Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [117]
Later, as Kynes walked along the sietch passageways, curious people gathered to follow him and listen. In the midst of their daily routines, this tall, stubble-bearded Planetologist continued to be something new and interesting. His crazy but visionary words might sound ridiculous, the most preposterous of fantasies, but even the sietch’s children tagged along after the stranger.
The bemused and talkative crowd accompanied Kynes as he lectured, gesturing with his hands, gazing at the ceiling as if he could see the open sky there. Though they tried, these Fremen could not imagine the sight of clouds gathering to pour rain upon the desert. Droplets of moisture falling from the empty sky? Absurd!
Some of the children laughed at the very idea of rain on Dune, but Kynes kept talking, explaining the steps of his process to reap the faintest breath of water vapor from the air. He would collect every sparkle of dew in the shadows to help twist Arrakis in the way he required, to pave the way for a brilliant new ecology.
“You must think of this world in engineering terms,” Kynes said, in a professorial tone. He was happy to have such an attentive audience, though he wasn’t sure how much they understood. “This planet, taken in its entirety, is merely an expression of energy, a machine driven by its sun.” He lowered his voice and looked down at a young, wide-eyed girl. “What it requires is reshaping to fit our needs. We have the ability to do that on . . . Dune. But do we have the self-discipline and the drive?”
He lifted his gaze to someone else. “That is up to us.”
By now Ommun and Turok had heard most of Kynes’s lectures. Although they had scoffed at first, eventually the words had sunk in. Now, the more they heard of his unbridled enthusiasm and bright honesty, the more they actually began to believe. Why not dream? Judging from the expressions on the faces of his listeners, they could see that other Fremen had started to consider the possibilities as well.
The sietch elders called these converts optimistic and overly gullible. Undaunted, Kynes continued to spread his ideas, as outrageous as they might seem.
Wearing a grim expression, Naib Heinar squinted his one eye and extended the holy crysknife, still sheathed. The strong warrior standing rigid in front of him held out his hands to receive the gift.
The Naib intoned ritual words. “Uliet, older Liet, you have been chosen for this task for the good of our sietch. You have proven yourself many times in battle against the Harkonnens. You are an accomplished worm rider and one of the greatest fighters among the Fremen.”
A man of middle years and craggy features, Uliet bowed. His hands remained outstretched. He waited and did not flinch. Though a deeply religious man, he held his awe in check.
“Take this consecrated crysknife, Uliet.” Heinar now grasped the carved hilt and yanked the long milky white blade from its sheath. The crysknife was a sacred relic among the Fremen, fashioned from the crystal tooth of a sandworm. This particular blade was fixed, keyed to the body of its owner so that the weapon would dissolve upon his death.
“Your blade has been dipped in the poisonous Water of Life, and blessed by Shai-Hulud,” Heinar continued. “As is our tradition, the sacred blade must not be sheathed again until it has tasted blood.”
Uliet took the weapon, suddenly overwhelmed by the importance of the task for which he had been selected. Intensely superstitious, he had watched the great worms in the desert and had ridden atop them many times. But never had he allowed himself to become familiar with the magnificent creatures. He could not forget that they were the manifestations of the great creator of the universe.
“I shall not fail the will of Shai-Hulud.” Uliet accepted the blade and held it up high, with its poisoned tip pointed away from him.
The other elders stood behind the one-eyed Naib, firm in their decision. “Take two watermen with you,” Heinar