We have the roots of your obsession in our grasp, Waff! It is not unlike some that we have created. We know how to manipulate such things for our own purposes.
Taraza's communication burned in Odrade's awareness: "The Tleilaxu plan is transparent: Ascendancy. The human universe must be made into a Tleilaxu universe. They could not hope to achieve such a goal without help from the Scattering. Ergo."
The Mother Superior's reasoning could not be denied. Even the opposition within that deep schism that threatened to shatter the Sisterhood agreed. But the thought of those human masses in the Scattering, their numbers exploding exponentially, produced a lonely sense of desperation in Odrade.
We are so few compared to them.
Sheeana stooped and picked up a pebble. She looked at it a moment and then threw it at the fence beside them. The pebble sailed through the meshes without touching them.
Odrade took a firmer grip on herself. The sounds of their footsteps on the blown sand that drifted across this little-used roadway seemed suddenly over-loud. The spindly causeway leading out over the Dar-es-Balat ring-qanat and moat lay no more than two hundred paces ahead at the end of this narrow road.
Sheeana spoke: "I am doing this because you ordered it, Mother. But I still don't know why."
Because this is the crucible where we test Waff and, through him, reshape the Tleilaxu!
"It is a demonstration," Odrade said.
That was true. It was not the whole truth, but it served.
Sheeana walked head down, gaze intent on where she placed each step. Was this how she always approached her Shaitan? Odrade wondered. Thoughtful and remote?
Odrade heard a faint thwocking sound high up behind her. The watchful ornithopters were arriving. They would keep their distance, but many eyes would observe this demonstration.
"I will dance," Sheeana said. "That usually calls a big one."
Odrade felt her heartbeat quicken. Would the "big one" continue to obey Sheeana despite the presence of two companions ?
This is suicidal madness!
But it had to be done: Taraza's orders.
Odrade glanced at the fenced spice yard beside them. The place appeared oddly familiar. More than deja vu. Inner certainty informed by Other Memories told her this place remained virtually unchanged from ancient times. The design of the spice silos in the yard was as old as Rakis: oval tanks on tall legs, metal and plaz insects waiting stilt-legged to leap upon their prey. She suspected an unconscious message from the original designers: Melange is both boon and bane.
Beneath the silos, a sandy wasteland where no growth was permitted spread out beside mud-walled buildings, an amoeba arm of Dar-es-Balat reaching almost to the qanat edge. The Tyrant's long-hidden no-globe had produced a teeming religious community that hid most of its activities behind windowless walls and underground.
The secret working of our unconscious desires!
Once more, Sheeana spoke: "Tuek is different."
Odrade saw Waff's head lift sharply. He had heard. He would be thinking: Can we conceal things from the Prophet's messenger?
Too many people already knew that a Face Dancer masqueraded as Tuek, Odrade thought. The priestly cabal, of course, believed they were giving the Tleilaxu enough netting in which to snare not only the Bene Tleilax but the Sisterhood as well.
Odrade smelled the biting odors of chemicals that had been used to kill wild growth in the spice storage yard. The odors forced her attention back to necessities. She did not dare indulge in mental wanderings out here! It would be so easy for the Sisterhood to become caught in its own trap.
Sheeana stumbled and emitted a small cry, more irritation than pain. Waff turned his head sharply and looked at Sheeana before returning his attention to the roadway. The child had merely stumbled on a break in the road surface, he saw. Drifted sand concealed places where the roadway had been cracked. The faery structure of the causeway ahead of him appeared sound, however. Not substantial enough to support one of the Prophet's descendants, but more than enough for a supplicant human to cross it into the desert.
Waff thought of himself chiefly as a supplicant.
I come as a beggar into the land of thy messenger, God.
He had his suspicions about Odrade. The Reverend Mother had brought him here to drain him of his knowledge before killing him. With God's help, I may surprise her yet. He knew his body was proof against an Ixian Probe, although she obviously did not have such a cumbersome device on her person. But it was the strength of his own will and confidence in God's grace that reassured Waff.
And what if the hand they hold out to us is held out in sincerity?
That, too, would be God's doing.
