"I fear the spirit seeking me now," Bijaz muttered. Perspiration stood out on his forehead. His cheeks twitched. "I fear the one who thinks not and will have no body except mine - and that one gone back into itself! I fear the things I see and the things I do not see."
This dwarf does possess the power of prescience, Paul thought. Bijaz shared the terrifying oracle. Did he share the oracle's fate, as well? How potent was the dwarf's power? Did he have the little prescience of those who dabbled in the Dune Tarot? Or was it something greater? How much had he seen?
"Best you go," Dhuri said. "Bijaz is right."
"Every minute we linger," Bijaz said, "prolongs... prolongs the present!"
Every minute I linger defers my guilt, Paul thought. A worm's poisonous breath, its teeth dripping dust, had washed over him. It had happened long ago, but he inhaled the memory of it now - spice and bitterness. He could sense his own worm waiting - "the urn of the desert."
"These are troubled times," he said, addressing himself to Otheym's judgment of their world.
"Fremen know what to do in time of trouble," Dhuri said.
Otheym contributed a shaky nod.
Paul glanced at Dhuri. He'd not expected gratitude, would have been burdened by it more than he could bear, but Otheym's bitterness and the passionate resentment he saw in Dhuri's eyes shook his resolve. Was anything worth this price?
"Delay serves no purpose," Dhuri said.
"Do what you must, Usul." Otheym wheezed.
Paul sighed. The words of the vision had been spoken. "There'll be an accounting," he said, to complete it. Turning, he strode from the room, heard Bijaz foot-slapping behind.
"Bygones, bygones," Bijaz muttered as they went. "Let bygones fall where they may. This has been a dirty day."
= = = = = =
The convoluted wording of legalisms grew up around the necessity to hide from ourselves the violence we intend toward each other. Between depriving a man of one hour from his life and depriving him of his life there exists only a difference of degree. You have done violence to him, consumed his energy. Elaborate euphemisms may conceal your intent to kill, but behind any use of power over another the ultimate assumption remains: "I feed on your energy." -Addenda to Orders in Council The Emperor Paul Muad'dib
First Moon stood high over the city as Paul, his shield activated and shimmering around him, emerged from the cul-de-sac. A wind off the massif whirled sand and dust down the narrow street, causing Bijaz to blink and shield his eyes.
"We must hurry," the dwarf muttered. "Hurry! Hurry!"
"You sense danger?" Paul asked, probing.
"I know danger!"
An abrupt sense of peril very near was followed almost immediately by a figure joining them out of a doorway.
Bijaz crouched and whimpered.
It was only Stilgar moving like a war machine, head thrust forward, feet striking the street solidly.
Swiftly, Paul explained the value of the dwarf, handed Bijaz over to Stilgar. The pace of the vision moved here with great rapidity. Stilgar sped away with Bijaz. Security Guards enveloped Paul. Orders were given to send men down the street toward the house beyond Otheym's. The men hurried to obey, shadows among shadows.
More sacrifices, Paul thought.
"We want live prisoners," one of the guard officers hissed.
The sound was a vision-echo in Paul's ears. It went with solid precision here - vision/reality, tick for tick. Ornithopters drifted down across the moon.
The night was full of Imperial troopers attacking.
A soft hiss grew out of the other sounds, climbed to a roar while they still heard the sibilance. It picked up a terra-cotta glow that hid the stars, engulfed the moon.
Paul, knowing that sound and glow from the earliest nightmare glimpses of his vision, felt an odd sense of fulfillment. It went the way it must. "Stone burner!" someone screamed.
"Stone burner!" The cry was all around him.
"Stone burner... stone burner..."
Because it was required of him, Paul threw a protective arm across his face, dove for the low lip of a curb. It already was too late, of course.
Where Otheym's house had been there stood now a pillar of fire, a blinding jet roaring at the heavens. It gave off a dirty brilliance which threw into sharp relief every ballet movement of the fighting and fleeing men, the tipping retreat of ornithopters.
For every member of this frantic throng it was too late.
The ground grew hot beneath Paul. He heard the sound of running stop. Men threw themselves down all around him, every one of them aware that there was no point in running. The first damage had been done; and now they must wait out the extent of the stone burner's potency. The things's radiation, which no man could outrun, already had penetrated their flesh. The peculiar result of stone-burner radiation already was at work in them. What else this weapon might do now lay in the planning of the men who had used it, the men who had defied the Great Convention to use it.
"God's... a stone burner," someone whimpered. "I... don't... want... to... be... blind."
"Who does?" The harsh voice of a trooper far down the street
"The Tleilaxu will sell many eyes here," someone near Paul growled. "Now, shut up and wait!"
They waited.
Paul remained silent, thinking what this weapon implied. Too much fuel in it and it'd cut its way into the planet's core. Dune's molten level lay deep, but the more dangerous for that. Such pressures released and out of control might split a planet, scattering lifeless bits and pieces through space.
"I think it's dying down a bit," someone said.