I slipped in through the crack in the door. My feet were entirely silent on the cold, underground floor; of course, I had been trained to move this way from birth. Careless footsteps held dangerous promise in the deserts of Arrakis.
The newcomer was alone and asleep- or, no, perhaps he wasn't asleep, not truly. His eyes were not open, but beneath their lids they moved, and his lips parted, tracing the outlines of words in a language I did not know. I wondered what he was seeing- I wondered what sort of entity might be there in his dreams, speaking to him.
He must have been bothered by the heat, for on his way to slumber he had discarded the layers that would protect him from the harsh climate outside; the thin white undershirt he still wore bared his throat and collarbones, and a fine sliver of a fair and hairless chest. I did not think I had ever seen anyone with skin so white- not even upon the shorn heads of that former clan of usurpers, though he surely resembled them more than he did us.
I knelt, still silent; my hand extended with my intending to, and I realized my fingertips had been reaching for that sliver of unblemished white, that which shone like full moonlight through a spy's window. I withdrew, my fingers curling into a fist. The moment disturbed me. I shouldn't have wanted such a thing at all- such urges were not like me.
(Even despite this truth: he was so beautiful it hurt.)
I did not believe this boy was the Messiah, the-voice-from-other-worlds. I thought it absurd that anyone did. First and beyond all, he was a foreigner- a conqueror, the breed of that unnatural star-travelling empire, and though I knew they divided themselves into categories they could only be more alike than different. The ring on his pale finger was a feudal symbol. I would believe him honest when he wore it.
The others, then- my people- those who whispered of the prophecies and old tales, those with superstitions…I looked at the boy now, still captive to his vision, watched the delicate cords in his neck strain and his shaped nails curl into his own palms, and I wondered what spell he and his mother had put on them to make them think him so.
It was surely a spell. That was why I had wanted to touch him just then- why I still did.
He was the son of a witch- no, no need for use of any second degree, I didn't doubt it; he was a witch, I had been told that much. He was performing strange magic before my very eyes…listening to the whisperings of whatever eldritch god gave him his prophecies-
The boy suddenly cried out- not loudly, it was not much more than a gasp- still, I startled, drawing back. His forehead- that flawless white throat- he was stained by the thinnest sheen of fever-sweat, something he surely couldn't afford to lose. He looked like he was in pain. I realized I had an urge to comfort him. I suppressed it- he didn't know yet that I was here. Moreover, I had no desire to fall any deeper into his enchantment.
The Messiah, my people murmured- but no. This was the Prince of Witches, and his beguile was deeply suspect to me. That the others couldn't see it meant only that I needed to be more vigilant.
I wondered- for the first time in full thought, instead of merely suspicion- if I had made a mistake in giving him my knife, that knife that he had used to kill my kin. I had thought him only a boy then- some pitiful aristocratic wasteling, gods, he was so thin and small, there was no possibility of his victory against so great a warrior as Jamis; I had intended only for his death to be fair and honourable, as was befitting any man, even one from outer space.
(I was not sure anymore that he was a man- at least, not in the sense of 'human'.)
If he was wicked, then surely I had erred, unknowingly or not. If this had ended back out on that desert flat I would not be hearing whispers of the old stories, and I would not be here in this room, trying to resist this captivated feeling that had taken over me. The divine Spice and the gods of the planet were the only greater powers of Arrakis, my people did not practice witchcraft, we were ill-prepared- but of course such darker arts were taught in the black spaces between the stars. There were black gods that lived in those places, also.
…but it was senseless to feel guilt over could-have-beens. I had only acted honourably. I had to remember that.
I was tarrying here. I should not be watching this- it felt like an obscene display, his bare skin, his disturbed and inhuman writhing…I should not have come at all. Even if all he really had been was a harmless exiled alien, I had no place in a sleeping guest's bedchamber.
I knew this, yet when I told myself to leave I did not.
Something was surely wrong with me. I needed an explanation for this compulsion but I could not find one- not one that my own mind could have provided, anyway. I was surely bewitched. I had thought it harmless, but perhaps I had set foot wrong when I had looked him in the eye. Perhaps he had stolen my soul that way.
I found myself kneeling- the urge to touch him, again, was almost insurmountable. Perhaps if I pried his lips open I could reach in and find what he had taken from me, perhaps he had tucked it under his wet, pink tongue…perhaps if I kissed him I could draw it out again.
I mustn't do that. I was under a witch's influence- I could not trust my own judgement, my own urges.
Still, I stayed.
I noticed things I did not think I had noticed before. The palms of his hands- once they relaxed on the sheet, upturned- were very smooth; none of the digits seemed to have any callouses, not even ones from holding weapons, which I had seen him do. His skin had no dark spots upon it, none of the lines that formed from exposure to Arrakis' harsh sun; the texture of that skin looked so soft I thought it miraculous it didn't break from the slightest touch. On Arrakis, the only people who looked so soft were infants. I had overheard others, before this, speaking of the House of Atreides- theirs was an ocean planet, and apparently a peaceful one, too. This boy had been raised on a pillow of water, and for it he had not yet a single scar.
That pained look was on his face again- like he didn't understand what he was seeing, like it frightened him. Was he truly a fragile creature? The bones that rose from his chest as his breathing deepened were so slender and fine they could very well have belonged to a bird, or perhaps a desert mouse, something tiny and innocent and breakable, should I not handle him carefully-
-no.
I knew better than this- I had seen it. My mind was surely fogged with his magic, to forget myself…forget how he and his witch-mother had made their way across worm territory alone, how he had toyed with Jamis before killing him, letting him go again and again after the opportunity for a quick and honourable death passed, the way certain predator animals played with their meals…I really was enchanted.
I stood at last. For some reason my own sympathetic imaginings had disturbed me enough to get me to my feet. I needed to leave this place- surely the very air here swirled with black magic, and I did not want to breathe it in. I looked at him only once more- his dream seemed to be fading, he had relaxed back against his sheet. I mustn't be here when he woke.
I turned away on silent feet, my hands reaching out for the corridor beyond, but I did not make it that far- a sound stopped me in my tracks, frozen in the doorway, my breath turned to metal in my lungs.
The boy spoke but one word:
"Chani," he whispered. My name on his lips was like a serpent's hiss; it did not sound human.
(Temptation.)
Compelled- surely I was compelled- my head turned back to look at him; I suspected fully to see him awake and upright, the deep gold of his eyes fixing me in place, pink lips forming words in that evil Voice that would take away my will and make me his completely- in that instant before my eyes found him again I felt within me a terrible fear for my people and for my soul.
…but he was still asleep. He did not seem to have stirred at all. The undershirt had shifted off one of his shoulders; he looked as innocent as a babe.
I fled the room.
Afterwards, in my own chambers, I held my hands tight over my heart, willing its beat to settle, for I could not bear to hear the rhythmic thumping in my ears. My very blood was too loud; it felt like bad luck. I did not know what we had invited into our midst, but it frightened me. It disturbed me to my very core.
(Worse than that, even- it excited me greatly, also.)
