“You would have done the same for me.” And Griffin knew she was right.
“We both could have died,” he said.
“But we didn’t—because we can count on each other.…”
And how true that was. He’d already returned the favor a year after she rescued him, when three drunken fishermen tried to attack her near the docks. She had always been attractive, and the Harkonnen name had meant little to the brutes. Valya could have fended off one of the large men with her speed and surprising strength; three, though, were too formidable. Still, her toughness had bought valuable time, allowing Griffin to sense her peril and rush to her aid. They’d made quick work of the drunken trio, and their father had pressed charges afterward.
Griffin closed his eyes at the recollections. He and his younger sister shared a bond that touched on the paranormal. Whenever either of them felt depressed or had other troubles, they seemed to sense it about each other, even though they were apart.
Now, he missed her terribly.…
Uninterested in the rest of the newly arrived packages, letters, and official documents, Vergyl and Sonia Harkonnen took their younger children, Danvis and Tula, out to comb a rocky beach on the main channel, hoping to gather shellfish. They left Griffin to manage the administration activities of Lankiveil, as they had been doing since he was twenty.
Going to the town’s business offices, Griffin spent the day overseeing the distribution of the newly arrived items, along with cargo that had been delivered to the municipal warehouses. Then he sat in on a meeting where groups of fishermen argued over the rights to certain deepwater coves.
Just another day on Lankiveil … although Griffin wasn’t sure he would ever feel normal again after the recent losses.
When he returned home in the late afternoon, the house smelled of rich herbs, pepper oil, sea salt, and the persistent tang of fish. The cook had made a large kettle of her special chowder, as well as fresh-baked rolls. The smell of the chowder began to whet his appetite, but he would wait to eat until his family returned.
In his home office, Griffin sorted through the correspondence the CT ship had delivered, and much to his delight he found a small package from Valya. He was under the impression that the Sisterhood pressured its members to avoid nostalgia, homesickness, and family ties; her letters home were rare, and very special.
Opening the package, he found that it contained a small, old-style memory crystal of a type used only by antique hologram readers—a model that Valya knew her brother had in his possession. The device was old, something Abulurd Harkonnen had brought to Lankiveil in his initial exile. Eager to hear what she had to say, Griffin rummaged through his shelves and drawers until he found the old reader, inserted the crystal, and played it.
A small, shimmering image of his sister appeared—dark-haired, with intense eyes, generous lips, and an attractiveness that would become outright beauty if she softened with age. When he heard Valya’s voice, it was as if she had never left Lankiveil.
“I have seen Vorian Atreides,” she said without preamble. “The blackheart has returned! Finally, we have a chance for justice.” Valya squared her shoulders, as if she imagined her brother reeling back in astonishment.
“He is not dead, as we thought, but has been in hiding, and now he’s back. Damn him, he looks as young and healthy as ever! Emperor Salvador fawned over him, celebrated his visit—Vorian Atreides!” Disgust flowed from her words. “You should have seen his face, his attitude, as if he owned the Imperium.… By now he must think the Harkonnens have forgotten what he did.”
Griffin felt his own mounting rage. His hands gripped the arms of his chair as he listened.
“We’ve talked about this for years, Brother—dreamed about it—and now we have our chance. Atreides will pay for bringing down our whole family, for making us villagers instead of Emperors and Empresses.”
As he absorbed this, Griffin thought of their conversations about the injustices committed against their House by Vorian Atreides. Together, they had studied the known records of their family’s disgrace, including both the official story from the Annals of the Jihad and the personal pain expressed by Abulurd in his private memoirs. House Harkonnen had been very important in the old days, before and during Serena Butler’s Jihad. With sadness and longing, he and Valya had gazed at images of the old family estate on Salusa Secundus, with its great house, vineyards, olive groves, and hunting grounds.
In one discussion, when they were teenagers, an animated Valya had spoken to her brother as if she faced a full audience. “We have inherent greatness, but it was unfairly taken from us through propaganda and distortions—by Vorian Atreides himself. This fundamental injustice has tarnished House Harkonnen for generations!”
Valya had always been explosively angry about this subject, and Griffin’s own feelings ran close to hers. Both of them had seen friends and relatives die on the cold and dangerous planet where the family had been exiled. Valya had long imagined how different their history might have been, often obsessing over revenge against a man who had vanished eight decades before.…
“I know where he is now, Griffin,” she said from the holo-image. “He met with the Emperor and will be departing again. He lives on a planet called Kepler—I have attached the coordinates to this recording. He has a family there, a happy home.” She paused. “I want you to take it all from him.”
Griffin felt cold inside. He had always hoped that revenge would not be necessary, that Vorian Atreides had died on a distant planet, with no fanfare. But the fact that he was still alive, and his location known, changed the entire equation.
“There is a difference between honor and justice,” she said. “We must have justice first and then begin to rebuild our honor. The festering wound must be lanced and the poison drained, before we can heal. Weller is gone, and you know that our father doesn’t have the backbone to accomplish this. I would do it myself, but my obligations to the Sisterhood prevent me. So … it falls to you to avenge our family honor.”
