SandChigger wrote:10,197 AG
Four Years After the Fall of Shaddam IV
So many lives within me, so many voices! A lifetime would not suffice to listen to them all!
—Paul-Muad’Dib Atreides, Meditations of an Emperor
Night had come to Arrakeen, replacing the searing bedlam and broiling clamor of the day with something of the cool silent serenity of the deep desert. And yet Paul could not sleep. He lay awake on the luxurious bedding beside his beloved Chani and waited until her soft, measured breathing told him she was asleep, and then he arose and quietly wrapped himself in a light robe of fine Terrinian broccato before stepping out onto the wide balcony adjoining their bedroom. He signaled for the guard at the far end of the balcony to leave and watched as the man disappeared into a secret passage behind a cleverly concealed door.
At last the Emperor of the Known Universe was alone and stood gazing down upon the sleeping form of the city he had made his capital. How different the face it presented now from that which sweated in the dust and heat of the midday sun. Arrakeen of Dune . . . the name itself was enough to make the hearts of devoted converts leap within their breasts across the Imperium. The daytime streets of the city were choked to impassibility with the pilgrims who flocked to Arrakis, millions every year, overflowing from the shuttles which travelled back and forth all day between the Guild Heighliners in orbit and the growing spaceport on the outskirts of the city. From this vantage point he could see the lights of the landing fields, greatly expanded over the last couple of years to handle the increased volume of traffic.
Paul looked up at the almost unflickering stars and thought of the worlds that circled them, planets from which so many pilgrims came to worship him. And he thought about how many of those worlds were even now the scene of bloody battles in his name. He wanted to close his eyes but knew that doing so would only bring dreams . . . that would give way to the frightening visions that haunted his soul. And also bring the voices. . . .
The Jihad progressed, his fanatical holy warriors spreading ever further afield, bringing destruction to many of the star systems in their path. Paul was wracked with guilt over what he had unleashed on the universe, but still could see no way to rein in the bloodthirsty hordes of his followers. Every solution he imagined led only to even bloodier visions of the future. He was near to despair, made worse by the certain knowledge that his own suicide or death would only intensify the horrors still to come.
“What can I do?!” he implored of the night.
“Perhaps you need counsel other than your own.”
The woman’s voice had come from the far end of the balcony, in the shadows that hid the door to the passage the guard had used. Had some spy or assassin managed to invade his sanctum? A Reverend Mother of the hated Bene Gesserit?
He strained but could see no one there. Then, slowly, as if coalescing from the darkness itself, a figure moved slowly towards him.
“Who are you?!” he challenged, but the woman said nothing and continued to approach. Something about the figure reminded him of the stately, green-eyed beauty he called mother—Jessica. But no, she was on Caladan and he had not seen her since he had returned there with her for a visit three years before. Finally the woman came to a place where her face was lit by the lights of the city below and she stopped. Although by no means old, the face he saw was lined with care. Paul thought to himself that she had probably possessed a classical beauty when younger. Her hair was brown but streaked with gray, and her eyes were piercing. She looked familiar, but he didn’t recognize her.
“My name is the least important of the things that I can tell you,” she said. “I can teach you of the art of jihad, which you desperately need to learn!”
“Who are you?!”
“Never mind that. We haven’t much time this time. You fret and worry that your army is but a horde of fanatics yet seem to forget that a force of fighting fanatics is able to overcome any number of enemy soldiers and weapons!”
“I worry because I have seen the future. I disturbed and awed. The masses-”
“And I have lived the past. To guide, to manipulate the masses who flock to your banner is the only way to defend what must be preserved. To oppose them is to become a rock on the beach, broken and worn away by the tide.”
“Who ARE you?!” Paul cried, growing exasperated.
“Have you not figured it out by now? I am Serena Butler, the mother of all jihads.”
Oh for fuck's sake! WHY WHY does KJA feel the need to bring his shitty characters into the timeline of the original six books?!?! This further proves my theory that he is trying to hijack Dune from FH by one-upping him.
For example, Leto 2 was the God Emperor so KJA has the super-duper-KH in Duncan and the Normacle. Paul had a jihad but he must learn from the Mother of All Jihads, Serena Butplug!
I'm pissed. I will now not read any more books by KJA and BH and will trash the ones I have already purchased!!!!!!
