“Do you think you could lift your hand against me?” Paul asked. Stilgar
began to tremble. “It’s the way,” he muttered.
“It’s the way to kill offworld strangers found in the desert and take their
water as a gift from Shai-?hulud,” Paul said. “Yet you permitted two such to live
one night, my mother and myself.”
As Stilgar remained silent, trembling, staring at him, Paul said: “Ways
change, Stil. You have changed them yourself.”
Stilgar looked down at the yellow emblem on the knife he held.
“When I am Duke in Arrakeen with Chani by my side, do you think I’ll have
time to concern myself with every detail of governing Tabr sietch?” Paul asked.
“Do you concern yourself with the internal problems of every family?”
Stilgar continued staring at the knife.
“Do you think I wish to cut off my right arm?” Paul demanded.
Slowly, Stilgar looked up at him.
“You!” Paul said. “Do you think I wish to deprive myself or the tribe of
your wisdom and strength?”
In a low voice, Stilgar said: “The young man of my tribe whose name is known
to me, this young man I could kill on the challenge floor, Shai-?hulud willing.
The Lisan al-?Gaib, him I could not harm. You knew this when you handed me this
knife.”
“I knew it,” Paul agreed.
Stilgar opened his hand. The knife clattered against the stone of the floor.
“Ways change,” he said.
“Chani,” Paul said, “go to my mother, send her here that her counsel will be
available in –”
“But you said we would go to the south!” she protested.
“I was wrong,” he said. “The Harkonnens are not there. The war is not
there.”
She took a deep breath, accepting this as a desert woman accepted all
necessities in the midst of a life involved with death.
“You will give my mother a message for her ears alone,” Paul said. “Tell her
that Stilgar acknowledges me Duke of Arrakis, but a way must be found to make
the young men accept this without combat.”
Chani glanced at Stilgar.
“Do as he says,” Stilgar growled. “We both know he could overcome me . . .
and I could not raise my hand against him . . . for the good of the tribe.”
“I shall return with your mother,” Chani said.
“Send her,” Paul said. “Stilgar’s instinct was right. I am stronger when you
are safe. You will remain in the sietch.”
She started to protest, swallowed it.
“Sihaya,” Paul said, using his intimate name for her. He whirled away to the
right, met Gurney’s glaring eyes.
The interchange between Paul and the older Fremen had passed as though in a
cloud around Gurney since Paul’s reference to his mother.
“Your mother,” Gurney said.
“Idaho saved us the night of the raid,” Paul said, distracted by the parting
with Chani. “Right now we’ve –”
“What of Duncan Idaho, m’Lord?” Gurney asked.
“He’s dead — buying us a bit of time to escape.”
The she-?witch alive! Gurney thought. The one I swore vengeance against,
alive! And it’s obvious Duke Paul doesn’t know what manner of creature gave him
birth. The evil one! Betrayed his own father to the Harkonnens!
Paul pressed past him, jumped up to the ledge. He glanced back, noted that
the wounded and dead had been removed, and he thought bitterly that here was
another chapter in the legend of Paul Muad’Dib. I didn’t even draw my knife, but
it’ll be said of this day that I slew twenty Sardaukar by my own hand.
Gurney followed with Stilgar, stepping on ground that he did not even feel.
The cavern with its yellow light of glowglobes was forced out of his thoughts by
rage. The she-?witch alive while those she betrayed are bones in lonesome graves.
I must contrive it that Paul learns the truth about her before I slay her.
= = = = = =
How often it is that the angry man rages denial of what his inner self is
telling him.
-“The Collected Sayings of Muad’Dib” by the Princess Irulan
The crowd in the cavern assembly chamber radiated that pack feeling Jessica
had sensed the day Paul killed Jamis. There was murmuring nervousness in the
voices. Little cliques gathered like knots among the robes.
Jessica tucked a message cylinder beneath her robe as she emerged to the
ledge from Paul’s private quarters. She felt rested after the long journey up
from the south, but still rankled that Paul would not yet permit them to use the
captured ornithopters.
“We do not have full control of the air,” he had said. “And we must not
become dependent upon offworld fuel. Both fuel and aircraft must be gathered and
saved for the day of maximum effort.”
