Dune

What is the most immediate danger to my stewardship? I will tell you. It is a true visionary, a person who has stood in the presence of God with the full knowledge of where he stands. Visionary ecstasy releases energies which are like the energies of sex—uncaring for anything except creation. One act of creation can be much like another. Everything depends upon the vision.

—THE STOLEN JOURNALS

Leto lay without his cart on the high, sheltered balcony of his Little Citadel tower, subduing a fretfulness which he knew came from the necessary delays putting off the date of his wedding to Hwi Noree. He stared toward the southwest. Somewhere off there beyond the darkening horizon, the Duncan, Siona and their companions had been six days in Tuono Village.

The delays are my own fault, Leto thought. I am the one who changed the place for the wedding, making it necessary for poor Moneo to revise all of his preparations.

And now, of course, there was the matter of Malky.

None of these necessities could be explained to Moneo, who could be heard stirring about within the central chamber of the aerie, worrying about his absence from the command post where he directed the festive preparations. Moneo was such a worrier!

Leto looked toward the setting sun. It floated low to the horizon, faded a dim orange by a recent storm. Rain crouched low in the clouds to the south beyond the Sareer now. In a prolonged silence, Leto had watched the rain there for a time which had stretched out with no beginning or end. The clouds had grown out of a hard gray sky, rain walking in visible lines. He had felt himself clothed in memories that came unbidden. The mood was hard to shake off and, without even thinking, he muttered the remembered lines of an ancient verse.

“Did you speak, Lord?” Moneo’s voice came from close beside Leto. By merely turning his eyes, Leto could see the faithful majordomo standing attentively waiting.

Leto translated into Galach as he quoted: “The nightingale nests in the plum tree, but what will she do with the wind?”

“Is that a question, Lord?”

“An old question. The answer is simple. Let the nightingale keep to her flowers.”

“I don’t understand, Lord.”

“Stop mouthing the obvious, Moneo. It disturbs me when you do that.”

“Forgive me, Lord.”

“What else can I do?” Leto studied Moneo’s downcast features. “You and I, Moneo, whatever else we do, we provide good theater.”

Moneo peered at Leto’s face. “Lord?”

“The rites of the religious festival of Bacchus were the seeds of Greek theater, Moneo. Religion often leads to theater. They will have fine theater out of us.” Once more, Leto turned and looked at the southwest horizon.

There was a wind there now piling up the clouds. Leto thought he could hear driven sand blustering along the dunes, but there was only resonant quiet in the tower aerie, a quiet with the faintest of wind hiss behind it.

“The clouds,” he whispered. “I would take a cup of moonlight once more, an ancient sea barge at my feet, thin clouds clinging to my darkling sky, the blue-gray cloak around my shoulders and horses neighing nearby.”

“My Lord is troubled,” Moneo said. The compassion in his voice wrenched at Leto.

“The bright shadows of my pasts,” Leto said. “They never leave me in peace. I listened for a soothing sound, the bell of a country town at nightfall, and it told me only that I am the sound and soul of this place.”

As he spoke, darkness enclosed the tower. Automatic lights came on around them. Leto kept his attention directed outward where a thin melon slice of First Moon drifted above the clouds with orange planet-light revealing the satellite’s full circle.

“Lord, why have we come out here?” Moneo asked. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“I wanted the benefit of your surprise,” Leto said. “A Guild lighter will land beside us out here soon. My Fish Speakers bring Malky to me.”

Moneo inhaled a quick breath and held it a moment before exhaling. “Hwi’s . . . uncle? That Malky?”

“You are surprised that you had no warning of this,” Leto said.

Moneo felt a chill all through his body. “Lord, when you wish to keep things secret from . . .”

“Moneo?” Leto spoke in a softly persuasive tone. “I know that Malky offered you greater temptations than any other . . .”

“Lord! I never . . .”

“I know that, Moneo.” Still in that soft tone. “But surprise has shocked your memories alive. You are armed for anything I may require of you.”

“What . . . what does my Lord . . .”

“Perhaps we will have to dispose of Malky. He is a problem.”

“Me? You want me to . . .”

“Perhaps.”

Moneo swallowed, then: “The Reverend Mother . . .”

“Anteac is dead. She served me well, but she is dead. There was extreme violence when my Fish Speakers attacked the . . . place where Malky lay hidden.”

“We are better off without Anteac,” Moneo said.

