Eternity Memories of Light and Waves
This is a fan-fiction of Dune, Book One, by Frank Herbert. Please visit http://midori-angel.blogspot.com for my commentary- which i'll put up later- or to leave a comment if you do not have a Blogger account :) okay, i admit, this isn't exactly one of my best works. I haven't found the time to type out 2 other works I've done.
At the end of the South Wing, Paul found a metal staircase spiraling up to an oval door. He glanced back down the hall, and again up at the door.
Oval? What a weird shape for a door in this house.
The great white sun of Arrakis shone harshly down the corridor, and the house felt unsually lonely and cold as he saw his elongated shadow stabbing down the narrow passage way. But once more, the words of Hawat, his faithful Mentat and friend returned to him, burning all thoughts of homesickness.
Paul turned his attention to the door once more. His gaze flitted behind to make certain he was unobserved. He climbed the stairs slowly, his hand sliding along the cool metal railing. The door had been locked with a palm lock. Paul knew he had learnt it before from Jessica, his mother, and from the Bene Gesserit training. He placed his hand on the slight depression and made a subtle twist of his wrist. The door clicked open easily.
As it shut softly behind him, Paul stood, awed by the efforts someone had put in to put up such a wonderful garden. An artificial waterfall cascaded down at a corner, while vines and shrubs and flowering plants of every sort fluorished in this greenhouse.
He caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye and jerked his head toward it, suddenly alert. But it had only been a garden hose, moistening his cheek with a fine spray of water as it sent a mist of droplets toward a fern beside him.
He marvelled, inwardly, at the lavish and excessive use of water on Arrakis, the desert planet. The water used in this house, in this particular room, could probably support 9000 Fremen. This, perhaps, he thought aloud, was Hawat's way of demonstrating the absolute unquestionable authority of the Duke's family over Arraki.
Paul's heart gave a sudden throbbing lurge as he remembered he was no longer the Duke's son, but the Duke himself. Tears flooded his eyes, stinging them as he stared at a minature river weaving through the plants.
The door burst open with a deafening crash. He whirled round, blinking the tears back bravely as the sheath of the crysknife tucked in his belt stabbed his ribs. It was one of Hawat's men.
"Your Highness, there has been an intruder that has been captured in the storage house." Paul knew this man - He was another Mentat.
"A Fremen?" He raised his eyebrows quizically.
"No, one of the Harkonnens," the Mentat replied calmly, flicking a finger down his flowing black robe to smoothen a crease. "A girl."
"I'd like to handle her myself." Paul caught himself in time, correcting the sharpness and cutting edge of his voice. It dawned on him who the intruder might be. "Does Lady Jessica know about this yet?"
"No, Sire. She's resting in her room. Shall I tell her?"
"No. You may leave." Paul nodded wearily, hurrying toward the storage house where the weapons were kept. It was at the West Wing of the house and he quickened his pace to a quick jog. Mom must never know about this. He knew how news spread like wildfire in this household.
Upon emerging, he met Shadout Mapes, housekeeper. She was ambling toward the storage house as well, her characteristic 'all-blue-no-whites' eyes fixed in that direction. As usual, she was clothed in an oversized knee-length dress, that billowed out in the wind, potraying her as a caricature of a stick figure in baggy clothes.
"Intruder." Mapes was direct. Nothing ever seemed to worry her, or even to surprise her. Paul had wondered about this at first, her strange ways that she never lost her cool and became frustrated... but he had eventually accepted it as the way of the Fremen.
"I can handle this." He ignored the strange glance she cast in his direction, one of doubt. He knew everyone thought and saw him as a mere sixteen-year-old, a boy, and not the man he was now growing up to be. Even Reverend Mother.
Those were the same words he repeated to the guards pinioning the lanky girl down in the storage house. She held a look of absolute defiance, her eyes flashing with hate, hate of an old woman, as the guards meekly obeyed the orders of the skinny tan boy. Paul knew who she was, as she got to her feet and stood looking into his eyes as equals, arms folded across her dirtied blouse.
He hesitated, clearing his throat. "You could have died, Xanthia! They could have killed you!" Somehow, he could not comprehend how someone could be so gullible as to attempt sneaking into this house. The security was stringent, everyone lived from day to day with such wariness and cautiousness, as if there were a traitor among them. Trespassers could have been put to death.
