The Winds Of Dune Part 18

Along with the wedding preparations, construction work continued at great speed to erect magnificent new temples to show the glory of St. Alia as well as Muad'Dib. Towering in a public square, a tall statue depicted the Ja.n.u.s figure, the duality of brother and sister, two visages facing opposite directions-the future and the past-Alia and Paul.

Newly minted coins bore the profile of Alia on one side, Madonna-like over two small babies, surrounded by the faint image of Paul-Muad'Dib, like a benevolent spirit watching over them; the flip side bore the Atreides hawk crest embellished with imperial styling and the words ALIA REGENT ALIA REGENT. Alia seemed to have learned the power of mythmaking from the example of her brother; even during Paul's reign, the girl had made herself into a powerful religious leader on Dune.

Despite the antic.i.p.ated joy and excitement of the wedding, Alia quietly a.s.serted that there was danger all around-and Jessica could not discount her fears. Such a spectacle would indeed be a tempting time for someone to commit violence. A team of amazon guards never left the Regent's side, and a Fremen troop led by Stilgar remained stationed outside the entrance to the conservatory where the twins were held. All offworld s.h.i.+ps were searched thoroughly, every pa.s.senger questioned, each cargo deep-scanned. All offworld s.h.i.+ps were searched thoroughly, every pa.s.senger questioned, each cargo deep-scanned.

Alia's inner-circle priests carried the brunt of the expanded protective measures, with the Qizara Isbar proudly accepting a much more important role than he had held before. Jessica had not liked the fawning man when he'd come to Caladan to deliver the news of Paul's death. Now, the more Isbar insisted that he was helping Alia, the less Jessica approved of him.

When she received a secret coded message revealing an a.s.sa.s.sination plot spearheaded by Isbar, even Jessica was surprised at the audacity of it. She studied the secret message again and again, listened to the surrept.i.tiously recorded conversations that revealed Isbar's plan in all its detail. Then she summoned Gurney Halleck to her quarters.

"'Beware the viper in your own nest.' " Gurney's scar flushed. "Didn't Paul's man Korba attempt something similar?"

"Yes, and that's why he was executed. Korba wanted to make a martyr out of Paul so that the priesthood could use his memory for their own ends. Now, these people mean to do the same with Alia. If they remove her as Regent, they will have only the baby twins to worry about."

"You might be on their target list yourself, my Lady. And Irulan. 'Ambitions grow like weeds, and are as difficult to eradicate.' " The big man shook his head. "Are you sure of the information? Who provided it? I don't like this anonymous source."

"The source is not anonymous to me. I believe it to be unimpeachable, but I cannot reveal the name."

Gurney lowered his head. "As you wish, my Lady." She knew she was asking a great deal from him, but she expected his full acceptance. Jessica had come to Dune to honor Paul, to strengthen the name of their Great House, and to revere a fallen leader-her son. But she could do no less for her daughter. Alia was as much an Atreides as Paul.

Jessica tapped the sc.r.a.p of spice paper and the words she had written there. "These are the three names. You know what to do. We can't trust anyone, even those in Alia's inner circle, but I trust you, Gurney."

"I will take care of it." His fists were clenched, his muscles bunched. As he departed, Jessica let out a long, slow sigh, fully aware of what she had set in motion. As he departed, Jessica let out a long, slow sigh, fully aware of what she had set in motion.

That evening, after Isbar completed his service in the Fane of the Oracle, celebrating St. Alia of the Knife, the priest bowed to the cheering congregants, raised his hands in benediction, and stepped back behind the altar. His skin gleamed with scented oils. Isbar's neck had begun to thicken with soft flesh, a plumpness that resulted from unlimited access to water for the first time in his life.

Parting the rust-orange curtains of spice-fiber fabric, he entered his private alcove and was surprised to find a man there waiting for him. "Gurney Halleck?" Recognizing him, Isbar did not call for the guards. "How may I help you?"

Gurney's hands moved in a blur, fingers clenched around a thin cord of krimskell fiber, which he flashed around the priest's neck and yanked tight. Isbar flailed and clawed at the garrote, but Gurney's grip remained firm. He twisted and pulled tighter, and the cord swiftly cut off the priest's breath, broke his hyoid bone, and silenced his larynx. As Gurney sawed deeper with the cord, Isbar's eyes bulged; his lips opened and closed like a beached, gasping fish. In a fleeting thought, Gurney wondered if the desert man had ever seen a fish.

