mean our Leto, of course."
"He was just a child, that's all I know."
"The Oral History says one of his early brides carne from this village."
"Brides? I thought..."
"When he still had a manly shape. It was after the death of his sister but before he began to change into the Worm. The Oral History says the brides of Leto vanished into the maze of the Imperial Citadel, never to be seen again except as faces and voices transmitted by holo. He has not had a bride for thousands of years."
They had arrived at a small square at the center of the village, a space about fifty meters on a side and with a low walled pool of clear water in its center. Siona crossed to the pool's wall and sat on the rock ledge, patting beside her for Idaho to join her there. Idaho looked around at the village first, noting how people peered out at him from behind curtained windows, how the children pointed and whispered. He turned and stood looking down at Siona.
"What is this place'?"
"I've told you. Tell me what Muad'Dib was like."
"He was the best friend a man could ever have."
"So the Oral History is true, but it calls the caliphate of his heirs The Desposyni, and that has an evil sound."
She's baiting me. Idaho thought.
He allowed himself a tight smile, wondering at Siona's motives. She appeared to be waiting for sonic important event, anxious... even dreading... but with an undertone of some thing like elation. It was all there. Nothing she said now could be accounted as more than small talk, a way of occupying the moments until... until what'?
The light sound of running feet intruded on his reverie. Idaho turned and saw a child of perhaps eight years racing toward him out of a side street. The child's bare feet kicked up little dust geysers as he ran and there was the sound of a woman shouting, a despairing sound somewhere up the street The runner stopped about ten paces away and stared up at Idaho with a hungering look, an intensity which Idaho found disturbing. The child appeared vaguely familiar-a boy, a stalwart figure with dark curly hair, an unfinished face but with hints of the man to be-rather high cheekbones, a flat line across the brows. He wore a faded blue singlesuit which betrayed the effects of much laundering but obviously had begun as a garment of excellent material. It had the look of punji cotton woven in a cordlock that did not permit even the frayed edges to unravel.
"You're not my father," the child said. Whirling away. he raced back up the street and vanished around a corner.
Idaho turned and scowled at Siona, almost afraid to ask the question: Was that a child of my predecessor? He knew the answer without asking that familiar face, the genotype carried true. Myself as a child. Realization left him with an empty feeling, a sense of frustration. What is my responsibility?
Siona put both hands over her face and hunched her shoulders. It had not happened at all the way she had imagined it might. She felt betrayed by her own desires for revenge. Idaho was not simply a ghola, something alien and unworthy of consideration. She had felt him thrown against her in the 'thopter, had seen the obvious emotions on his face. And that child...
"What happened to my predecessor?" Idaho asked. His voice came out flat and accusatory.
She lowered her hands. There was suppressed rage in his face.
"We are not certain," she said, "but he entered the Citadel one day and never emerged."
"That was his child?"
She nodded.
"You're sure you did not kill my predecessor?"
"I..." She shook her head, shocked by the doubts, the latent accusation in him.
"That child, that is the reason we came here?"
She swallowed. "Yes."
"What am I supposed to do about him?"
She shrugged, feeling soiled and guilty because of her own actions.
"What about his mother?" Idaho asked.
"She and the others live up that street." Siona nodded in the direction the boy had gone.
"Others?"
"There is an older son... a daughter. Will you... I mean, I could arrange..."
"No! The boy was right. I'm not his father."
"I'm sorry," Siona whispered. "I should not have done this."
"Why did he choose this place?" Idaho asked.
"The father... your..."
"My predecessor!"
"Because this was Irti's home and she would not leave. That is what people said."
"Irti... the mother?"
"Wife, by the old rite, the one from the Oral History."
Idaho looked around at the stone fronts of the buildings which enclosed the square, the curtained windows, the narrow doors. "So he lived here?"
"When he could."
"How did he die, Siona?"
"Truly, I do not know... but the Worm has killed others. We know that for sure!"
"How do you know it?" He centered a probing stare on her face. The intensity of it forced her to look away.
"I do not doubt the stories of my ancestors," she said. "They are told in bits and pieces, a note here, a whispered account there, but I believe them. My father believes them, too!"
"Moneo has said nothing to me of this."
"One thing you can say about the Atreides," she said. "We're loyal and that's a fact. We keep our word."
Idaho opened his mouth to speak, closed it without making a sound. Of course! Siona, too, was Atreides. The thought shook him. He had known it, but he had not accepted it. Siona was some kind of a rebel, a rebel whose actions were almost sanctioned by Leto. The limits of his permission were unclear, but Idaho sensed them.
