The Winds of Dune

by Brian Herbert

  “They were my friends, Father,” Paul explained. “They sheltered Bronso and me, kept us safe—and they taught me a great deal.”

  He would never forget his time among the Jongleurs, though he feared he would never see Bronso again.

  Two weeks after they all returned to Caladan, unexpected shiploads of Atreides military forces arrived in the spaceport—the two battalions Leto had dispatched to help House Vernius. The uniformed soldiers marched off the numerous transports, but they did not appear happy to be home, at least not under these circumstances.

  Duncan and Gurney emerged, both looking flustered and angry. Gurney issued his report. “We were ousted from Ix, my Lord. Bronso Vernius evicted us as soon as he returned to the Grand Palais. Gods below, he gave us three hours to pack up and get to a waiting Heighliner!”

  “Three hours! After all we did for House Vernius.” Duncan was incensed and not afraid to show it. “We did our duty, my Lord—exactly as you and Earl Rhombur asked of us. If we hadn’t been there, Bolig Avati would’ve turned the Grand Palais into a factory.”

  “I was afraid Bronso would do something like that, sir,” Paul said to his father. “He blames us.”

  “Misplaced blame, son—and he will realize it in time.”

  The last man to emerge from the military transport ship was not a soldier at all, but a slight-figured, sad-looking man with a thin face, sallow features, and long hair bound in a silver Suk ring. Dr. Wellington Yueh looked out of place, unsure of himself.

  Yueh presented himself to the Duke with a careful bow. He drew a breath, pondered his words, and forged ahead. “Because I could not save Earl Rhombur from his grievous injuries, Bronso has no further need of my services. I am banished from Ix.” Yueh’s graying mustache drooped along the corners of his mouth as he bowed his head and spread his delicate hands. “By any chance . . . does House Atreides have use for a physician of my skills? Perhaps a tutor for the young Master, in matters other than fighting and military strategy?”

  Leto did not take long to consider the man’s offer. Even before Paul’s birth, the Suk doctor had spent years on Caladan helping Prince Rhombur during his recovery, and he had been a wise, diligent, and loyal physician. “I’ve seen your work and valor over the years, Yueh. I know how hard you labored to save and repair Rhombur the first time. You added more than a dozen years onto his life, and because of that, he was able to be a good father to Bronso. The boy doesn’t appreciate that yet, but I hope he will someday. Your loyalty is without question.”

  Jessica looked at Leto, then at the Suk practitioner. “You are welcome here on Caladan, Dr. Yueh. Any wise counsel you can offer Paul would be appreciated. His education on Ix was cut dramatically short, and it’s not likely he’ll go back to finish it.”

  Paul felt a heavy sadness inside and looked up at his parents. “This is a terrible rift between our Great Houses. How long do you think it will last?”

  Leto merely shook his head. “It may never be healed.”

  PART III

  10, 207 AG

  Two months after the end of Muad’Dib’s reign. Regent Alia struggles to cement her control over the Imperium.

  What I write and what I know are not always the same thing. Muad’Dib placed a great responsibility on my shoulders, and I accept it as a duty that is holier and more compelling than anything the Sisterhood demands of me. I will continue to write as the needs of history require. My knowledge of true events, however, remains unchanged.

  —PRINCESS IRULAN, response to Wallach IX demands

  As Jessica finished her lengthy story, the restless but fascinated Ir-ulan began to pace around the garden enclosure. She shook her head, as if to scatter the words that buzzed around her like biting flies. “So, more parts of Paul’s past unfold. He never told me such things, never hinted—”

  Jessica’s throat was scratchy. “You already knew that he kept many things from you. You’ve had to rewrite your stories to incorporate new information. Paul understood exactly what he was doing.” Suddenly leery of being overheard, she spoke quietly in one of the Bene Gesserit languages that no normal spy would ever understand. “Believe me, you do Paul no service by writing this sanitized, glorified version of him. You are sowing a minefield for the future of humanity.”