Xanthia tossed her head, flinging her mangy auburn hair out of her eyes. She stood for a long while, studying the olive skinned complexion of Paul, his severe eyes and cold hard mouth drawn into a line. His lips were quivering a little, as he pulled his shoulders back squarely. The dark cloak with the eagle symbol that once belonged to the late Duke, was now draped around his frail, thin shoulders, a thread coming loose from the silvery embroidered bird-of-prey.
"I know."
"Why did you come, then?!" Paul was struggling to keep his voice even, not to let it rise in hysterical anger. Couldn't she see how worried she had been? He found it personally ridiculous that they quarelled nearly every time they met.
"I want to show you something. Come with me." Xanthia walked briskly past him and out of the storage house, in the presence of the dumbstruck guards. Paul filed past them in silence, trying to keep up with her pace. He had admired her for a very long time, being secretly in love with her courage and fearlessness. She was quick, sharp-witted and decisive. Hesitation, did not exist in her dictionary...
Xanthia, he knew, was one of the Harkonnens, a tribe of people after his own life. How then, could he fall in love with the enemy? That was why Jessica could NEVER know about this, about their friendship, about the flashes of light they sent each other across the basin. There could have never been 2 more unlikely friends - a Duke with a mission in his life to seek revenge for his people, and a girl who lived as an outcast from her tribe, stealing and looting from the Fremen.
It seemed many miles later that they came to the basin where Xanthia lived. Drip-drip-drip. drip-drip. Paul could hear the soft sound distinctly, even over the sound of Xanthia's footsteps on the crunching gravel ground.
"Water!" He knew the sound of dripping water by heart, the precious commodity of Arrakis. Xanthia nodded, pointing to a cave hidden among the rocks. "That's where I live, Paul." The hardness in her voice had melted away as they stepped into the cave where water was flowing into a small pool of rocks.
It was dim and cool in the cave, a comforting shelter from the sweltering white hot sun. Paul bent over the refreshing pool of water, having learnt to recognise the pure water from poison water, which was also found abundantly on this planet.
"Is this what you wanted to show me?"
Xanthia was silent as she picked up an instrument with twelve strings. Running her fingers over them gently, she was able to create the sweetest and most melodious sound that ever graced Paul's ear. Slowly, she played a charming, hypnotic melody, resonating through the cave as the sunset gloriously, half-illuminating everything in a shadowy yet romantic manner. Paul was caught up in the music, as each note trailed through the air, rushing over him like wave after wave... hard as lightning, yet soft as candle light.
Finally, the last note trailed off in the air.
"Did you compose that yourself?" Paul was enticed by the melody. He stood, gazing at her face, as she turned to look out of the cave, revealing her profile. Her sharp nose, large eyes, high cheekbones. And yes, that mouth.
"It's called Eternity Memories of Light and Waves," Xanthia glanced at Paul, but her mind was on the gom jabbar in her pocket. Her fingers darted in, closing around the needle tightly. This would be the right time, nearly perfect... The gom jabbar caused a quick and painless death. He just had to come a little closer, and the Duke would be no more. Arrakis would be rid of a tyrannical ruler who was so easily charmed by a woman.
"It was nice... The best thing I've ever heard!" Paul was forgetting himself. In fact, he always did when he was around Xanthia. He paused, swallowing hard. "Xanthia, I love you."
The girl gawked at him. Now he had ruined everything, foiled her perfect impeccable plan. The fool! But she had to admit, there were so many feelings raging within her now... He had been trained in Truthsay, hadn't he? Why could he tell what she really was thinking?
"Please go." Xanthia turned abruptly away from Paul, the sliver of a needle clutched in her sweaty fist. "I just..." Words failed her for the first time. Was she really going to do it- to kill him? No, she could not, and would not.
To her surprise, Paul turned to leave awkwardly, strolling out onto the pitch dark sands. She gazed at his tall erect figure with his loping gait and plunged the needle into her neck, cringing silently. Xanthia fell onto the sand, but she fell so softly the thud couldn't possibly be heard... She fell the way a tree falls when it has been chopped down, her mouth open in a silent scream never heard.
