words a harshness that Jessica had never before heard in them.
“We will never forgive and we will never forget,” Harah said.
In the thoughtful quiet that followed her words, they heard a muttering of people, the swish of many robes. Jessica sensed someone standing beyond the hangings that shielded her chamber.
“Reverend Mother?”
A woman’s voice, and Jessica recognized it: the voice of Tharthar, one of Stilgar’s wives.
“What is it, Tharthar?”
“There is trouble, Reverend Mother.”
Jessica felt a constriction at her heart, an abrupt fear for Paul. “Paul …” she gasped.
Tharthar spread the hangings, stepped into the chamber. Jessica glimpsed a press of people in the outer room before the hangings fell. She looked up at Tharthar—a small, dark woman in a red-figured robe of black, the total blue of her eyes trained fixedly on Jessica, the nostrils of her tiny nose dilated to reveal the plug scars.
“What is it?” Jessica demanded.
“There is word from the sand,” Tharthar said. “Usul meets the maker for his test … it is today. The young men say he cannot fail, he will be a sandrider by nightfall. The young men are banding for a razzia. They will raid in the north and meet Usul there. They say they will raise the cry then. They say they will force him to call out Stilgar and assume command of the tribes.”
Gathering water, planting the dunes, changing their world slowly but surely—these are no longer enough, Jessica thought. The little raids, the certain raids—these are no longer enough now that Paul and I have trained them. They feel their power. They want to fight.
Tharthar shifted from one foot to the other, cleared her throat.
We know the need for cautious waiting, Jessica thought, but there’s the core of our frustration. We know also the harm that waiting extended too long can do us. We lose our senses of purpose if the waiting’s prolonged.
“The young men say if Usul does not call out Stilgar, then he must be afraid,” Tharthar said.
She lowered her gaze.
“So that’s the way of it,” Jessica muttered. And she thought: Well I saw it coming. As did Stilgar.
Again, Tharthar cleared her throat. “Even my brother, Shoab, says it,” she said. “They will leave Usul no choice.”
Then it has come, Jessica thought. And Paul will have to handle it himself. The Reverend Mother dare not become involved in the succession.
Alia freed her hand from her mother’s, said: “I will go with Tharthar and listen to the young men. Perhaps there is a way.”
Jessica met Tharthar’s gaze, but spoke to Alia: “Go, then. And report to me as soon as you can.”
“We do not want this thing to happen, Reverend Mother,” Tharthar said.
“We do not want it,” Jessica agreed. “The tribe needs all its strength.” She glanced at Harah. “Will you go with them?”
Harah answered the unspoken part of the question: “Tharthar will allow no harm to befall Alia. She knows we will soon be wives together, she and I, to share the same man. We have talked, Tharthar and I.” Harah looked up at Tharthar, back to Jessica. “We have an understanding.”
Tharthar held out a hand for Alia, said: “We must hurry. The young men are leaving.”
They pressed through the hangings, the child’s hand in the small woman’s hand, but the child seemed to be leading.
“If Paul-Muad’Dib slays Stilgar, this will not serve the tribe,” Harah said. “Always before, it has been the way of succession, but times have changed.”
“Times have changed for you, as well,” Jessica said.
“You cannot think I doubt the outcome of such a battle,” Harah said. “Usul could not but win.”
“That was my meaning,” Jessica said.
“And you think my personal feelings enter into my judgment,” Harah said. She shook her head, her water rings tinkling at her neck. “How wrong you are. Perhaps you think, as well, that I regret not being the chosen of Usul, that I am jealous of Chani?”
“You make your own choice as you are able,” Jessica said.
“I pity Chani,” Harah said.
Jessica stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“I know what you think of Chani,” Harah said. “You think she is not the wife for your son.”
Jessica settled back, relaxed on her cushions. She shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“You could be right,” Harah said. “If you are, you may find a surprising ally—Chani herself. She wants whatever is best for Him.”
Jessica swallowed past a sudden tightening in her throat. “Chani’s very dear to me,” she said. “She could be no—”
“Your rugs are very dirty in here,” Harah said. She swept her gaze around the floor, avoiding