[Dune7: Advent]

*

[Epilogue One: “The Sleeper”]

I have seen everything before - boredom assaults me regularly. History moves in cycles, repeating itself after the set of available processes has been exhausted. This universe is trapped in a system of self-perpetuating cycles, and I’m growing weary of it.

-Leto II, the God-Emperor. From The Stolen Journals.

            “Yes! It is happening!”

            Leto reveled in the sensations his mind underwent - finally his deepest wish would be granted. I’m tearing loose from the limitations of ordinary reality, my endless dream of depression and powerlessness finally coming to an end!

            All of history unfolded in front of his mind’s eye and all the mysteries of the universe were solved after only a moment’s contemplation. He could feel all matter down to the very last quark and superstring awaiting his commands.

History solidified, manifesting itself as long corridors of personae, generation upon generation stretching into the future and the past. He gazed into the distance, past countless personae, and saw a lone figure standing there with its back turned to him. He raised his hand to his forehead to shield the light from his eyes, and saw the man in the distance do the same. He started running towards the man, but the man started running as well at the exact same pace.

            He suddenly realised the structure he was caught in, and immediately felt trapped. A parallel structure emerged, of a lesser scope but equally harrowing in its implications. A god saw his progeny being born from his brain, but suddenly the perspective shifted, the child now giving birth to its father.

            Leto now understood what Adros had tried to do, and he struggled to get out of his trap. He felt the ties that bound him dissolve, and for a moment, everything was dark.

            Whe Leto could see again, he found he was in a long corridor, the walls, floor and ceiling coloured dark green and red in repeating shapes - the Atreides hawk copied uncountable times, the form of one fitting into that of another. He felt his body, and noticed it was that of a young boy - it was what he had looked like before he accepted the symbiosis with the sandtrout, so many lifetimes ago on Dune.

            Against the walls of the corridor, Leto could see many jars, in many different shapes and colours, each of them filled with liquid. He walked past a few of them, reading the small metal tags that identified the jars’ contents, and each of them said the same: ‘This is the water of Leto Atreides II’. Many people walked down the corridor, their footsteps and their voices without sound, all of them stricken with grief, but none of them paying any attention to Leto. He saw his mother, Chani, and his grandmother - each of the passers-by was in one way or another known to him, part of his old life.

            Leto could hear strange music playing - a succession of tones repeating itself over and over, capable of hypnotising the listeners with its deceptive simplicity, throwing their thinking into disarray.

            He spotted a young girl, about his own age, coming down the corridor. As she came closer, he recognised her as his sister, Ghanima.

            “Where am I?”, he asked her, clutching her left arm, but no answer came. Feelings of despair mounting inside of him, he yelled: “Will someone tell me where I am?”

            “Come with me,” a well-worn voice behind him said. The man that gestured him to come along, his face hidden in the shadows of a cowl, was dressed in rags and looked old, but his body-posture betrayed a deep-seated sense of pride.

            “Who are you?”, Leto asked while following the man.

            “I think you know. We’ve met many times. We are family.”

            Leto suddenly recognised the voice. “Father?”

            “I am called the Preacher now.”

            “How is it possible that you’re here?”

            “Alia’s priests just killed me, but my work was not finished. I am here to perform my final task.”

            “Who are these people?”, Leto asked while making a gesture that indicated the mourners around him. “Are they mourning my death?”

            A bellowing laughter erupted from the Preacher. “No, Leto. It is so typical of you that you would think that. They mourn the many your reign has killed.”

            Without warning, the Preacher pushed Leto through a door in the corridor wall where moments before a collection of flasks of water had been. They entered a room shaped like the interior of an egg. Looking back, Leto could discern no seams or irregularities in the room’s wall to indicate where the door might have been.

            “Why are we here?”, Leto asked.

            “You will know soon enough. For now, we wait.”

            Hours passed, the Preacher remaining motionless and ignoring Leto’s questions. Anticipation, restlessness and dread fought for control of Leto’s thoughts. Suddenly, the wall at the opposite side of the room appeared to turn to liquid, and slowly a man stepped through it. The man, relatively small and fairly handsome, had familiar features, but he was unknown to Leto. The man sat down.

            “I come protected by Morpheus, son of Hypnos. Icelos directed me to this place,” he said. “He showed me… many things.”

