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How did you k this? Jessica asked. It is spoken. Too much is spoken, Jessica said bitterly. me the raw Water of the maker, Chani said. Jessica stiffened at the tone of command in Chani's voice, then observed the intense concentration in the younger woman and said: At once. She went out through the hangings to send a waterman. Chani sat staring at Paul. If he has tried to do this, she thought. And it's the sort of thing he might try .... Jessica knelt beside Chani, holding out a plain camp ewer. The charged odor of the poison was sharp in Chani's nostrils. She dipped a finger in the fluid, held the finger c to Paul's nose. The skin along the bridge of his nose wrinkled slightly. Slowly, the nostrils flared. Jessica gasped. Chani touched the dampened finger to Paul's upper lip. He drew in a long, sobbing breath. What is this? Jessica demanded. Be still, Chani said. You must convert a sm amount of the sacred water. Quickly! Without questioning, because she recognized the tone of awareness in Chani's voice, Jessica lifted the ewer to her mouth, drew in a sm sip. Paul's eyes flew . He stared upward at Chani. It is not necessary for her to change the Water, he said. His voice was weak, but steady. Jessica, a sip of the fluid on her tongue, found her body rying, converting the poison almost automatiy. In the light elevation the ceremony always imparted, she sensed the -glow from Paul--a radiation t registering on her senses. In that , she k. You drank the sacred water! she blurted. One drop of it, Paul said. So sm ... one drop. How could you do such a foolish thing? she demanded. He is your son, Chani said. Jessica glared at her. A rare smile, warm and full of understanding, touched Paul's lips. Hear my beloved, he said. Listen to her, Mother. She ks. A thing that others can do, he must do, Chani said. When I had the drop in my mouth, when I felt it and smelled it, when I k what it was doing to me, then I k I could do the thing that you have done, he said. Your Bene Gesserit proctors speak of the Kwisatz Haderach, but they cannot begin to guess the many places I have been. In the few minutes I .... He broke , looking at Chani with a puzzled frown. Chani? How did you ? You're supposed to be .... Why are you ? He tried to push himself onto his elbows. Chani pressed him back gently. , my Usul, she said. I feel so weak, he said. His gaze darted around the room. How long have I been ? You've been three weeks in a coma so deep that the spark of seemed to have fled, Jessica said. But it was .... I took it just a moment ago and .... A moment , three weeks of fear for me, Jessica said. It was one drop, but I converted it, Paul said. I changed the Water of . And before Chani or Jessica could him, he dipped his hand into the ewer they had placed on the floor beside him, and he brought the dripping hand to his mouth, swowed the palm-cupped liquid. Paul! Jessica screamed. He grabbed her hand, faced her with a death's head grin, and he sent his awareness surging over her. The rapport was not as tender, not as sharing, not as encompassing as it had been with Alia and with the Old Reverend Mother in the cavern ... but it was a rapport: a sense-sharing of the entire being. It shook her, weakened her, and she cowered in her mind, fearful of him. Aloud, he said: You speak of a place w you cannot enter? This place which the Reverend Mother cannot face, show it to me. She shook her head, terrified by the very thought. Show it to me! he commanded. No! But she could not escape him. Bludgeoned by the terrible force of him, she cd her eyes and focused inward-the-direction-that-is-dark. Paul's consciousness flowed through and around her and into the darkness. She glimpsed the place dimly before her mind blanked itself away from the terror. Without king why, her whole being trembled at what she had seen--a region w a wind blew and sparks glared, w rings of light expanded and contracted, w rows of tumescent white shapes flowed over and under and around the lights, driven by darkness and a wind out of . , she ed her eyes, saw Paul staring up at her. He still held her hand, but the terrible rapport was gone. She quieted her trembling. Paul released her hand. It was as though some crutch had been removed. She staggered up and back, would have fen had not Chani jumped to support her. Reverend Mother! Chani said. What is wrong? Tired, Jessica whispered. So ... tired. , Chani said. Sit . She helped Jessica to a cushion against the w. The strong young arms felt so good to Jessica. She clung to Chani. He has, in truth, seen the Water of ? Chani asked. She disengaged herself from Jessica's grip. He has seen, Jessica whispered. Her mind still rolled and surged from the contact. It was like stepping to solid land after weeks on a heaving sea. She sensed the old Reverend Mother within her ... and the others awakened and questioning: What was that? What happened? W was that place? Through it threaded the realization that her son was the Kwisatz Haderach, the one who could be many places at once. He was the fact out of the Bene Gesserit dream. And the fact gave her no peace. What happened? Chani demanded. Jessica shook her head. Paul said: T is in each of us an ancient force that takes and an ancient force that gives. A man finds little difficulty facing that place within himself w the taking force dwells, but it's almost impossible for him to see into the giving force without changing into something other than man. For a woman, the situation is reversed. Jessica looked up, found Chani was staring at her while listening to Paul. Do you understand me, Mother? Paul asked. She could nod. These