Dune полностью

Leto spoke from his vision: “Only Shuloch.”

Muriz stiffened and Leto felt his own pulse quicken.

A long silence ensued and Leto could see the man debating and discarding various responses. Shuloch! In the quiet story time after a sietch meal, stories of the Shuloch caravanserie were often repeated. Listeners always assumed that Shuloch was a myth, a place for interesting things to happen and only for the sake of the story. Leto recalled a Shuloch story: A waif was found at the desert’s edge and brought into the sietch. At first the waif refused to respond to his saviors, then when he spoke no one could understand his words. As days passed he continued unresponsive, refused to dress himself or cooperate in any way. Every time he was left alone he made odd motions with his hands. All the specialists in the sietch were called in to study this waif but arrived at no answer. Then a very old woman passed the doorway, saw the moving hands, and laughed. “He only imitates his father who rolls the spice-fibers into rope,” she explained. “It’s the way they still do it at Shuloch. He’s just trying to feel less lonely.” And the moral: “In the old ways of Shuloch there is security and a sense of belonging to the golden thread of life.”

As Muriz remained silent, Leto said: “I’m the waif from Shuloch who knows only to move his hands.”

In the quick movement of the man’s head, Leto saw that Muriz knew the story. Muriz responded slowly, voice low and filled with menace. “Are you human?”

“Human as yourself,” Leto said.

“You speak most strangely for a child. I remind you that I am a judge who can respond to the taqwa.”

Ah, yes, Leto thought. In the mouth of such a judge, the taqwa carried immediate threat. Taqwa was the fear invoked by the presence of a demon, a very real belief among older Fremen. The arifa knew the ways to slay a demon and was always chosen “because he has the wisdom to be ruthless without being cruel, to know when kindness is in fact the way to greater cruelty.”

But this thing had come to the point which Leto sought, and he said: “I can submit to the Mashhad.”

“I’ll be the judge of any Spiritual Test,” Muriz said. “Do you accept this?”

“Bi-lal kaifa,” Leto said. Without qualification.

A sly look came over Muriz’s face. He said: “I don’t know why I permit this. Best you were slain out of hand, but you’re a small Batigh and I had a son who is dead. Come, we will go to Shuloch and I’ll convene the Isnad for a decision about you.”

Leto, noting how the man’s every mannerism betrayed deadly decision, wondered how anyone could be fooled by this. He said: “I know Shuloch is the Ahl as-sunna wal-jamas.”

“What does a child know of the real world?” Muriz asked, motioning for Leto to precede him to the ’thopter.

Leto obeyed, but listened carefully to the sound of the Fremen’s footsteps. “The surest way to keep a secret is to make people believe they already know the answer,” Leto said. “People don’t ask questions then. It was clever of you who were cast out of Jacurutu. Who’d believe Shuloch, the story-myth place, is real? And how convenient for the smugglers or anyone else who desires access to Dune.”

Muriz’s footsteps stopped. Leto turned with his back against the ’thopter’s side, the wing on his left.

Muriz stood half a pace away with his maula pistol drawn and pointed directly at Leto. “So you’re not a child,” Muriz said. “A cursed midget come to spy on us! I thought you spoke too wisely for a child, but you spoke too much too soon.”

“Not enough,” Leto said. “I’m Leto, the child of Paul Muad’Dib. If you slay me, you and your people will sink into the sand. If you spare me, I’ll lead you to greatness.”

“Don’t play games with me, midget,” Muriz snarled. “Leto is at the real Jacurutu from whence you say . . .” He broke off. The gun hand dropped slightly as a puzzled frown made his eyes squint.

It was the hesitation Leto had expected. He made every muscle indication of a move to the left which, deflecting his body no more than a millimeter, brought the Fremen’s gun swinging wildly against the wing edge. The maula pistol flew from his hand and, before he could recover, Leto was beside him with Muriz’s own crysknife pressed against the man’s back.

“The tip’s poisoned,” Leto said. “Tell your friend in the ’thopter that he’s to remain exactly where he is without moving at all. Otherwise I’ll be forced to kill you.”

Muriz, nursing his injured hand, shook his head at the figure in the ’thopter, said: “My companion Behaleth has heard you. He will be as unmoving as the rock.”

Knowing he had very little time until the two worked out a plan of action or their friends came to investigate, Leto spoke swiftly: “You need me, Muriz. Without me, the worms and their spice will vanish from Dune.” He felt the Fremen stiffen.

“But how do you know of Shuloch?” Muriz asked. “I know they said nothing at Jacurutu.”