“Meet Atreus,” the Preacher said to Leto. “He is here to observe.”

“Observe what?”, Leto asked.

“Your judgment.”

“What is there to judge? I did what I had to do, what the Golden Path demanded of me. Crimes are only defined as such within particular socio-cultural reference frames, with their own rules to perpetuate their own stability. Normal laws do not apply to me.”

“You will be held accountable for your actions, and with you, all of House Atreides,” the Preacher answered angrily.

“You’re a member of the Atreides. Your actions were just as reprehensible as mine.”

“The acts committed by my younger self were worse than yours - they lacked even the justification the plan to save humanity supplied your actions with -, but I have my own burden to carry, my own price to pay.”

“If that is true, what gives you the right to judge me?”

            “I’ve already served part of my sentence.”

            “How?”

            “I sent you here.”

            “Adros! He tricked me!”

            “He helped you. You could not be allowed to carry out your plan.”

            “The Prometheans denied me my destiny! And you are to blame as well,” Leto said, looking at Atreus.

            “He will do what he has to. As we all did,” the Preacher said.

            “I tire of this. What is supposed to happen?”, Leto asked.

            “The sleeper must awaken,” the Preacher replied. “The circle must be closed.”

            The Preacher reached through the wall, and pulled in a bundle of cloth. He lay it down at the center of the room, and as the cloth fell away, Leto could see there was a baby inside.

            “He looks like you as a baby,” Leto said, but noticed the Preacher had vanished - only Atreus was there left with him in the room, watching him.

            Suddenly the infant started growing, his body elongating and turning a dull silver. In a matter of seconds, he had completely passed through the process the God-Emperor had taken more than three thousand years to traverse only to the halfway-point: he had become a small sandworm.

            With a sequence of lightning-fast movements strangely discordant with its sluggish appearance, the worm swallowed Leto. Inside, Leto felt the heat of the inner furnace coming closer, and his own body starting to decay, the rotting of his flesh taking mere seconds.

            His mind did not die, but was transferred across space and time, to a spatial and temporal location on which the universe started its most radical change ever. His last independent thoughts were curses, directed at Adros, but soon his mind became dormant, mere potential, destined to partly re-manifest itself later in the life of its new host.

“The father is the son is the father,” the Preacher said, petting the worm. “The desert gives and the desert takes. Eventually, all will return to its origin.”

**  **  **  **  **

            Cries of pain wandered through the halls and passageways of Castle Caladan, crashing against the walls of cold, dark stone, the continuing assault of the waves on the cliffs far below barely overpowering them. Outside, the darkness and the rainstorms conspired to give the impending birth an ominous accent.

            Duke Leto Atreides, head of House Atreides, paced up and down the hall outside the birthing room, his mind torn between the wish to intervene - to relieve his love from her pain -, and the knowledge that she was currently in good hands and his presence at her side would do more harm than good. After all, she herself had requested his absence.

            Ah, the stubbornness of that woman!, Leto thought with a strange mixture of anger, amusement and admiration. She wants a natural childbirth, while I could have demanded the services of the finest surgeons on Caladan! Another scream came from behind the heavy wooden door. I hate it when she’s in pain!

            Crying sounded, but not Jessica’s: his son had been born! After a few minutes, one of the midwives opened the door. “The Lady Jessica demands your presence, my Lord.”

            Leto entered the room, seeing Jessica radiant with joy, a small child cradled in her arms.

            “Did you worry, my love?”, Jessica asked, knowing very well that the answer she was about to receive would be a blatant lie.

            “No. I was confident you and our son would be fine.” A smile rich with meaning on Jessica’s face told him he hadn’t fooled her.

            “Aedelos, come in here,” Leto called out to an aide standing outside the room. “Take this message down to Communications, and have them transmit it all over Caladan. ‘Today, in the year of the Guild 10,176, my son, the na-Duke Paul Atreides, was born at Castle Caladan. Forever after, this day of the year will be a day of celebration!’.”

I so wish that will be true, Jessica thought. The Sisterhood will not be pleased with my decision, but my Duke wanted a son so badly… Little Paul’s future is rich with possibilities - there is a chance that he is the one. Yes, I know it to be true in my heart of hearts: Paul Atreides will change the course of history.

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                                                                Last modified: May 24, 2000