Sisterhood of Dune (16 page)

Trapped on that backwater planet with little hope of advancement, Valya Harkonnen had made up her mind to become a superior fighter, so that she could stand strong against threats. She and her dear brother, Griffin, had engaged in traditional boxing, wrestling, and martial arts matches. He was taller and stronger, but she had speed, trickery, and unpredictability, so that she defeated him more often than not … which helped him improve, as she did. Neither Valya nor Griffin looked like formidable fighters, but they were deceptively skilled, and the “normalness” of their appearance often put opponents off guard. Since joining the Sisterhood, Valya had learned even more techniques of controlling her body, muscles, and reflexes. She knew that the next time she sparred with Griffin, he would be quite surprised.

Now the new group of acolytes stood close together on the paved treetops. They looked down at the sheer precipice cut into the high canopy, like a canyon carved through the interlocked branches and leaves.

“For today’s demonstration, we will show you how powerful we women can be,” the gray-haired Raquella said, looking up as Karee Marques and three other pureblooded Sorceresses prepared to impress the acolytes. Valya had seen the demonstration many times before; she would be awed and saddened, as always.

These last few survivors of Rossak’s most powerful women exhibited remarkable talents, in many ways superior even to Reverend Mother Raquella’s ability to focus control over her body down to the smallest cell. Valya felt disappointed and discouraged because
she
could never have such powers without risking the transformative process. And so far, the testing to create new Reverend Mothers had been a dead end.

Karee Marques said, “Once, the Sorceresses of Rossak were greatly feared, the most powerful women in the old League of Nobles. Without our mental powers, the human race might not have survived the war against the cymeks.”

The three Sorceresses next to her curled their hands into loosely balled fists. Their hair began to waft freely about, energized with static electricity. The silvery-purple leaves on the edge of the flattened forest canopy began to stir as if alive … as if fleeing. Valya’s head began to pound with the pressure. Disturbed by the building wave, two birdlike moths flew away squawking, beating their iridescent wings.

“The Sorceresses were able to kill cymeks with psychic powers, boiling their brains inside their preservation canisters. Though shielded, they could not withstand us.” Karee’s face was drawn, the strain pulling the sinews on her neck tight. “But each victory against the cymeks cost the life of a Sorceress. The most powerful ones caused the greatest damage, but by the end of the Jihad, most of the living Sorceresses had sacrificed themselves. The bloodline grew diluted … and those of us here in the School are all who remain.”

Together in eerie silence, the group of Sorceresses levitated themselves, rising up from the paved canopy as if borne on suspensors, but they did it all with their minds, keeping their eyes closed.

Valya remained silent, staring in wonder. She heard the acolytes gasp.

“This is just a hint of the potential in every human being,” Reverend Mother Raquella said. “Through careful study of the genetic records in our breeding database, we were able to eliminate the potential for many horrific birth defects. Once, large numbers of Misborn were cast out into the jungles, genetically inferior, horribly deformed. That doesn’t happen anymore.” The old woman’s lips turned in a frown. “But Sorceresses are rarely born, either.”

Karee and the other Sorceresses drifted back down to the canopy and relaxed, releasing their intense concentration that had built up to a telepathic thrumming in the air. Valya felt the pain inside her skull recede.

She noted that all the Sorceresses had their eyes open now, and they emitted a simultaneous sigh. “You must each attain your own potential,” Raquella said to the fascinated acolytes. “You must work with us to find it.”

“Without machines—we use only what is in our own hearts and minds,” said a new acolyte named Ingrid, who had arrived from the Butlerian stronghold of Lampadas. She had been recommended by Sister Dorotea, who now served Emperor Salvador Corrino himself.

Raquella paced around the gathered acolytes. Her blue eyes were watery as she looked from face to face. “Answer this—in what ways are humans better than machines?”

“Creativity,” one of the acolytes answered immediately.

“Adaptability.”

“Foresight.”

Ingrid piped up, “Love?”