Alliance with the Bene Gesserit, firm control of Rakis: What a dream that was! The Shariat ascendant at last and the Bene Gesserit as missionaries.
When Sheeana again missed her footing and uttered another small sound of complaint, Odrade said: "Don't favor yourself, child!"
Odrade saw Waff's shoulders stiffen. He did not like that peremptory manner with his "Blessed One." There was backbone in the little man. Odrade recognized it as the strength of fanaticism. Even if the worm came to kill him, Waff would not flee. Faith in God's will would carry him directly into his own death--unless he were shaken out of his religious security.
Odrade suppressed a smile. She could follow his thinking process: God will soon reveal His Purpose.
But Waff was thinking about his cells growing in the slow renewal at Bandalong. No matter what happened here, his cells would carry on for the Bene Tleilax ... and for God--a serial-Waff always serving the Great Belief.
"I can smell Shaitan, you know," Sheeana said.
"Right now?" Odrade looked up at the causeway ahead of them. Waff already was a few steps onto that arching surface.
"No, only when he comes," Sheeana said.
"Of course you can, child. Anyone could."
"I can smell him a long way off."
Odrade inhaled deeply through her nose, sorting the smells from the background of burnt flint: faint whiffs of melange... ozone, something distinctly acid. She motioned for Sheeana to precede her single-file onto the causeway. Waff was holding his steady twenty paces ahead. The causeway dipped down to the desert some sixty meters ahead of him.
I will taste the sand at the first opportunity, Odrade thought. That will tell me many things.
As she mounted the causeway over the water moat, she looked off to the southwest at a low barrier along the horizon. Abruptly, Odrade was confronted by a compelling Other Memory. There was none of the crispness in it of actual vision, but she recognized it--a mingling of images from the deepest sources within her.
Damn! she thought. Not now!
There was no escape. Such intrusions came with purpose, an unavoidable demand upon her awareness.
Warning!
She squinted at the horizon, allowing the Other Memory to superimpose itself: a long-ago high barrier far away out there ... people moving along the top of it. There was a faery bridge in that memory-distance, insubstantial and beautiful. It linked one part of that vanished barrier to another part and she knew without seeing it that a river ran beneath that long-gone bridge. The Idaho River! Now, the superimposed image provided movement: objects falling from the bridge. They were too far away to identify but she had the labels for this image projection now. With a sense of horror and elation, she identified that scene.
The faery bridge was collapsing! Tumbling into the river below it.
This vision was not some random destruction. This was classical violence carried in many memories, which had come down to her in the moments of spice agony. Odrade could classify the finely tuned components of the image: Thousands of her ancestors had watched that scene in imaginative reconstruction. Not a real visual memory but an assemblage of accurate reports.
That is where it happened!
Odrade stopped and let the image projections have their way with her awareness. Warning! Something dangerous
had been identified. She did not try to dig out the warning's substance. If she did that, she knew it could fall apart in skeins, any one of which might be relevant, but the original certainty would vanish.
This thing out there was fixed in the Atreides history. Leto II, the Tyrant, had fallen to his dissolution from that faery bridge. The great worm of Rakis, the Tyrant God Emperor himself, had been tumbled from that bridge on his wedding peregrination.
There! Right there in the Idaho River beneath his destroyed bridge, the Tyrant had been submerged in his own agony. Right there, the transubstantiation from which the Divided God was born--it all began there.
Why is that a warning?
Bridge and river had vanished from this land. The high wall that had enclosed the Tyrant's dryland Sareer was eroded into a broken line on a heat-shimmering horizon.
If a worm came now with its encapsulated pearl of the Tyrant's forever-dreaming memory, would that memory be dangerous? So Taraza's opposition in the Sisterhood argued.
"He will awaken!"
Taraza and her advisors denied even the possibility.
Still, this claxon from Odrade's Other Memories could not be shunted aside.
"Reverend Mother, why have we stopped?"
Odrade felt her awareness lurch back into an immediate present that demanded her attention. Out there in that warning vision was where the Tyrant's endless dream began but other dreams intruded. Sheeana stood in front of her with a puzzled expression.
