could see many people working farther toward the canyon among the palms. They looked tattered, poor, and the fact that they barely glanced at him or at the 'thopter said much of the oppression here. Leto could see the rock lip of a qanat beyond the workers, and there was no mistaking the sense of moisture in this air: open water. Passing the hut, Leto saw it was as crude as he'd expected. He pressed on to the qanat, peered down and saw the swirl of predator fish in the dark flow. The workers, avoiding his eyes, went on with clearing sand away from the line of rock openings.
Muriz came up behind Leto, said: 'You stand on the boundary between fish and worm. Each of these canyons has its worm. This qanat has been opened and we will remove the fish presently to attract sandtrout.'
'Of course,' Leto said. 'Holding pens. You sell sandtrout and worms off-planet.'
'It was Muad'Dib's suggestion!'
'I know. But none of your worms or sandtrout survive for long away from Dune.'
'Not yet,' Muriz said. 'But someday...'
'Not in ten thousand years,' Leto said. And he turned to watch the turmoil on Muriz's face. Questions flowed there like the water in the qanat. Could this son of Muad'Dib really read the future? Some still believed Muad'Dib had done it, but... How could a thing such as this be judged?
Presently Muriz turned away, led them back to the hut. He opened the crude doorseal, motioned for Leto to enter. There was a spice-oil lamp burning against the far wall and a small figure squatted beneath it, back to the door. The burning oil gave off a heavy fragrance of cinnamon.
'They've sent down a new captive to care for Muad'Dib's sietch,' Muriz sneered. 'If she serves well, she may keep her water for a time. 'He confronted Leto. 'Some think it evil to take such water. Those lace-shirt Fremen now make rubbish heaps in their new towns! Rubbish heaps! When has Dune ever before seen rubbish heaps! When we get such as this one -' He gestured toward the figure by the lamp. '- they're usually half wild with fear, lost to their own kind and never accepted by true Fremen. Do you understand me, Leto-Batigh?'
'I understand you.' The crouching figure had not moved.
'You speak of leading us,' Muriz said. 'Fremen are led by men who've been blooded. What could you lead us in?'
'Kralizec,' Leto said, keeping his attention on the crouched figure.
Muriz glared at him, brows contracted over his indigo eyes. Kralizec? That wasn't merely war or revolution; that was the Typhoon Struggle. It was a word from the furthermost Fremen legends: the battle at the end of the universe. Kralizec?
The tall Fremen swallowed convulsively. This sprat was as unpredictable as a city dandy! Muriz turned to the squatting figure. 'Woman! Liban wahid!' he commanded. Bring us the spicedrink!'
She hesitated. 'Do as he says, Sabiha,' Leto said.
She jumped to her feet, whirling. She stared at him, unable to take her gaze from his face.
'You know this one?' Muriz asked.
'She is Namri's niece. She offended Jacurutu and they have sent her to you.'
'Namri? But...'
'Liban wahid,' Leto said.
She rushed past them, tore herself through the doorseal and they heard the sound of her running feet.
'She will not go far,' Muriz said. He touched a finger to the side of his nose. 'A kin of Namri, eh. Interesting. What did she do to offend?'
'She allowed me to escape.' Leto turned then and followed Sabiha. He found her standing at the edge of the qanat. Leto moved up beside her and looked down at the water. There were birds in the nearby fan palms and he heard their calls, their wings. The workers made scraping sounds as they moved sand. Still he did as Sabiha did, looking down, deep into the water and its reflections. The corners of his eyes saw blue parakeets in the palm fronds. One flew across the qanat and he saw it reflected in a silver swirl of fish, all run together as though birds and predators swam in the same firmament.
Sabiha cleared her throat.
'You hate me,' Leto said.
'You shamed me. You shamed me before my people. They held an Isnad and sent me here to lose my water. All because of you!'
Muriz laughed from close behind them. 'And now you see, Leto-Batigh, that our Spirit River has many tributaries.'
'But my water flows in your veins,' Leto said, turning. 'That is no tributary. Sabiha is the fate of my vision and I follow her. I fled across the desert to find my future here in Shuloch.'
'You and...' He pointed at Sabiha, threw his head back in laughter.
'It will not be as either of you might believe,' Leto said. 'Remember this, Muriz. I have found the footprints of my worm.' He felt tears swimming in his eyes then.
'He gives water to the dead,' Sabiha whispered.
Even Muriz stared at him in awe. Fremen never cried unless it was the most profound gift of the soul. Almost embarrassed, Muriz closed his mouthseal, pulled his djeballa hood low over his brows.
Leto peered beyond the man, said: 'Here in Shuloch they still pray for dew at the desert's edge. Go, Muriz, and pray for Kralizec. I promise you it will come.'
= = = = = =
Fremen speech implies great concision, a precise sense of expression. It is immersed in the illusion of absolutes. Its assumptions are a fertile ground for absolutist religions. Furthermore, Fremen are fond of moralizing. They confront the terrifying instability of all things with institutionalized statements. They say: 'We know there is no summa of all attainable knowledge; that is the preserve of God. But whatever men can learn, men can contain.' Out of this knife-edged approach to the universe they carve a fantastic belief in signs and omens and in their own destiny. This is an origin of their Kralizec legend: the war at the end of the universe. -Bene Gesserit Private Reports/folio 800881
'They have him securely in a safe place,' Namri said, smiling across the square stone room at Gurney Halleck. 'You may report this to your friends.'
'Where is this safe place?' Halleck asked. He didn't like Namri's tone, felt constrained by Jessica's orders. Damn the witch! Her explanations made no sense except the warning about what could happen if Leto failed to master his terrible memories.
'It's a safe place,' Namri said. 'That's all I'm permitted to tell you.'
'How do you know this?'
'I've had a distrans. Sabiha is with him.'
'Sabiha! She'll just let him -'
'Not this time.'
'Are you going to kill him?'
'That's no longer up to me.'
Halleck grimaced. Distrans. What was the range of those damned cave bats? He'd often seen them flitting across the desert with hidden messages imprinted upon their squeaking calls. But how far would they go on this hellhole planet?
'I must see him for myself,' Halleck said.
'That's not permitted.'
Halleck took a deep breath to quiet himself. He had spent two days and two nights waiting for search reports. Now it was another morning and he felt his role dissolving around him, leaving him naked. He had never liked command anyway. Command always waited while others did the interesting and dangerous things.
'Why isn't it permitted?' he asked. The smugglers who'd arranged this safe-sietch had left too many questions unanswered and he wanted no more of the same from Namri.
'Some believe you saw too much when you saw this sietch,' Namri said.
