Ghanima looked up at the grey-silver morning sky, questing in her mind. Where was help to be found? Where was there someone to listen when she revealed what she saw happening all around them? The Lady Jessica stayed on Salusa, if the reports were to be believed. And Alia was a creature on a pedestal, involved only in being colossal while she drifted farther and farther from reality. Gurney Halleck was nowhere to be found, although he was reported seen everywhere. The Preacher had gone into hiding, his heretical rantings only a fading memory.
And Stilgar.
She looked across the broken wall to where Stilgar was helping repair the cistern. Stilgar reveled in his role as the will-o'-the-desert, the price upon his head growing monthly.
Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing.
Who was this Desert Demon, this creature able to destroy qanats as though they were false idols to be toppled into the sand? Was it a rogue worm? Was it a third force in rebellion - many people? No one believed it was a worm. The water would kill any worm venturing against a qanat. Many Fremen believed the Desert Demon was actually a revolutionary band bent on overthrowing Alia's Mahdinate and restoring Arrakis to its old ways. Those who believed this said it would be a good thing. Get rid of that greedy apostolic succession which did little else than uphold its own mediocrity. Get back to the true religion which Muad'Dib had espoused.
A deep sigh shook Ghanima. Oh, Leto, she thought. I'm almost glad you didn't live to see these days. I'd join you myself, but I've a knife yet unblooded. Alia and Farad'n. Farad'n and Alia. The Old Baron's her demon, and that can't be permitted.
Harah came out of the djedida, approaching Ghanima with a steady sand-swallowing pace. Harah stopped in front of Ghanima, demanded, 'What do you alone out here?'
'This is a strange place, Harah. We should leave.'
'Stilgar waits to meet someone here.'
'Oh? He didn't tell me that.'
'Why should he tell you everything? Maku?' Harah slapped the water pouch which bulged the front of Ghanima's robe. 'Are you a grown woman to be pregnant?'
'I've been pregnant so many times there's no counting them,' Ghanima said. 'Don't play those adult-child games with me!'
Harah took a backward step at the venom in Ghanima's voice.
'You're a band of stupids,' Ghanima said, waving her hand to encompass the djedida and the activities of Stilgar and his people. 'I should never have come with you.'
'You'd be dead by now if you hadn't.'
'Perhaps. But you don't see what's right in front of your faces! Who is it that Stilgar waits to meet here?'
'Buer Agarves.'
Ghanima stared at her.
'He is being brought here secretly by friends from Red Chasm Sietch,' Harah explained.
'Alia's little plaything?'
'He is being brought under blindfold.'
'Does Stilgar believe that?'
'Buer asked for the parley. He agreed to all of our terms.'
'Why wasn't I told about this?'
'Stilgar knew you would argue against it.'
'Argue against... This is madness!'
Harah scowled. 'Don't forget that Buer is...'
'He's Family!' Ghanima snapped. 'He's the grandson of Stilgar's cousin. I know. And the Farad'n whose blood I'll draw one day is as close a relative to me. Do you think that'll stay my knife?'
'We've had a distrans. No one follows his party.'
Ghanima spoke in a low voice: 'Nothing good will come of this, Harah. We should leave at once.'
'Have you read an omen?' Harah asked. 'That dead worm we saw! Was that -'
'Stuff that into your womb and give birth to it elsewhere!' Ghanima raged. 'I don't like this meeting nor this place. Isn't that enough?'
'I'll tell Stilgar what you -'
'I'll tell him myself!' Ghanima strode past Harah, who made the sign of the worm horns at her back to ward off evil.
But Stilgar only laughed at Ghanima's fears and ordered her to look for sandtrout as though she were one of the children. She fled into one of the djedida's abandoned houses and crouched in a corner to nurse her anger. The emotion passed quickly, though; she felt the stirring of the inner lives and remembered someone saying: 'If we can immobilize them, things will go as we plan.'
What an odd thought.
But she couldn't recall who'd said those words.
= = = = = =
Muad'Dib was disinherited and he spoke for the disinherited of all time. He cried out against that profound injustice which alienates the individual from that which he was taught to believe, from that which seemed to come to him as a right. -The Mahdinate, An Analysis by Harq al-Ada
Gurney Halleck sat on the butte at Shuloch with his baliset beside him on a spice-fiber rug. Below him the enclosed basin swarmed with workers planting crops. The sand ramp up which the Cast Out had lured worms on a spice trail had been blocked off with a new qanat. Plantings moved down the slope to hold it.
It was almost time for the noon meal and Halleck had been on the butte for more than an hour, seeking privacy in which to think. Humans did the labor below him, but everything he saw was the work of melange. Leto's personal estimate was that spice production would fall soon to a stabilized one-tenth of its peak in the Harkonnen years. Stockpiles throughout the empire doubled in value at every new posting. Three hundred and twenty-one liters were said to have bought half of Novebruns Planet from the Metulli Family.
The Cast Out worked like men driven by a devil, and perhaps they were. Before every meal, they faced the Tanzerouft and prayed to Shai-Hulud personified. That was how they saw Leto and, through their eyes, Halleck saw a future where most of humankind shared that view. Halleck wasn't sure he liked the prospect.
Leto had set the pattern when he'd brought Halleck and The Preacher here in Halleck's stolen 'thopter. With his bare hands Leto had breached the Shuloch qanat, hurling large stones more than fifty meters. When the Cast Out had tried to intervene, Leto had decapitated the first to reach him, using no more than a blurred sweep of his arm. He'd hurled others back into their companions and had laughed at their weapons. In a demon-voice he'd roared at them: 'Fire will not touch me! Your knives will not harm me! I wear the skin of Shai-Hulud!'
The Cast Out had recognized him then and recalled his escape, leaping from the butte 'directly to the desert.' They'd prostrated themselves before him and Leto had issued his orders. 'I bring you two guests. You will guard them and honor them. You will rebuild your qanat and begin planting an oasis garden. One day I'll make my home here. You will prepare my home. You will sell no more spice, but you will store every bit you collect.'
On and on he'd gone with his instructions, and the Cast Out had heard every word, seeing him through fear- glazed eyes, through a terrifying awe.
Here was Shai-Hulud come up from the sand at last!
There'd been no intimation of this metamorphosis when Leto had found Halleck with Ghadhean al-Fali in one of the small rebel sietches at Gare Ruden. With his blind companion, Leto had come up from the desert along the old spice route, traveling by worm through an area where worms were now a rarity. He'd spoken of several detours forced upon him by the presence of moisture in the sand, enough water to poison a worm. They'd arrived shortly after noon and had been brought into the stone-walled common room by guards.
The memory haunted Halleck now.
'So this is The Preacher,' he'd said.
Striding around the blind man, studying him, Halleck recalled the stories about him. No stillsuit mask hid the old
