Archive of Our Own

Parents should not be alarmed to discover that their children know stories of Muad’Dib which appear nowhere in A Child’s History of Muad’Dib. Stories have never been orderly. Children acquire them from siblings, cousins, companions, and strangers whose names they never think to ask. A verse learned in Sietch Tabr may arrive in Arrakeen with three lines changed and a fourth invented along the way. Attempts by adults to correct these variations have generally proved unsuccessful. Of particular interest are those stories concerning Muad’Dib and his sister, Saint Alia of the Knife. Though the relationship between the two is not obscure in any historical sense, juvenile tradition has variously rendered them siblings, twins, parent and child, and, regrettably, husband and wife. There is no evidence for the latter two interpretations. Parents are advised that excessive objection tends only to encourage repetition.

The most widespread verses accompany a hand-clapping game. This may surprise those familiar with Fremen practices upon the open desert; children are taught early that regular rhythm upon the sand is dangerous. Within the safety of rock, however, rhythm is neither forbidden nor feared. Fremen children possess a rich tradition of clapping, counting, and singing games, many considerably older than Muad’Dib. The Atreides verses appear to have been grafted onto one such game. Two players stand opposite one another and alternate between striking their own palms and those of their companion. The sequence grows increasingly complex with each verse. A missed hand, an incorrect turn, or a broken rhythm eliminates the player. In some sietches, the victor is awarded an imitation water-ring, usually fashioned from wire, cord, or other material of no value. One of the simplest verses has remained remarkably consistent:

Muad’Dib and Alia,
never face to face,
one looks back,
the other to space.

The movements accompanying back and space require the players to turn away from one another before returning to the pattern. It has been suggested that the verse deliberately contrasts Muad’Dib’s prescience with Saint Alia’s ancestral memory. This interpretation is probably too generous to its composers. When asked what “space” meant, three children interviewed in Arrakeen separately answered, “the sky.” Other verses are less innocent. One common variation begins:

Chani, Irulan, Saint Alia of the Knife,
who shall be Muad’Dib’s true wife?

What follows differs considerably between communities. Chani is usually associated with water; the author is most often associated with Muad’Dib’s name. In several versions, Saint Alia herself wins the final round. This should not be understood as evidence of an unrecorded Fremen marriage tradition. The error appears to arise from the game rather than any genuine confusion regarding the Atreides genealogy. In older forms, the final player remaining after the verse simply “wins.” The later custom of presenting the victor with an imitation water-ring introduced associations which the youngest players do not always comprehend. Water-rings possess meanings concerning household, wealth, and courtship which are beyond the scope of this addendum. Adults will understand why combining those meanings with a rhyme concerning a brother and sister has produced unfortunate results. Children, for the most part, do not.

Saint Alia, however, does. It must be acknowledged here that the subjects of juvenile folklore sometimes participate in its transmission. I first encountered the game in an Arrakeen courtyard, where six children were performing the first verse. Muad’Dib stood in the shadow of the passage above them. He had been there long enough to hear the rhyme twice. I explained the game to him. He said nothing. Only then did I see Saint Alia standing beyond the children, not among them. She followed every motion of their hands without moving her own. Muad’Dib was not watching the game.

Some weeks afterward, Saint Alia demonstrated several verses for the purposes of this work. Muad’Dib, entering during the demonstration, asked to be shown the accompanying hand movements.

The surviving transcription ends there.

“You’ll lose,” Alia told him.

Paul lowered himself onto the cushion opposite her. “Then teach me.”

Alia was correct. Paul possessed no natural talent for the game. He anticipated movements which did not occur, missed those which did, and objected when Alia informed him that prescience could not be used to dispute a child’s rules.

“You looked.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“Alia.”

She laughed and held up her hands again.

By the fourth attempt he could complete the first verse without error. Irulan watched from her chair beside the transcriber, saying nothing as their palms met, crossed, parted.

Muad’Dib and Alia,
never face to face—

Paul turned the wrong direction, and Alia shrieked with laughter.

“You said left.”

“Your other left.”

“I have only one left.”

“Then you should have found it.”

Paul's mouth twitched. “Again.”

This time they reached the final clap. Alia caught his hand between both of hers and declared herself the winner. Then she produced a water-ring. A real one. Paul's amusement disappeared.

“No.”

“I won.”

“That is mine.”

“It was.”

“Alia.”

“You have to take it. Those are the rules.”

Paul looked at the ring in her palm. Then at his sister.

Irulan reached for the transcriber. Paul's eyes lifted over Alia's shoulder and met hers. She switched it off.

“Coward,” Alia said without looking at her.

Irulan folded her hands in her lap. “I believe I have sufficient material.”

“Then go away, name-wife.”

Silence. Irulan's gaze went to Paul. He could have corrected Alia, told her to use Irulan's name. Instead, he opened his hand. Alia dropped the water-ring triumphantly into his palm.

“Again,” Paul said.

Irulan left them to it.

Parents and tutors should remember that children’s traditions are not defective histories. Their inaccuracies are often precisely what permits them to survive. Through play, children take possession of figures otherwise presented to them as rulers, saints, martyrs, and monsters. Muad’Dib becomes a foolish brother who cannot keep his water-rings. Saint Alia becomes a little sister who cheats him out of them. Neither portrayal is historically useful. Both may nevertheless serve a purpose. A child who asks an adult to play should, when circumstances permit, be indulged.

Even saints require playmates.