"I was looking out there." Odrade pointed. "That was where Shai-hulud began, Sheeana."
Waff stopped at the end of the causeway, one step short of the encroaching sand and now about forty paces ahead of Odrade and Sheeana. Odrade's voice brought him to stiff alertness but he did not turn. Odrade could feel the displeasure in his posture. Waff would not like even a hint of cynicism directed at his Prophet. He always suspected cynicism from Reverend Mothers. Especially where religious matters were concerned. Waff was not yet ready to accept that the long-detested and feared Bene Gesserit might share his Great Belief. That ground would have to be filled in with care--as was always the way with the Missionaria Protectiva.
"They say there was a big river," Sheeana said.
Odrade heard the lilting note of derision in Sheeana's voice. The child learned quickly!
Waff turned and scowled at them. He heard it, too. What was he thinking about Sheeana now?
Odrade held Sheeana's shoulder with one hand and pointed with the other. "There was a bridge right there. The great wall of the Sareer was left open there to permit the passage of the Idaho River. The bridge spanned that break."
Sheeana sighed. "A real river," she whispered.
"Not a qanat and too big for a canal," Odrade said.
"I've never seen a river," Sheeana said.
"That was where they dumped Shai-hulud into the river," Odrade said. She gestured to her left. "Over on this side, many kilometers in that direction, he built his palace."
"There's nothing over there but sand," Sheeana said.
"The palace was torn down in the Famine Times," Odrade said. "People thought there was a hoard of spice in it. They were wrong, of course. He was much too clever for that."
Sheeana leaned close to Odrade and whispered: "There is a great treasure of the spice, though. The chantings tell about it. I've heard it many times. My... they say it's in a cave."
Odrade smiled. Sheeana referred to the Oral History, of course. And she had almost said: "My father... " meaning her real father who had died in this desert. Odrade already had lured that story from the girl.
Still whispering close to Odrade's ear, Sheeana said: "Why is that little man with us? I don't like him."
"It is necessary for the demonstration," Odrade said.
Waff took that moment to step off the causeway onto the first soft slope of open sand. He moved with care but no visible hesitation. Once on the sand, he turned, his eyes glistening in the hot sunlight, and stared first at Sheeana and then at Odrade.
Still that awe in him when he looks at Sheeana, Odrade thought. What great things he believes he will discover here. He will be restored. And the prestige!
Sheeana sheltered her eyes with one hand and studied the desert.
"Shaitan likes the heat," Sheeana said. "People hide inside when it's hot but that's when Shaitan comes."
Not Shai-hulud, Odrade thought. Shaitan! You predicted it well, Tyrant. What else did you know about our times?
Was it really the Tyrant out there dormant in all of his worm descendants?
None of the analyses Odrade had studied gave a sure explanation of what had driven one human being to make himself into a symbiote with that original worm of Arrakis. What went through his mind in the millennia of that awful transformation? Was any of that, even the smallest fragment, preserved in today's Rakian worms?
"He is near, Mother," Sheeana said. "Do you smell him?"
Waff peered apprehensively at Sheeana.
Odrade inhaled deeply: a rich swelling of cinnamon on the bitter flint undertones. Fire, brimstone--the crystal-banked inferno of the great worm. She stooped and brought up a pinch of blown sand to her tongue. All of the background was there: the Dune of Other Memory and the Rakis of this day.
Sheeana pointed at an angle to her left, directly into the light breeze from the desert. "Out there. We must hurry."
Without waiting for permission from Odrade, Sheeana ran lightly down the causeway, past Waff and out onto the first dune. She stopped there until Odrade and Waff caught up with her. Off the dune face she led them, up another with sand clogging their passage, out along a great curving barracan with wisps of dusty saltation blowing from its crest. Soon, they had put almost a kilometer between themselves and the water-girded security of Dar-es-Balat.
Again, Sheeana stopped.
Waff came to a panting halt behind her. Perspiration glistened where his stillsuit hood crossed his brow.
Odrade stopped a pace behind Waff. She took deep, calming breaths while she peered past Waff to where Sheeana's attention was fixed.