He spoke quietly into the priest's ear. "Don't pretend to wonder why I am here. You know your guilt, what you intended to do. Any plot against Alia is a plot against all Atreides." He jerked the garrote tighter still. Isbar was beyond hearing, his throat nearly severed now. "And therefore it must be dealt with."

Outside, the wors.h.i.+ppers continued to file out of the temple, some still praying. They hadn't even seen the hanging fabric panels stir.

When he was absolutely certain the traitor was dead, Gurney let him slide to the dusty floor. He peeled the krimskell fiber out of the deep indentation in the priest's neck. Coiling the strand once more into a neat loop, he left silently through the back entrance. He had two more men to visit this night.

When she learned of the murders of her three supposedly loyal priests, Alia was outraged. Without being summoned, Jessica came into the Regent's private office, ordered the amazon guards to wait outside, and sealed the door.

Seated at her writing table, Alia wanted to lash out at some target, any target. She had laid out a pattern of the new Dune Tarot cards, though the reading had not gone as well as she'd hoped. When her mother entered, Alia scattered the cards on the table, a panoply of ancient icons modified to have relevance to Dune-a Coriolis storm of sand, an Emperor resembling Paul, a goblet overflowing with spice, a sandworm instead of a dragon, and an eerie Blind Man, rather than Death.

Jessica withstood the brunt of her daughter's buffeting rage, then spoke calmly. "Those priests are dead for good reason. Gurney Halleck killed them."

That stopped Alia in midsentence. The willowy girl raised herself to her feet from behind the desk, the clutter of tarot cards before her. Her face turned pale, her eyes widening. "What did you just say to me, Mother?"

"Gurney only followed my orders. I saved your life."

While her daughter listened, astonished and scowling, Jessica revealed the full details of the plot that would have a.s.sa.s.sinated both Alia and Duncan at their wedding ceremony. She extended the recordings, letting her daughter listen to the schemes of Isbar and the other two priests. There could be no denying their guilt. "It seems your priests would rather speak as surrogates for dead prophets than for live rulers."

Alia sat down heavily, but after only a moment's pause, her mood s.h.i.+fted once more. "So you've set spies on me, Mother? You don't trust my security, so you have your own inside sources?" She jabbed a finger at the surrept.i.tious recordings and her voice grew louder, more shrill. "How dare you secretly keep watch on me and my priests? Who among my-"

As Alia began to lose control of her temper, Jessica took a step closer and slapped her like a mother disciplining an unruly child. Calmly. Once, hard. "Stop this nonsense and think. I did it to protect protect you, not to weaken you. Not to spy on you. Sometimes it is beneficial to have an independent set of sources-as this proves." you, not to weaken you. Not to spy on you. Sometimes it is beneficial to have an independent set of sources-as this proves."

Alia rocked backward, shocked that her mother had struck her. Her lips tightened until they turned pale; the red mark stood out on her cheek. With great effort, she composed herself. "There are always plots, Mother. My own people would have uncovered this one in time-and I would much rather have publicly executed the traitors, rather than killing them in secret. The wedding ceremony would have been an obvious opportunity for someone to move against me, and I've already taken security measures-measures that even your 'sources' don't know about."

"I am not your enemy, nor am I your rival," Jessica insisted. "Can you fault a mother for wanting to prevent harm to her daughter?"

Alia sighed and tossed her hair back behind her shoulders. "No, Mother, I cannot. By the same token, don't fault me for saying that I will feel less ... unsettled, when you return to Caladan."

Even when I feel love, it is so complex that others may not recognize it as such. While I admit this freely, I do so only on these pages that are for me alone.

-LADY ALIA, private journals, intentionally written in a style to imitate Princess Irulan

When yet another of Bronso's manifestos appeared only days before the wedding, Alia reacted swiftly and angrily, ordering the destruction of all copies. She demanded that anyone who was found distributing, or even carrying, the doc.u.ment be executed without further ado.

Deeply concerned and hoping to mitigate any damage, Jessica rushed to meet with her daughter in private. "Such bloodshed will backfire on you. In two days you and Duncan will be married-do you want the people to hate and fear you?"

After expressing her disgust at the situation, Alia relented. "All right, Mother-if only to appease you. Amputating the perpetrators' hands should be harsh enough to get the message across, I suppose." Her mother departed, not entirely satisfied.

