God Emperor of Dune (21 page)
“She must be separated from her companions, Lord.”
“Very well.”
“My Lord is gracious.”
“I am selfish.”
The God Emperor turned away from Moneo then and fell silent. Looking along the segmented body, Moneo observed that the Worm signs had subsided somewhat. This had turned out well after all. He thought then of the Fremen with their petition and fear returned.
That was a mistake. They will only arouse Him again. Why did I say they could present their petition?
The Fremen would be waiting up ahead, marshalled on this side of the river with their foolish papers waving in their hands.
Moneo marched in silence, his apprehension increasing with each step.
Over here sand blows; over there sand blows. Over there a rich man waits; over here I wait.
—THE VOICE OF SHAI-HULUD,
FROM THE ORAL HISTORY
Sister Chenoeh’s account, found among her papers after her death:
I obey both my tenets as a Bene Gesserit and the commands of the God Emperor by withholding these words from my report while secreting them that they may be found when I am gone. For the Lord Leto said to me: “You will return to your Superiors with my message, but these words keep secret for now. I will visit my rage upon your Sisterhood if you fail.”
As the Reverend Mother Syaksa warned me before I left: “You must do nothing which will bring down his wrath upon us.”
While I ran beside the Lord Leto on that short peregrination of which I had spoken, I thought to ask him about his likeness to a Reverend Mother. I said:
“Lord, I know how it is that a Reverend Mother acquires the memories of her ancestors and of others. How was it with you?”
“It was a design of our genetic history and the working of the spice. My twin sister, Ghanima, and I were awakened in the womb, aroused before birth into the presence of our ancestral memories.”
“Lord … my Sisterhood calls that Abomination.”
“And rightly so,” the Lord Leto said. “The ancestral numbers can be overwhelming. And who knows before the event which force will command such a horde—good or evil?”
“Lord, how did you overcome such a force?”
“I did not overcome it,” the Lord Leto said. “But the persistence of the pharaonic model saved both Ghani and me. Do you know that model, Sister Chenoeh?”
“We of the Sisterhood are well coached in history, Lord.”
“Yes, but you do not think of this as I do,” the Lord Leto said. “I speak of a disease of government which was caught by the Greeks who spread it to the Romans who distributed it so far and wide that it never has completely died out.”
“Does my Lord speak riddles?”
“No riddles. I hate this thing, but it saved us. Ghani and I formed powerful internal alliances with ancestors who followed the pharaonic model. They helped us form a mingled identity within that long-dormant mob.”
“I find this disturbing, Lord.”
“And well you should.”
“Why are you telling me this now, Lord? You have never answered one of us before in this manner, not that I know of.”
“Because you listen well, Sister Chenoeh; because you will obey me and because I will never see you again.”
The Lord Leto spoke those strange words to me and then he asked:
“Why have you not inquired about what your Sisterhood calls my
insane tyranny
?”
insane tyranny
?”
Emboldened by his manner, I ventured to say: “Lord, we know about some of your bloody executions. They trouble us.”
The Lord Leto then did a strange thing. He closed his eyes as we went, and he said:
“Because I know you have been trained to record accurately whatever words you hear, I will speak to you now, Sister Chenoeh, as though you were a page in one of my journals. Preserve these words well, for I do not want them lost.”
I assure my Sisterhood now that what follows, exactly as he spoke them, are the words uttered then by the Lord Leto:
“To my certain knowledge, when I am no longer consciously present here among you, when I am here only as a fearsome creature of the desert, many people will look back upon me as a tyrant.
“Fair enough. I have been tyrannical.
“A tyrant—not fully human, not insane, merely a tyrant. But even ordinary tyrants have motives and feelings beyond those usually assigned them by facile historians, and they will think of me as a
great
tyrant. Thus, my feelings and motives are a legacy I would preserve lest history distort them too much. History has a way of magnifying some characteristics while it discards others.
great
tyrant. Thus, my feelings and motives are a legacy I would preserve lest history distort them too much. History has a way of magnifying some characteristics while it discards others.
