During those frantic first weeks of information gathering, two Fremen men were lost -- though Kynes never learned of it. He reveled in the glorious data flooding to him. This was more than he had ever dreamed of accomplishing in years of working alone as the Imperial Planetologist. He was in a scientific paradise.
The day before his wedding, he wrote up his first carefully edited report since joining the sietch, culminating weeks of work. A Fremen messenger delivered it to Arrakeen, where it was then transmitted to the Emperor. Kynes's work with the Fremen threatened to put him in a conflict of interest as Imperial Planetologist, but he had to keep up appearances. Nowhere in his report did he mention, or even hint at, his newfound relationship with the desert people. Kaitain must never suspect that he had "gone native."
In his mind, Arrakis no longer existed. This planet was now, and forever would be, Dune; after living in the sietch he could not think of it by anything other than its Fremen name. The more he discovered, the more Pardot Kynes realized that this strangely dry and barren planet held far deeper secrets than even the Emperor realized.
Dune was a treasure box waiting to be opened.
Brash young Stilgar had recovered completely from his Harkonnen sword wound and insisted on helping Kynes with chores and tedious duties. The ambitious Fremen youth claimed it was the only way to decrease a heavy water burden upon his clan. The Planetologist did not feel he was owed such an obligation, but he bent against pressure from the sietch, like a willow before the wind. The Fremen would not overlook or forget a thing like that.
Stilgar's unwed sister Frieth was offered to him as a wife. Almost without the Planetologist noticing, she seemed to have adopted him, mending his clothes, offering him food before he realized he was hungry. Her hands were quick, her blue eyes alive with a lightning intelligence, and she had saved him from many faux pas even before he could react. He had considered her attentions little more than appreciation for saving the life of her brother, and had accepted her without further consideration.
Kynes had never before thought about marriage, for he was too solitary a man, too driven in his work. Yet after being graciously welcomed into the community, he began to understand how quickly the Fremen took offense. Kynes knew he dared not refuse. He also realized that, given the many Harkonnen political restrictions against Fremen on this world, perhaps his marriage to Frieth would smooth the way for future researchers.
And so, with the rising of both full moons, Pardot Kynes joined the other Fremen for the marriage ritual. Before this night was over, he would be a husband. He had a sparse beard now, the first of his life. Frieth, though hesitant to speak her mind about anything, seemed to like it.
Led by pirate-eyed Heinar, as well as the Sayyadina of the sietch -- a female religious leader much like a Reverend Mother -- the wedding party came down from the mountains after a long and careful journey and out onto the open sands rippled with dunes. The moons shone down, bathing the sandscape with a pearly, glistening luster.
Staring at the sinuous dunes, Kynes thought for the first time that they reminded him of the gentle, sensuous curves of a woman's flesh. Perhaps I have my mind on the marriage more than I'd thought.
They walked single file onto the dunes, climbing the packed windward side and then breaking a trail along the soft crest. Alert for wormsign or Harkonnen spycraft, spotters from the sietch had climbed to lookout points. With his fellow tribesmen keeping watch, Kynes felt entirely safe. He was one of them now, and he knew the Fremen would give their lives for him.
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 issue again. She still insisted that House Atreides was in grave danger because of what he had done.
From below, shouts and muted laughter and the sounds of exercise drifted upward. The Duke looked down to the sheltered courtyard, pleased to see his son Leto already out doing his training routines with the exiled Prince of Ix. Both wore body-shields that hummed and flickered in the orange early-morning light. The young men carried blunted stun-daggers in their left hands and training swords in their right.
In the weeks they had lived on Caladan, Rhombur had recovered quickly and completely from the concussion he'd received during their escape from Ix. The exercise and fresh air had improved his health, his muscle tone, his complexion. But the stocky young man's heart and his mood would take much longer to heal. He seemed all at sea yet from what had happened to him.
The two circled and parried, slashing down, trying to judge just how fast they could move their blades without having them deflected by the protective fields. They challenged and pounced, striking with a flurry of attacks that had no hope of penetrating the other's defenses. Blades sang and ricocheted from the shimmering shields.
"The boys have so much energy for such an hour," Helena said, rubbing her red-rimmed eyes. A safe comment, not likely to raise any objections. She took half a step closer. "Rhombur's even lost weight."
The Old Duke looked over at her, noting the age-sharpened porcelain of her features, a few strands of gray in her dark hair. "This is the best time for training. Gets the blood flowing for the entire day. I taught Leto that when he was just a boy."
