The Winds of Dune

by Brian Herbert

  It made her think of the rot of a decaying government. . . .

  One of the Fremen women, new to the royal court, had brought a miniature vulture with her to the reception hall—and it perched on her shoulder, where it appeared to be asleep. In a tailored robe that could not hide her heavyset body, the woman drank several tankards of spice beer and cackled too much. Irulan would have found her irritating under any circumstances, and this macabre occasion made it even worse. Alia, though, seemed to like her. The entire celebratory affair was in very bad taste, a display of crudeness that never would have been permitted in her father’s regime.

  Had it really been necessary to overthrow the Corrino dynasty and replace it with a Fremen Imperium? Irulan had her doubts. It all seemed like a massive overreaction to the corruptions under Corrino rule.

  The woman with the vulture, noticing Irulan’s attention, turned to stare at her. The little carrion bird on her shoulder focused its tiny black eyes in the same direction, as if it considered Irulan prey. The Princess responded with a casual smile and wandered away, trying to disappear among people she did not know.

  She filed details in her mind, already thinking of how she would portray the day’s events in her ongoing, obligatory chronicle. Undoubtedly, Alia would insist that Irulan launch a new and vigorous campaign to refute Bronso’s manifestoes, although many additional critical voices had begun to appear on planets scattered around the Imperium. On two isolated worlds, men looking like Bronso and claiming to be him had made very public appearances, denouncing the excesses of the Regency. . . . Perhaps they were Face Dancers, or just brave individuals. Rumors had continued to circulate that Paul was not really dead; no doubt, dissidents would make the same unfounded claims about Bronso of Ix. His legacy, or notoriety, would continue long after his death.

  Yes, Alia would insist that Irulan write her slanted accounts, but the Princess had decided to demand a concession. Since the Regent had refused Jessica’s request to take the twins back to Caladan, Irulan must become their strong foundation here. She would insist on spending more time with little Leto and Ghanima. Raising Paul’s children would be her most important mission.

  After Jessica departed, surely she would want familial reports of the twins’ progress, objective descriptions of what was happening in Arrakeen. Perhaps the relationship of the two women could be strengthened, restoring what had once been a clear friendship. Cut off from her family, husbandless and surrounded by people who could easily turn into enemies, Irulan longed for someone she could trust . . . even if only through correspondence. Maybe that person was the Lady Jessica.

  But Jessica was Alia’s mother, too—not just Paul’s. Irulan would have to walk a fine line.

  On the Citadel grounds, Irulan worked her way across a square crowded with officials, priests, sycophants, merchants, uncomfortable-looking Fremen, scarred veterans from the Jihad flaunting their medals, and a few wide-eyed townspeople who did not appear to belong there at all. She looked for Jessica, but one servant informed her, “The Mother of Muad’Dib has retired to her quarters, to celebrate privately.”

  Irulan decided to slip away as well, to find much-needed solitude and quiet in her chambers, with the security seals engaged.

  Before she could leave, a man appeared in front of her, blocking her passage. He had brightly colored clothing, a high collar, jewels on his wrists, and complex folds in his voluminous robe. “Majesty,” he said in a low voice, “please accept this gift in honor of lost glory and our hopes for the future.”

  From the folds of fabric he produced a message cube, which he placed into her hands, activating it as he did so. Then he slipped back into the crowd.

  Immediately, words began flowing across the face of the cube, from her father. She memorized them as quickly as they appeared and vanished, synchronized with her eye movements.

  “It is time to make our move, my Daughter. Muad’Dib is gone, his heirs are mere infants, and the Regency flounders. At long last, House Corrino is poised to retake the Lion Throne, and we demand your assistance.

  “Never forget that you are a Corrino. We are counting on you.”

  Stunned, she watched the words dissolve. The message cube crumbled into brittle debris in her hand. Paul was gone now, and what obligations did she truly have toward Alia—who had thrown her into a death cell? But the Corrinos could not lay sole claim to Irulan’s loyalty either.

  Irulan decided she would have to keep her options open.

  She brushed the remnants of the message from her palm and watched the lightweight fragments flutter to the polished floor of the reception hall, where they scattered in the barely noticeable air currents.

  In each life, there comes a time when it is time. The critical questions are: Do we recognize the moment, and are we prepared to act on it?

  —Conversations with Muad’Dib by the PRINCESS IRULAN

  The whisper of Caladan seas called to her, and Lady Jessica knew it was finally time to go home. When she informed Gurney that she intended to leave Dune in a matter of days, he could not have agreed more heartily.

  That morning, she had informed Alia of her departure, and though the Regent encouraged her to stay longer, there was little sincerity in her voice. Jessica took the opportunity to extract a promise from her that Caladan would be permanently removed from the route of the pilgrimage and unsullied by angry veterans of the Jihad. In that, at least, she took considerable satisfaction.

  Immediately after hearing her mother’s announcement, Alia departed on an unscheduled week-long desert retreat with her priests and military leaders. “Matters of state are pressing. Goodbye, Mother,” she said, and then apologized for not being able to see her mother off from the Arrakeen Spaceport.