Alia spent the rest of the day in the throne room, then left through a guarded doorway and pushed aside a Fremen wall hanging, just as she had seen her brother do many times. It was difficult to believe he was gone. She churned with a feeling of helplessness that only made her angry. Why had he left her her with such a messy state of affairs? Did Paul expect with such a messy state of affairs? Did Paul expect her her to act as the mother of his twin babies? Or perhaps to act as the mother of his twin babies? Or perhaps Harah could do it? Or Princess Irulan? Or Jessica? How could the most important man in the known universe simply turn his back and ... leave? Harah could do it? Or Princess Irulan? Or Jessica? How could the most important man in the known universe simply turn his back and ... leave?

She wished her brother could be here now.

A terrible sensation of sadness and longing threatened to make her cry, but Alia had not shed tears for him, and doubted she ever would, especially on Dune. Yet she had loved Paul in life ... and might love him even more now in death.

His presence was like a supergiant star whose gravitational pull affected everything that came within his sphere of influence. Paul shone so brightly that he blinded all other individual stars and constellations. The Emperor Muad'Dib, the Fremen messiah Lisan al-Gaib. He had overthrown an Emperor, conquered a galaxy, and used a Jihad to sweep aside the clutter of ten thousand years of history.

But without his charismatic personality dominating the daily workings of government and the Atreides family, Alia was beginning to see her brother from a different perspective, actually getting a chance to know and respect him in new ways.

After Chani's water was mysteriously stolen-and no blackmail threats had ever emerged, thankfully-she had sealed off Paul's private quarters in the Citadel, and allowed no one into these rooms. Alia liked to come here alone, just to think, imagining that he might still be there.

Paul-Muad'Dib had left a remarkable legacy, and she was its custodian as Regent and as his sister. sister. That was not a duty she took lightly. Given time and the proper circ.u.mstances, Alia might stand one day as the equal to Muad'Dib in the histories. She already had chroniclers compiling records of her achievements, just in case. That was not a duty she took lightly. Given time and the proper circ.u.mstances, Alia might stand one day as the equal to Muad'Dib in the histories. She already had chroniclers compiling records of her achievements, just in case.

Standing on stone floor tiles just inside the room's entrance, she smelled the lingering odors of the former inhabitants, a bit of staleness in the air. Not so long ago, Paul and Chani had filled these rooms with their personalities, their dreams, their hopes, and secret words for each other. They had made love here and conceived the twins, Leto and Ghanima.

Oil murals painted on the walls depicted common Fremen scenes: a woman counting water rings for her hair, children out in the sand catching sandtrout, a robed Naib standing high on a promontory. Everything was exactly as the occupants had left it, Chani's shoes and clothing were laid about casually as if she had expected to come back, just like any other day ... but Paul's clothes were neatly put away. Seeing this, Alia felt a chill, wondering if her brother had known he would not return. was exactly as the occupants had left it, Chani's shoes and clothing were laid about casually as if she had expected to come back, just like any other day ... but Paul's clothes were neatly put away. Seeing this, Alia felt a chill, wondering if her brother had known he would not return.

Ultimately, Alia contemplated what to do with these private quarters. The hallowed place reached beyond her own feelings of devotion for her brother. She felt the sacredness in the still shadows of the sietch-like suite with its austere wall tapestries, the bed Paul and Chani had shared, the jasmium spice-coffee service that had once belonged to Jamis.

After long deliberation, Alia decided that she needed to share this place with others. But with whom? A place limited to herself and a few invited guests, only those who had been close to Paul, and to Chani? What about a museum that only Fremen could visit ... or should it be something more accessible that drew pilgrims from all over the Imperium?

Valefor's voice called to her from the other side of the closed door. "Regent Alia, your mother requests entrance."

Alia pushed past the wall hanging, opened the door and saw her chief amazon guard standing next to Jessica. "Of course."

Her mother entered, the first time she'd ever been inside these rooms. She said nothing about the crackdown, or Bronso's writings, or any of their previous discussions as she walked around the chamber, sadly inspecting the extra stillsuits, the filmbooks that Paul or Chani had been reading, the holophotos. She wiped a finger across a tabletop, came away with a thin layer of dust; she took several deep, agitated breaths.

"This is not easy for you, is it, Mother?"

"No."

In the sleeping quarters, Jessica paused to look at a detached wooden headboard that featured carvings of a leaping fish and thick brown waves ... a piece that had been salvaged from the original Arrakeen Residence. That headboard had once concealed a hunter-seeker used in a Harkonnen attempt to kill Paul. Later, after becoming Emperor, Paul had kept it as a reminder never to let down his guard.

