God Emporer of Dune by Frank Herbert

“But when you know they are wrong. . .”

“Do you believe in me?”

“Yes.”

“And if someone tried to convince you that I am the greatest evil of all time…”

“I would become very angry. I would. . .” She broke off.

“Reason is valuable,” he said, “only when it performs against the wordless physical background of the universe.”

Her brows drew together in thought. It fascinated Leto to sense the arousal of her awareness. “Ahhh.” She breathed the word.

“No reasoning creature will ever again be able to deny the Leto experience,” he said. “I see your understanding begin. Beginnings! They are what life is all about!”

She nodded.

No arguments, he thought. When she sees the tracks, she follows them to find where they will lead.

“As long as there is life, every ending is a beginning,” he said. “And I would save humankind, even from itself.”

Again, she nodded. The tracks still led onward.

“This is why no death in the perpetuation of humankind can be a complete failure,” he said. “This is why a birth touches us so deeply. This is why the most tragic death is the death of a youth.”

“Does Ix still threaten your Golden Path? I’ve always known they conspired in something evil.”

They conspire. Hwi does not hear the inner message of her own words. She has no need to hear it.

He stared at her, full of the marvel that was Hwi. She possessed a form of honesty which some would call naive, but which Leto recognized as merely non-self-conscious. The honesty was not her core, it was Hwi herself.

“Then I will arrange a performance in the plaza tomorrow,” Leto said. “It will be a performance of the surviving Face Dancers. Afterward, our betrothal will be announced.”

=== Let there be no doubt that I am the assemblage of our ancestors, the arena in which they exercise my moments. They are my cells and I am their body. This is the favrashi of which I speak, the soul, the collective unconscious, the source of archetypes, the repository of all trauma and joy. I am the choice of their awakening. My samhadi is their samhadi. Their experiences are mine! Their knowledge distilled is mfr inheritance. Those billions are my one.

-The Stolen Journals

THE FACE DANCER performance occupied almost two hours of the morning, and afterward came the announcement which sent shock waves through the Festival City.

“It has been centuries since he took a bride!”

“More than a thousand years, my dear.”

The trooping of the Fish Speakers had been brief. They cheered him loudly, but they were disturbed.

“You are my only brides,” he had said. Was that not the meaning of Siaynoq?

Leto thought the Face Dancers performed well despite their obvious terror. Garments had been found in the depths of a Fremen museum hooded black robes with white cord belts, spread-winged green hawks appliquйd across the shoulders at the back-uniforms of Muad’Dib’s itinerant priests. The Face Dancers had put on dark, seamed faces with these robes and performed a dance which told how Muad’Dib’s legions had spread their religion through the Empire.

Hwi, wearing a brilliant silver dress with a green jade necklace, sat beside Leto on the Royal Cart throughout the ritual.

Once, she leaned close to his face and asked: “Is that not a parody?” “To me, perhaps.” “Do the Face Dancers know?” “They suspect.” “Then they are not as frightened as they appear.” “Oh, yes, they are frightened. It’s just that they are braver than most people expect them to be.” “Bravery can be so foolish,” she whispered. “And vice-versa.” She had favored him with a measuring stare before returning her attention to the performance. Almost two hundred Face Dancers had survived unscathed. All of them had been pressed into the dance. The intricate weavings and posturings could fascinate the eye. It was possible to watch them and, for a time, forget the bloody preliminaries to this day. Leto remembered this as he lay alone in his small reception room shortly before noon when Moneo arrived. Moneo had seen the Reverend Mother Anteac onto a Guild lighter, had conferred with the Fish Speaker Command about the previous night’s violence, had made a quick flight to the Citadel and back to make sure Siona was under a secure watch and that she had not been implicated in the Embassy attack. He had returned to Onn just after the betrothal announcement, having had no previous warning. Moneo was furious. Leto had never seen him this angry. He stormed into the room and stopped only two meters from Leto’s face. “Now the Tleilaxu lies will be believed!” he said. Leto responded in a reasoned tone. “How persistent it is, this demand that our gods be perfect. The Greeks were much more reasonable about such things.” “Where is she?” Moneo demanded. “Where is this. . .” “Hwi is resting. It was a difficult night and a long morning. I want her well rested when we return to the Citadel this evening.” “How did she work this?” Moneo demanded. “Really, Moneo! Have you lost all sense of caution?” “I am concerned about you! Have you any idea what they’re saying in the City?” “I’m fully aware of the stories.” “What are you doing?” “You know, Moneo, I think that only the old pantheists had

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