That night, Paul witnessed an auraura in the desert night sky, the most beautiful phenomenon he had seen in his entire life. You see, Xanthia lived out the Eternity Memories of Light and Waves, a star in the night sky watching down on him. Her love for him was greater than that of his for her... The greatest love is sacrifice, that another may live.
Sacrifice.
At the end of the South Wing, Paul found a metal staircase spiraling up to an oval door. He glanced back down the hall, and again up at the door.
Oval? What a weird shape for a door in this house.
The great white sun of Arrakis shone harshly down the corridor, and the house felt unsually lonely and cold as he saw his elongated shadow stabbing down the narrow passage way. But once more, the words of Hawat, his faithful Mentat and friend returned to him, burning all thoughts of homesickness.
Paul turned his attention to the door once more. His gaze flitted behind to make certain he was unobserved. He climbed the stairs slowly, his hand sliding along the cool metal railing. The door had been locked with a palm lock. Paul knew he had learnt it before from Jessica, his mother, and from the Bene Gesserit training. He placed his hand on the slight depression and made a subtle twist of his wrist. The door clicked open easily.
As it shut softly behind him, Paul stood, awed by the efforts someone had put in to put up such a wonderful garden. An artificial waterfall cascaded down at a corner, while vines and shrubs and flowering plants of every sort fluorished in this greenhouse.
He caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye and jerked his head toward it, suddenly alert. But it had only been a garden hose, moistening his cheek with a fine spray of water as it sent a mist of droplets toward a fern beside him.
He marvelled, inwardly, at the lavish and excessive use of water on Arrakis, the desert planet. The water used in this house, in this particular room, could probably support 9000 Fremen. This, perhaps, he thought aloud, was Hawat's way of demonstrating the absolute unquestionable authority of the Duke's family over Arraki.
Paul's heart gave a sudden throbbing lurge as he remembered he was no longer the Duke's son, but the Duke himself. Tears flooded his eyes, stinging them as he stared at a minature river weaving through the plants.
The door burst open with a deafening crash. He whirled round, blinking the tears back bravely as the sheath of the crysknife tucked in his belt stabbed his ribs. It was one of Hawat's men.
"Your Highness, there has been an intruder that has been captured in the storage house." Paul knew this man - He was another Mentat.
"A Fremen?" He raised his eyebrows quizically.
"No, one of the Harkonnens," the Mentat replied calmly, flicking a finger down his flowing black robe to smoothen a crease. "A girl."
"I'd like to handle her myself." Paul caught himself in time, correcting the sharpness and cutting edge of his voice. It dawned on him who the intruder might be. "Does Lady Jessica know about this yet?"
"No, Sire. She's resting in her room. Shall I tell her?"
"No. You may leave." Paul nodded wearily, hurrying toward the storage house where the weapons were kept. It was at the West Wing of the house and he quickened his pace to a quick jog. Mom must never know about this. He knew how news spread like wildfire in this household.
Upon emerging, he met Shadout Mapes, housekeeper. She was ambling toward the storage house as well, her characteristic 'all-blue-no-whites' eyes fixed in that direction. As usual, she was clothed in an oversized knee-length dress, that billowed out in the wind, potraying her as a caricature of a stick figure in baggy clothes.
"Intruder." Mapes was direct. Nothing ever seemed to worry her, or even to surprise her. Paul had wondered about this at first, her strange ways that she never lost her cool and became frustrated... but he had eventually accepted it as the way of the Fremen.
"I can handle this." He ignored the strange glance she cast in his direction, one of doubt. He knew everyone thought and saw him as a mere sixteen-year-old, a boy, and not the man he was now growing up to be. Even Reverend Mother.
Those were the same words he repeated to the guards pinioning the lanky girl down in the storage house. She held a look of absolute defiance, her eyes flashing with hate, hate of an old woman, as the guards meekly obeyed the orders of the skinny tan boy. Paul knew who she was, as she got to her feet and stood looking into his eyes as equals, arms folded across her dirtied blouse.
He hesitated, clearing his throat. "You could have died, Xanthia! They could have killed you!" Somehow, he could not comprehend how someone could be so gullible as to attempt sneaking into this house. The security was stringent, everyone lived from day to day with such wariness and cautiousness, as if there were a traitor among them. Trespassers could have been put to death.