"You must not harm her," Leto had said. "She is to be tested."
Idaho turned his back on Siona.
"You don't know anything for sure," he said. "Bits and pieces, rumors!"
Siona did not respond.
"He's an Atreides!" Idaho said.
"He's the Worm!" Siona said and the venom in her voice was almost palpable.
"Your damned Oral History is nothing but a bunch of ancient gossip!" Idaho accused. "Only a fool would believe it."
"You still trust him," she said. "That will change."
Idaho whirled and glared at her.
"You've never talked to him!"
"I have. When I was a child."
"You're still a child. He's all of the Atreides who were, all of them. It's a terrible thing, but I knew those people. They were my friends."
Siona only shook her head.
Again, Idaho turned away. He felt that he had been wrung dry of emotion. He was spiritually boneless. Without willing it, he began walking across the square and up the street where the boy had gone. Siona came running after him and fell into step, but he ignored her.
The street was narrow, enclosed by the one-story stone walls, the doors set back within arched frames, all of the doors closed. The windows were small versions of the doors. Curtains twitched as he passed.
At the first cross-street, Idaho stopped and looked to the right where the boy had gone. Two gray-haired women in long black skirts and dark green blouses stood a few paces away
down the street, gossiping with their heads close together. They fell silent when they saw Idaho and stared at him with open curiosity. He returned their stare, then looked down the sidestreet. It was empty.
Idaho turned toward the women, passed them within a pace. They drew closer together and turned to watch him. They looked only once at Siona, then returned their attention to Idaho. Siona moved quietly beside him, an odd expression on her face.
Sadness? he wondered. Regret? Curiosity?
It was difficult to say. He was more curious about the doorways and windows they were passing.
"Have you ever been to Goygoa before?" Idaho asked.
"No." Siona spoke in a subdued voice, as though afraid of it.
Why am I walking down this.street? Idaho wondered. Even as he asked himself the question, he knew the answer. This woman, this Irti: What kind of a woman would bring me to Goygoa:'
The corner of a curtain on his right lifted and Idaho saw a face-the boy from the square. The curtain dropped then was flung aside to reveal a woman standing there. Idaho stared speechlessly at her face, stopped in a completed step. It was the face of a woman known only to his deepest fantasies-a soft oval with penetrating dark eyes, a full and sensuous mouth...
"Jessica," he whispered.
"What did you say?" Siona asked.
Idaho could not answer. It was the face of Jessica resurrected out of a past he had believed gone forever, a genetic prank Muad'Dib's mother recreated in new flesh.
The woman closed the curtain, leaving the memory of her features in Idaho's mind, an after-image which he knew he could never remove. She had been older than the Jessica who had shared their dangers on Dune-age-lines beside the mouth and eyes, the body a bit more full...
More motherly, Idaho told himself. Then: Did I ever tell her... who.she resembled?
Siona tugged at his sleeve. "Do you wish to go in, to meet her?"
"No. This was a mistake."
Idaho started to turn back the way they had come, but the door of Irti's house was flung open. A young man emerged and closed the door behind him, turning then to confront Idaho. Idaho guessed the youth's age at sixteen and there was no denying the parentage-that karakul hair, the strong features.
"You are the new one," the youth said. His voice had already deepened into manhood.
"Yes." Idaho found if difficult to speak.
"Why have you come?" the youth asked.
"It was not my idea," Idaho said. He found this easier to say, the words driven by resentment against Siona.
The youth looked at Siona. "We have had word that my father is dead."
Siona nodded.
The youth returned his attention to Idaho. "Please go away and do not return. You cause pain for my mother."
"Of course," Idaho said. "Please apologize to the Lady Irti for this intrusion. I was brought here against my will."
"Who brought you?"
"The Fish Speakers," Idaho said.
The youth nodded once, a curt movement of the head. He looked once more at Siona. "I always thought that you Fish Speakers were taught to treat your own more kindly." With that, he turned and reentered the house, closing the door firmly behind him.
Idaho turned back the way they had come, grabbing Siona's arm as he strode away. She stumbled, then fell into step, disengaging his grasp.
"He thought I was a Fish Speaker," she said.
"Of course. You have the look." He glanced at her. "Why didn't you tell me that Irti was a Fish Speaker?"
"It didn't seem important."
"Oh."
"That's how they met."
They came to the intersection with the street from the square. Idaho turned away from the square, striding briskly up to the end where the village merged into gardens and orchards. He felt insulated by shock, his awareness recoiling from too much that could not be assimilated.
