He had stood then, explaining about the stillsuit, how it recycled her body's own waters. He made her pull the tube from a catchpocket and suck on it, then reseal the tube.
'You will be alone with him on the desert,' Moneo had said. 'Shai-Hulud is never far away when you're on the desert.'
'What if I refuse to go?' she asked.
'You will go... but you may not return.'
This conversation had occurred in the ground-level chamber of the Little Citadel while Leto waited in the aerie. He had come down when he knew Siona was ready, drifting down in the predawn darkness on his cart's suspensors. The cart had gone into the ground level room after Moneo and Siona emerged. While Moneo marched across-the flat ground to his 'thopter and left in a whispering of wings, Leto had required Siona to test the sealed portal of the ground-level chamber, then look upward at the tower's impossible heights.
'The only way out is across the Sareer,' he said.
He led her away from the tower then, not even commanding her to follow, depending on her good sense, her curiosity and her doubts.
Leto's swimming progress took him down the dune's slipface and onto an exposed section of the rocky basement complex, then up another sandy face at a shallow angle, creating a path for Siona to follow. Fremen had called such compression tracks 'God's gift to the weary.' He moved slowly, giving Siona plenty of time in which to recognize that this was his domain, his natural habitat.
He came out atop another dune and turned to watch her progress. She held to the track he had provided and stopped only when she reached the top. Her glance went once to his face then she turned a full circle to examine the horizon. He heard the sharp intake of her breath. Heat haze hid the spire's top. The base might have been a distant outcropping.
'This is how it was,' he said.
There was something about the desert which spoke to the eternal soul of people who possessed Fremen blood, he knew. He had chosen this place for its desert impact-a dune slightly higher than the others.
'Take a good look at it,' he said, and he slipped down the dune's other side to remove his bulk from her view.
Siona took one more slow turn, looking outward.
Leto knew the innermost sensation of what she saw. Except for that insignificant, blurred blip of his tower's base, there was not the slightest lift of horizon-flat, everywhere flat. No plants, no living movement. From her vantage, there was a limit of approximately eight kilometers to the line where the planet's curvature hid everything beyond.
Leto spoke from where he had stopped, just below the dune's crest. 'This is the real Sareer. You only know it when you're down here afoot. This is all that's left of the bahr bela ma.'
'The ocean without water,' she whispered.
Again, she turned and examined the entire horizon.
There was no wind and, Leto knew, without wind, the silence ate at the human soul. Siona was feeling the loss of all familiar reference points. She was abandoned in dangerous space.
Leto glanced at the next dune. In that direction, they would come presently to a low line of hills which originally had been mountains but now were broken into remnant slag and rubble. He continued to rest quietly, letting the silence do his work for him. It was even pleasant to imagine that these dunes went on, as they once had, without end completely around the planet. But even these few dunes were degenerating. Without the original Coriolis storms of Dune, the Sareer saw nothing stronger than a stiff breeze and occasional heat vortices which had no more than local effect.
One of these tiny 'wind devils' danced across the middle distance to the south. Siona's gaze followed its track. She spoke abruptly: 'Do you have a personal religion?'
Leto took a moment composing his reply. It always astonished him how a desert provoked thoughts of religion.
'You dare ask me if I have a personal religion?' he demanded.
Betraying no surface sign of the fears he knew she felt, Siona turned and stared down at him. Audacity was always an Atreides hallmark, he reminded himself.
When she didn't answer, he said: 'You are an Atreides for sure.'
'Is that your answer?' she asked.
'What is it you really want to know, Siona?'
'What you believe!'
'Ho! You ask after my faith. Well, now-I believe that something cannot emerge from nothing without divine intervention.'
His answer puzzled her. 'How is that an...'
'Natura non facit saltus,' he said.
She shook her head, not understanding the ancient allusion which had sprung to his lips. Leto translated:
'Nature makes no leaps.'
'What language was that?' she asked.
'A language no longer spoken anywhere else in my universe.'
'Why did you use it then?'
'To prod your ancient memories.'
'I don't have any! I just need to know why you brought me here.'
'To give you a taste of your past. Come down here and climb onto my back.'
She hesitated at first, then seeing the futility of defiance, slid down the dune and clambered onto his back.
Leto waited until she was kneeling atop him. It was not the same as the old times he knew. She had no Maker hooks and could not stand on his back. He lifted his front segments slightly off the surface.
'Why am I doing this?' she asked. Her tone said she felt silly up there.
'I want you to taste the way our people once moved proudly across this land, high atop the back of a giant sandworm.'
He began to glide along the dune just below the crest. Siona had seen holos. She knew this experience intellectually, but the pulse of reality had a different beat and he knew she would resonate to it.
Ahhh, Siona, he thought, you do not even begin to suspect how I will test you.
Leto steeled himself then. I must have no pity. If she dies, she dies. If any of them dies, that is a required event, no more.
And he had to remind himself that this applied even to Hwi Noree. It was just that all of them could not die.
He sensed it when Siona began to enjoy the sensation of riding on his back. He felt a faint shift in her weight as she eased back onto her legs to lift her head.
He drove outward then along a curving barracan, joining Siona in enjoyment of the old sensations. Leto could just glimpse the remnant hills at the horizon ahead of him. They were like a seed from the past waiting there, a reminder of the self-sustaining and expanding force which operated in a desert. He could forget for a moment that on this planet where only a small fraction of the surface remained desert, the Sareer's dynamism existed in a precarious environment.
The illusion of the past was here, though. He felt it as he moved. Fantasy, of course, he told himself, a vanishing fantasy as long as his enforced tranquility continued. Even the sweeping barracan which he traversed now was not as great as the ones of the past. None of the dunes were that great.
This whole maintained desert struck him suddenly as ridiculous. He almost stopped on a pebbled surface between the dunes, continuing but more slowly as he tried to conjure up the necessities which kept the whole system working. He imagined the planet's rotation setting up great air currents which shifted cold and heated air to new regions in enormous volume-everything monitored and ruled by those tiny satellites with their Ixian instruments and heat-focusing dishes. If the high monitors saw anything, they saw the Sareer partly as a 'relief desert' with both physical and cold-air walls girdling it. This tended to create ice at the edges and required even