“People will try to understand me and to frame me in their words. They will seek truth. But the truth always carries the ambiguity of the words used to express it.
“You will not understand me. The harder you try the more remote I will become until finally I vanish into eternal myth—a Living God at last!
“That’s it, you see. I am not a leader nor even a guide. A god. Remember that. I am quite different from leaders and guides. Gods need take no responsibility for anything except genesis. Gods accept everything and thus accept nothing. Gods must be identifiable yet remain anonymous. Gods do not need a spirit world. My spirits dwell within me, answerable to my slightest summons. I share with you, because it pleases me to do so, what I have learned about them and through them. They are
my
truth.
my
truth.
“Beware of
the
truth, gentle Sister. Although much sought after, truth can be dangerous to the seeker. Myths and reassuring lies are much easier to find and believe. If you find a truth, even a temporary one, it can demand that you make painful changes. Conceal your truths within words. Natural ambiguity will protect you then. Words are much easier to absorb than are the sharp Delphic stabs of wordless portent. With words, you can cry out in the chorus:
the
truth, gentle Sister. Although much sought after, truth can be dangerous to the seeker. Myths and reassuring lies are much easier to find and believe. If you find a truth, even a temporary one, it can demand that you make painful changes. Conceal your truths within words. Natural ambiguity will protect you then. Words are much easier to absorb than are the sharp Delphic stabs of wordless portent. With words, you can cry out in the chorus:
“ ‘Why didn’t someone warn me?’
“ ‘But I did warn you. I warned you by example, not with words.’
“There are inevitably more than enough words. You record them in your marvelous memory even now. And someday, my journals will be discovered—more words. I warn you that you read my words at your peril. The wordless movement of terrible events lies just below their surface. Be deaf! You do not need to hear or, hearing, you do not need to remember. How soothing it is to forget. And how dangerous!
“Words such as mine have long been recognized for their mysterious power. There is a secret knowledge here which can be used to rule the forgetful. My truths are the substance of myths and lies which tyrants have always counted on to maneuver the masses for selfish design.
“You see? I share it all with you, even the greatest mystery of all time, the mystery by which I compose my life. I reveal it to you in words:
“The only past which endures lies wordlessly within you.”
The God Emperor fell silent then. I dared to ask: “Are those all of the words that my Lord wishes me to preserve?”
“Those are the words,” the God Emperor said, and I thought he sounded tired, discouraged. He had the sound of someone uttering a last testament. I recalled that he had said he would never see me again, and I was fearful but I praise my teachers because the fear did not emerge in my voice.
“Lord Leto,” I said, “these journals of which you speak, for whom are they written?”
“For posterity after the span of millennia. I personalize those distant readers, Sister Chenoeh. I think of them as distant cousins filled with family curiosities. They are intent on unraveling the dramas which only I can recount. They want to make the personal connections to their own lives. They want the meanings, the
truth
!”
truth
!”
“But you warn us against truth, Lord,” I said.
“Indeed! All of history is a malleable instrument in my hands. Ohhh, I have accumulated all of these pasts and I possess every
fact
—yet the facts are mine to use as I will and, even using them truthfully, I change them. What am I speaking to you now? What is a diary, a journal? Words.”
fact
—yet the facts are mine to use as I will and, even using them truthfully, I change them. What am I speaking to you now? What is a diary, a journal? Words.”
Again, the Lord Leto fell silent. I weighed the portent of what he had said, weighed it against the admonition of Reverend Mother Syaksa, and against the things that the God Emperor had uttered to me earlier. He said I was his messenger and thus I felt that I was under his protection and might dare more than any other. Thus it was that I said:
“Lord Leto, you have said that you will not see me again. Does that mean you are about to die?”