Xanthia tossed her head, flinging her mangy auburn hair out of her eyes. She stood for a long while, studying the olive skinned complexion of Paul, his severe eyes and cold hard mouth drawn into a line. His lips were quivering a little, as he pulled his shoulders back squarely. The dark cloak with the eagle symbol that once belonged to the late Duke, was now draped around his frail, thin shoulders, a thread coming loose from the silvery embroidered bird-of-prey.
"I know."
"Why did you come, then?!" Paul was struggling to keep his voice even, not to let it rise in hysterical anger. Couldn't she see how worried she had been? He found it personally ridiculous that they quarelled nearly every time they met.
"I want to show you something. Come with me." Xanthia walked briskly past him and out of the storage house, in the presence of the dumbstruck guards. Paul filed past them in silence, trying to keep up with her pace. He had admired her for a very long time, being secretly in love with her courage and fearlessness. She was quick, sharp-witted and decisive. Hesitation, did not exist in her dictionary...
Xanthia, he knew, was one of the Harkonnens, a tribe of people after his own life. How then, could he fall in love with the enemy? That was why Jessica could NEVER know about this, about their friendship, about the flashes of light they sent each other across the basin. There could have never been 2 more unlikely friends - a Duke with a mission in his life to seek revenge for his people, and a girl who lived as an outcast from her tribe, stealing and looting from the Fremen.
It seemed many miles later that they came to the basin where Xanthia lived. Drip-drip-drip. drip-drip. Paul could hear the soft sound distinctly, even over the sound of Xanthia's footsteps on the crunching gravel ground.
"Water!" He knew the sound of dripping water by heart, the precious commodity of Arrakis. Xanthia nodded, pointing to a cave hidden among the rocks. "That's where I live, Paul." The hardness in her voice had melted away as they stepped into the cave where water was flowing into a small pool of rocks.
It was dim and cool in the cave, a comforting shelter from the sweltering white hot sun. Paul bent over the refreshing pool of water, having learnt to recognise the pure water from poison water, which was also found abundantly on this planet.
"Is this what you wanted to show me?"
Xanthia was silent as she picked up an instrument with twelve strings. Running her fingers over them gently, she was able to create the sweetest and most melodious sound that ever graced Paul's ear. Slowly, she played a charming, hypnotic melody, resonating through the cave as the sunset gloriously, half-illuminating everything in a shadowy yet romantic manner. Paul was caught up in the music, as each note trailed through the air, rushing over him like wave after wave... hard as lightning, yet soft as candle light.
Finally, the last note trailed off in the air.
"Did you compose that yourself?" Paul was enticed by the melody. He stood, gazing at her face, as she turned to look out of the cave, revealing her profile. Her sharp nose, large eyes, high cheekbones. And yes, that mouth.
"It's called Eternity Memories of Light and Waves," Xanthia glanced at Paul, but her mind was on the gom jabbar in her pocket. Her fingers darted in, closing around the needle tightly. This would be the right time, nearly perfect... The gom jabbar caused a quick and painless death. He just had to come a little closer, and the Duke would be no more. Arrakis would be rid of a tyrannical ruler who was so easily charmed by a woman.
"It was nice... The best thing I've ever heard!" Paul was forgetting himself. In fact, he always did when he was around Xanthia. He paused, swallowing hard. "Xanthia, I love you."
The girl gawked at him. Now he had ruined everything, foiled her perfect impeccable plan. The fool! But she had to admit, there were so many feelings raging within her now... He had been trained in Truthsay, hadn't he? Why could he tell what she really was thinking?
"Please go." Xanthia turned abruptly away from Paul, the sliver of a needle clutched in her sweaty fist. "I just..." Words failed her for the first time. Was she really going to do it- to kill him? No, she could not, and would not.
To her surprise, Paul turned to leave awkwardly, strolling out onto the pitch dark sands. She gazed at his tall erect figure with his loping gait and plunged the needle into her neck, cringing silently. Xanthia fell onto the sand, but she fell so softly the thud couldn't possibly be heard... She fell the way a tree falls when it has been chopped down, her mouth open in a silent scream never heard.
That night, Paul witnessed an auraura in the desert night sky, the most beautiful phenomenon he had seen in his entire life. You see, Xanthia lived out the Eternity Memories of Light and Waves, a star in the night sky watching down on him. Her love for him was greater than that of his for her... The greatest love is sacrifice, that another may live.
Sacrifice.
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