Idaho peered over Inmeir’s shoulder to look at their destination. At the very center of the pocket lay a village built of the same black stones as the surrounding fences. Idaho saw orchards on some of the slopes above the village, terraced gardens rising in steps toward a small saddle where hawks could be seen gliding on the day’s first updrafts.
Looking at Siona, Idaho asked: “What is this Goygoa?”
“You will see.”
Inmeir set the ’thopter into a shallow glide which brought them to a gentle landing on a flat stretch of grass at the edge of the village. One of the Fish Speakers opened the door on the village side. Idaho’s nostrils were immediately assaulted by a heady mixture of aromas—crushed grass, animal droppings, the acridity of cooking fires. He slipped out of the ’thopter and looked up a village street where people were emerging from their houses to stare at the visitors. Idaho saw an older woman in a long green dress bend over and whisper something to a child who immediately turned and went dashing away up the street.
“Do you like this place?” Siona asked. She dropped down beside him.
“It appears pleasant.”
Siona looked at Inmeir as the pilot and the other Fish Speakers joined them on the grass. “When do we go back to Onn?”
“You do not go back,” Inmeir said. “My orders are to take you to the Citadel. The Commander goes back.”
“I see.” Siona nodded. “When will we leave?”
“At dawn tomorrow. I will see the village leader about quarters.” Inmeir strode off into the village.
“Goygoa,” Idaho said. “That’s a strange name. I wonder what this place was in the Dune days?”
“I happen to know,” Siona said. “It is on the old charts as Shuloch, which means
“Jacurutu,” Idaho whispered, recalling the old legends of the water stealers. He glanced around, looking for the evidence of dunes and ridges; there was nothing—only two older men with placid faces returning with Inmeir. The men wore faded blue trousers and ragged shirts. Their feet were bare.
“Did you know this place?” Siona asked.
“Only as a name in a legend.”
“Some say there are ghosts,” she said, “but I do not believe it.”
Inmeir stopped in front of Idaho and motioned the two barefooted men to wait behind her. “The quarters are poor but adequate,” she said, “unless you would care to stay in one of the private residences.” She turned and looked at Siona as she said this.
“We will decide later,” Siona said. She took Idaho’s arm. “The Commander and I wish to stroll through Goygoa and admire the sights.”
Inmeir shaped her mouth to speak, but remained silent.
Idaho allowed Siona to lead him past the peering faces of the two local men.
“I will send two guards with you,” Inmeir called out.
Siona stopped and turned. “Is it not safe in Goygoa?”
“It is very peaceful here,” one of the men said.
“Then we will not need guards,” Siona said. “Have them guard the ’thopter.”
Again, she led Idaho toward the village.
“All right,” Idaho said, disengaging his arm from Siona’s grasp. “What is this place?”
“It is very likely that you will find this a very restful place,” Siona said. “It is not like the old Shuloch at all. Very peaceful.”
“You’re up to something,” Idaho said, striding beside her. “What is it?”
“I’ve always heard that gholas were full of questions,” Siona said. “I, too, have questions.”
“Oh?”
“What was he like in your day, the man Leto?”
“Which one?”
“Yes, I forget there were two—the grandfather and our Leto. I mean our Leto, of course.”
“He was just a child, that’s all I know.”
“The Oral History says one of his early brides came from this village.”
“Brides? I thought . . .”
“When he still had a manly shape. It was after the death of his sister but before he began to change into the Worm. The Oral History says the brides of Leto vanished into the maze of the Imperial Citadel, never to be seen again except as faces and voices transmitted by holo. He has not had a bride for thousands of years.”
They had arrived at a small square at the center of the village, a space about fifty meters on a side and with a low-walled pool of clear water in its center. Siona crossed to the pool’s wall and sat on the rock ledge, patting beside her for Idaho to join her there. Idaho looked around at the village first, noting how people peered out at him from behind curtained windows, how the children pointed and whispered. He turned and stood looking down at Siona.
“What is this place?”
“I’ve told you. Tell me what Muad’Dib was like.”
“He was the best friend a man could ever have.”
“So the Oral History is true, but it calls the caliphate of his heirs
