The Death of Duty

Chapter 3 - Soul Tether

When I awoke the early next morning, he was gone. The sun had not yet begun to rise, and Paul was out preparing for the inevitable battle we would fight in a few hours. He had called a rally last night for all Fremen to meet in the morning before the battle. I wasn't sure what time it was, but there was no way I'd be able to fall back asleep. Pre-battle jitters were already setting in.

I shook off last night, no matter how badly I wanted to indulge in it. To savor it. I shook off the weird dreams as well—ones of Paul drinking a strange liquid and collapsing, and Harkonnen soldiers everywhere, a dark planet, orbited by a black sun, pale blue eyes staring at me from across a room.

I dressed in my stillsuit, the light armor I wore, and threw my cloak over. I grabbed my helmet and sheathed my weapons before joining the rest of the sietch. Despite the darkness still on the horizon, the sietch was bustling; Fremen were everywhere, preparing for war.

I found Chani in the middle of it all, with a few other warriors in our unit. We would fight together, the Fedaykin, as we always had.

Chani gave me a grim smile, her blue eyes solemn. War weighed heavy.

"Are you ready to end the Harkonnen line?" she asked, her tone as neutral as ever.

I paused, debating. I was prepared to see the end of the baron, the man who murdered my family and destroyed my city, but the rest of the house? I wasn't sure of their participation in the assassination. I knew the baron had two nephews—Glossu Rabban, the murderous and brutish elder brother of the two, and Feyd-Rautha, the younger brother, perhaps even more murderous and far more lethal. I was unsure of how their psychoticism levels compared, but there was no doubt they were equally mentally unstable.

The baron indefinitely sent the Beast, his older nephew, to lead the assassination on my family.

"Yes, I'm ready," I answered, not a single doubt in my mind.

Chani nodded. "Good."

Bodies rushed past us, soldiers pouring down the hall of the sietch, fully dressed and ready for bloodshed. Chani and I exchanged a look before following them.

Muad'Dib had finally called for an audience.

We entered the large, hollowed out cave of the sietch, big enough to fit thousands. The Fremen poured in by the second, surrounding the rock in the middle, some kind of platform. Chani and I were content to stay on the outskirts while everyone else pushed closer to the middle. She glared at a few that pushed past a little too roughly, and not many made the same mistake again.

I found myself bouncing on the balls of my feet, the pent-up energy and adrenaline beginning to set in.

Minutes passed as the crowd gathered, Paul nowhere in sight yet. People were getting restless, the weight of the upcoming battle pressing on their nerves in just the right places. Then the crowd silenced, almost as if someone had snapped their fingers and willed them to obey.

Goosebumps pricked my skin.

Then the crowd began to part. One by one, people shifted to make a path for the cloaked figure approaching. Hooded and shrouded in darkness, the figure cut through the crowd like a knife in sand.

Muad'Dib.

His footsteps were not hurried, and confidence leaked out of his every pore, solely from his posture alone. When he reached the flat rock in the middle, he took the stage, commanding the attention of everyone in the sietch. I swore the crowd stretched all the way out the door and to the rest of the desert.