Paul pressed closer to the windowport. “I never expected it to be so big! That is enormous.”
“Considered one of the most difficult and treacherous climbs on the planet. Much harder than the sea cliffs you ascend for sport.”
“The sea cliffs are difficult, but I have mastered them, as well as the castle wall outside my balcony.” Paul studied the sheer rock face, tracing fault lines and imagining ascent routes. He looked at Duncan. “And you know I don’t just climb for sport. It teaches me skill, balance, concentration. It will help me escape from a trap if need be.”
“You’ll hear no argument from me.” Duncan stared ahead through the cockpit. “See the Muadh village there at the base? It will provide a good enough view of the cliffs, for certain.”
Well ahead of the more ponderous and showy Atreides processional frigate, Duncan circled above the village and landed in a flat clearing away from the cluster of dwellings. After the engines hummed down to a low throb, Paul climbed out and waved as the villagers came to greet them.
Before long, the rest of the Atreides escort ships landed like a flock of mechanical birds while the main diplomatic craft approached. Even though this was a relatively brief expedition, the Atreides protocol ministers had made preparations as if it were a military invasion.
Lieutenant Nupree and the Atreides guards fanned out for a quick security inspection of the Muadh village. When Nupree transmitted that the landing area was ready for the Duke, the stately ship lumbered in on suspensor engines. Paul knew the Duke’s formal processional barge was not all for show. With fast and powerful engines, it could streak away should danger arise.
Paul had seen ducal processions and state ceremonies before. Right now, he was more impressed with the sheer rock wall of the Arondi Cliffs. He stared at the vertical expanse of stone, the cracks and lines of igneous hexagonal columns that rose high, like sharp-edged straws packed together.
After his father disembarked from the larger craft, Paul and Duncan hurried to join them, but Paul kept staring at the cliff face, intrigued. Seeing his son’s fascination, Leto gave a wistful smile. “Ah, the Arondi Cliffs. Do you see all the rubble strewn at the base? If you look closely, you will find as many bones as rocks. Hundreds of climbers have attempted that insurmountable face. Fewer than fifty have successfully scaled it.”
“I’m a good climber,” Paul said, reluctant to admit the danger he took upon himself even by climbing outside his castle window or on the sea cliffs.
Leto’s face tightened. “Your abilities are superior, Paul, but this … no. When your grandfather was young, he made the attempt and had to turn back. The experience frightened even Paulus Atreides.”
Paul knew many tales about the Old Duke. “From what I hear, my grandfather was so brave he laughed as the Salusan bull trampled him.”
Leto took his son by the shoulder, turned him away from the cliffs. “There will be no climbing of that rock face. We have come here to meet these people, attend their ceremony, and make a good impression. Surely that is a difficult enough task for today.”
* * *
HURRYING TOWARD THEM from the village, Archvicar Torono arrived with several junior deacons. Crowds of rice farmers worked the fields for the day’s harvest, while their families had remained behind to prepare for the purification and centering ceremony.
Although it was a normal routine for the locals, Paul was surrounded by a feast of new experiences. The villagers wore homespun clothes and had no extravagances, but he was struck by how calm and content they were. The Muadh were satisfied with their homes, families, and work. After all the hubbub in Castle Caladan, the astonishment and fear he had experienced when he learned about his father’s brush with death at Otorio … after the constant meetings, reports, political intrigues, and backstabbing Landsraad nobles, he was happy to see the quiet, self-contained lives of these farmers. Paul envied these people for knowing their exact place.
While Duke Leto and Lady Jessica spent the afternoon meeting with village leaders, prominent rice farmers, and Archvicar Torono, Paul and Duncan explored the comfortable settlement. Lieutenant Nupree dispatched guard teams to lock down the village for security purposes. Though Nupree had expressed his desire to see the Arondi Cliffs, the man did not seem overly interested now that he was here. The lieutenant spent much of his time in quiet conversations with certain villagers. Paul wondered why.
That evening, the villagers gathered in the central square and ate a meager meal, bland rice and squash from their gardens. The Archvicar apologized to Leto for the sparse hospitality. “It is traditional that we fast for the centering and purification ceremony, my Duke, avoiding most foods and beverages. The ritual is a difficult ordeal, yet also an immensely gratifying one. You will see.”
“We honor your traditions,” Leto said. “Pundi rice and vegetables from Caladan soil make a fine enough feast for me.” He, Paul, and Jessica sat at a wooden table in the open, sharing bowls with villagers, after the Duke’s ministers verified each dish with poison snoopers. Attentive Atreides guards stood outside the feast, not eating. Lieutenant Nupree and the others would dine later in shifts.
Archvicar Torono’s eyes shone, for he was enormously happy to have such important guests. “After tonight, you will understand us much better, Duke Leto.”
“My Duke,” the people muttered, as if it were some kind of a chant and response.
After darkness fell under the shadow of the Arondi Cliffs, anticipation built in the village. The rice farmers’ murmured conversation grew more animated. Paul looked all around, listening, concentrating.
Jessica’s eyes sparkled. “Learn what you can, Paul. This is a new experience for all of us.”
The people rose from their long tables and gathered in front of the rustic Muadh temple that rose higher than any village dwelling.
Leto looked up at the stars sparkling overhead and spoke to Paul as they waited for the ritual to begin. “We are far from ocean mists and the glare of city lights. Look at all those stars. You can see the universe.”
Deacons in rough-spun robes emerged from the temple carrying hand-woven baskets filled with dried brown organic material, little nubs that looked like bent, mummified fingers. Paul watched curiously, his senses alert.
“Ailar unlocks our minds and hearts,” droned the Archvicar. “Ailar grants us peace and clarity. Ailar gives us energy. Ailar gives us calm.”
The Muadh followers muttered something in a language Paul didn’t understand. Torono reached into the basket and held up one of the dried brown curls. “The barra fern grows wild in the forests north of here, very rare. Our village hunters comb the wilderness to harvest them at exactly the right time. A little sprig such as this…” The Archvicar held one of the brown objects between his thumb and forefinger. “Perfect potency.”
With reverence, he extended the dried brown fern to Leto, who took it in his palm. Paul leaned closer, fascinated, but his father gave him a cautioning look. He turned the dry, airy object and let Paul hold it. The young man felt his fingers tingle, but that may have been his imagination.
“We do not ask that you partake,” Torono said. “But observe and join us with your hearts.”
Nupree stepped closer, accompanied by his guards. The tension rose in the air, but Paul was neither afraid, nor suspicious. He sensed no danger among these people.