Navigators of Dune

After the rough session, Sister Olivia would come in to help handle the unconscious prisoner, although even faithful Olivia was not allowed to learn about the use of Voice. Not yet. Valya had used the technique on Olivia, too, making her forget that she had ever received the eerie, irresistible command. Now Olivia returned, looking confused as to why she had gone. “Would you like me to take over now, Mother Superior?” She knelt beside the unconscious woman. “Oh, she’s bleeding! What happened to her ears?”

“Perhaps they could not stand to hear any more of her own lies.”

Olivia rose to her feet. “Shall I summon the medics?”

“Not just yet.”

Valya was learning her own abilities, experimenting with the effects. She wondered just how much physical damage a person could psychosomatically inflict on her own body. Could the victim’s mind cause subconscious constrictions to stop her own heart, burst her liver? Maybe the intractable traitor Esther-Cano could be useful to the Sisterhood as an experimental object.

On the cold floor, the woman began to stir, clutching at her ears and whimpering in pain. Seeing the blood smeared on her hands, she struggled to a sitting position, glared at the Mother Superior. “What have you done to me? I can’t hear my own voice!”

Valya leaned over and spoke softly, knowing the woman could not hear her. “I was trying to toughen you. I must teach you the proper way of thinking, of seeing the world.”

Esther-Cano seemed to be having trouble even sitting up, perhaps from dizziness. She shouted her reply. “I don’t understand what you’re saying or doing to me, but your actions are corrupting the Sisterhood. Mother Superior Raquella would never have condoned this! I can’t believe Dorotea ever agreed to rejoin your faction of heretics.”

Valya smiled and continued to whisper, “Dorotea did what she was told.” Then she rose to her feet and turned her face away from the victim, addressing Olivia, “Kill her.”

Olivia recoiled. “But why? She needs to be retrained, rehabilitated—”

“No, I will spend more time training you, developing your expertise. And killing is a skill we need in our repertoire now. This woman—she is no longer worthy even to be called a Sister—is too tainted to be useful, except in one way. She can serve the Sisterhood as a lesson to you—one that you will pass on to others.”

“What do you mean?”

Valya’s voice became throaty, otherworldly. “Kill her.”

Olivia obeyed reflexively. She delivered a kick to Esther-Cano’s larynx that snapped her neck, followed by a quick finishing blow to the center of her face, crushing her skull. Olivia blinked in astonishment at what she had done.

Satisfied, Valya returned to her living quarters, where she would enjoy dinner alone in celebration. She had just made another step in the progress of the new Sisterhood. Her new Sisterhood.

It seems as if we are going in a circle: we are chasing the Harkonnens, and they are chasing us.

—WILLEM ATREIDES, comments recorded by Vorian Atreides

Lankiveil was cold and cloudy, its air laced with frigid mist. After Abulurd Harkonnen’s exile here, Vorian had come to admire the Harkonnens for their fortitude in this windswept, backwater place. Recently, they had even begun to thrive.

Vor had not asked to become their enemy, but Abulurd’s descendants had painted him into that role. He and Willem were taking a grave risk by coming here, but Tula had slain Orry, and if she was on Lankiveil, they would hunt her down—for justice, and to keep the rest of his family safe.

Arriving in the main town in the sheltered fjord, both men wore warm clothing of the local style so they would not look out of place. As the pair tromped along a wooden boardwalk into the heart of the village, however, the effort to look unobtrusive was in vain; the locals spotted outsiders at first glance.

Vor could tell that Willem was growing angrier by the moment, staring at the townspeople as if he considered all of them to be murderers. He placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder to steady him, but he could feel the thrumming tension inside him. “Careful,” he said.

“Careful, yes,” Willem said, “but I won’t forget.”

The wooden buildings were weather-beaten, their metal roofs corroded. Not long ago Vor had stayed here for a month in disguise, after Griffin’s tragic death on Arrakis. Vor had considered the young Harkonnen man a friend, and had wanted to see how the family was faring. Under an assumed name, Vor had worked alongside Vergyl Harkonnen on a whale-fur boat. He had performed grueling chores without complaint, and afterward, knowing the family’s dire financial situation, he paid off Harkonnen debts anonymously. In his mind, Vor had done a good thing, and had felt better for it.

Then Tula had seduced and murdered Willem’s brother.