A low wall blocked his path. He climbed over it, heard Siona follow. Trees around them were in bloom, white flowers with orange centers where dark brown insects worked. The air was full of insect buzzing and a floral scent which reminded Idaho of jungle flowers from Caladan.
He stopped when he reached the crest of a hill where he could turn and look back down at Goygoa's rectangular neatness. The roofs were flat and black.
Siona sat down on the thick grass of the hilltop and embraced her knees.
"That was not what you intended, was it?" Idaho asked.
She shook her head and he saw that she was close to tears. "Why do you hate him so much?" he asked.
"We have no lives of our own!"
Idaho looked down at the village. "Are there many villages like this one?"
"This is the shape of the Worm's Empire!"
"What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing-if that's all you want."
"You're saying that this is all he allows?"
"This, a few market cities... Onn. I'm told that even planetary capitals are just big villages."
"And I repeat: What's wrong with that?"
"It's a prison!"
"Then leave it."
"Where'? How? You think we can just get on a Guild ship and go anywhere else, anywhere we want'?" She pointed down toward Goygoa where the 'thopter could be seen off to one side, the Fish Speakers seated on the grass nearby. "Our jailers won't let us leave!"
"They leave," Idaho said. "They go anywhere they want." "Anywhere the Worm sends them!"
She pressed her face against her knees and spoke, her voice muffled. "What was it like in the old days?"
"It was different, often very dangerous." He looked around at the walls which set off pastureland, gardens and orchards. "Here on Dune, there were no imaginary lines to show the limits of ownership on the land. It was all the Dukedom of the Atreides."
"Except for the Fremen."
"Yes. But they knew where they belonged-on this side of a particular escarpment... or beyond where the pan turns white against the sand."
"They could go wherever they wanted!"
"With some limits."
"Some of us long for the desert," she said.
"You have the Sareer."
She lifted her head to glare at him. "That little thing!"
"Fifteen hundred kilometers by five hundred-not so little."
Siona got to her feet. "Have you asked the Worm why he confines us this way?"
"Leto's Peace, the Golden Path to insure our survival. That's what he says."
"Do you know what he told my father? I spied on them when I was a child. I heard him."
"What did he say'?"
"He said he denies us most crises, to limit our forming forces. He said: `People can be sustained by affliction. but I am the affliction now. Gods can become afflictions.' Those were his words, Duncan. The Worm is a sickness!"
Idaho did not doubt the accuracy of her recital, but the words failed to stir him. He thought instead of the Corrino he had been ordered to kill. Affliction. The Corrino, descendant of a Family which once had ruled this Empire, had been revealed as a softly fat middle-aged man who hungered after power and conspired for spice. Idaho had ordered a Fish Speaker to kill him, an act which had aroused Moneo to a fit of intense questioning.
"Why didn't you kill him yourself?"
"I wanted to see how the Fish Speakers performed."
"And your judgment of their performance?"
"Efficient."
But the death of the Corrino had inflicted Idaho with a sense of unreality. A fat little man lying in a pool of his own blood, an undistinguished shadow among the night shadows of a plastone street. It was unreal. Idaho could remember Muad'Dib saying: "The mind imposes this framework which it calls `reality.' That arbitrary framework has a tendency to be quite independent of what your senses report." What reality moved the Lord Leto'?
Idaho looked at Siona standing against the orchard background and the green hills of Goygoa. "Let's go down to the village and find our quarters. I'd like to be alone."
"The Fish Speakers will put us in the same quarters."
"With them?"
"No, just the two of us together. The reason's simple enough. The Worm wants me to breed with the great Duncan Idaho."
"I pick my own partners," Idaho growled.
"I'm sure one of our Fish Speakers would be delighted," Siona said. She whirled away from him and set off down the hill.
Idaho watched her for a moment, the lithe young body swaying like the limbs of the orchard trees in the wind.
"I'm not his stud," Idaho muttered. "That's one thing he'll have to understand." -= As each day passes, you become increasingly unreal, more alien and remote from what I find myself to be on that new day. I am the only reality and, as you differ from me, you lose reality. The more curious I become, the less curious are those who worship me. Religion suppresses curiosity. What I do subtracts from the worshipper. Thus it is that eventually I will do nothing, giving it all back to frightened people who will,find themselves on that day alone and forced to act for themselves.