  Irulan rounded on her, speaking in the same language. “How do you know what he would have wanted? You left Paul and Arrakis, abandoned the Jihad. For most of your son’s rule, during his worst stresses and challenges, you were on Caladan. I may have been his wife in name only, but at least I was at his side.”

  Jessica hesitated, not wanting to reveal all her secrets just yet. “I was still his mother. Even during his rule, Paul . . . trusted me with things he never told you.”

  The two reached a flagstoned contemplation area, where a pool of golden, mutated carp swam beneath a transparent moisture-seal dome. Irulan heaved a long sigh and spoke again in common Galach, not needing to hide her words. “I agree, philosophically, that it’s important for the people to know what you have revealed to me. While the background material doesn’t excuse Bronso’s crimes, at least it explains his bitter grudge against Paul. It exposes his motivation for spreading destructive lies. His hatred is personal, obsessive, irrational.”

  Feeling sad, Jessica said, “You still don’t see. As a Bene Gesserit, you of all people should understand that when one wheel turns, it turns another, and yet another.” The Princess stiffened, looked insulted. While she stared down at the circling koi in the shielded pond, Jessica faced her evenly. “Listen to me, Irulan. You know only part of the story.” Catching her glance, she moved her fingers in an even more secret Bene Gesserit coded language. “Bronso was, and is, doing exactly what Paul wanted.”

  Irulan crossed her arms in a closed, obstinate gesture, and she spoke defiantly out loud, still in Galach. “What Paul wanted? To defame his character? How can that possibly be? Nobody will believe that! Certainly, Alia will never believe it.” Now, her fingers flickered as she added silently, “And she will never let me write what you’re saying. It is ridiculous, and dangerous.”

  “It is indeed dangerous knowledge, Irulan. I realize that. You will have to be cautious—but let me tell you the rest, so that you can decide for yourself.”

  Irulan’s expression became stony, and she erected a wall of denial around herself. Leaving the koi pond behind, she stopped at a doorway that led into cool interior shadows. “I’ll tell you when I’m ready to continue this.”

  The greatest obligation of a mother is to support her children, to show them love and respect, and to accept them. Sometimes this is a most difficult task.

  —LADY JESSICA, Duchess of Caladan

  Stirring up so many memories from her past had exhausted Jessica, and she went to snatch a moment of quiet within the crèche where her grandchildren were held. Harah was still there watching over the infants, just as she had done with little Alia. Stilgar’s wife had stood as a determined wall against all the mutterings and Fremen prejudices about Alia’s strangenesses. Even as the girl matured into a powerful role, first as priestess and then as Regent, Jessica knew that Harah would always have a special place in her daughter’s heart.

  When the priest guards allowed Jessica to enter the lush conservatory, Harah bowed deferentially. Jessica touched the woman’s chin and raised her face, saw the dark hair that swept back like raven’s wings at the sides. “Come now, Harah, we’ve known each other too long for such formalities.”

  Harah stepped back so Jessica could peer down at the two silent and eerily alert babies. “Now would you like to hold your grandchildren?” Her voice held an undertone of disapproval that Jessica had taken so long to come.

  Strangely reticent, Jessica bent down and picked up the girl. Ghanima settled into the crook of her grandmother’s arm as if she belonged there, accepting this new person without fussing or crying. From the basket below, little Leto II watched with clear blue eyes wide open, as though to make sure his twin sister was all right. Giv
en that their father was the Kwisatz Haderach, what kind of children might they grow up to be?

  Alia burst into the crèche room with Duncan Idaho close beside her; she moved with an excitement, a cheerful energy that she had not shown since Jessica’s arrival on Dune. Alia wore a broad smile. “I’d hoped to find you here, Mother. I wanted you to be the first to hear our announcement. Ah—and Harah, too! This is perfect.” Alia folded her fingers around Duncan’s, and the ghola stared with his eerie metal eyes.

  Harah took the baby back from Jessica, replaced her in the small crib. Alia tossed her own coppery hair, making her announcement. “We have seen the need. After so much turmoil, the Imperium needs something to cheer, a pleasant spectacle that can show new hope for the future. Duncan and I have decided to move quickly. We have no doubts.”

