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He gazed at lovely young Frieth standing in the moonlight, with her long, long
hair and her large blue-within-blue eyes focused on him, assessing, perhaps even
loving. She wore the black robe that signified she was a woman betrothed.
For hours back in the caves, other Fremen wives had braided Frieth's hair with
her metal water rings, together with those belonging to her future husband, to
symbolize the commingling of their existence. Many months ago, the sietch had
taken all of the supplies from Kynes's groundcar and added his containers of
water to the main stores. Once he had been accepted among them, he received
payment in water rings for what he had contributed, and Kynes thus entered the
community as a relatively wealthy man.
As Frieth looked at her betrothed, Kynes realized for the first time how
beautiful and desirable she was -- and then chastised himself for not having
noticed before. Now the unmarried Fremen women rushed out onto the dunefield,
their long, unbound hair flying in the night breeze. Kynes watched as they
began the traditional wedding dance and chant.
Rarely did members of the sietch explain their customs to him, where the rituals
had come from, or what they signified. To the Fremen, everything simply was.
Long in the past, ways of life had been developed out of necessity during the
Zensunni wanderings from planet to planet, and the ways had remained unchanged
ever since. No one here bothered to question them, so why should Kynes?
Besides, if he truly was the prophet they considered him to be, then he should
understand such things intuitively.
He could easily decipher the custom of binding water rings into the braid of the
woman to be married, while the unbetrothed daughters kept their hair loose and
free. The troupe of unmarried women flitted across the sands in their bare
feet, their footsteps floating. Some were mere girls, while others had ripened
to full marriageable age. The dancers whipped and whirled, spinning about so
that their hair streamed in all directions like halos around their heads.
Symbolic of a desert sandstorm, he thought. Coriolis whirlwinds. From his
studies he knew that such winds could exceed eight hundred kilometers per hour,
bearing dust and sand particles with enough force to scour the flesh off a man's
bones.
With sudden concern Kynes looked up. To his relief, the sky of the desert night
was clear and scattered with stars; a precursor fog of dust would be carried up
in advance of any storm. The Fremen spotters would see impending weather with
sufficient warning to take immediate precautions.
The young girls' dancing and chanting continued. Kynes stood beside his wife-
to-be, but he looked up at the twin moons, thinking of their tidal effects, how
the gentle flexings of gravity might have affected the geology and climate of
this world. Perhaps deep core soundings would tell him more of what he needed
to know . . . .
In future months, he wished to take extensive samples from the ice cap at the
northern pole. By measuring the strata and analyzing isotopic content, Kynes
would be able to draw a precise weather history of Arrakis. He could map the
heating and melting cycles, as well as ancient precipitation patterns, using
this information to determine where all the water must have gone.
So far this planet's aridity made no sense. Could a world's supply of water
somehow be hydrated into rock layers beneath the sands, locking it into the
planetary crust itself? An astronomical impact? Volcanic explosions? None of
the options seemed viable.
The complex marriage dance finished, and the one-eyed Naib came forward with the
old Sayyadina. The holy woman looked at the wedding couple and fixed Kynes with
the gaze of her eyes, so dark in the moonlight that they resembled the predatory
orbs of a raven: the total blue-within-blue of spice addiction.
After eating Fremen food for months, each taste laced with the richness of
melange, Kynes had looked in a reflecting glass one morning and noticed that the
whites of his own eyes had begun to take on a sky-blue tinge. The change
startled him.
Still, he did feel more alive, his mind sharper and his body suffused with
energy. Some of this could be a consequence of the enthusiasm for his research
activities, but he knew the spice must also have something to do with it.
Here the spice was everywhere: in the air, food, garments, wall hangings, and
rugs. Melange was intertwined with sietch life as much as water.
That day Turok, who still came to take him out on daily explorations, had
noticed Kynes's eyes, the new blue tint. "You are becoming one of us,
Planetologist. That blue we call the Eyes of Ibad. You are part of Dune now.
Our world has changed you forever."
Kynes had offered a smile, but it was only tentative, because he felt some fear.
"That it has," he said.
And now he was about to be married -- another important change.
Standing before him, the mysterious Sayyadina uttered a series of words in
Chakobsa, a language Kynes did not understand, but he gave the appropriate
responses he had memorized. The sietch elders had taken extreme care to prepare
him. Perhaps one day, with more research, he would understand the rituals
surrounding him, the ancient language, the mysterious traditions. But for now
he could only make reasoned guesses.
During the ceremony he remained preoccupied, devising various tests he could run
in sandy and rocky areas of the planet, dreaming of new experimental stations he
would erect, considering which test gardens to plant. He had vast plans to
implement and, at last, all the manpower he could possibly desire. It would
take an incredible amount of work to reawaken this world -- but now that the
Fremen shared his dream, Pardot Kynes knew it could be done.
It could be done!
He smiled, and Frieth gazed up at him, smiling in her own right, though almost
certainly her thoughts diverged widely from his. Nearly oblivious to the
activities around him and paying little mind to their import, Kynes found
himself married in the Fremen way, almost before he realized it.
The haughty do but build castle walls behind which they seek to hide their
doubts and fears.
-Bene Gesserit Axiom
The dawn mists carried an iodine tang from the sea, rising from the wet black
cliffs that supported the spires of Castle Caladan. Normally, Paulus Atreides
found it peaceful and refreshing, but today it made him uneasy.
The Old Duke stood out on one of the tower balconies, drawing a deep breath of
fresh air. He loved his planet, especially the early mornings; the fresh, pure
kind of silence gave him more energy than a good night's sleep ever could.
Even in troubled times such as these.
To ward off the chill he wrapped himself in a thick robe trimmed with green
Canidar wool. His wife paused behind him in the bedchamber, hanging on every
breath as she always did after they had been fighting. It was a matter of form.
When Paulus didn't object, she came closer to stand next to him to gaze out upon
their world. Her eyes were tired, and she looked hurt, but unconvinced; he
would hold her, and she would warm to him, and then she would try to press the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]