Mentats of Dune

Chapter 67 (The happiest moments can be a heartbeat away from the saddest)

After a few weeks, Vorian Atreides felt that Caladan was his home again, that he belonged here. He wanted to put down roots in this place and recapture what he had lost so long ago. How different his life — and the Imperium—would have been if he had never left this world.…

Vor had fallen into the pleasant routine of taking a midday walk along a rugged hilltop trail with spectacular views of the ocean. As the trail descended to the seaside village below, he reveled in the sunshine broken by puffy clouds, and the smell of moist, salty air. On a stretch of grass just above the village, preparations were under way for the outdoor wedding of Orry Atreides and Tula Veil, featuring pavilions and tables, even a small stage for musicians to play.

Tula was unquestionably beautiful, with blond hair and sea-blue eyes, but Vor kept remembering how her eyes had flashed at him when they first met. He had detected a hint of hostility that he didn’t understand.

Maybe she resented something from the legends of Vorian Atreides and his military career, although most locals seemed disinterested in ancient tales. Caladan, far from the Synchronized Empire, had been on the outskirts of the destructive battles of the Jihad, and its inhabitants had suffered little from thinking-machine attacks. More than eight decades after the Battle of Corrin, Caladan seemed aloof from Imperial politics. Here, the locals were more preoccupied with preparations for the wedding, which was only a few hours away.

The girl’s background was mysterious, and Vor had heard rumors in town that Tula had run away from an abusive father. Vor hoped she’d find happiness here with Orry. Everyone seemed to accept her and care about her. He looked forward to getting to know her himself. Someday, perhaps Tula would explain what, if anything, she held against him.

Vor hoped Orry would have a happy marriage and a good life. He looked forward to spending family times with them, acting as a surrogate grandfather (ignoring how many times the word “great” should appear before the title). He needed to make up for the lost time and lost relationships in his own life. Someday soon, Willem would find a wife and form a family. And Vor planned to be there, as well.…

The weather couldn’t have been better, though it had rained the night before, leaving the land green and sparkling in the sunshine. With the sweet sharpness of memory, Vor recalled taking Leronica out on a picnic at the top of this very same hill.

Reaching the grassy expanse, he paused to watch men and women as they arranged seats on the lawn, set up bouquets of bright flowers, and strung pastel ribbons on the marriage arbor.

He spotted the town’s wedding planner, a fussy little man in a black formal jacket, who was already dressed for the ceremony. The man waved his arms and shouted directions and kept glancing at his pocket chronometer, telling everyone to hurry up. The event would begin an hour before sunset, so the couple could take their vows as the sky cast spectacular colors over the sea.

Knowing that he had to get ready, Vor returned to the village. In his room at the inn, he took out a clean but simple gray suit he had purchased from the town’s tailor, along with a black ruffle-front shirt. It might have looked dashing to wear his old uniform from the Army of the Jihad, but he had left the garment, and the obligations, behind him long ago. Besides, he didn’t want to dredge up the past — especially not such an ancient past. Orry and Tula were getting married, and they were the focus, not him.…

When he was formally dressed, Vor looked as if he could have been the young man’s father … or another kindly uncle, like Shander Atreides. He returned to the grassy site, where townspeople had already gathered, smiling and chatting. Vor knew only a few of the villagers by name, but many recognized the exotic offworld stranger. Not wanting to call attention to himself, though, Vor simply drank in the murmur of conversations and shared the anticipation.

Willem stood near the wedding arbor, dazed but happy to stand as his brother’s best man. He had worried about Orry’s impetuosity in falling for the young woman, but Vor remembered how swiftly he had fallen for Leronica. Since Tula Veil came from an inland village and knew few people here, she had no special friend to stand at her side.

The seats around the arbor filled. At the appointed time, musicians struck up traditional music with pipes and stringed instruments, and everyone turned their heads. Behind them, a proud-looking Orry Atreides came up the path, his dark hair ruffled by the breeze. He wore a blue formal jacket, and Tula followed him in a long, sea-foam-green wedding dress. By ancient Caladan tradition, the bride followed her husband-to-be in the symbolic expectation that she would follow him in all things during their marriage. Vor smiled to himself: Regardless of the ceremony, reality would set in soon enough when the couple found their own balance of responsibilities.

Tula’s golden hair was pinned back, but the curls fluttered in the wind. She was a picture of loveliness floating down the aisle in her long dress. She seemed to have a hypnotic hold on Orry.

