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Light linens in mustard dyes decorated a room deep within Sietch Tabr, complementing the rusty red carpets covering the floor. In the center of this room, loosely draped in robes matching the wall hangings, sat the Reverend Mother Lady Jessica Atreides. She seemed like she may well be part of the cozy decor, if not for her dour face sapping the warmth. The corners of her thin lips pulled on her aging cheeks, creating a formidable expression. In all of her grand wisdom, her profound weirding ways, and her influence over the Fremen people, she felt powerless. The Missionaria Protectiva shackled her as equally as it opened paths. It cannot be that each action she has taken, along with Paul, has further entrenched them in this puppet conflict. And yet, here she was, Reverend Mother to a secretive desert-dwelling society on the most sought-after planet in known Imperial space.
Jessica’s eyes were glazed over in thought, In all of my years I tried only to guide Paul down a path that would strengthen him. Paul becoming the Kwisatz Haderach was some fantasy stoked by maternal instinct! Only ever did I train him as I was trained, and of course he was trained as his father in martial arts. It should never have gone this far… He acts out of line, he no longer responds to my input; what has he become?
Rough-edged young men crudely threw themselves down and old women tearfully pawed at their hair and shawls, blind to the way their desperation tapped their dignity. Hundreds of people filtered in and out of the sandy stronghold in pilgrimage, but not to her. They were here to pledge themselves to her son, Paul. Her son, who was so young; her son, who had lost so much; her son, who was perfectly made for this imperfect role.
It is truly no fault but my own. I was so bold to reject the place I was given in this grand scheme. Me, a Duke’s consort, I ought to have been grateful to be with such a kind man, I could have had his daughter. Never would I have had my sweet, strange Paul, but then again I would not have this shadow of his father left in the world. Jessica straightened, reaching inward to still her breath. Ah-h-h, Leto. Your boy is changed, he is a new person-symbol in this world.
Each day this Reverend Mother business presented a new challenge. So many memories from so many previous Mothers hardly left enough energy for Jessica’s own thoughts. Something as simple as a whisper of her dear Leto in her mind could be enough to disturb, this was not like the old her. Life’s larger picture seemed to slip away in place of her concern for Paul, which threatened to breach her impeccable self-control.
As Jessica sat there upon the ground, she picked up the light pattering of feet outside her door. A little girl slipped in through the whispers of curtains and crawled over some rosy cushions, right into the Reverend Mothers’ lap.
“Oh-h! Alia, my little one, why such a whirlwind today? Hm?”
Nestling into the perfect curve of her mothers’ lap, Alia said, “Mother, am I a ‘scourge’?” She blinked up at Jessica’s shocked eyes. Choice words had been used to describe Alia before, it was only natural seeing as she is so beyond “normal”, but a scourge? People were getting bold.
Jessica thought: I thought Harah’s influence would have done more to sway the women here by now… Putting an end to this ridiculousness is essential. Perhaps she would benefit from some training in my ways. She would be changed, but certainly the ends justi-
Harah burst in, not bothering herself with formalities. Her dark, orderly robes stood in great contrast to her flaming eyes.
“Reverend Mother Jessica, my fellow women become more and more resentful of Alia. ‘A Scourge’, they said of your little girl!” Her voice ran rough and high-pitched with her fury. She spoke again, “What possesses them, I do not know. The girl is different, but a blessing. How wonderful to have such a young child with all the wisdom she possesses! Tch! Come here, Alia.” She stretched out her arms and crouched, Alia padded over and melted into the embrace. For all her great ability, she was still a child.
“My daughter, strange as she may be, is no scourge, no curse, nor an omen of ill fate. Harah, continue to speak to the women of the Sietch. You have the tools to make great change in their view of her, I’m certain you are capable of such a task. Do not falter or fail. There is nothing I deem more beneficial than to acclimate them to Alia, it is the only way ahead.” Jessica’s frustrations lay behind a perfectly curated mask of regal posturing, but she bristled for her daughter in her heart of hearts.
“Mother Jessica, they are not receptive. The more I push, the more they pick at this little one like desert eagles!”
“Enough. I trust you in this task, Harah. Do not allow that resistance to deter you from what Alia will need most.” Her tone was final, with a sprinkle of authoritative command laced in it. Alia glowered but did not speak, instead she projected her frustration and shame into the mind of her mother. Thus ended the conversation. Harah felt a change in the air and straightened, taking her leave with resolve. Alia followed close behind, clinging to her nanny.
“Why, how enamored you are, Harah,” Jessica mused, “Alia is self-sufficient and not lacking a mother, yet here you are, fretting over her more than I.” She stood and adjusted her wrapping, thinking as she did so: It must be some maternal gauze pulled over her eyes, to care for Alia like one of her own. I do nothing but ask her to ease the Sietch’s fears of my daughter so that they might finally welcome her into their flock, and she makes it her life’s mission to integrate this girl into Fremen society. Such an impossible task with such an impossible child, I do not wish any other woman to have the same challenge ahead of her. Satisfied with her appearance, she strode out of her room and turned to find her son.
The halls of the Sietch were long and winding. These places were burrows hewn from the rock by countless generations. The Fremen were quite proud of the immense skill and forethought required for such a project. Their intent was certainly not to have made this a home for uncounted generations, just a holdover until the terraforming was complete, but these things take time. As a result, the lifestyle of the Fremen had heavily adapted to the subterranean lifestyle, with surface travel more of a necessary survival skill. Yes, most of the Fremen lived most of their lives within the Sietch, sheltered from the direct violence of the surface.
When she was out of view of her people, Jessica allowed herself to marvel at the construction of the massive underground complex. Her sharp eyes locked hawk-like onto the intricacies of the masonry. The way the lime and sandstone were chipped away was incredibly precise. Where there was decorative carving, it was neat and expressive. The only things that truly made it a trial to live in a Sietch were the stench and the garish tacking-on of electrical fixtures on such beautiful stonework.
Rending herself from her Bene Gesserit obsession of analysis over the smallest of details, she found herself at Paul’s door. She had hardly acknowledged the guards he had posted, they were familiar with her and barely stirred, which was a rarity; they bristled at practically anyone who happened to breath improperly in the direction of their Muad’dib.
Muffled, from within, “Chani, Sihaya, I cannot let this go. My mind’s eye is showing me paths, endless paths that collapse upon themselves as each second passes. I want to take the reins and make sure we arrive in a future where this Fremen plan comes to fruition!” Silence landed in response, choking the room that Jessica was eavesdropping upon. She knocked to cut the tension.
A guard opened the door for her and there stood Paul, with ruffled hair and casual clothing. His eyes were wide with surprise at seeing his mother unexpectedly. Jessica could not help but press her lips together and stiffen. It had been so long since the uprooting to Arrakis, when Paul was still young and soft-souled. It had been even longer, still, since he was a boy back on Caladan with untamable hair and large, youthful features. This hellish, dry-as-a-bone planet sucked away the childhood he’d had left, and Jessica was intent on preserving what of Leto he had left in him.
Whatever paths he had seen, wherever his new identities led him, Paul was still her son. She was his mother, she knew best. Straying from her path was never an option.