From far out at sea he heard the clang of a reef-marking buoy and the putter of a fishing coracle, one of the local wickerwood boats with waterproofed hulls. He saw the hazy fog lights of a trawler farther out, cutting through the low-lying banks of sea mist as it harvested melon-kelp.
"Yes . . . the boys are exercising," Helena said, "but have you noticed Kailea sitting there? Why do you think she's up so early?" The lilt at the end of her question made him think twice.
The Duke looked down, for the first time marking the lovely daughter of House Vernius. Kailea lounged on a polished-coral bench in the sunshine, daintily eating from a plate of assorted fruits. She had her padded copy of the Orange Catholic Bible beside her on the bench -- Helena's gift -- but she wasn't reading it.
Puzzled, Paulus scratched his beard. "Does the girl always get up this early? I suspect she's not adjusted to our Caladan days yet."
Helena watched as Leto pressed with fury against Rhombur's shield and slipped his stun-dagger in, jolting the Ixian Prince with an electric shock. Rhombur howled, then chuckled as he backed off. Leto raised his training sword as if scoring a point. He flashed a gray-eyed glance at Kailea, touching the tip of his sword to his forehead in a salute.
"Have you never seen the way your son looks at her, Paulus?" Helena's voice was stern and disapproving.
"No, I hadn't much noticed." The Old Duke looked from Leto to the young woman again. In his mind Kailea, daughter of Dominic Vernius, was just a child. He had last seen her in infancy. Perhaps his sluggish old mind hadn't seen her adulthood coming so fast. Nor Leto's.
Considering this, he said, "That boy's hormones are reaching their peak. Let me speak to Thufir. We'll find some appropriate wenches for him."
"Mistresses like yours?" Helena turned away from her husband, looking hurt.
"Nothing wrong with it." He prayed with all his heart she wouldn't pursue that subject again. "As long as it never becomes anything serious."
Like any Lord in the Imperium, Paulus had his dalliances. His marriage to Helena, one of the daughters of House Richese, had been arranged for strictly political reasons after much consideration and bargaining. He'd done his best, had even loved her for a time -- which had come as a genuine surprise to him. But then Helena had drifted away, becoming absorbed in religion and lost dreams instead of current realities.
Discreetly, quietly, Paulus had eventually gone back to his mistresses, treating them well, enjoying himself, and careful not to produce any bastards from them. He never spoke of it, but Helena knew. She always knew.
And she had to live with the fact.
"Never becomes serious?" Helena leaned over the balcony to see Kailea better. "I'm afraid Leto feels something for this girl, that he's falling in love with her. I told you not to send him to Ix."
"It isn't love," Paulus said, pretending to pay attention to the movements of the sword-and-shield duel below. The boys had more energy than skill; they needed to work on finesse. The clumsiest of Harkonnen guards would be able to wade in and dispatch both of them in an eyeblink.
"You're sure about that?" Helena asked in a worried tone. "A great deal is at stake here. Leto is the heir to House Atreides, the son of a Duke. He has to take care and choose his romantic assignations with forethought. Consult with us, negotiate for terms, get the most he can --"
"I know that," Paulus muttered.
"You know it all too well." His wife's voice became cold and brittle. "Maybe one of your wenches isn't such a bad idea after all. At least it'll keep him away from Kailea."
Down below, the young woman nibbled on fruit, eyed Leto with coy admiration, and laughed at a particularly outrageous maneuver he had pulled off. Rhombur countered him, their shields clashing and sparking against each other. When Leto turned to smile back at her, Kailea looked at her breakfast plate with feigned aloofness.
Helena recognized the movements of the courtship dance, as intricate as any swordplay. "See how they look at each other?"
The Old Duke shook his head sadly. "At one time the daughter of House Vernius might have been an excellent match for Leto
."
It saddened him to know how his friend Dominic Vernius was being hunted down by Imperial decree. Emperor Elrood, seemingly irrational, had branded Vernius not only a renegade and an exile, but also a traitor. Neither Earl Dominic nor Lady Shando had sent any word to Caladan, but Paulus hoped they remained alive; both were fair game for ambitious fortune seekers.
House Atreides had risked a great deal by accepting the two children into sanctuary on Caladan. Dominic Vernius had called in all his remaining favors among the Houses of the Landsraad, which had confirmed the young exiles in their protected status, so long as they did not aspire to regain the former title of their House.
"I'd never agree to a marriage between our son and. . . her," Helena said. "While you've strutted around with bullfights and parades, I've had my ear to the ground. House Vernius has been falling into disfavor for years now. I've told you that, but you never listen."
Dune - House Atreides Page 36