  Jessica felt an unexpected knot in her stomach, instinctively wondering what her daughter had decided to do. Why wasn’t the ghola saying anything?

  In a bright voice that sounded like an imitation of joy rather than real happiness, Alia said, “Duncan and I are going to be married. We’re a perfect match, and we love each other in ways that most people cannot understand.”

  Alia was barely sixteen, and Duncan was practically Jessica’s age—the original Duncan at least. But Alia had been born with a panoply of adult memories; inside her mind, the girl had already experienced countless marriages, lifelong happy relationships, as well as those shattered by tragedy and strife.

  And Duncan wasn’t the same Duncan either.

  Jessica tried to find the right thing to say. “This is . . . unexpected. Are you sure you aren’t being too impulsive?”

  Instantly, she regretted her own comment. All decisions didn’t have to be the result of cold calculations—she wasn’t a Mentat! Despite her Bene Gesserit training (and much to the Sisterhood’s dismay), Jessica made decisions with her heart as well as her mind. She had done that when she’d chosen to conceive Paul in the first place. And Alia afterward . . .

  Alia spoke with great surety. “Duncan is the right man, Mother, the man who can help me hold the Imperium together. I hope to have your support.”

  Jessica looked at her daughter. “As your mother, how could I offer anything else?” The smile and the sincerity, though, came much harder. “And who could ask for a braver, more loyal man than Duncan Idaho?”

  The ghola spoke up for the first time, his words and voice sounding so familiar. “I realize this must be strange to you, Lady Jessica. I died for you and for your son. And now I love your daughter, who wasn’t even born before my first life ended.”

  Jessica wondered why it was that she greeted this news with so little enthusiasm. Am I just being selfish? she thought. My Duke loved me, but he never made me his wife. Paul loved Chani, but never made her his wife.

  And now Alia and Duncan. A strange pair, but oddly suited to each other.

  Jessica reached out to place one hand on the ghola’s arm and the other on Alia’s. “Of course you have my blessing.”

  “Oh, child, I do hope you will be happy,” Harah said. “You need strength. And if this man is the one to give it to you, then you two must be wed.”

  “Together, we will rule the Imperium and keep it strong.” Alia glanced down at the babies. “Until Leto and Ghanima come of age, of course.”

  Bless the Maker and His water. Bless the coming and going of Him. May His passage cleanse the world. May He keep the world for His people.

  —Fremen water ceremony

  The excavated cave was a temporary camp, not an actual sietch, just a known stopping place for Fremen traveling across the desert. Located in Plaster Basin, the cave was far from the cultural amenities of Arrakeen: the shops, restaurants, and spaceport. And far from all the people.

  Stilgar had chosen the perfect place for Chani’s water ceremony, and Jessica approved of it. While Alia was beginning her wedding preparations, as well as responding to a new inflammatory document that Bronso of Ix had released, Jessica and the Naib had slipped away into the desert, to be among the Fremen again.

  After so many years, Jessica knew she should feel like a stranger among these people, an interloper, but knew she belonged entirely. Stilgar had summoned the appropriate Fremen, arranged the ceremony, and Jessica felt a deep sense of reverence here, an intimacy. Yes, after the circus of Paul’s funeral, this was how such things should be, much more like the private remembrance she had given Paul out at Sietch Tabr. She was sure Chani would have approved of this. And Alia’s other ceremony for Chani, using ordinary water, was irrelevant to the true mourners.

  The few habitable grottoes that remained in the Plaster Basin caves had once been part of a much larger complex used as a biological test area by Kynes-the-Umma, also known as Pardot Kynes, the father of Liet and grandfather of Chani. Until recent years, the elder Kynes was barely known in the Imperium, but because of the effect he had on Arrakis, his name was spoken of everywhere.