Next came a procession of eight village children ranging from a pair of towheaded little girls to a black-haired boy of perhaps ten or eleven. Vor saw the boy’s patrician features, especially in the gray eyes and prominent nose. Atreides markers. He wondered how many people in this town were related to him. Once he settled down here, he would try to get to know all of them.

The traditional music was so hauntingly beautiful that it brought tears to Vor’s eyes. It seemed essentially Caladan, making him think of waves lapping against the rocky shoreline and a fisherman’s life on the sea.

Under the arbor, Orry and Tula faced each other, holding hands, while Willem stood behind them. The couple said their vows aloud, swearing their commitment before all those who could hear. They had chosen to perform a local “open sky” marriage, without the intervention of the village priest, a corpulent man who stood nearby holding a copy of the Orange Catholic Bible.

Instead of rings, the couple exchanged small gifts. Smiling as if mesmerized by his bride’s beauty, Orry slipped a golden bracelet onto Tula’s wrist, and she draped a simple medallion over his neck. He seemed pleased with the present, but she surprised him by taking his hand and looking into his eyes. “I have another gift for you — something that I have saved for later, in private.”

An amused chuckle rippled through the audience, and Orry reddened in embarrassment, but Tula flashed a quick glance around them; something in her eyes silenced the laughter. “It is a special gift that my family has held for generations. The whole town will know what it is tomorrow.”

The priest cleared his throat and made his only official contribution by announcing the marriage complete and blessed. The sun set out on the ocean, causing flares of color to stream across the sky; according to sailors’ tradition, a bloodred sunset indicated fair weather ahead.

During the reception, Orry and Tula danced together, whenever the attendees would give them the space. Vor kept a respectful distance, just watching. Orry Atreides had grown up among these people, so they should be closest to him on this special day.

Looking over her new husband’s shoulder, Tula caught Vor’s eye and abruptly whispered something in Orry’s ear. The young man looked disappointed by whatever it was, but then she whispered again, and he smiled.

When the dance was over, Orry raised his voice and spoke to the guests. “Since my wife has a special gift to give me from her entire family — and I am as intrigued by this as the rest of you are! — we’ll be taking our leave to begin our new life now. I insist you all stay here and enjoy yourselves. My brother will entertain you — he’s got nothing else to do.”

Willem looked surprised. Some guests murmured, but others chuckled or whistled as Orry and Tula hurried off to the home the two brothers had shared with Shander Atreides, which the couple would use as their honeymoon cottage. Willem had temporarily gotten a room at the local inn, so his brother and new wife could have their privacy

Vor was sorry that he’d had no opportunity to talk further with Tula, but there would be plenty of time for that later, and he didn’t want to intrude now. In fact, he made up his mind to help the young couple whenever he could, maybe even using part of his fortune to establish their new household, similar to the help he’d given to House Harkonnen on Lankiveil.

A spark of memory came back to him, and he tensed. The youngest daughter of Vergyl Harkonnen … Griffin’s other sister. Wasn’t her name Tula? Orry’s new wife did have a hint of Griffin’s features, but Vor wasn’t convinced. He had never met either of Vergyl Harkonnen’s daughters. Although he had seen a family portrait inside the Harkonnen household, he couldn’t quite remember what the girls looked like. It must just be a coincidence, similar names.

He set such thoughts aside and went to join Willem as the dancing and music continued.

AFTER THE WEDDING festivities, Vor returned to his room and fell into a deep, satisfied sleep, thoroughly reminded of his fondness for good Caladan wine, as opposed to mediocre kelpbeer.

Orry’s wedding had been different from others he recalled, but all of it had been pleasant; the music, the laughter, the camaraderie, and the warmth of the people. Willem had showed himself to be quite proficient at the traditional dances, and he had no trouble finding partners. Vor had done his best to keep up, and found some of the women flirtatious, some in awe of his history, and all vastly younger than he was. None could hold a candle to Leronica. Or Mariella.

When he drifted off to sleep in his bed at the inn, he was enfolded in a satisfied happiness, with the buzz of wine in his head and the ringing echoes of music. He had long since learned the folly of wallowing in regrets and second-guessing his decisions, but he did regret ever leaving beautiful Caladan. The weight and obligations of Serena Butler’s Jihad had made him think beyond his own personal interests.

All that had been over for such a long time. Even if he let himself put down roots in this place, he was not ready to start another family of his own. There were too many reminders of his beloved Leronica here, and he didn’t yet feel enough distance from Mariella and his other family on Kepler.…

He awoke in darkness, feeling that something was wrong. He sensed a stir in the silent shadows of his room, felt a creak of movement, heard a rustle. He remained utterly still.