“I appreciate your distrust of the Bene Gesserit, but I would that Anteac had left us in another way. She was faithful to us, Moneo.”

“A Reverend Mother was . . .”

“Both the Bene Tleilax and the Guild wanted Malky’s secret,” Leto said. “When they saw us move against the Ixians, they struck ahead of my Fish Speakers. Anteac . . . well, she could only delay them a bit, but it was enough. My Fish Speakers invested the place . . .”

“Malky’s secret, Lord?”

“When a thing vanishes,” Leto said, “that is as much of a message as when a thing suddenly appears. The empty spaces are always worthy of our study.”

“What does my Lord mean, empty . . .”

“Malky did not die! Certainly I would have known that. Where did he go when he vanished?”

“Vanished . . . from you, Lord? Do you mean that the Ixians . . .”

“They have improved upon a device they gave me long ago. They improved it slowly and subtly, hidden shells within hidden shells, but I noted the shadows. I was surprised. I was pleased.”

Moneo thought about this. A device which concealed . . . Ahhhh! The God Emperor had mentioned a thing on several occasions, a way of concealing the thoughts he recorded. Moneo spoke:

“And Malky brings the secret of . . .”

“Oh, yes! But that is not Malky’s real secret. He holds another thing in his bosom which he does not think that I suspect.”

“Another . . . but, Lord, if they can hide even from you . . .”

“Many can do that now, Moneo. They scattered when my Fish Speakers attacked. The secret of the Ixian device is spread far and wide.”

Moneo’s eyes went wide with alarm. “Lord, if anyone . . .”

“If they learn to be clever, they will leave no tracks,” Leto said. “Tell me, Moneo, what does Nayla say about the Duncan? Does she resent reporting directly to you?”

“Whatever my Lord commands . . .” Moneo cleared his throat. He could not fathom why his God Emperor spoke of hidden tracks, the Duncan and Nayla in the same breath.

“Yes, of course,” Leto said. “Whatever I command, Nayla obeys. And what does she say of the Duncan?”

“He has not tried to breed with Siona, if that is my Lord’s . . .”

“But what does he do with my puppet Naib, Garun, and the other Museum Fremen?”

“He speaks to them of the old ways, of the wars against the Harkonnens, of the first Atreides here on Arrakis.”

“On Dune!”

“Dune, yes.”

“It’s because there’s no more Dune that there are no more Fremen,” Leto said. “Have you conveyed my message to Nayla?”

“Lord, why do you add to your peril?”

“Did you convey my message?”

“The messenger has been sent to Tuono, but I could still call her back.”

“You will not call her back!”

“But, Lord . . .”

“What will she say to Nayla?”

“That . . . that it is your command for Nayla to continue in absolute and unquestioning obedience of my daughter except insofar . . . Lord! This is dangerous!”

“Dangerous? Nayla is a Fish Speaker. She will obey me.”

“But Siona . . . Lord, I fear that my daughter does not serve you with all of her heart. And Nayla is . . .”

“Nayla must not deviate.”

“Lord, let us hold your wedding in some other place.”

“No!”

“Lord, I know that your vision has revealed . . .”

“The Golden Path endures, Moneo. You know that as well as I.”

Moneo sighed. “Infinity is yours, Lord. I do not question the . . .” He broke off as a monstrous shuddering roar shook the tower, louder and louder.

Both of them turned toward the sound—a descending plume of blue-orange light filled with swirling shockwaves came down to the desert less than a kilometer away to the south.

“Ahhh, my guest arrives,” Leto said. “I will send you down on my cart, Moneo. Bring only Malky back with you. Tell the Guildsmen this has earned my forgiveness, then send them away.”

“Your for . . . yes, Lord. But if they have the secret of . . .”

“They serve my purpose, Moneo. You must do the same. Bring Malky to me.”

Obediently, Moneo went to the cart which lay in shadows at the far side of the aerie chamber. He clambered on it, watched a mouth of night appear in the Wall. A landing-lip extruded into that night. The cart drifted outward, feather-light, and floated at an angle to the sand beside a Guild lighter which stood upright like a distorted miniature of the Little Citadel’s tower.