Paul stood with a group of the younger men near the ledge. The pale light of
glowglobes gave the scene a tinge of unreality. It was like a tableau, but with
the added dimension of warren smells, the whispers, the sounds of shuffling
feet.
She studied her son, wondering why he had not yet trotted out his surprise -
- Gurney Halleck. Thought of Gurney disturbed her with its memories of an easier
past — days of love and beauty with Paul’s father.
Stilgar waited with a small group of his own at the other end of the ledge.
There was a feeling of inevitable dignity about him, the way he stood without
talking.
We must not lose that man, Jessica thought. Paul’s plan must work. Anything
else would be highest tragedy.
She strode down the ledge, passing Stilgar without a glance, stepped down
into the crowd. A way was made for her as she headed toward Paul. And silence
followed her.
She knew the meaning of the silence — the unspoken questions of the people,
awe of the Reverend Mother.
The young men drew back from Paul as she came up to him, and she found
herself momentarily dismayed by the new deference they paid him. “All men
beneath your position covet your station,” went the Bene Gesserit axiom. But she
found no covetousness in these faces. They were held at a distance by the
religious ferment around Paul’s leadership. And she recalled another Bene
Gesserit saying: “Prophets have a way of dying by violence.”
Paul looked at her.
“It’s time,” she said, and passed the message cylinder to him.
One of Paul’s companions, bolder than the others, glanced across at Stilgar,
said: “Are you going to call him out, Muad’Dib? Now’s the time for sure. They’ll
think you a coward if you –”
“Who dares call me coward?” Paul demanded. His hand flashed to his crysknife
hilt.
Bated silence came over the group, spreading out into the crowd.
“There’s work to do,” Paul said as the man drew back from him. Paul turned
away, shouldered through the crowd to the ledge, leaped lightly up to it and
faced the people.
“Do it!” someone shrieked.
Murmurs and whispers arose behind the shriek.
Paul waited for silence. It came slowly amidst scattered shufflings and
coughs. When it was quiet in the cavern, Paul lifted his chin, spoke in a voice
that carried to the farthest corners.
“You are tired of waiting,” Paul said.
Again, he waited while the cries of response died out.
Indeed, they are tired of waiting, Paul thought. He hefted the message
cylinder, thinking of what it contained. His mother had showed it to him,
explaining how it had been taken from a Harkonnen courier.
The message was explicit: Rabban was being abandoned to his own resources
here on Arrakis! He could not call for help or reinforcements!
Again, Paul raised his voice: “You think it’s time I called out Stilgar and
changed the leadership of the troops!” Before they could respond, Paul hurled
his voice at them in anger: “Do you think the Lisan al-?Gaib that stupid?”
There was stunned silence.
He’s accepting the religious mantle, Jessica thought. He must not do it!
“It’s the way!” someone shouted.
Paul spoke dryly, probing the emotional undercurrents. “Ways change.”
An angry voice lifted from a corner of the cavern: “We’ll say what’s to
change!”
There were scattered shouts of agreement through the throng.
“As you wish,” Paul said.
And Jessica heard the subtle intonations as he used the powers of Voice she
had taught him.
“You will say,” he agreed. “But first you will hear my say.”
Stilgar moved along the ledge, his bearded face impassive. “That is the way,
too,” he said. “The voice of any Fremen may be heard in Council. Paul-?Muad’Dib
is a Fremen.”
“The good of the tribe, that is the most important thing, eh?” Paul asked.
Still with that flat-?voiced dignity, Stilgar said: “Thus our steps are
guided.”
“All right,” Paul said. “Then, who rules this troop of our tribe — and who
rules all the tribes and troops through the fighting instructors we’ve trained
in the weirding way?”
Paul waited, looking over the heads of the throng. No answer came.
Presently, he said: “Does Stilgar rule all this? He says himself that he
does not. Do I rule? Even Stilgar does my bidding on occasion, and the sages,
the wisest of the wise, listen to me and honor me in Council.”
There was shuffling silence among the crowd.
“So,” Paul said. “Does my mother rule?” He pointed down to Jessica in her
black robes of office among them. “Stilgar and all the other troop leaders ask
her advice in almost every major decision. You know this. But does a Reverend
Mother walk the sand or lead a razzia against the Harkonnens?”
Frowns creased the foreheads of those Paul could see, but still there were
angry murmurs.