His brow furrowed as he listened. He wished he could reach out and touch her, talk with her, but her image continued, gathering vehemence, stirring his emotions.
“It’s a simple enough thing. Vorian Atreides will go back to his planet, where he should be an easy target for assassination. He’ll suspect nothing. I have never asked anything of you, never needed to, but you know how important this is to our family, to us … to me. Revenge pays its own debt. Wipe the slate clean, my brother, and then nothing can stop us. We are true Harkonnens—we can accomplish anything.”
Justice … honor … revenge. Griffin knew his life would not be the same after this.
Valya’s face lit up with a genuine smile now. “Avenge our family honor, Griffin. I know I can count on you.”
The hologram winked out.
Griffin sat there, feeling as if he’d been knocked overboard again into frigid northern seas. But she had jumped in after him then.
You would have done the same for me, she’d said.
Sitting alone, he brooded for a long time, thinking rationally of all his commercial obligations, the family business he could not turn over to his father, the administrative details, the careful expenditures from a very limited treasury. He had to help House Harkonnen rebuild after the loss of the major shipment, had to work with the townspeople to recover from the extremely hard winter.
But in the choppy arctic water, Valya had held him up for the few precious minutes he needed. And when she lost consciousness in the freezing sea, when the life ropes were pulling them to safety, he had never let go of her.…
You would have done the same for me.
Now, when his parents and siblings returned to the house, soggy from an unexpected rainstorm, he was startled to realize how many hours had passed. But, logic or no logic, his obligation had been clear to him from the first moment, and he would be leaving soon.
“Have you had dinner yet, Griffin?” his mother called. “We’re about to ladle out
the chowder.”
“I’ll be right there.” Griffin pocketed the hologram crystal and emerged from the office wearing a forced smile. While Danvis and Tula chattered about their day’s adventures, he was caught up in his own thoughts. Griffin barely tasted the savory chowder and finished only half a cup before he blurted out, “I have to leave Lankiveil on an important business trip. I might be gone for some time.”
His little brother and sister peppered him with questions, and although their father was surprised, he didn’t seem overly curious. “What calls you away?”
“It’s something Valya asked me to do.”
Vergyl Harkonnen nodded. “Ah! You never could deny her anything.”
Standing together, the remaining descendants of the original Sorceresses of Rossak still exhibit mental powers, though not enough to generate the waves of telekinetic energy with which they once defeated powerful cymeks. Even so, the Sorceresses often practice defensive maneuvers, primarily to safeguard the Reverend Mother and the integrity of the Sisterhood’s breeding records.
—PREFACE TO THE MYSTERIES OF ROSSAK, SISTERHOOD TEXTBOOK
The Reverend Mother stood at the railing on a cliff-side platform, watching as hundreds of robed Sisters filed along the narrow trail just below, heading for one of the larger cave entrances. It was nearly time for the evening meal, with the sun beginning to set behind the silvery-purple jungle horizon. In the distance, she saw the lights of aircraft above a large clearing favored as a landing zone by people who came to the jungle to harvest pharmaceutical resources unique to Rossak.
Raquella’s stomach had been knotted all day, robbing her of appetite. She could feel the tension like a tangible weight. The memory-lives inside her were disturbed, a cacophony of uneasiness that she couldn’t understand. However, despite her close understanding of her own body and mind, Raquella could not pinpoint the source of her agitation. She knew of no particular threats, no weighty decisions hanging in the balance.…
The surprising return of Vorian Atreides kept turning over in her mind, and she wondered how that story would play out. He was Raquella’s maternal grandfather, the sire of her birth mother, Helmina Berto-Anirul, and the great grandfather of Sister Dorotea. He looked young in comparison with Raquella, though he was almost ninety years older than she—an advantage of the life-extension treatment.
But that was not what bothered her now. Vorian had not been in touch with her since he vanished after the Battle of Corrin, and she had always thought it was for the best. Family relationships had a way of bringing out energy-consuming emotions, and of wasting a great deal of time. She did not have time for such things. Even so, from the audience, she had enjoyed seeing him. Raquella had never denied her own feelings; she just needed to keep them in check, so that she could manage the critically important work of the Sisterhood.
Perhaps the recent arrival of Anna Corrino was making her tense. The Emperor’s sister was no ordinary acolyte. And, though she could not identify the girl down there among the crowd of new recruits, Raquella was confident Sister Valya would watch out for her.
Although accepting the unorthodox trainee into the Sisterhood was a political necessity, Raquella had no inkling of Anna’s basic skills or dedication. She had told Valya in confidence aboard the transport to Rossak, “She will begin as an acolyte, like any other recruit, and there’s a very good possibility she might not advance far in her training. Regardless, the Emperor’s sister has to be protected at all costs. You know that some of the rigorous school exercises pose risks.”
“I’ll watch her,” Valya assured the Reverend Mother. The young woman had seemed preoccupied, deeply disturbed after seeing Vorian Atreides on Salusa Secundus, and it had not been difficult for Raquella to figure out why, considering Vorian’s part in the humiliation of Abulurd Harkonnen. Valya had said nothing of her feelings to the Reverend Mother, and Raquella had not pressed her about it, but it was yet another indication that Valya thought too much about House Harkonnen, when she should be totally dedicated to the Sisterhood.