A breeze whispered through the open window … yet he was certain he had closed it before going to bed. Through narrow-slitted eyes, he saw a figure dart through the faint shreds of starlight — and the silver glint of what appeared to be a knife blade. He still felt a little groggy, wondered if it was a dream.

But his instincts, honed by years of facing danger, kicked in. Vor rolled to one side on the large bed even before he grasped what was happening. He heard a quick expulsion of breath, an abrupt outcry, as the blade streaked down where he had been only a moment ago, slashing into the blanket. He flung his pillow at the indistinct figure, pulled off the blanket and threw it over the moving arm to snare it. He bore down with a steely grip, grabbing the wrist.

It was a small wrist, but the attacker had wiry strength, and writhed and thrashed. Vor felt an explosion of pain as the intruder struck him hard just beneath the left eye with what seemed to be a fist, but he didn’t release his grip on the wrist, and thrust up with one knee, after shifting his body to gain more leverage on the bed.

Fully awake now, he saw more details — blond hair, gleaming eyes filled with hatred. Another sharp blow from the intruder’s free hand bloodied his nose, and Vor released his grip. “Tula!” It was Orry’s new wife.

She recoiled and sprang backward, pulling free of his grip and the blanket with which he had tried to entangle her. Then, with barely a pause, Tula hurled herself upon him again like a rabid panther. She slashed with the dagger, this time ripping open his nightshirt and cutting a fiery line across his chest. He felt blood and burning pain, but he fought back.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. The nightstand crashed to the floor and he leaped free, gaining room to maneuver.

Tula fought with a ferocity he had rarely seen before, and he struggled to keep the knife away from him. “I had to change my plans,” she said, not even out of breath. “I came here for Orry, but you were always our target, Vorian Atreides. You killed my brother Griffin. You ruined House Harkonnen.”

Vor didn’t bother to respond, certain that conversation would make no difference. Tula — Tula Harkonnen—meant to kill him, not talk with him. She fought with techniques similar to the ones Griffin had demonstrated when he dueled with Vor in the desert sietch.

She flung herself at him again, but Vor used his right hand to snatch a water pitcher from the dresser. In a swift arc, he smashed it against her head, sending the young woman reeling. Her knife clattered to the wooden floor.

Now he heard pounding on the door, shouts of people roused by the disturbance. “In here!” he yelled.

In the low light he saw Tula glaring at him, blood dripping from her hair. As the door burst open, she dove out the window like a killer eel into a dark underwater lava tube.

Willem charged into the room from the hall, looking flushed, dressed in his nightclothes. “What’s happening?”

Vor grabbed him by the arm and raced out into the corridor. Tula had said she had come here seeking revenge, stalking Orry. “We have to check on your brother!”

Willem was confused. “Wait — you’re bleeding.”

Vor touched his chest. “It’s nothing. Come — we have to hurry!” After sounding an alarm, they raced off to what should have been the quiet, happy nuptial cottage of the newlyweds.

IT TOOK SEVERAL agonizing minutes to secure a groundcar, and by the time the two of them were speeding over a rough road with Willem at the controls, dawn was beginning to brighten the sky.

Shander’s cottage was just outside the village on a pristine sandy beach; it had been specially decorated for the newlyweds. A caterer had crafted a lavish traditional dinner and left a bottle of vintage wine, contributed by Vor himself. Orry and Tula were alone there with the roar of the surf, undisturbed by pranks or good-natured harassment from the locals.

Just ahead, Vor saw the cottage bathed in golden sunlight to herald the first full day of their marriage. A serving woman was knocking on the door, carrying a gourmet breakfast that she was ready to set up. When no one answered, she let herself inside, tiptoeing, calling out — only to run back out, screaming.

Vor and Willem jumped out of the vehicle and rushed past her, through the open cottage door. The air inside smelled sour and metallic, and Vor immediately identified the stench of blood — a great deal of it.

Young Orry Atreides lay dead on the wedding bed, his throat cut. The sheets were soaked in blood. There was no sign of Tula.

Willem let out a loud, raw scream, and Vor, trembling in horror, felt the dead boy’s arm. Orry’s skin was cold, his dull eyes staring up at the cottage ceiling.

Willem dropped to the bedside and pulled his brother toward him in a sad, macabre embrace, unable to understand what had happened. Vor felt icy and alert. A deep fear settled into his stomach.

He was the first to notice the bloodstained note left by the bedside — nineteen lines written in a style that looked psychotic, forming an odd shape on the paper: