"We shall make a homeworld of Arrakis--with melting lenses at the poles, with lakes in the temperate zones, and only the deep desert for the maker and his spice."
"Bi-lal kaifa."
"And no man ever again shall want for water. It shall be his for dipping from well or pond or lake or canal. It shall run down through the qanats to feed our plants. It shall be there for any man to take. It shall be his for holding out his hand."
"Bi-lal kaifa."
Jessica felt the religious ritual in the words, noted her own instinctively awed response. They're in league with the future, she thought. They have their mountain to climb. This is the scientist's dream . . . and these simple people, these peasants, are filled with it.
Her thoughts turned to Liet-Kynes, the Emperor's planetary ecologist, the man who had gone native--and she wondered at him. This was a dream to capture
men's souls, and she could sense the hand of the ecologist in it. This was a dream for which men would die willingly. It was another of the essential ingredients that she felt her son needed; people with a goal. Such people would be easy to imbue with fervor and fanaticism. They could be wielded like a sword to win back Paul's place for him.
"We leave now," Stilgar said, "and wait for the first moon's rising. When Jamis is safely on his way, we will go home."
Whispering their reluctance, the troop fell in behind him, turned back along the water barrier and up the stairs.
And Paul, walking behind Chani, felt that a vital moment had passed him, that he had missed an essential decision and was now caught up in his own myth.
He knew he had seen this place before, experienced it in a fragment of prescient dream on faraway Caladan, but details of the place were being filled in now that he had not seen. He felt a new sense of wonder at the limits of his gift. It was as though he rode within the wave of time, sometimes in its trough, sometimes on a crest--and all around him the other waves lifted and fell, revealing and then hiding what they bore on their surface.
Through it all, the wild jihad still loomed ahead of him, the violence and the slaughter. It was like a promontory above the surf.
The troop filed through the last door into the main cavern. The door was sealed. Lights were extinguished, hoods removed from the cavern openings, revealing the night and the stars that had come over the desert.
Jessica moved to the dry lip of the cavern's edge, looked up at the stars.
They were sharp and near. She felt the stirring of the troop around her, heard the sound of a baliset being tuned somewhere behind her, and Paul's voice humming the pitch. There was a melancholy in his tone that she did not like.
Chani's voice intruded from the deep cave darkness: "Tell me about the waters of your birthworld, Paul Muad'Dib."
And Paul: "Another time, Chani. I promise."
Such sadness.
"It's a good baliset," Chani said.
"Very good," Paul said. "Do you think Jamis'll mind my using it?"
He speaks of the dead in the present tense, Jessica thought. The implications disturbed her.
A man's voice intruded: "He liked music betimes, Jamis did."
"Then sing me one of your songs," Chani pleaded.
Such feminine allure in that girl-child's voice, Jessica thought. I must caution Paul about their women . . . and soon.
"This was a song of a friend of mine," Paul said. "I expect he's dead now, Gurney is. He called it his evensong."
The troop grew still, listening as Paul's voice lifted in a sweet boy tenor with the baliset tinkling and strumming beneath it:
"This clear time of seeing embers--
A gold-bright sun's lost in first dusk.
What frenzied senses, desp'rate musk
Are consort of rememb'ring."
Jessica felt the verbal music in her breast--pagan and charged with sounds that made her suddenly and intensely aware of herself, feeling her own body and its needs. She listened with a tense stillness.
"Night's pearl-censered requi-em . . .
"Tis for us!
What joys run, then--
Bright in your eyes--
What flower-spangled amores
Pull at our hearts . . .
What flower-spangled amores
Fill our desires."
And Jessica heard the after-stillness that hummed in the air with the last note. Why does my son sing a love song to that girl-child? she asked herself.