Leto watched from the balcony, his front segments lifted slightly to provide him a better viewing angle. His acute eyesight identified the white movement of Moneo standing on the cart in the moonlight. Long-legged Guild servitors came out with a litter which they slid onto the cart, standing there a moment in conversation with Moneo. When they left, Leto closed the cart’s bubble cover and saw moonlight reflected from it. At his beckoning thought, the cart and its burden returned to the landing-lip. The Guild lighter lifted in its noisy rumbling while Leto was bringing the cart into the chamber’s lights, closing the entrance behind it. Leto opened the bubble cover. Sand grated beneath him as he rolled to the litter and lifted his front segments to peer in at Malky who lay as though sleeping, lashed into the litter by broad gray elastic bindings. The man’s face was ashen under dark gray hair.

How he has aged, Leto thought.

Moneo stepped down off the cart and looked back at the litter’s occupant. “He is injured, Lord. They want to send a medical . . .”

“They wanted to send a spy.”

Leto studied Malky—the dark wrinkled skin, the sunken cheeks, that sharp nose at such contrast with the rounded oval of his face. The heavy eyebrows had turned almost white. There but for a lifetime of testosterone . . . yes.

Malky’s eyes opened. Such a shock to find evil in those doe-like brown eyes! A smile twitched Malky’s mouth.

“Lord Leto.” Malky’s voice was little more than a husky whisper. His eyes turned right, focusing on the majordomo. “And Moneo. Forgive me for not rising to the occasion.”

“Are you in pain?” Leto asked.

“Sometimes.” Malky’s eyes moved to study his surroundings. “Where are the houris?”

“I’m afraid I must deny you that pleasure, Malky.”

“Just as well,” Malky husked. “I don’t really feel up to their demands. Those were not houris you sent after me, Leto.”

“They were professional in their obedience to me,” Leto said.

“They were bloody hunters!”

“Anteac was the hunter. My Fish Speakers were merely the clean-up crew.”

Moneo shifted his attention from one speaker to the other, back and forth. There were disturbing undertones in this conversation. Despite the huskiness, Malky sounded almost flippant . . . but then he had always been that way. A dangerous man!

Leto said: “Just before your arrival, Moneo and I were discussing Infinity.”

“Poor Moneo,” Malky said.

Leto smiled. “Do you remember, Malky? You once asked me to demonstrate Infinity.”

“You said no Infinity exists to be demonstrated.” Malky swept his gaze toward Moneo. “Leto likes to play with paradox. He knows all the tricks of language that have ever been discovered.”

Moneo put down a surge of anger. He felt excluded from this conversation, an object of amusement by two superior beings. Malky and the God Emperor were almost like two old friends reliving the pleasures of a mutual past.

“Moneo accuses me of being the sole possessor of Infinity,” Leto said. “He refuses to believe that he has just as much of Infinity as I have.”

Malky stared up at Leto. “You see, Moneo? You see how tricky he is with words?”

“Tell me about your niece, Hwi Noree,” Leto said.

“Is it true, Leto, what they say? That you are going to wed the gentle Hwi?”

“It is true.”

Malky chuckled, then grimaced with pain. “They did terrible damage to me, Leto,” he whispered, then: “Tell me, old worm . . .”

Moneo gasped.

Malky took a moment to recover from pain, then: “Tell me, old worm, is there a monster penis hidden in that monster body of yours? What a shock for the gentle Hwi!”

“I told you the truth about that long ago,” Leto said.

“Nobody tells the truth,” Malky husked.

“You often told me the truth,” Leto said. “Even when you didn’t know it.”

“That’s because you’re cleverer than the rest of us.”

“Will you tell me about Hwi?”

“I think you already know it.”

“I want to hear it from you,” Leto said. “Did you get help from the Tleilaxu?”

“They gave us knowledge, nothing more. Everything else we did for ourselves.”

“I thought it was not the Tleilaxu’s doing.”

Moneo could no longer contain his curiosity. “Lord, what is this of Hwi and Tleilaxu? Why do you . . .”

“Here there, old friend Moneo,” Malky said, rolling his gaze toward the majordomo. “Don’t you know what he . . .”

“I was never your friend!” Moneo snapped.

“Companion among the houris then,” Malky said.

“Lord,” Moneo said, turning toward Leto, “why do you speak of . . .”

“Shhh, Moneo,” Leto said. “We are tiring your old companion and I have things to learn from him yet.”

“Did you ever wonder, Leto,” Malky asked, “why Moneo never tried to take the whole shebang away from you?”

“The what?” Moneo demanded.

