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deflated prices, she knew she was standing on a treasure. This hoard would
measure many long tons.
Is that the danger?
The warning sense within her remained just as acute as ever. The Tyrant's
melange was not what she should fear. The triumvirate would make an equitable
distribution of this lot and that would be the end of it. A bonus in the ghola
project.
Another danger remained. She could not avoid the warning.
Again, she sent the light beam along the mounded melange. Her attention was
drawn to the strip of wall above the spice. More words! Still in Chakobsa,
written with a cutter in a fine flowing script, there was another message:
"A REVEREND MOTHER WILL READ MY WORDS!"
Something cold settled in Odrade's guts. She moved to her right with the light,
plowing through an empire's ransom in melange. There was more to the message:
"I BEQUEATH TO YOU MY FEAR AND LONELINESS. TO YOU I GIVE THE CERTAINTY THAT THE
BODY AND SOUL OF THE BENE GESSERIT WILL MEET THE SAME FATE AS ALL OTHER BODIES
AND ALL OTHER SOULS."
Another paragraph of the message beckoned to the right of this one. She plowed
through the cloying melange and stopped to read.
"WHAT IS SURVIVAL IF YOU DO NOT SURVIVE WHOLE? ASK THE BENE TLEILAX THAT! WHAT
IF YOU NO LONGER HEAR THE MUSIC OF LIFE? MEMORIES ARE NOT ENOUGH UNLESS THEY
CALL YOU TO NOBLE PURPOSE!"
There was more of it on the narrow end wall of the long chamber. Odrade
stumbled through the melange and knelt to read:
"WHY DID YOUR SISTERHOOD NOT BUILD THE GOLDEN PATH? YOU KNEW THE NECESSITY.
YOUR FAILURE CONDEMNED ME, THE GOD EMPEROR, TO MILLENNIA OF PERSONAL DESPAIR."
The words "God Emperor" were not in Chakobsa but in the language of the
Islamiyat, where they conveyed an explicit second meaning to any speaker of that
tongue:
"Your God and Your Emperor because you made me so."
Odrade smiled grimly. That would drive Waff into a religious frenzy! The
higher he went, the easier to shatter his security.
She did not doubt the accuracy of the Tyrant's accusation, nor the potential in
his prediction that the Sisterhood could end. The sense of danger had led her
to this place unerringly. Something more had been at work, too. The worms of
Rakis still moved to the Tyrant's ancient beat. He might slumber in his endless
dream but monstrous life, a pearl in each worm to remind it, carried on as the
Tyrant had predicted.
What was it he had told the Sisterhood in his own time? She recalled his words:
"When I am gone, they must call me Shaitan, Emperor of Gehenna. The wheel must
turn and turn along the Golden Path."
Yes -- that was what Taraza had meant. "But don't you see? The common people
of Rakis have been calling him Shaitan for more than a thousand years."
So Taraza had known this thing. Without ever seeing these words, she had known.
I see your design, Taraza. And now I know the burden of fear you have carried
all these years. I can feel it every bit as deeply as you do.
Odrade knew then that this warning sense would not leave until she ended, or the
Sisterhood vanished from existence, or the peril was resolved.
Odrade lifted her light, got to her feet and slogged through the melange to the
wide steps out of this place. At the steps, she recoiled. More of the Tyrant's
words had been cut into each riser. Trembling, she read them as they moved
upward to the opening.
"MY WORDS ARE YOUR PAST,
"MY QUESTIONS ARE SIMPLE:
"WITH WHOM DO YOU ALLY?
"WITH THE SELF-IDOLATORS OF TLEILAX?
"WITH MY FISH SPEAKER BUREAUCRACY?
"WITH THE COSMOS-WANDERING GUILD?
"WITH HARKONNEN BLOOD SACRIFICERS?
"WITH A DOGMATIC SINK OF YOUR OWN CREATION?
"HOW WILL YOU MEET YOUR END?
"AS NO MORE THAN A SECRET SOCIETY?"
Odrade climbed past the questions, reading them a second time as she went.
Noble purpose? What a fragile thing that always was. And how easily distorted.
But the power was there immersed in constant peril. It was all spelled out on
the walls and stairs of that chamber. Taraza knew without having it explained.
The Tyrant's meaning was clear:
"Join me!"
As she emerged into the small room, finding a narrow ledge along which she could
swing herself to the door, Odrade looked down at the treasure she had found.
She shook her head in wonder at Taraza's wisdom. So that was how the Sisterhood
might end. Taraza's design was clear, all the pieces in place. Nothing
certain. Wealth and power, it was all the same in the end. The noble design
had been started and it must be completed even if that meant the death of the
Sisterhood.
What poor tools we have chosen!
That girl waiting back there in the deep chamber below the desert, that girl and
the ghola being prepared on Rakis.
I speak your language now, old worm. It has no words but I know the heart of
it.
Our fathers ate manna in the desert,
In the burning place where whirlwinds came.
Lord, save us from that horrible land!
Save us, oh-h-h-h-h save us
From that dry and thirsty land.
-Songs of Gurney Halleck, Museum of Dar-es-Balat
Teg and Duncan, both heavily armed, emerged from the no-globe with Lucilla into
the coldest part of the night. The stars were like needlepoints overhead, the
air absolutely still until they disturbed it.
The dominant smell in Teg's nostrils was the brittle mustiness of snow. The
odor infused every breath and when they exhaled, fat clouds of vapor puffed
around their faces.
Tears of cold started in Duncan's eyes. He had been thinking much of old Gurney
as they prepared to leave the no-globe, Gurney with his cheek scarred by a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]