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"Then we will be ... possessed?"
"No."
She thought about the Trial--that ancient Fremen examination whose ending most often brought hideous death. Then this plan had other complexities. It would take them onto an edge where a plunge to either side might not be countenanced by the human mind and that mind remain sane.
Knowing where her thoughts meandered, Leto said: "Power attracts the psychotics. Always. That's what we have to avoid within ourselves."
"You're sure we won't be ... possessed?"
"Not if we create the Golden Path."
Still doubtful, she said: "I'll not bear your children, Leto."
He shook his head, suppressing the inner betrayals, lapsed into the royal-formal form of the ancient tongue: "Sister mine, I love you more dearly than myself, but that is not the tender of my desires."
"Very well, then let us return to another argument before we join our grandmother. A knife slipped into Alia might settle most of our problems. "
"If you believe that, you believe we can walk in mud and leave no tracks," he said. "Besides, when has Alia ever given anyone an opportunity? "
"There is talk about this Javid."
"Does Duncan show any signs of growing horns?"
Ghanima shrugged. "One poison, two poison." It was the common label applied to the royal habit of cataloguing companions by their threat to your person, a mark of rulers everywhere.
"We must do it my way," he said.
"The other way might be cleaner."
By her reply, he knew she had finally suppressed her doubts and come around to agreement with his plan. The realization brought him no happiness. He found himself looking at his own hands, wondering if the dirt would cling.
This was Muad'Dib's achievement: He saw the subliminal reservoir of each individual as an unconscious bank of memories going back to the primal cell of our common genesis. Each of us, he said, can measure out his distance from that common origin. Seeing this and telling of it, he made the audacious leap of decision. Muad'Dib set himself the task of integrating genetic memory into ongoing evaluation. Thus did he break through Time's veils, making a single thing of the future and the past. That was Muad'Dib's creation embodied in his son and his daughter.
--TESTAMENT OF ARRAKIS BY HARQ AL-ADA
Farad'n strode through the garden compound of his grandfather's royal palace, watching his shadow grow shorter as the sun of Salusa Secundus climbed toward noon. He had to stretch himself a bit to keep step with the tall Bashar who accompanied him.
"I have doubts, Tyekanik," he said. "Oh, there's no denying the attractions of a throne, but--" He drew in a deep breath. "--I have so many interests. "
Tyekanik, fresh from a savage argument with Farad'n's mother, glanced sidelong at the Prince, noting how the lad's flesh was firming as he approached his eighteenth birthday. There was less and less of Wensicia in him with each passing day and more and more of old Shaddam, who had preferred his private pursuits to the responsibilities of royalty. That was what had cost him the throne in the end, of course. He'd grown soft in the ways of command.
"You have to make a choice," Tyekanik said. "Oh, doubtless there'll be time for some of your interests, but ..."
Farad'n chewed his lower lip. Duty held him here, but he felt frustrated. He would far rather have gone to the rock enclave where the sandtrout experiments were being conducted. Now there was a project with enormous potential: wrest the spice monopoly from the Atreides and anything might happen.
"You're sure these twins will be ... eliminated?"
"Nothing absolutely certain, My Prince, but the prospects are good."
Farad'n shrugged. Assassination remained a fact of royal life. The language was filled with the subtle permutations of ways to eliminate important personages. By a single word, one could distinguish between poison in drink or poison in food. He presumed the elimination of the Atreides twins would be accomplished by a poison. It was not a pleasant thought. By all accounts the twins were a most interesting pair.
"Would we have to move to Arrakis?" Farad'n asked.
"It's the best choice, put us at the point of greatest pressure." Farad'n appeared to be avoiding some question and Tyekanik wondered what it might be.
"I'm troubled, Tyekanik," Farad'n said, speaking as they rounded a hedge corner and approached a fountain surrounded by giant black roses. Gardeners could be heard snipping beyond the hedges.
"Yes?" Tyekanik prompted.
"This, ah, religion which you've professed ..."
"Nothing strange about that, My Prince," Tyekanik said and hoped his voice remained firm. "This religion speaks to the warrior in me. It's a fitting religion for a Sardaukar." That, at least, was true.
"Yesss ... But my mother seems so pleased by it." Damn Wensicia! he thought. She's made her son suspicious.