“Another of Leto’s old words,” Malky said. “She and bang—shebang. It’s perfect. Why don’t you rename your Empire, Leto? The Grand Shebang!”

Leto raised a hand to silence Moneo. “Will you tell me, Malky? About Hwi?”

“Just a few tiny cells from my body,” Malky said. “Then the carefully nurtured growth and education—everything an exact opposite to your old friend Malky. We did it all in the no-room where you cannot see!”

“But I notice when something vanishes,” Leto said.

“No-room?” Moneo asked, then as the import of Malky’s words sank home: “You? You and Hwi . . .”

“That is the shape I saw in the shadows,” Leto said.

Moneo looked full at Leto’s face. “Lord, I will call off the wedding. I will say . . .”

“You will do nothing of the kind!”

“But Lord, if she and Malky are . . .”

“Moneo,” Malky husked. “Your Lord commands and you must obey!”

That mocking tone! Moneo glared at Malky.

“The exact opposite of Malky,” Leto said. “Didn’t you hear him?”

“What could be better?” Malky asked.

“But surely, Lord, if you now know . . .”

“Moneo,” Leto said, “you are beginning to disturb me.”

Moneo fell into abashed silence.

Leto said: “That’s better. You know, Moneo, once tens of thousands of years ago when I was another person, I made a mistake.”

“You, a mistake?” Malky mocked.

Leto merely smiled. “My mistake was compounded by the beautiful way in which I expressed it.”

“Tricks with words,” Malky taunted.

“Indeed! This is what I said: ‘The present is distraction; the future a dream; only memory can unlock the meaning of life.’ Aren’t those beautiful words, Malky?”

“Exquisite, old worm.”

Moneo put a hand over his mouth.

“But my words were a foolish lie,” Leto said. “I knew it at the time, but I was infatuated with the beautiful words. No—memory unlocks no meanings. Without anguish of the spirit, which is a wordless experience, there are no meanings anywhere.”

“I fail to see the meaning of the anguish caused me by your bloody Fish Speakers,” Malky said.

“You’re suffering no anguish,” Leto said.

“If you were in this body, you’d . . .”

“That’s just physical pain,” Leto said. “It will end soon.”

“Then when will I know the anguish?” Malky asked.

“Perhaps later.”

Leto flexed his front segments away from Malky to face Moneo. “Do you really serve the Golden Path, Moneo?”

“Ahhh, the Golden Path,” Malky taunted.

“You know I do, Lord,” Moneo said.

“Then you must promise me,” Leto said, “that what you have learned here must never pass your lips. Not by word or sign can you reveal it.”

“I promise, Lord.”

“He promises, Lord,” Malky sneered.

One of Leto’s tiny hands gestured at Malky, who lay staring up at the blunt profile of a face within its gray cowl. “For reasons of old admiration and . . . many other reasons, I cannot kill Malky. I cannot even ask it of you . . . yet he must be eliminated.”

“Ohhh, how clever you are!” Malky said.

“Lord, if you will wait at the other end of the chamber,” Moneo said. “Perhaps when you return Malky no longer will be a problem.”

“He’s going to do it,” Malky husked. “Gods below! He’s going to do it.”

Leto squirmed away and went to the shadowed limit of the chamber, keeping his attention on the faint arc of a line which would become an opening into the night if he merely converted the wish into a thought-of-command. What a long drop that would be out there—just roll off the landing-lip. He doubted that even his body would survive it. But there was no water in the sand beneath his tower and he could feel the Golden Path winking in and out of existence merely because he allowed himself to think of such an end.

“Leto!” Malky called from behind him.

Leto heard the litter grating on the wind-scattered sand which peppered the floor of his aerie.

Once more, Malky called: “Leto, you are the best! There’s no evil in this universe which can surpass . . .”

A sodden thump shut off Malky’s voice. A blow to the throat, Leto thought. Yes, Moneo knows that one. There came the sound of the balcony’s transparent shield sliding open, the rasping of the litter on the rail, then silence.

Moneo will have to bury the body in the sand, Leto thought. There is as yet no worm to come and devour the evidence. Leto turned then and looked across the chamber. Moneo stood leaning over the railing, peering down . . . down . . . down . . .

I cannot pray for you, Malky, nor for you, Moneo, Leto thought. I may be the only religious consciousness in the Empire because I am truly alone . . . so I cannot pray.