"You were as noisy as shai-hulud in a rage," she said. "And you took the most difficult way up here. Follow me; I'll show you an easier way down."
He scrambled out of the cleft, followed the swirling of her robe across a tumbled landscape. She moved like a gazelle, dancing over the rocks. Paul felt hot blood in his face, was thankful for the darkness.
That girl! She was like a touch of destiny. He felt caught up on a wave, in tune with a motion that lifted all his spirits.
They stood presently amidst the Fremen on the basin floor.
Jessica turned a wry smile on Paul, but spoke to Stilgar: "This will be a good exchange of teachings. I hope you and your people feel no anger at our violence. It seemed . . . necessary. You were about to . . . make a mistake."
"To save one from a mistake is a gift of paradise," Stilgar said. He touched his lips with his left hand, lifted the weapon from Paul's waist with the other, tossed it to a companion. "You will have your own maula pistol, lad, when you've earned it."
Paul started to speak, hesitated, remembering his mother's teaching:
"Beginnings are such delicate times. "
"My son has what weapons he needs," Jessica said. She stared at Stilgar, forcing him to think of how Paul had acquired the pistol.
Stilgar glanced at the man Paul had subdued--Jamis. The man stood at one side, head lowered, breathing heavily. "You are a difficult woman," Stilgar said. He held out his left hand to a companion, snapped his fingers. "Kushti bakka te."
More Chakobsa, Jessica thought.
The companion pressed two squares of gauze into Stilgar's hand. Stilgar ran them through his fingers, fixed one around Jessica's neck beneath her hood, fitted the other around Paul's neck in the same way.
"Now you wear the kerchief of the bakka," he said. "If we become separated, you will be recognized as belonging to Stilgar's sietch. We will talk of weapons another time."
He moved out through his band now, inspecting them, giving Paul's Fremkit pack to one of his men to carry.
Bakka, Jessica thought, recognizing the religious term: bakka--the weeper.
She sensed how the symbolism of the kerchiefs united this band. Why should weeping unite them? she asked herself.
Stilgar came to the young girl who had embarrassed Paul, said: "Chani, take the child-man under your wing. Keep him out of trouble."
Chani touched Paul's arm. "Come along, child-man."
Paul hid the anger in his voice, said: "My name is Paul. It were well you--"
"We'll give you a name, manling," Stilgar said, "in the time of the mihna, at the test of aql."
The test of reason, Jessica translated. The sudden need of Paul's ascendancy overrode all other consideration, and she barked, "My son's been tested with the gom jabbar!"
In the stillness that followed, she knew she had struck to the heart of them.
"There's much we don't know of each other," Stilgar said. "But we tarry overlong. Day-sun mustn't find us in the open." He crossed to the man Paul had struck down, said, "Jamis, can you travel?"
A grunt answered him. "Surprised me, he did. 'Twas an accident. I can travel."
"No accident," Stilgar said. "I'll hold you responsible with Chani for the lad's safety, Jamis. These people have my countenance."
Jessica stared at the man, Jamis. His was the voice that had argued with Stilgar from the rocks. His was the voice with death in it. And Stilgar had seen fit to reinforce his order with this Jamis.
Stilgar flicked a testing glance across the group, motioned two men out.
"Larus and Farrukh, you are to hide our tracks. See that we leave no trace.
Extra care--we have two with us who've not been trained." He turned, hand upheld and aimed across the basin. "In squad line with flankers--move out. We must be at Cave of the Ridges before dawn."
Jessica fell into step beside Stilgar, counting heads. There were forty Fremen--she and Paul made it forty-two. And she thought: They travel as a military company--even the girl, Chani.
Paul took a place in the line behind Chani. He had put down the black feeling at being caught by the girl. In his mind now was the memory called up by his mother's barked reminder: "My son's been tested with the gom jabbar!" He found that his hand tingled with remembered pain.
"Watch where you go," Chani hissed. "Do not brush against a bush lest you leave a thread to show our passage."
Paul swallowed, nodded.
Jessica listened to the sounds of the troop, hearing her own footsteps and Paul's, marveling at the way the Fremen moved. They were forty people crossing the basin with only the sounds natural to the place--ghostly feluccas, their robes flitting through the shadows. Their destination was Sietch Tabr--Stilgar's sietch.
She turned the word over in her mind; sietch. It was a Chakobsa word, unchanged from the old hunting language out of countless centuries. Sietch: a meeting place in time of danger. The profound implications of the word and the
language were just beginning to register with her after the tension of their encounter.
"We move well," Stilgar said. "With, Shai-hulud's favor, we'll reach Cave of the Ridges before dawn."
Jessica nodded, conserving her strength, sensing the terrible fatigue she held at bay by force of will . . . and, she admitted it: by the force of elation. Her mind focused on the value of this troop, seeing what was revealed here about the Fremen culture.
All of them, she thought, an entire culture trained to military order. What a priceless thing is here for an outcast Duke!
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