Moving on, Jessica paused to examine the contents of a table by a filtergla.s.s window, a pottery jar set all by itself as if in a place of special reverence. Her gaze flickered over to her daughter, asking an unspoken question. reverence. Her gaze flickered over to her daughter, asking an unspoken question.

"It's the jar Chani sent me to fetch after Count Fenring stabbed Paul. It held the Water of Life that stopped his heartbeat long enough for us to control the bleeding."

Jessica stared at the pottery. "After what we observed in the bazaar the other day, it heartens me to see authentic authentic objects here. I think I should collect a few keepsakes of my own." objects here. I think I should collect a few keepsakes of my own."

Alia felt a rush of enthusiasm. "Yes, Mother. After our conversation, I inst.i.tuted a close watch on the black marketeers with their phony relics. The memory of Muad'Dib should not be cheapened by counterfeits." She smiled, hoping her mother would approve. "I have decided that the only way to prevent the fraud is to create a seal of approval, an official mark that rea.s.sures buyers-the faithful-that a particular object has been authenticated as the original. All additional profits shall go into the government treasury."

Jessica's brow furrowed. "But the demand will be far higher than the amount of items available."

"Yes, and since copies will be made anyway, we will manufacture our own replicas and sell them as such, blessed by the Qizarate. Official facsimiles, rather than fakes. I'll be on a consulting board, and I'd like you to act in that capacity as well."

"Remember, I'm going back to Caladan soon. I've seen enough ... sc.r.a.ps of Paul's life." She took another long look around and then slowly left. "Yes, I've seen enough."

Afterward, Alia lifted a seash.e.l.l fragment from the table and held the broken piece up against the light from the window. It was an object from Mother Earth, if Whitmore Bludd's story about it was true. He'd given it to Paul as a token of allegiance from Archduke Armand Ecaz. But the seash.e.l.l, like Bludd's promise, was broken.

She put the artifact back down in exactly the same position. Then on impulse, she spun the piece around so that it faced the other way. Making her own mark. These objects were not really sacred, though she would continue to act as if they were. They were just ... things.

Is a ghola capable of love? This was one of my questions at first, but not any longer. Duncan Idaho and I have an understanding.

-ALIA ATREIDES, private notes

Only hours before Alia and Duncan's wedding would begin, three stern amazon guards escorted Lady Jessica out to a place of honor at the edge of the desert beyond the Citadel walls.

Stilgar was her companion as they moved through the festive crowds, both dressed in formal robes for the joyous occasion. She had intentionally kept her distance from the Fremen leader since returning from the secret ceremony to honor Chani. Keeping their silence, Jessica and the Naib took seats in the viewing stands overlooking the perfect expanse of desert. Hundreds of diligent workers had combed the dunes with fine rakes and used gentle blowers to erase footprints and remove any appearance of clutter-an extravagant and unnecessary waste of effort, Jessica thought, for the swift winds would erase any mark soon enough.

As the crowds gathered, Stilgar mused, "I was the one who first told Usul that your daughter should be wedded. It was a thing any man could see, at the time." He narrowed his eyes and gazed out at the dunes where the ceremony would take place.

Jessica was glad to share her thoughts. "In some cultures, my daughter would be considered too young for marriage, but Alia is unlike any other girl. In her memories, she can recall all the pleasures of the flesh, all the joys and obligations of marriage. Even so, it's always challenging for a mother to think of her daughter being married. It is a fundamental change in relations.h.i.+ps, the crossing of a Rubicon." all the joys and obligations of marriage. Even so, it's always challenging for a mother to think of her daughter being married. It is a fundamental change in relations.h.i.+ps, the crossing of a Rubicon."

Stilgar raised his eyebrows. "Rubicon? The term is unfamiliar to me."

"A river on ancient Terra. A famous military leader crossed it and forever changed the course of history."

The Fremen Naib turned away, muttering, "I know nothing of rivers."

Princess Irulan arrived with Harah and the two children, attended by another cl.u.s.ter of guards. Gurney moved along the stands, ever suspicious and alert. Jessica understood his reasons for concern. By removing Isbar and the traitorous priests, they had eliminated one plot against Alia ... but that did not mean there weren't others waiting to be sprung. Alia had mentioned her implementation of other unusual "security measures," but Jessica did not know what her daughter had meant by that.

Grand spectacles seemed to invite tragedy: Rhombur's death during the Jongleur performance in the Theater of Shards, the slaughter during Duke Leto's wedding, the swarms of unleashed hunter-seekers during Muad'Dib's Great Surrender ceremony, even Bronso's recent disruption during Paul's funeral. From the stands, she glanced at the twins, aware that Leto and Ghanima would spend their entire lives fearing an a.s.sa.s.sin's blade, a conspirator's explosion, a poisoner's special ingredient, or some weapon no one had yet contemplated.