  Pardot had been the instigator of terraforming activities on Dune, and a truly visionary man. Almost half a century ago, the elder Kynes had begun his work using materials gleaned from abandoned Imperial research stations. He had applied knowledge learned from formal Imperial ecological training as well as experiences gleaned from surviving on numerous harsh planets. Here, inside the deep caves of Plaster Basin, Pardot had created an underground oasis to prove that a garden could thrive on Dune. But over the years too much moisture had weakened the cave walls, causing a structural collapse that destroyed his oasis and killed the man.

  But not his dreams. Never his dreams.

  Dedicated followers of Kynes’s vision had returned here to reestablish a few plantings of saguaro, mesquite, low prickly pear cactus, and even two water-greedy dwarf portyguls. Yes, Jessica thought, a fitting place to honor Chani in the Fremen way. It was not a spectacle for strangers.

  Stilgar had learned a great deal about politics and human nature in the years since he began following Muad’Dib. Here, though, he was about to do something without politics for the young female member of his troop who had been his niece, and so much more to so many people.

  Taking care not to spill a drop, Jessica and the Naib emptied the literjons of water that he had carefully smuggled out of the Citadel of Muad’Dib over the course of several weeks. They poured the liquid into a large communal basin that rested on a shelf of rock. Moisture seals had been closed across the cave entrance, so that the men and women could remove their noseplugs and face masks. The scent of water in the air made Jessica’s blood flow faster.

  As if she were a priestess, as Alia had become, Jessica turned to look upon the hundred gathered Fremen. Stilgar stood beside her like a pillar, gruff and respectful. Jessica had helped him choose each participant after careful consideration, men and women from Sietch Tabr who had traveled with Chani and Paul during the guerrilla struggles against Beast Rabban and the Harkonnens. Though years had passed, Jessica knew every face and name. Surprisingly, even Harah was here—Stilgar’s wife, Chani’s friend. But they had to keep this ceremony a secret from Alia.

  These Fremen respected Chani as a Fremen, not just because of her connection to Paul. Jessica knew they were not religious sycophants, not self-important members of the Qizarate. They represented many tribes, and would take this memory back with them, and spread it among their people.

  When all the observers stood silent, their voices quelled in pregnant anticipation, Stilgar deferred and Jessica began to speak. “We have gathered for Chani, beloved daughter of Liet, granddaughter of Kynes-the-Umma, and mother of Muad’Dib’s children.”

  A murmur passed like a sunset breeze through the people. Jessica looked out and saw Harah’s eyes shining, her earnest face bobbing up and down as she nodded.

  Stilgar touched the edge of the basin, ran his finger along the ornate bas-relief designs. With a quick twist, he unsealed the access lid and removed it, so that the precious liquid could be dispensed. “The flesh belongs to the individual, but the water belongs to the t
ribe, and to the dreams of the tribe. Thus Chani returns her water to us.”

  “‘The flesh belongs to the individual, but the water belongs to the tribe.’ ” The gathered witnesses repeated the phrase, intoning it like a prayer. Here in the confined cave chamber, Jessica could smell the heady overlapping mixture of moist odors that combined dust, dried sweat, and melange.

  When Stilgar fell silent, she continued. “Though the Fremen have sipped and collected and stolen every drop for the green transformation of Arrakis, this place in Plaster Basin has a special significance to us all. These plantings are symbols, reminders of what Chani’s grandfather and father envisioned for Dune. We now use Chani’s water to help them thrive. Green is the color of mourning, but here it is also the color of hope.”

  Stilgar withdrew a demi-cup of water from the basin and walked to the nearest mesquite, whose warm multichord scent lifted like a whisper from its leaves and bark. “Chani was my friend. She was a member of my Fremen troop, a fighter, a boon companion. She was with me when we found a boy and his mother lost in the desert. She did not know it then, but she had already lost her father Liet to the Harkonnens . . . and yet she found her true love.” He poured the water at the base of the plant, letting it soak into the thirsty roots. “The strength of a woman can be boundless. In this manner, the sacred ruh-spirit of Chani, beloved companion of Paul-Muad ’Dib, remains an eternal part of Dune.”