"I care not what your mother thinks," Tyekanik said. "A man's religion is his own affair. Perhaps she sees something in this that may help to put you on the throne."
"That was my thought," Farad'n said.
Ahhh, this is a sharp lad! Tyekanik thought. He said: "Look into the religion for yourself; you'll see at once why I chose it."
"Still ... Muad'Dib's preachings? He was an Atreides, after all."
"I can only say that the ways of God are mysterious," Tyekanik said.
"I see. Tell me, Tyek, why'd you ask me to walk with you just now? It's almost noon and usually you're off to someplace or other at my mother's command this time of day."
Tyekanik stopped at a stone bench which looked upon the fountain and the giant roses beyond. The splashing water soothed him and he kept his attention upon it as he spoke. "My Prince, I've done something which your mother may not like." And he thought: If he believes that, her damnable scheme will work. Tyekanik almost hoped Wensicia's scheme would fail. Bringing that damnable Preacher here. She was insane. And the cost!
As Tyekanik remained silent, waiting, Farad'n asked: "All right, Tyek, what've you done?"
"I've brought a practitioner of oneiromancy," Tyekanik said.
Farad'n shot a sharp glance at his companion. Some of the older Sardaukar played the dream-interpretation game, had done so increasingly since their defeat by that "Supreme Dreamer," Muad'Dib. Somewhere within their dreams, they reasoned, might lay a way back to power and glory. But Tyekanik had always eschewed this play.
"This doesn't sound like you, Tyek," Farad'n said.
"Then I can only speak from my new religion," he said, addressing the fountain. To speak of religion was, of course, why they'd risked bringing The Preacher here.
"Then speak from this religion," Farad'n said.
"As My Prince commands." He turned, looked at this youthful holder of all the dreams which now were distilled into the path which House Corrino would follow. "Church and state, My Prince, even scientific reason and faith, and even more: progress and tradition--all of these are reconciled in the teachings of Muad'Dib. He taught that there are no intransigent opposites except in the beliefs of men and, sometimes, in their dreams. One discovers the future in the past, and both are part of a whole."
In spite of doubts which he could not dispel, Farad'n found himself impressed by these words. He heard a note of reluctant sincerity in Tyekanik's voice, as though the man spoke against inner compulsions.
"And that's why you bring me this ... this interpreter of dreams?"
"Yes, My Prince. Perhaps your dream penetrates Time. You win back your consciousness of your inner being when you recognize the universe as a coherent whole. Your dreams ... well ..."
"But I spoke idly of my dreams," Farad'n protested. "They are a curiosity, no more. I never once suspected that you ..."
"My Prince, nothing you do can be unimportant."
"That's very flattering, Tyek. Do you really believe this fellow can see into the heart of great mysteries?"
"I do, My Prince."
"Then let my mother be displeased."
"You will see him?"
&
nbsp; "Of course--since you've brought him to displease my mother."
Does he mock me? Tyekanik wondered. And he said: "I must warn you that the old man wears a mask. It is an Ixian device which enables the sightless to see with their skin."
"He is blind?"
"Yes, My Prince."
"Does he know who I am?"
"I told him, My Prince."
"Very well. Let us go to him."
"If My Prince will wait a moment here, I will bring the man to him."
Farad'n looked around the fountain garden, smiled. As good a place as any for this foolishness. "Have you told him what I dreamed?"
"Only in general terms, My Prince. He will ask you for a personal accounting. "
"Oh, very well. I'll wait here. Bring the fellow."
Farad'n turned his back, heard Tyekanik retire in haste. A gardener could be seen working just beyond the hedge, the top of a brown-capped head, the flashing of shears poking above the greenery. The movement was hypnotic.
This dream business is nonsense, Farad'n thought. It was wrong of Tyek to do this without consulting me. Strange that Tyek should get religion at his age. And now it's dreams.
Presently he heard footsteps behind him. Tyekanik's familiar positive stride and a more dragging gait. Farad'n turned, stared at the approaching dream interpreter. The Ixian mask was a black, gauzy affair which concealed the face from the forehead to below the chin. There were no eye slits in the mask. If one were to believe the Ixian boasts, the entire mask was a single eye.
Tyekanik stopped two paces from Farad'n, but the masked old man approached to less than a pace.
