Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [85]
He heard women talking, children’s voices, and a baby crying, all with a hushed restraint. The Fremen spoke among themselves, eyeing this stranger with suspicion as he passed, led by Turok. Some of the older ones flashed him wicked smiles that gave the Planetologist some concern. Their skin looked tough and leathery, leached of all excess water; every pair of eyes was a deep blue-within-blue.
Finally Turok raised a hand, palm outward, signaling Kynes to halt inside a large meeting hall, a natural vault within the mountain. The grotto had ample floor space for hundreds and hundreds to stand; additional benches and balconies zigzagged up the sheer reddish walls. How many people live in this sietch? Kynes stared upward in the empty, echoing room to a high balcony, a speaking platform of some sort.
After a moment, a proud old man stepped forward up there to look disdainfully down at the intruder. Kynes noted that the man had only one eye, and that he carried himself with the presence of a leader.
“That is Heinar,” Turok whispered in his ear, “the Naib of Red Wall Sietch.”
Raising a hand in greeting, Kynes called out: “I am pleased to meet the leader of this wondrous Fremen city.”
“What is it you want from us, Imperial man?” Heinar called down in a tone that was ruthless and demanding. His words rang like cold steel against the stone.
Kynes drew a deep breath. He had been waiting for an opportunity such as this for many days. Why waste time? The longer that dreams remained mere dreams, the more difficult it was to mold them into reality.
“My name is Pardot Kynes, Planetologist to the Emperor. I have a vision, sir—a dream for you and your people. One I wish to share with all the Fremen, if only you will listen to me.”
“Better to listen to the wind through a creosote bush than to waste time with the words of a fool,” the sietch leader responded. His words had a ponderous weight, as if this were an old and recognizable saying among his people.
Kynes stared back at the old man and quickly made up his own platitude, hoping to make an impression. “And if one refuses to listen to words of truth and hope, who then is the greater fool?”
Young Turok gasped. From side passages Fremen onlookers stared wide-eyed at Kynes, amazed by this stranger who spoke so boldly to their Naib.
Heinar’s face became dark and stormy. He felt a sullenness permeate him, and he envisioned this upstart Planetologist lying slain on the cave floor. He put his hand on the hilt of a crysknife at his waist. “Do you challenge my leadership?” Making up his mind, the Naib yanked the curve-bladed knife from its sheath and glowered down at Kynes.
Kynes didn’t flinch. “No, sir—I challenge your imagination. Are you brave enough to meet the task, or are you too frightened to listen to what I have to say?” The sietch leader stood tense, holding his strange milky blade high as he stared down at the prisoner. Kynes simply smiled up at him, his expression open. “It’s difficult to talk to you way up there, sir.”
Finally, Heinar chuckled, looked down at the bare blade in his hand. “A crysknife, once drawn, must never be sheathed without tasting blood.” Then he quickly slashed its edge across his forearm, drawing a thin red line that coagulated within seconds.
Kynes’s eyes glittered with excitement, reflecting the light cast by the clusters of glowglobes that floated in the large meeting chamber.
“Very well, Planetologist. You may talk until the breath flows out of your lungs. With your fate undecided, you will remain here in the sietch until the Council of Elders deliberates over what must be done with you.”
“But you’ll listen to me first.” Kynes nodded with utter confidence.
Heinar turned, took a step away from the high balcony, and spoke again over his shoulder. “You are a strange man, Pardot Kynes. An Imperial servant and a guest of Harkonnens—by definition, you are our enemy. But you have killed