This is a dangerous way to do it, Jessica thought, but she remembered the
message cylinder and what it implied. And she saw Paul’s intent: Go right to the
depth of their uncertainty, dispose of that, and all the rest must follow.
“No man recognizes leadership without the challenge and the combat, eh?”
Paul asked.
“That’s the way!” someone shouted.
“What’s our goal?” Paul asked. “To unseat Rabban, the Harkonnen beast, and
remake our world into a place where we may raise our families in happiness
amidst an abundance of water — is this our goal?”
“Hard tasks need hard ways,” someone shouted.
“Do you smash your knife before a battle?” Paul demanded. “I say this as
fact, not meaning it as boast or challenge: there isn’t a man here, Stilgar
included, who could stand against me in single combat. This is Stilgar’s own
admission. He knows it, so do you all.”
Again, the angry mutters lifted from the crowd.
“Many of you have been with me on the practice floor,” Paul said. “You know
this isn’t idle boast. I say it because it’s fact known to us all, and I’d be
foolish not to see it for myself. I began training in these ways earlier than
you did and my teachers were tougher than any you’ve ever seen. How else do you
think I bested Jamis at an age when your boys are still fighting only mock
battles?”
He’s using the Voice well, Jessica thought, but that’s not enough with these
people. They’ve good insulation against vocal control. He must catch them also
with logic.
“So,” Paul said, “we come to this.” He lifted the message cylinder, removed
its scrap of tape. “This was taken from a Harkonnen courier. Its authenticity is
beyond question. It is addressed to Rabban. It tells him that his request for
new troops is denied, that his spice harvest is far below quota, that he must
wring more spice from Arrakis with the people he has.“
Stilgar moved up beside Paul.
”How many of you see what this means?“ Paul asked. ”Stilgar saw it
immediately.“
”They’re cut off!“ someone shouted.
Paul pushed message and cylinder into his sash. From his neck he took a
braided shigawire cord and removed a ring from the cord, holding the ring aloft.
”This was my father’s ducal signet,“ he said. ”I swore never to wear it
again until I was ready to lead my troops over all of Arrakis and claim it as my
rightful fief.“ He put the ring on his finger, clenched his fist.
Utter stillness gripped the cavern.
”Who rules here?“ Paul asked. He raised his fist. ”I rule here! I rule on
every square inch of Arrakis! This is my ducal fief whether the Emperor says yea
or nay! He gave it to my father and it comes to me through my father!“
Paul lifted himself onto his toes, settled back to his heels. He studied the
crowd, feeling their temper.
Almost, he thought.
”There are men here who will hold positions of importance on Arrakis when I
claim those Imperial rights which are mine,“ Paul said. ”Stilgar is one of those
men. Not because I wish to bribe him! Not out of gratitude, though I’m one of
many here who owe him life for life. No! But because he’s wise and strong.
Because he governs this troop by his own intelligence and not just by rules. Do
you think me stupid? Do you think I’ll cut off my right arm and leave it bloody
on the floor of this cavern just to provide you with a circus?“
Paul swept a hard gaze across the throng. ”Who is there here to say I’m not
the rightful ruler on Arrakis? Must I prove it by leaving every Fremen tribe in
the erg without a leader?“
Beside Paul, Stilgar stirred, looked at him questioningly.
”Will I subtract from our strength when we need it most?“ Paul asked. ”I am
your ruler, and I say to you that it is time we stopped killing off our best men
and started killing our real enemies — the Harkonnens!“
In one blurred motion, Stilgar had his crysknife out and pointed over the
heads of the throng. ”Long live Duke Paul-?Muad’Dib!“ he shouted.
A deafening roar filled the cavern, echoed and re-?echoed. They were cheering
and chanting: ”Ya hya chouhada! Muad’Dib! Muad’Dib! Muad’Dib! Ya hya chouhada!“
Jessica translated it to herself: ”Long live the fighters of Muad’Dib!“ The
scene she and Paul and Stilgar had cooked up between them had worked as they’d
planned.
The tumult died slowly.
When silence was restored, Paul faced Stilgar, said: ”Kneel, Stilgar.“
Stilgar dropped to his knees on the ledge.
”Hand me your crysknife,“ Paul said.