things are so ancient within us, Paul said, that they're ground into each separate cell of our bodies. We're shaped by such forces. You can say to yourself, 'Yes, I see how such a thing may be.' But when you look inward and confront the raw force of your own unshielded, you see your peril. You see that this could overwhelm you. The est peril to the Giver is the force that takes. The est peril to the Taker is the force that gives. It's as easy to be overwhelmed by giving as by taking. And you, my son, Jessica asked, are you one who gives or one who takes? I'm at the fulcrum, he said. I cannot give without taking and I cannot take without .... He broke , looking to the w at his right. Chani felt a draft against her cheek, turned to see the hangings c. It was Otheym, Paul said. He was listening. Accepting the words, Chani was touched by some of the prescience that haunted Paul, and she k a thing-yet-to-be as though it already had occurred. Otheym would speak of what he had seen and heard. Others would spread the story until it was a fire over the land. Paul-Muad' Dib is not as other men, they would say. T can be no more doubt. He is a man, yet he sees through to the Water of in the way of a Reverend Mother. He is indeed the Lisan al-Gaib. You have seen the future, Paul, Jessica said. Will you say what you've seen? Not the future, he said. I've seen the . He forced himself to a sitting position, waved Chani aside as she moved to help him. The Space above Arrakis is filled with the ships of the Guild. Jessica trembled at the certainty in his voice. The Padishah Emperor himself is t, Paul said. He looked at the rock ceiling of his cell. With his favorite Truthsayer and five legions of Sardaukar. The old Baron Vladimir Harkonnen is t with Thufir Hawat beside him and seven ships jammed with every conscript he could muster. Every House has its raiders above us ... waiting. Chani shook her head, unable to look away from Paul. His strangeness, the flat tone of voice, the way he looked through her, filled her with awe. I'm afraid I was woolgathering, he said. Whe I ... feel especiy sorry , I'm afraid I think of you as ... well, Jessica. Sorry for me? Whatever for? Yueh shrugged. Long ago, he had realized Jessica was not gifted with the full Truthsay as his Wanna had been. Still, he always used the truth with Jessica whe possible. It was safest. You've seen this place, my ... Jessica. He stumbled over the , plunged ahead: So barren after Caladan. And the people! Those townswomen we passed on the way wailing beneath their veils. The way they looked at us. She folded her arms across her breast, hugging herself, feeling the crysknife t, a blade ground from a sandworm's tooth, if the reports were right. It's just that we're strange to them--different people, different customs. They've kn the Harkonnens. She looked past him out the windows. What were you staring at out t? He turned back to the window. The people. Jessica crossed to his side, looked to the left toward the front of the house w Yueh's attention was focused. A line of twenty palm trees grew t, the ground beneath them swept clean, barren. A screen fence separated them from the road upon which robed people were passing. Jessica detected a faint shimmering in the air between her and the people--a house shield--and went on to study the passing throng, dering why Yueh found them so absorbing. The pattern emerged and she put a hand to her cheek. The way the passing people looked at the palm trees! She saw envy, some hate ... even a sense of hope. Each person raked those trees with a fixity of expression. Do you k what they're thinking? Yueh asked. You profess to read minds? she asked. Those minds, he said. They look at those trees and they think: 'T are one hundred of us.' That's what they think. She turned a puzzled frown on him. Why? Those are date palms, he said. One date palm requires forty liters of water a day. A man requires but eight liters. A palm, then, equals five men. T are twenty palms out t--one hundred men. But some of those people look at the trees hopefully. They but hope some dates will f, except it's the wrong season. We look at this place with too critical an eye, she said. T's hope as well as danger . The spice could make us rich. With a fat treasury, we can make this world into whatever we wish. And she laughed silently at herself: Who am I trying to convince? The laugh broke through her restraints, emerging brittle, without humor. But you can't security, she said. Yueh turned away to hide his face from her. If it were possible to hate these people instead love them! In her manner, in many ways, Jessica was like his Wanna. Yet that thought carried its own rigors, hardening him to his purpose. The ways of the Harkonnen cruelty were devious. Wanna might not be dead. He had to be certain. Do not worry for us, Wellington, Jessica said. The 's ours, not yours. She thinks I worry for her! He blinked back tears. And I do, of course. But I must stand before that black Baron with his deed accomplished, and take my one to strike him w he is weakest--in his gloating moment! |
ะll thะต bะตst,
Simmy Adelman, Editor
Behind the Markets