  Jessica knew that her daughter felt increasingly uncomfortable around her, and if she delayed returning to Caladan much longer, Alia would view her as more and more of a rival or hindrance than a support. Best to leave Dune now before any real damage was done to their relationship.

  With Alia away, Jessica had a period of relative calm to collect a few mementos of the Atreides, especially keepsakes of Paul and Chani, to take back to Caladan.

  Lady Jessica stood in her chamber with the familiar packing wardrobe open before her. Its sides bore the stickers and date stamps of transport authorities, showing the many planets and star systems she had visited since the time she first left Wallach IX as a young woman to become the concubine of Duke Leto Atreides. Jessica had seen a great deal since then, had experienced supreme joy and profound tragedy.

  A calm feeling came over her. Caladan was her Duke’s world, her world, and she belonged there. My life is not over yet, she thought. There is still time for happiness. And she knew Tessia would be there, needing a safe haven.

  At her orders, the plaz windows in her quarters had remained opaqued following Bronso’s execution. She did not want to look out at the square ever again, because it reminded her too much of the savagery to which mobs could be driven. A few glowglobes illuminated her apartment.

  The wardrobe’s wide doors were open to reveal bars and shelves inside for clothing, drawers for jewelry and other small articles, and a honeycomb of hidden compartments. With a fingerprint scan, she opened a secure drawer that contained special sentimental items and added an Atreides hawk insignia that the Harkonnens had cut from Duke Leto’s uniform after his capture. Gurney had found it for her.

  Just then, Irulan entered wearing a long dress that glittered softly golden, and pearl jewelry. “Would this be a good time to talk, my Lady?”

  “I’ve been expecting you.” She knew Irulan would never have let her leave without a final conversation.

  The Princess clutched an object in her hands, as if her fingers were reluctant to part with it, though she seemed to have made up her mind what to do. She released her grip to reveal a long string of colored beads, polished stones, and small metal rings. Considering the extravagant and breathtaking jewelry she had owned as the daughter of House Corrino, this
seemed a primitive necklace, a string of found objects that a magpie might have collected.

  “This was—” Her voice caught. She drew a breath, straightening her long elegant neck, then began again. “The Fremen gave me this immediately after my formal marriage of state to Paul. A bond-strand, they called it. Even though they knew that Chani was Paul’s love, the Council of Naibs had to recognize my marriage as a legal thing. The Fremen understood that.

  “I was offended at the time and almost discarded the necklace, but for some reason, I kept it. Something in me hoped . . .” She shook her head. “Now that Paul is gone, I am giving it to you.” She thrust her hands forward, offering the bond-strand to Jessica. “Take it. Place it with your other keepsakes of Paul.”

  Jessica accepted the strand, running it through her fingertips as if trying to read messages there. “Are you sure, Irulan?”

  The Princess gave a small nod, then nodded again with more vigor. “This place is already infested with keepsakes and relics, many of them counterfeit. I want the bond-strand to remain in your possession, with other objects that are real.”

  “I will indeed treasure this, Irulan. Thank you so much.”

  The Princess’s eyes lost their luster for a moment. “I need to say something to you. We haven’t been the closest of friends in recent years, but you’ve shown that you trust me. I remember discussions we had in the gardens of my father’s palace on Kaitain when I was just a young woman, before Paul was even born. I would like us to be good friends again. After you return to Caladan, I hope we can send messages to each other . . . to keep in touch.”

  Jessica arched her eyebrows in a mixture of amusement and alarm. “Haven’t you had enough of conspiracies?”

  A small smile. “I do not propose a conspiracy, just an exchange of information. Few other people in the galaxy can understand the problems we face, and I admire your courage.”

  Jessica sealed the secure drawer, closed part of the wardrobe. “You have proven your courage, Irulan Corrino. I know what you tried to do for Paul, and I know your loyalty to him, your supreme strength of character in defying your father when you knew he was wrong.”

  “I defied Paul, too, when I was complicit in a conspiracy against him. I didn’t jump into it wholeheartedly, but that is no excuse.”

  Jessica’s voice hardened. “And for that you must bear your own guilt. Still, Alia is bound by what Paul would have wanted. She thinks she has you wrapped around her finger now.”

  Irulan did not deny what Jessica had said. “It’s good that you are leaving now, my Lady. You can see how the government is cracking down against even the most innocent dissent, and I am being watched—I sense it.”

  With a nod, Jessica said a great deal, wordlessly. Both of them knew that in Arrakeen the Qizarate had already begun holding public trials of purported heretics; a mere accusation seemed to be sufficient evidence in itself, and virtually all of those charged were sentenced to death.

  “Perhaps you should come with me until things settle down here? As my guest on Caladan.”

  Irulan shook her head. “And leave Leto and Ghanima under Alia’s care? A life on Caladan sounds almost as pleasant as Kaitain, but this is my fate, what I was commanded to do—by House Atreides, by House Corrino . . . and by Muad’Dib.”