Valya wasn’t sure she liked this new Sister. Ingrid was intense and didn’t seem to listen well. She had arrived at the school with far too many inflexible opinions and had a tendency to blurt out whatever was on her mind. And, now that Reverend Mother Raquella had entrusted Valya with the secret of the breeding-record computers, it made the young woman suspicious of anyone with such close ties to the Butlerians.

The Reverend Mother stood squarely in front of the naïve new acolyte. “You consider
love
to be a human advantage?”

“Yes, Reverend Mother.” Ingrid looked nervous.

Without warning, Raquella slapped her hard across the face. At first Ingrid looked confused, shocked, and hurt—then her face reddened with fury. Heat flared in her eyes as she tried to control her temper.

With a chuckle, Raquella relaxed and said, “Love may set us apart from thinking machines, but it is not necessarily an advantage. During the Jihad, we didn’t defeat Omnius with
love
! Hatred, now, that’s another matter, isn’t it?” She leaned closer. “We all saw it on your face when I struck you.
Hatred!
That’s the emotion that enabled us to defeat the machines. Controlled hatred. That’s a concept to be understood, but it’s risky.”

Ingrid was not afraid to speak up. “And faith. With all due respect, Reverend Mother, hatred alone did not lead us to victory. We had faith in our righteous cause, and love made all those martyrs willing to sacrifice for their families, their friends, and even for strangers. Faith, Reverend Mother,
faith.
And love.”

Raquella seemed disappointed in the young woman. “That may be what Manford Torondo teaches his followers, but you are in the Sisterhood now. Your perspective must change from blind acceptance of whatever the Butlerians say.”

Ingrid jerked her head back, as if she’d heard sacrilege, but the question about human advantages was a rehearsed springboard for what Raquella wanted to teach. She addressed the group of acolytes. “You must set aside beliefs you held before arriving on Rossak. Allow your minds to become a receptive slate upon which we will inscribe new beliefs, new ways. You must be
Sisters
first, and anything else second.”

“Are we not
humans
first?” Ingrid asked. Valya decided that she definitely disliked this annoying young woman.

“
Sisters
first.”

At a nod from Raquella, Sister Ninke opened the
Azhar Book
and read a prearranged passage. “‘The first question to ask each day when we arise, and the last question each evening when we retire, is this:
What does it mean to be human?
These seven words form the basis of all our behavior and endeavor. If we do not seek to answer this, what purpose is there to breathing or eating or going about one’s daily life?’”

*   *   *

THAT EVENING, A
supply ship arrived at Rossak bearing a message from Salusa Secundus, wrapped in ostentatious packaging.

Valya was attending the Reverend Mother in her private, stone-walled chamber when the message cylinder arrived. Raquella’s quarters were in the oldest section of caves, in a chamber that had once belonged to the legendary Sorceress Zufa Cenva.

Valya had been listening to the old woman describe how the voices of past memories had guided her plans to utilize the computerized breeding records to shepherd the human race. Her voice droned on. “Women have always been the driving force behind society, whether or not men wear the mantles of leadership. We have the innate genetic power to create, and even though the Imperium is still stumbling in its first steps, if we in the Sisterhood can extend our influence, sending out even more of our well-trained Sisters as advisers, confidantes, or wives, then we can provide a more stable foundation for the great houses of the Landsraad League.” Raquella drew a long, wistful breath. “Ah, if only you could see it yourself, Valya. Countless generations are contained in my memory, life upon life, extending across the rugged landscape of human history. The perspective is … breathtaking!”

Valya watched curiously as a young Sister delivered the ornately embossed package to the Reverend Mother. Raquella dismissed the girl, curious to study the sealed message cylinder; Valya offered to leave as well, but the Reverend Mother made an offhanded gesture for her to stay. Valya sat perfectly still, holding her silence as Raquella read the tightly rolled sheet. “It is from Sister Dorotea.”

“News from the Imperial Court?” Though she felt very close to Reverend Mother Raquella, Valya still anxiously awaited the day when she could leave Rossak. She hoped someday to be assigned to Salusa Secundus, where she could make vitally important connections with influential nobles and Imperial officials and help House Harkonnen regain its standing. She might even marry into a powerful noble family. Barring that, maybe she could obtain a position with Venport Holdings. The Sisterhood provided her with a menu of options.…

Raquella’s brow furrowed like pale parchment as she digested the coded message; she didn’t seem to know whether to smile or frown. “Emperor Salvador wants his sister, Anna Corrino, to join the Sisterhood. Something to do with a scandal at the court. Our school has been instructed to accept the girl as an acolyte.” The old woman looked at Valya, raised her eyebrows. “She is your age.”