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He was shaken into wakefulness by someone. He had fen asleep in the middle of the marketplace, and in the plaza was about to resume. Looking around, he sought his sheep, and then realized that he was in a world. But instead of being saddened, he was happy. He no longer had to seek out food and water for the sheep; he could go in search of his treasure, instead. He had not a cent in his pocket, but he had faith. He had decided, the night before, that he would be as much an adventurer as the ones he had admired in books. He walked slowly through the market. The merchants were assembling their sts, and the boy helped a candy seller to do his. The candy seller had a smile on his face: he was happy, aware of what his was about, and ready to begin a day's work. His smile reminded the boy of the old man--the mysterious old king he had met. This candy merchant isn't making candy so that later he can travel or marry a shopkeeper's daughter. He's doing it because it's what he wants to do, thought the boy. He realized that he could do the same thing the old man had done--sense whether a person was near to or far from his destiny. Just by looking at them. It's easy, and yet I've done it before, he thought. When the st was assembled, the candy seller ered the boy the first sweet he had made for the day. The boy thanked him, ate it, and went on his way. When he had gone a short distance, he realized that, while they were erecting the st, one of them had spoken Arabic and the other Spanish. And they had understood each other perfectly well. T must be a language that doesn't depend on words, the boy thought. I've already had that experience with my sheep, and it's happening with p eople. He was learning a lot of things. Some of them were things that he had already experienced, and weren't rey , but that he had perceived before. And he hadn't perceived them because he had become accustomed to them. He realized: If I can learn to understand this language without words, I can learn to understand the world. Relaxed and unhurried, he resolved that he would walk through the narrow streets of Tangier. in that way would he be able to read the omens. He k it would require a lot of patience, but shepherds k about patience. Once again he saw that, in that strange land, he was applying the same lessons he had learned with his sheep. things are one, the old man had said. * The crystal merchant awoke with the day, and felt the same anxiety that he felt every morning. He had been in the same place for thirty years: a shop at the top of a hilly street w few customers passed. it was too late to change anything--the thing he had ever learned to do was to and sell crystal glassware. T had been a time when many people k of his shop: Arab merchants, French and English geologists, German soldiers who were always well-heeled. In those days it had been derful to be selling crystal, and he had thought how he would become rich, and have beautiful women at his side as he grew older. But, as time passed, Tangier had changed. The nearby city of Ceuta had grown faster than Tangier, and business had fen . Neighbors moved away, and t remained a few sm shops on the hill. And no one was going to climb the hill just to browse through a few sm shops. But the crystal merchant had no choice. He had lived thirty years of his ing and selling crystal pieces, and it was too late to do anything else. He spent the entire morning observing the infrequent comings and goings in the street. He had done this for years, and k the schedule of everyone who passed. But, just before lunchtime, a boy stopped in front of the shop. He was dressed normy, but the d eyes of the crystal merchant could see that the boy had no to spend. theless, the merchant decided to delay his lunch for a few minutes until the boy moved on. A card hanging in the doorway announced that several languages were spoken in the shop. The boy saw a man appear behind the counter. And also because I k about the Soul of the World, he thought to himself. The oasis is neutral ground. No one attacks an oasis, said a third chieftain. I can tell you what I saw. If you don't want to , you don't have to do anything about it. The men fell into an animated discussion. They spoke in an Arabic dialect that the boy didn't understand, but, when he made to , the guard told him to stay. The boy became fearful; the omens told him that something was wrong. He regretted having spoken to the camel driver about what he had seen in the desert. Suddenly, the elder at the center smiled almost imperceptibly, and the boy felt better. The man hadn't participated in the discussion, and, in f, hadn't said a word up to that point. But the boy was already used to the Language of the World, and he could feel the vibrations of peace throughout the tent. his intuition was that he had been right in coming. The discussion ended. The chieftains were silent for a few moments as they listened to what the old man was saying. Then he turned to the boy: this time his expression was cold and distant. Two thousand years ago, in a distant land, a man who believed in dreams was thrown into a dungeon and then sold as a slave, the old man said, in the dialect the boy understood. Our merchants bought that man, and brought him to Egypt. of us k that whoever believes in dreams also ks how to interpret them. The elder continued, When the pharaoh dreamed of cows that were thin and cows that were fat, this man I'm speaking of rescued Egypt from famine. His was Joseph. He, too, was a stranger in a strange land, like you, and he was probably about your age. He paused, and his eyes were still unly. We always observe the Tradition. The Tradition d Egypt from famine in those days, and made the Egyptians the wealthiest of peoples. The Tradition teaches men how to cross the desert, and how their children should marry. The Tradition says that an oasis is neutral territory, because both sides have oases, and so both are vulnerable. No one said a word as the old man continued. But the Tradition also says that we should believe the messages of the desert. Everything we k was taught to us by the desert. The old man gave a