I swear it here in my record of this event, the Lord Leto laughed! Then he said:
“No, gentle Sister, it is you who will die. You will not live to be a Reverend Mother. Do not be saddened by this for by your presence here today, by carrying my message back to the Sisterhood, by preserving my secret words as well, you will achieve a far greater status. You become here an integral part of my myth. Our distant cousins will pray to you for intercession with me!”
Again, the Lord Leto laughed, but it was gentle laughter and he smiled upon me warmly. I find it difficult to record here with that accuracy which I am enjoined to employ in every accounting such as this one, yet in the moment that the Lord Leto spoke these terrible words to me, I felt a profound bond of friendship with him, as though some physical thing had leaped between us, tying us together in a way that words cannot fully describe. It was not until the instant of this experience that I understood what he had meant by the
wordless truth.
It happened, yet I cannot describe it.
ARCHIVISTS’ NOTE:wordless truth.
It happened, yet I cannot describe it.
Because of intervening events, the discovery of this private record is now little more than a footnote to history, interesting because it contains one of the earliest references to the God Emperor’s secret journals. For those wishing to explore further into this account, reference may be made to Archive Records, subheadings:
Chenoeh, Holy Sister Quintinius Violet: Chenoeh Report, The,
and
Melange Rejection, Medical Aspects of.
Chenoeh, Holy Sister Quintinius Violet: Chenoeh Report, The,
and
Melange Rejection, Medical Aspects of.
(Footnote: Sister Quintinius Violet Chenoeh died in the fifty-third year of her Sisterhood, the cause being ascribed to melange incompatibility during her attempt to achieve the status of Reverend Mother.)
Our ancestor, Assur-nasir-apli, who was known as the cruelest of the cruel, seized the throne by slaying his own father and starting the reign of the sword. His conquests included the Urumia Lake region, which led him to Commagene and Khabur. His son received tribute from the Shuites, from Tyre, Sidon, Gebel and even from Jehu, son of Omri, whose very name struck terror into thousands. The conquests which began with Assur-nasir-apli carried arms into Media and later into Israel, Damascus, Edom, Arpad, Babylon and Umlias. Does anyone remember these names and places now? I have given you enough clues: Try to name the planet.
—THE STOLEN JOURNALS
he air was stagnant deep within the carved cut of the Royal Road leading down to the flat approach to the bridge across the Idaho River. The road turned to the right out of the man-made immensity of rock and earth. Moneo, walking beside the Royal Cart, saw the paved ribbon leading across a narrow ridgetop to the lacery of plasteel which was the bridge almost a kilometer distant.
The river, still deep in a chasm, turned inward toward him on the right and then ran straight through multi-stage cascades toward the far side of the Forbidden Forest where the confining walls dropped down almost to the level of the water. There at the outskirts of Onn lay the orchards and gardens which helped to feed the city.
Moneo, looking at the distant stretch of river visible from where he walked, saw that the canyon top was bathed in light, while the water still flowed in shadows broken only by the faint silvery shimmering of the cascades.
Straight ahead of him, the road to the bridge was brilliant in sunlight, the dark shadows of erosion gullies on both sides set off like arrows to indicate the correct path. The rising sun already had made the roadway hot. The air trembled above it, a warning of the day to come.
We’ll be safely into the City before the worst of the heat,
Moneo thought.
Moneo thought.
He trotted along in the weary patience which always overcame him at this point, his gaze fixed forward in expectation of the petitioning Museum Fremen. They would come up out of one of the erosion gullies, he knew. Somewhere on this side of the bridge. That was the agreement he had made with them. No way to stop them now. And the God Emperor still showed signs of the Worm.
Leto heard the Fremen before any of his party either saw or heard them.
“Listen!” he called.
Moneo came to full alert.
Leto rolled his body on the cart, arched the front upward out of the bubble shield and peered ahead.
Moneo knew this kind of thing well. The God Emperor’s senses, so much more acute than any of those around him, had detected a disturbance ahead. The Fremen were beginning to move up to the road. Moneo let himself fall back one pace and moved out to the limit of his dutiful position. He heard it himself then.
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