Even so, Raquella could not help being impressed by Valya’s intelligence, power, and steely determination. Raquella believed that Valya would eventually accomplish great things, and the inner voices agreed, but the young woman had to be reined in, and her tendency toward recklessness controlled.
Raquella hoped the connection with Anna Corrino would provide the proper focus and outlet.
The Reverend Mother had spoken with the Emperor’s sister that morning at her first training session; Anna was angry at being taken from her lavish home, making her sulky and disinterested in the curriculum or in any of the Sisters. Raquella expected that Valya would prove herself up to the challenge of making friends.
It was time now for the early dinner gathering. The Sisters ate each meal at two communal seatings in a deep cave that had once been part of an extensive cliff-side city network, teeming with population, but was now mostly empty.
So much has been lost here, Raquella thought. She didn’t need the overlapping memories to remind her—she had seen Rossak with her own eyes during its glory days.
However, this was a time of rebuilding for Rossak, of starting over without forgetting the lessons of the past. The Rossak School needed to draw upon the talents of the remaining Sorceress descendants, before it was too late. Few enough of the telepathic women remained, as Raquella could see by the smattering of white robes in the crowd below, amidst the pale-green robes of acolytes and the black robes of full Sisters.
On the trail below, she spotted Karee Marques, the oldest remaining Sorceress, who as a young woman had been Raquella’s own ward during her work here throughout the Omnius plagues. Sensing the Reverend Mother above, Karee did not enter the dining cave, but climbed the metal staircase to the next level where Raquella stood. Instead of a more traditional robe, Karee wore a white worksuit that she often donned when gathering jungle samples; the collection pouches still hung at her waist, bulging with fungi, variegated leaves, and yellow flowers.
Karee gave a formal, even brusque, greeting, and the edge in her voice told Raquella that something had upset her as well. The old Sorceress regarded her with sharp green eyes, then said without preamble, “You can sense it yourself, can’t you?”
Raquella nodded stiffly. “The tension in the air is pervasive.”
“I was collecting samples in the jungle, pondering important Sisterhood issues, when suddenly my thoughts took over my body. I stopped where I was, frozen on the trail—I had slipped into Mentat mode. I let my mind follow a cascade of consequences, just as I learned in the Mentat School on Lampadas, but could make no projection! I was so disturbed that I rushed to meet the other Sister Mentats to chart our future, as we often do, and we all felt an urgency in the air.”
The Reverend Mother nodded. “A sensation of impending trouble. It has been this way ever since we returned from Salusa Secundus.” In her mind, Raquella could not trace the source.
“As a Sorceress, my psychic abilities make me more sensitive than other people. However, this dangerous tension affects the other seven Sister Mentats, too, and none of them are Sorceresses. It affects you as well.” Karee gazed out at the smoke-tinged sunset, which was splashing colors over the polymerized treetops. “For some time now, we Sister Mentats have been gathering data, running projections. We’ve come to the conclusion that the Sisterhood is going to face a terrible schism that will set Sister against Sister.”
“A schism over what?”
“The same fracture that runs through all of human society: a dispute over the use of technology. I fear that some Sisters may suspect the nature of our breeding database … there are rumors of computers in the Sisterhood.”
Raquella swallowed hard. The voices in her head were very concerned, whispering contradictory advice, but after so many years she had learned to control them to a limited extent, pushing them into the background when she needed to concentrate. “My concern is with improving the breeding stock of humanity, filtering ou
t undesirable traits, making our race strong. The urge to harm other human beings, for example, could be eliminated, resulting in more harmonious societies.”
“Social engineering at its optimum. I straddle the fence, my old friend—as a Sorceress and Mentat who knows about the breeding-record computers. You speak of molding human traits, but who is to determine what is desirable and what is not? That smacks of what machines do. To meddle with human breeding is dangerous.”
Raquella, though, had too much invested in her far-reaching vision, and her other memories had insisted on it. “Not if we do it right. And you are correct—a Mentat cannot make accurate projections with incomplete data. We will have to bring the other Sister Mentats into the secret.”
“Be careful,” Karee said. “If even one of them has Butlerian sympathies…”
“Yes, we must be careful, but if we cannot trust the highest-ranking members of our Sisterhood, what is the future of our project?”
Karee pursed her wrinkled lips. “The situation is complicated. There are many possible futures … many of which could result in disaster. The breeding program is the core of the Sisterhood, a noble cause that gives us purpose. We must not abandon it.”
The tension in the dusk had grown even sharper, gnawing at the back of Raquella’s mind. Her gnarled hands tensed on the rail, and she silently vowed not to lose what she had worked so hard to create.
* * *
DEEP INSIDE THE cliff-side maze of tunnels and caverns, two Sisters shared a private meal of bread, wine, cheese, and jungle fruits. Sister Dorotea had not seen the green-robed young acolyte Ingrid in more than a year, and they were anxious to catch up on their friendship. Since arriving back on Rossak, Dorotea had already returned to her work with Sister Karee down in the jungle research chambers, while Valya introduced Anna Corrino to the daily routine of an acolyte.
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