signal, and everyone stood. The meeting was over. The hookahs were extinguished, and the guards stood at attention. The boy made ready to , but the old man spoke again: Tomorrow, we are going to break the agreement that says that no one at the oasis may carry arms. Throughout the entire day we will be on the lookout for our enemies. When the sun sets, the men will once again surrender their arms to me. For every ten dead men among our enemies, you will receive a piece of . But arms cannot be drawn unless they also go into battle. Arms are as capricious as the desert, and, if they are not used, the next time they might not function. If at least one of them hasn't been used by the end of the day tomorrow, one will be used on you. When the boy left the tent, the oasis was illuminated by the light of the full moon. He was twenty minutes from his tent, and began to make his way t. He was alarmed by what had happened. He had succeeded in reaching through to the Soul of the World, and the for having done so might be his . It was a frightening bet. But he had been making risky bets ever since the day he had sold his sheep to pursue his destiny. And, as the camel driver had said, to die tomorrow was no worse than dying on any other day. Every day was t to be lived or to mark one's departure from this world. Everything depended on one word: Maktub. Walking along in the silence, he had no regrets. If he died tomorrow, it would be because God was not willing to change the future. He would at least have died after having crossed the strait, after having worked in a crystal shop, and after having kn the silence of the desert and Fatima's eyes. He had lived every one of his days intensely since he had left so long ago. If he died tomorrow, he would already have seen more than other shepherds, and he was proud of that. Suddenly he heard a thundering sound, and he was thrown to the ground by a d such as he had kn. The area was swirling in dust so intense that it hid the moon from view. Before him was an enormous white horse, rearing over him with a frightening scream. When the blinding dust had settled a bit, the boy trembled at what he saw. Astride the animal was a horseman dressed completely in black, with a falcon perched on his left shoulder. He wore a turban and his entire face, except for his eyes, was covered with a black kerchief. He appeared to be a messenger from the desert, but his presence was much more powerful than that of a mere messenger. The strange horseman drew an enormous, curved sword from a scabbard mounted on his saddle. The steel of its blade glittered in the light of the moon. Who dares to read the meaning of the flight of the hawks? he demanded, so loudly that his words seemed to echo through the fifty thousand palm trees of Al-Fayoum. It is I who dared to do so, said the boy. He was reminded of the image of Santiago Matamoros, mounted on his white horse, with the infidels beneath his hooves. This man looked exly the same, except that the roles were reversed. It is I who dared to do so, he repeated, and he lowered his head to receive a blow from the sword. Many lives will be d, because I was able to see through to the Soul of the World. The sword didn't f. Instead, the stranger lowered it slowly, until the point touched the boy's forehead. It drew a droplet of blood. The horseman was completely immobile, as was the boy. It didn't even occur to the boy to flee. In his heart, he felt a strange sense of joy: he was about to die in pursuit of his destiny. And for Fatima. The omens had been true, after . he was, face-to-face with his enemy, but t was no need to be concerned about dying--the Soul of the World awaited him, and he would be a part of it. And, tomorrow, his enemy would also be apart of that Soul. The stranger continued to hold the sword at the boy's forehead. Why did you read the flight of the birds? I read what the birds wanted to tell me. They wanted to the oasis. Tomorrow of you will die, because t are more men at the oasis than you have. The sword remained w it was. Who are you to change what ah has willed? ah created the armies, and he also created the hawks. ah taught me the language of the birds. Everything has been written by the same hand, the boy said, reing the camel driver's words. The stranger withdrew the sword from the boy's forehead, and the boy felt immensely relieved. But he still couldn't flee. Be careful with your prognostications, said the stranger. When something is written, t is no way to change it. I saw was an army, said the boy. I didn't see the outcome of the battle. The stranger seemed satisfied with the answer. But he kept the sword in his hand. What is a stranger doing in a strange land? I am follog my destiny. It's not something you would understand. The stranger placed his sword in its scabbard, and the boy relaxed. I had to test your courage, the stranger said. Courage is the quality most essential to understanding the Language of the World. The boy was surprised. The stranger was speaking of things that very few people k about. You must not let up, even after having come so far, he continued. You must love the desert, but trust it completely. Because the desert tests men: it chenges every step, and kills those who become distred. What he said reminded the boy of the old king. If the warriors come , and your head is still on your shoulders at sunset, come and find me, said the stranger. The same hand that had brandished the sword held a whip. The horse reared again, raising a cloud of dust. W do you live? shouted the boy, as the horseman rode away. The hand with the whip pointed to the south. |
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