  Jessica empathized, feeling her own duty toward Paul. Bronso’s writings had successfully tarnished Muad’Dib’s idealized image—at least among some historians, if not among the fanatics who had fought in the Jihad. She had heard offworld emissaries, Landsraad representatives, and even CHOAM merchants asking questions, demanding explanations from Alia, causing problems.

  In the short run, the youthful Regent had tried to divert attention, reinvigorating several jihadi divisions and sending her armies out to purge populations where “necessary.” But without their charismatic leader, the Fremen-led forces did not have their old fervor, their enthusiasm for fighting and killing. Many of the soldiers wanted to return home to their old ways and families, and armies had been gradually disbanding. As Regent, the girl might not realize it yet, but her rule was in trouble.

  And what would be left to pass on to the twins?

  “Yes, we have much in common,” Jessica said. “Contact me on Caladan whenever you wish. I’d like to hear about my grandchildren, of course, and about you as well.”

  Irulan smiled and gave a slight bow. “I shall look forward to it, my Lady.”

  On the day of their departure, in a secure area of the Arrakeen Spaceport, Jessica and Gurney waited for the Imperial frigate to load. They were accompanied by a Qizarate escort that neither of them wanted.

  While waiting, Gurney set his baliset on his lap, though he did not play. In the tension of recent days, he had broken several of the old instrument’s strings, but had not repaired them. “The air is too dry here, and music doesn’t sound right. I’ll fix it and play for you again, when we get back home.”

  Looking through a filtered plaz window of the terminal building, Jessica gazed at the huge citadel complex that encompassed a large portion of the city. Yes, she was sure that Paul had indeed charted a near-impossible course through hazardous waters. But he had left so much unsettled in his wake . . . including the twins. “I can’t stop thinking about the two babies we are leaving behind.”

  “Arrakis is their destiny, my Lady, though I’m worried that under the influence of the Lady Alia—” Glancing up, he shot to his feet and set the baliset aside with a jangle.

  The Regent strode toward them from the main entrance of the terminal, followed by four haughty priestess amazons in long white dresses. Their sandals clicked on the stone floor. Alia stopped in front of Jessica, and smiled. “I decided I could not let you go without saying goodbye after all, Mother.”

  “I’m glad, but surprised. I thought you were on retreat.”

  “And you are in retreat, going back to Caladan.” Alia’s hauteur was forced, her voice showing faint but distinct tonal patterns of longing, a hair-fine hint of desperation.

  Jessica shook her head, answered in a mild voice, “Hardly a retreat. I have no reason to flee—and I am always available to you. As Imperial Regent, you have all the advisers you could wish for.” She looked dismissively at the priestesses. “But I am your mother, and if ever you need me, if ever you require advice or just an understanding ear, I will help you.” She softened her voice. “You’re my daughter, as Paul was my son, and I will always love you both.”

  The amazon priestesses stepped over to Jessica’s sealed wardrobe and began to inspect it, but Alia brusquely waved the women away. She turned back to Jessica. “I understand that you have taken valuable artifacts with you, keepsakes of my father and my brother.”

  Jessica stiffened. “A few personal articles, reminders of my husband and my son. I don’t want them replicated to be sold as trinkets by vendors, whether or not they are authorized by the government.” Wondering why Alia would push back on such a trivial thing, Jessica was prepared to argue the point, though she didn’t want her departure to end on a sour note.

  The young woman smiled enigmatically, dipped a hand into a pocket of her black aba robe, and withdrew it, her fingers clenched in a tight fist. “Then there is one more thing that belongs with you on Caladan, Mother. Something that should never be copied for seekers of souvenirs.”

  She opened her fist, palm up, to reveal the hawk signet ring that Duke Leto had worn, and then Paul. The official ducal ring of House Atreides.

  Caught off guard, Jessica fought back a wash of emotions. She took the ring, turned it over in the light to examine it, saw the signs of wear and the mark of the engraver—all as she remembered. Alia’s voice was barely a whisper. “It’s real, Mother.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” Memories flooded over Jessica with the swiftness of an unexpected windstorm out on the sands. “This pleases me very much.”

  “Only the two of us know how much you loved your noble Duke.” Alia’s Fremen blue eyes glistened, and Jessica reached ou
t and hugged her, the first time she’d done so in some time. Normally, Alia would have pulled away, but not now.

  “I’m overwhelmed by this, by what you’ve done for me.” Jessica tightened her grip around the priceless ring.

  Though the Imperial frigate was ready for boarding, Gurney waited in silence, giving Jessica all the time she needed. She continued to look into her daughter’s face, measuring her, studying the spark of compassion she saw. She hoped it was more than a brief detour on Alia’s journey in an entirely different direction.

  “I’ll keep your offer in mind, Mother. Will you return here in a few years perhaps, after all this turmoil has quieted?”

  Jessica could only nod. In time, all things came back to Dune.