God Emporer of Dune by Frank Herbert

ward. “If you fall, I will try it,” Siona had promised Idaho. Nayla had thought it a strange promise. Why would both of them want to try the impossible? Idaho had failed to dissuade Siona from the impossible promise. It is fate, Nayla thought. It is God’s will. They were the same thing. A bit of rock fell from where Idaho clutched at it. That had happened several times. Nayla watched the falling rock. It took a long time coming down, bounding and rebounding from the Wall’s face, demonstrating that the eye did not report truthfully when it said the Wall was sheer. He will succeed or he will not,- Nayla thought. Whatever happens, it is God’s will. She could feel her heart hammering, though. Idaho’s venture was like sex, she thought. It was not passively erotic, but akin to rare magic in the way it seized her. She had to keep reminding herself that Idaho was not for her. He is for Siona. If he survives. And if he failed, then Siona would try. Siona would succeed or she would not. Nayla wondered, though, if she might experience an orgasm should Idaho reach the top. He was so close to it now. Idaho took several deep breaths after dislodging the rock. It was a bad moment and he took the time to recover, clinging to a three-point hold on the Wall. Almost of its own accord, his free hand groped upward once more, wriggling past the rotten place into another slender crack. Slowly, he shifted his weight onto that hand. Slowly . . . slowly. His left knee felt the place where a toehold could be achieved. He lifted his foot to that place, tested it. Memory told him the top was near, but he pushed the memory aside. There was only the climb and the knowledge that Leto would arrive tomorrow. Leto and Hwi. He could not think about that, either. But it would not go away. The top . . . Hwi . . . Leto . . . tomorrow . . . Every thought fed his desperation, forced him into the immediate remembrance of the climbs of his childhood. The more he remembered consciously, the more his abilities were blocked. He was forced to pause, breathing deeply in the attempt to center himself, to go back to the natural ways of his past.

But were those ways natural? There was a blockage in his mind. He could sense intrusions, a finality . . . the fatality of what might have been and now would never be. Leto would arrive up there tomorrow. Idaho felt perspiration run down his face around the place where he pressed a cheek against the rock. Leto. will defeat you, Leto. I will defeat you for myself, not for Hwi, but only for myself. A sensation of cleansing began to spread through him. It was like the thing which had happened in the night while he prepared himself mentally for this climb. Siona had sensed his sleeplessness. She had begun to talk to him, telling him the smallest details of her desperate run through the Forbidden Forest and her oath at the edge of the river. “Now I have given an oath to command his Fish Speakers,” she said. “I will honor that oath, but I hope it will not happen in the way he wants.” “What does he want?” Idaho asked. “He has many motives and I cannot see them all. Who could possibly understand him? I only know that I will never forgive him.” This memory brought Idaho back to the sensation of the Wall’s rock against his cheek. His perspiration had dried in the light breeze and he felt chilled. But he had found his center. Never forgive. Idaho felt the ghosts of all his other selves, the gholas who had died in Leto’s service. Could he believe Siona’s suspicions? Yes. Leto was capable of killing with his own body, his own hands. The rumor which Siona recounted had a feeling of truth in it. And Siona, too, was Atreides. Leto had become something else . . . no longer Atreides, not even human. He had become not so much a living creature as a brute fact of nature, opaque and impenetrable, all of his experiences sealed off within him. And Siona opposed him. The real Atreides turned away from him. As I do. A brute fact of nature, nothing more. Just like this Wall. Idaho’s right hand groped upward and found a sharp ledge. He could feel nothing above the ledge and tried to remember a wide crack at this place in the pattern. He could not dare to allow himself into the belief that he had reached the top . . . not

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