But a state wedding could not be held behind closed doors and drawn shutters. Duke Leto Atreides, and the Old Duke before him, had understood the power and necessity of diversions, of bravura. "Bread and circuses," the ancient Romans had called it.

Her heart went out to Alia, wis.h.i.+ng the young woman well on her wedding day. "She is my my daughter," she whispered fiercely to herself. Jessica prayed that this ceremony, unlike those others, would take place without disruption or disaster, and that Alia and Duncan could actually be happy together. daughter," she whispered fiercely to herself. Jessica prayed that this ceremony, unlike those others, would take place without disruption or disaster, and that Alia and Duncan could actually be happy together.

It was time for that in the Atreides family.

Out of view, Alia stood naked on the balcony of a palace annex at the far edge of the city. The sun was setting on the horizon, throwing long shadows across the rock escarpments. On the sands below, young Fremen women whirled and chanted, their hair flying loose and free. The traditional marriage dances were under way.

Behind her, Duncan Idaho lay on the bed they had recently begun to share. She and Duncan had just made love, a pa.s.sionate release of their anxious energies as they waited, and waited, for the time of the ceremony. He was her first physical lover, though she remembered plenty of others in her deep layers of memories.

All day long, crowds of onlookers had gathered at the edge of the city and spilled out onto the sands. Weaving their way through the throngs, vendors hawked memorabilia bearing the faces of the bride and groom, and Alia's government would receive its percentage of it all.

A number of viewing stands had been erected for the visiting dignitaries of various Houses, CHOAM, the Landsraad, the s.p.a.cing Guild, the Bene Gesserit, and the Qizarate. Each important personage would receive his own memorabilia, inscribed and authenticated.

As both the sister of Muad'Dib and Regent of the Imperium, Alia had designed her wedding to combine Fremen and Imperial elements in a hybrid ceremony. She and Duncan had gone over the details that would combine vows from both traditions. Far out on the dunes, the two of them would be wed under the double moonlight-at least, that was what the people would see, and hear. Their preparations would make the illusion perfect.

To the left of the bed stood a blackplaz cubicle with a sealed door-one of the new technologies that the Ixian Confederation had recently given her, hoping to buy their way back into her good graces. Because of the usual death threats that hovered around her, Alia was increasingly resorting to technological security measures.

Her mother and Gurney had thwarted Isbar's plot to kill them during the wedding. Alia knew of the deadly conspiracies that had sprung up around Paul. And Irulan had once told her stories about the countless plots, conspiracies, and a.s.sa.s.sination attempts Shaddam IV had faced on Kaitain. What is it about human beings that they invariably develop hatred toward their leaders? What is it about human beings that they invariably develop hatred toward their leaders?

Just yesterday, Qizara security had seized a lunatic in the streets shouting that the wedding was "an unholy alliance of Bene Gesserit Abomination and Tleilaxu ghola." Under interrogation, the man had implicated others, and provided credible evidence that there were deeper plots afoot against Alia and Duncan. But the man himself had been an inept fool, and had never posed much of a threat.

She worried more about the quiet quiet, well-concealed plots, conspirators who were not so foolish as to shout out their anger in the streets of Arrakeen. She would have liked to blame all the threats on Bronso of Ix, but she had never been his target, though many others had resentments against her. For her purposes, however, Bronso provided a convenient focal point, and she could use his reputation to turn the tables and incite a backlash against critics of the regime. She had already taken steps to exploit the situation, secretly writing her own counterfeit "manifesto" that would be released immediately after the wedding, under Bronso's name.

Adaptation was a Bene Gesserit strength, one to which she had been born. Her brother had changed the human race forever, but Alia would take her place in history as well, since Paul had left her to pick up the pieces and arrange them as she saw fit.

If she could make the Imperium strong and enduring, historians might even elevate her above the stature of Muad'Dib. For her, it was a matter of diminis.h.i.+ng Paul's memory in calculated ways, while brightening her own accomplishments. She would stand on his shoulders and benefit from his victories.

In honor of her wedding day, Alia had ordered the temporary cessation of all torturings and executions. In addition, one fortunate prisoner would be exonerated each day, based upon a public drawing to be held outside the main prison, and Duncan had been giving away valuable gifts to hundreds of lucky citizens selected at random, to demonstrate Imperial largesse.