The slithering leviathan rushed across the dunes with a scouring sound that reminded Liet-Kynes, incongruously, of a ribbon-thin cascade of fresh water. Kynes had seen the artificial waterfalls on Kaitain, constructed in pointless decadence.
Under the hot yellow sun, he and a group of loyal men rode atop one of the towering sandworms. Skilled Fremen sandriders had called the beast, mounted it, and pried open its ring segments with spreaders. High on the worm’s sloped head, Liet held on to ropes to maintain his position.
The creature raced across the trackless sands toward Red Wall Sietch, where Liet’s lovely wife Faroula would be waiting for him, and where the Fremen Council would be eager to hear his news. Disappointing news. Emperor Shaddam IV had been disappointing as a man, too, beyond even Liet’s worst fears.
Stilgar had greeted Liet at the Carthag Spaceport. They had traveled out into the open desert, away from the Shield Wall, beyond the prying eyes of Harkonnens. There, met by a small band of Fremen, Stilgar had planted a thumper whose resonating heartbeat rhythm attracted a worm. Using techniques known to Fremen since ancient days, they had captured it.
Liet had scrambled up the ropes with familiar moves, planting stakes to secure himself. He remembered the day he had become a sandrider as a youth, proving himself an adult of the tribe. Old Naib Heinar had watched in judgment. Back then, Liet had been terrified, but he had completed the ordeal.
Now, though riding a sandworm was every bit as dangerous, and never to be done lightly, he saw the unruly beast as a mode of transportation, a swift means to get him home.
Tugging guide ropes and calling back to the riders, Stilgar stood stoically. The Fremen moved spreaders and planted additional maker hooks to direct the creature. Stilgar looked over at Liet, who remained preoccupied and clearly unhappy. He knew his friend’s report from Kaitain was not good. However, unlike jabbering courtiers in the Palace, Fremen were not uneasy with silences. Liet would speak when he was ready, so Stilgar kept to himself beside his friend; they were together, each immersed in his own thoughts. Hours passed as they crossed the desert toward the reddish-black mountains near the horizon.
When he felt it was time, attuned to the young Planetologist’s expressions and watching the reflection of troubled thoughts cross his face beneath the stillsuit mask, Stilgar spoke what Liet needed to hear. “You are the son of Umma Kynes. Now that your great father has died, you are the hope of all Fremen. And you have my life and loyalty, just as I promised it to your father.” Stilgar did not treat the younger man in a paternal fashion, but as a genuine comrade.
They both knew the story; it had been told many times in sietch. Before he came to live among the Fremen, Pardot Kynes had fought six Harkonnen bravos who had cornered Stilgar, Turok, and Ommun— a brash trio of young Fremen. Stilgar was grievously injured and would have died if Kynes had not helped kill the Baron’s men. Subsequently, when the Planetologist became a wild prophet of the Fremen, the three swore to help him achieve his dream. Even after Ommun had died with Pardot in a cave-in at Plaster Basin, Stilgar remembered the water debt he owed and paid it to the son, Liet.
Stilgar reached out to clasp the younger man’s arm. Liet was every bit the man his father had been, and more. He had been raised as a Fremen.
Liet gave him a wan smile, his eyes deeply appreciative. “It is not your loyalty that concerns me, Stil, but the practicality of our cause. We will receive neither help nor sympathy from House Corrino.”
Stilgar actually laughed at this. “The Emperor’s sympathy is a weapon I’d rather not have. And we need no help killing Harkonnens.” Now, as they rode the worm onward, he told his comrade about the raid on the desecrated Sietch Hadith. Liet looked pleased.
Back in the warm confines of the isolated stronghold, Liet went eagerly to his quarters, dirty and exhausted. There, Faroula waited for her husband, and he would spend time with her first. After his sojourn on the Imperial planet, Liet needed a few moments of peace and calm, which his wife had always been able to provide. The desert people were anxious to hear his report and had already called a gathering for that evening, but by tradition no traveler was required to tell his tale until he could be refreshed, except in an emergency.
Faroula greeted him with a smile, flashing blue-within-blue eyes. Her welcoming kiss deepened as the privacy hanging fell across the door to their chamber. She had made him spice coffee and small honeyed melange cakes. He found the treats satisfying, but far less wonderful than simply seeing her again.
After another embrace, she brought out their young children, Liet-chih— her son by Liet’s best friend Warrick, whose death had left Liet to take care of Faroula and the boy as his own— as well as their own daughter, Chani. He hugged the children, and they played and jabbered, until finally a nursemaid took them away, leaving him alone again with his wife.
Faroula smiled, her skin golden. She unfastened his now-worthless stillsuit, which had been taken apart and reassembled by the Emperor’s security men. She applied thin salves to the bare skin of his feet.
Liet let out a long sigh. He had much to do, many matters to discuss with the Fremen, but he pushed them aside for now. Even a man who had stood before the Golden Lion Throne could find other things more important. As he looked into his wife’s enigmatic eyes, Liet felt more at home than he had at any time since he’d stepped off the Guild shuttle in Carthag.
“Tell me about the wonders of Kaitain, my love,” she said, her expression already filled with awe. “Such beautiful things you must have seen.”
“I saw many things there, yes,” he answered, “but believe me when I tell you this, Faroula.” He stroked his fingers along her cheek. “I have found nothing in all the universe more beautiful than you.”