Valya blinked in surprise. At twenty-one, she was hardly more than a girl herself. “The Emperor’s sister?” she asked. “If she joins us, our school would gain visibility and prestige … but is Anna Corrino qualified to become an acolyte?”

“It is not a request.” The Reverend Mother set aside the message. “We need to make arrangements to depart on the next spacefolder for Salusa. As Reverend Mother, I will travel there myself to receive the Corrino princess into our care. Her rank demands that we go to great lengths to make her feel valued and welcome.” She looked at Valya, considering, and perhaps listening to unheard voices inside her head. Reaching a decision, she smiled. “And I want you to accompany me.”

One can draw maps of planets and continents with extreme accuracy, but the map of a life contains unchartable terrain.

—
ABULURD HARKONNEN
,
Memoirs from Lankiveil

By midafternoon, the sleet stopped and the skies cleared, a taunting reminder of how pleasant Lankiveil could be. Muffled in his warm whale-fur jacket, Griffin Harkonnen watched fishermen haul their craft out of the boathouses; he knew it would take them until nightfall to get the vessels ready, but he admired them for trying.

He had gone over the budget and the tax projections, and knew how much the hard winter had hurt the economy. Several docks needed to be repaired, and an avalanche had closed one of the roads through the mountains. Someday, through his own efforts, he hoped the planetary treasury would grow strong enough to allow his people to do more than eke out a living in difficult times.

He looked up as a smoky roar split the sky: a shuttle coming down from orbit, the regular delivery ship that bore packages of expensive supplies, formal documents, mail dispatches, and news releases from Salusa Secundus. He didn’t expect a response yet from the governmental examination he had taken, since bureaucracy and approvals ground slowly through the administrative red tape. But soon—when he received the results of the tests he knew he had passed—he would become a full-fledged Landsraad representative, and the distasteful proxy relationship could be ended.

After the shuttle landed, Griffin went to sign for the delivery, although some of the new captains specifically wanted Vergyl Harkonnen’s mark. By now, though, most of the starship captains knew the young man by sight. Griffin made a point of meeting each of them, never wanting to ignore possible connections.

Some of the vessels that came to outlying planets such as Lankiveil were operated by the VenHold Spacing Fleet, but Celestial Transport made more frequent stops in this sector. After the shuttle landed in the small, paved spaceport, local cargo handlers emerged from their homes, ready to help unload and distribute the offworld shipments.

Griffin was professional and cordial as he went to greet the shuttle captain, but the offworlder sounded annoyed as he held out the manifest sheet. “Miserable planet! I’ve been in orbit since early yesterday, but the storm clouds were thick as a planetary shield. Didn’t think I’d ever be able to land.” He seemed to be blaming Griffin. “Your deliveries and dispatches aren’t worth crashing my ship over.”

“It wasn’t my choice to live on this forsaken place,” Griffin said, biting back his long-held resentment. “We’re glad you made it, Captain. The weathersats say the storms will close in again tomorrow.”

“Oh, I’ll be long gone by then—I’m already behind schedule because of the delays here.” With a brusque gesture, the captain handed Griffin a packet of diplomatic papers and letters.

While the crew and local porters unloaded supplies from the shuttle’s cargo hold, Griffin checked items off the manifest, then transferred funds from the treasury to pay for the municipal deliveries. He offered hospitality to the captain, but the man wanted to be off again the moment his hold was empty. Gray clouds began congealing overhead after only an hour of clear weather.

As soon as the shuttle had lifted into the sky and he finished overseeing the cargo crates sent to the harbor warehouses, Griffin took the documents back to the dark-wood house he shared with his family. In the study by a warm fire, he sat back and sorted through the packets, expecting to spend the rest of the day conducting business.