Waff and a new priestly representative would share this “holy event” but Taraza was sure neither of them knew the real nature of what they were about to witness. Waff bore watching, of course. He still carried that air of irritated disbelief in everything he saw or heard. It was a strange mixture with his underlying awe at being on Rakis. The catalyst was obviously his rage over the fact that fools ruled here.
Odrade returned from the meeting room and stopped beside Taraza.
“I am extremely disquieted by the reports from Gammu,” Taraza said. “Do you bring something new?”
“No. Things are obviously still chaotic there.”
“Tell me, Dar, what do you think we should do?”
“I keep remembering the Tyrant’s words to Chenoeh: ‘The Bene Gesserit are so close to what they should be, yet so far.’ ”
Taraza pointed at the open desert beyond the museum city’s qanat. “He’s still out there, Dar. I’m sure of it.” Taraza turned to face Odrade. “And Sheeana speaks to him.”
“He told so many lies,” Odrade said.
“But he didn’t lie about his own incarnation. Remember what he said. ‘Every descendant part of me will carry some of my awareness locked away within it, lost and helpless-pearls of me moving blindly in the sand, caught in an endless dream.’ ”
“You bank a great deal on your belief in the power of that dream,” Odrade said.
“We must recover the Tyrant’s design! All of it!”
Odrade sighed but did not speak.
“Never underestimate the power of an idea,” Taraza said. “The Atreides were ever philosophers in their governance. Philosophy is always dangerous because it promotes the creation of new ideas.”
Still, Odrade did not respond.
“The worm carries it all within him, Dar! All of the forces he set in motion are still in him.”
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself, Tar?”
“I am punishing you, Dar. Just as the Tyrant is still punishing us.”
“For not being what we should be? Ahh, here come Sheeana and the others.”
“The worm’s language, Dar. That is the important thing.”
“If you say so, Mother Superior.”
Taraza sent an angry stare at Odrade, who moved forward to greet the newcomers. There was a disturbing gloom in Odrade.
The presence of Sheeana, though, restored Taraza’s sense of purpose. An alert little thing, Sheeana. Very good material. Sheeana had demonstrated her dance the previous night, performing in the great museum room against a tapestry background, an exotic dance against an exotic spice-fiber hanging with its image of desert and worms. She appeared to be almost a part of the hanging, a figure projected forward from the stylized dunes and their elaborately detailed coursing worms. Taraza recalled how Sheeana’s brown hair had been thrown outward by the whirling movements of the dance, swinging in a fuzzy arc. Sidelighting accented the reddish glints in her hair. Her eyes had been closed but it was not a face in repose. Excitement betrayed itself in the passionate set of her wide mouth, the flaring of her nostrils, the forward thrust of her chin. Her motions had conveyed an inner sophistication that belied her youth.
The dance is her language, Taraza thought. Odrade is correct. Seeing it, we will learn it.
Waff had something of a withdrawn look this morning. It was difficult to determine if his eyes were looking outward or inward.
With Waff was Tulushan, a darkly handsome Rakian, the priesthood’s chosen representative at today’s “holy event.” Taraza, meeting him at the demonstration dance, had found it extraordinary how Tulushan never needed to say “but,” and yet the word was always there in everything he uttered. A perfect bureaucrat. He rightly expected to go far but those expectations would soon encounter their ultimate surprise. She felt no pity for him at this knowledge. Tulushan was a soft-faced youth of too few standards for such a position of trust. There was more to him than met the eye, of course. And less.
Waff moved to one side in the garden, leaving Odrade and Sheeana with Tulushan.
The young priest was expendable, naturally. That explained much about why he had been chosen for this venture. It told her that she had achieved the proper level of potential violence. Taraza did not think, though, that any of the priestly factions would dare harm Sheeana.