A furious tide of sand had poured across the desert beyond the dune where they stood, driven by a storm wind. Bedrock lay exposed in a long narrow avenue of giant boulders, which lay scattered and upturned like the broken building blocks of a mad promethean. Through this wild maze, the sand had poured like a river, leaving its signature in deep scratches and gouges, then plunging off a low escarpment to lose itself in more dunes.
"Down there," Sheeana said, pointing at the avenue of bedrock. Off their dune she went, sliding and scrambling in spilled sand. At the bottom, she stopped beside a boulder at least twice her height.
Waff and Odrade paused just behind her.
The slipface of another giant barracan, sinuous as the back of a sporting whale, lifted into the silver-blue sky beside them.
Odrade used the pause to recompose her oxygen balance. That mad run had made great demands on flesh. Waff, she noted, was red-faced and breathing deeply. The flinty cinnamon smell was oppressive in the confined passage. Waff sniffed and rubbed at his nose with the back of a hand. Sheeana lifted herself on one toe, pivoted and darted ten paces across the rocky avenue. She put one foot up on the sandy incline of the outer dune and lifted both arms to the sky. Slowly at first and then with increasing tempo, she began to dance, moving up onto the sand.
The 'thopter sounds grew louder overhead.
"Listen!" Sheeana called, not pausing in her dance.
It was not to the 'thopters that she called their attention. Odrade turned her head to present both ears to a new sound intruding on their rock-tumbled maze.
A sibilant hiss, subterranean and muted by sand--it became louder with shocking swiftness. There was heat in it, a noticeable warming of the breeze that twisted down their rocky avenue. The hissing swelled to a crescendo roar. Abruptly, the crystal-ringed gaping of a gigantic mouth lifted over the dune directly above Sheeana.
"Shaitan!" Sheeana screamed, not breaking the rhyth
m of her dance. "Here I am, Shaitan!"
As it crested the dune, the worm dipped its mouth downward toward Sheeana. Sand cascaded around her feet, forcing her to stop her dance. The smell of cinnamon filled the rocky defile. The worm stopped above them.
"Messenger of God," Waff breathed.
Heat dried the perspiration on Odrade's exposed face and made the automatic insulation of her stillsuit puff outward perceptibly. She inhaled deeply, sorting the components behind that cinnamon assault. The air around them was sharp with ozone and swiftly oxygen rich. Her senses at full alert, Odrade stored impressions.
If I survive, she thought.
Yes, this was valuable data. The day might come when others would use it.
Sheeana backed out of the spilled sand onto the exposed rock. She resumed her dance, moving more wildly, flinging her head at each turn. Hair whipped across her face and each time she whirled to confront the worm, she screamed "Shaitan!"
Daintily, like a child on unfamiliar ground, the worm once more moved forward. It slid across the dune crest, curled itself down onto the exposed rock and presented its burning mouth slightly above and about two paces from Sheeana.
As it stopped, Odrade became conscious of the deep furnace rumbling of the worm. She could not tear her gaze away from the reflections of lambent orange flames within the creature. It was a cave of mysterious fire.
Sheeana stopped her dance. She clenched both fists at her sides and stared back at the monster she had summoned.
Odrade took timed breaths, the controlled pacing of a Reverend Mother gathering all of her powers. If this was the end--well, she had obeyed Taraza's orders. Let the Mother Superior learn what she would from the watchers overhead.
"Hello, Shaitan," Sheeana said. "I have brought a Reverend Mother and a man of the Tleilaxu with me."
Waff slumped to his knees and bowed.
Odrade slipped past him to stand beside Sheeana.
Sheeana breathed deeply. Her face was flushed.
Odrade heard the click-ticking of their overworked stillsuits. The hot, cinnamon-drenched air around them was charged with the sounds of this meeting, all dominated by the murmurous burning within the quiescent worm.
Waff came up beside Odrade, his trancelike gaze fixed on the worm.
"I am here," he whispered.
Odrade silently cursed him. Any unwarranted noise could attract this beast onto them. She knew what Waff was thinking, though: No other Tleilaxu had ever stood this close to a descendant of his Prophet. Not even the Rakian priests had ever done this!
Heretics of Dune Page 28