- The Stolen Journals IT was a sound like no other, the sound of a waiting mob. and it came down the long tunnel to where Idaho marched ahead of the Royal Cart-nervous whispers magnified into an ultimate whisper, the shuffling of one gigantic foot, the stirring of an enormous garment. And the smell-sweet perspiration mixed with the milky breath of sexual excitement.
Inmeir and the others of his Fish Speaker escort had brought Idaho here in the first hour after dawn, coming down to the plaza of Onn while it lay in cold green shadows. They had lifted off immediately after turning him over to other Fish Speakers, Inmeir obviously unhappy because she was required to take Siona to the Citadel and thus would miss the ritual of Siaynoq.
The new escort, vibrant with repressed emotion, had taken him into a region deep beneath the plaza, a place not on any of the city charts Idaho had studied. It was a maze-first one direction and then another through corridors wide enough and high enough to accommodate the Royal Cart. Idaho lost track of directions and fell to reflecting on the preceding night.
The sleeping quarters in Goygoa, although Spartan and small, had been comfortable-two cots to a room, each room a box with white-washed walls, a single window and a single door. The rooms were strung along a corridor in a building designated as Goygoa's "Guest House."
And Siona had been right. Without asking if it suited him, Idaho had been quartered with her, Inmeir acting as though this were an accepted thing.
When the door closed on them, Siona said: "If you touch me, I will try to kill you."
It was uttered with such dry sincerity that Idaho almost laughed. "I would prefer privacy," he said. "Consider yourself alone."
He had slept with a light wariness, remembering dangerous nights in the Atreides service, the readiness for combat. The room was seldom truly dark-moonlight coming through the curtained window, even starlight reflecting from the chalk-white walls. He had found himself nervously sensitive to Siona, to the smell of her, the stirrings, her breathing. Several times he had come fully awake to listen, aware on two of those occasions that she, too, was listening.
Morning and the flight to Onn had come as a relief. They had broken their fast with a drink of cold fruit juice, Idaho glad to enter the predawn darkness for a brisk walk to the 'thopter. He did not speak directly to Siona and he found himself resenting the curious glances of the Fish Speakers.
Siona spoke to him only once, leaning out of the 'thopter as he left it in the plaza.
"It would not offend me to be your friend," she said.
Such a curious way of putting it. He had felt vaguely embarrassed. "Yes... well, certainly."
The new escort had led him away then, coming at last to a terminal in the maze. Leto awaited him there on the Royal Cart. The meeting place was a wide spot in a corridor which stretched off into the converging distance on Idaho's right. The walls were dark brown streaked with golden lines which glittered in the yellow light of glowglobes. The escort took up positions behind the cart, moving smartly and leaving Idaho to stand confronting Leto's cowled face.
"Duncan, you will precede me when we go to Siaynoq," Leto said.
Idaho stared into the dark blue wells of the God Emperor's eyes, angered by the mystery and secrecy, the obvious air of private excitement in this place. He felt that everything he had been told about Siaynoq only deepened the mystery.
"Am I truly the Commander of your Guard, m' Lord?" Idaho asked, resentment heavy in his voice "Indeed! And I bestow a signal honor upon you now. Few adult males ever share Siaynoq."
"What happened in the city last night?"
"Bloody violence in some places. It is quite calm this morning, however."
"Casualties'?"
"Not worth mentioning."
Idaho nodded. Leto's prescient powers had warned of sonic peril to his Duncan. Thus, the flight into the rural safety of Goygoa.
"You have been to Goygoa," Leto said. "Were you tempted to stay' '" ,No,,
"Do not be angry with me," Leto said. "I did not send you to Goygoa.'.
Idaho sighed. "What was the danger which required that you send me away'?"
"It was not to you," Leto said. "But you excite my guards to excessive displays of their abilities. Last night's activities did not require this."
"Oh?" This thought shocked Idaho. He had never thought of himself as one to inspire particular heroism unless he personally demanded it. One whipped up the troops. Leaders such as the original Leto, this one's grandfather, had inspired by their presence.
"You are extremely precious to me, Duncan," Leto said.
"Yes... well, I'm still not your stud!"
"Your wishes will be honored, of course. We will discuss it another time."
Idaho glanced at the Fish Speaker escort, all of them wide-eyed and attentive.
"Is there always violence when you come to Orin" Idaho asked.
"It goes in cycles. The malcontents are quite subdued now. It will be more peaceful for a time."
Idaho looked back at Leto's inscrutable face. "What happened to my predecessor?"
"Haven't my Fish Speakers told you?"
"They say he died in defense of his God."