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Book Three: The Prophet
ThemancarriedPaul’sbanneronitsstaff—thegreenandblackbannerwithawatertubeinthestaff—thatalreadywasalegendintheland.Halfpridefully,Paulthought:Icannotdothesimplestthingwithoutitsbecomingalegend.TheywillmarkhowIpartedfromChani,howIgreetStilgar—everymoveImakethisday.Liveordie,itisalegend.Imustnotdie.Thenitwillbeonlylegendandnothingtostopthejihad.
StilgarplantedthestaffinthesandbesidePaul,droppedhishandstohissides.Theblue-within-blueeyesremainedlevelandintent.AndPaulthoughthowhisowneyesalreadywereassumingthismaskofcolorfromthespice.
“TheydeniedustheHajj,”Stilgarsaidwithritualsolemnity.
AsChanihadtaughthim,Paulresponded:“WhocandenyaFrementherighttowalkorridewherehewills?”
“IamaNaib,”Stilgarsaid,“nevertobetakenalive.Iamalegofthedeathtripodthatwilldestroyourfoes.”
Silencesettledoverthem.
PaulglancedattheotherFremenscatteredoverthesandbeyondStilgar,thewaytheystoodwithoutmovingforthismomentofpersonalprayer.AndhethoughtofhowtheFremenwereapeoplewhoselivingconsistedofkilling,anentirepeoplewhohadlivedwithrageandgriefalloftheirdays,neveronceconsideringwhatmighttaketheplaceofeither—exceptforadreamwithwhichLiet-Kyneshadinfusedthembeforehisdeath.
“WhereistheLordwholedusthroughthelandofdesertandofpits?”
Stilgarasked.
“Heiseverwithus,”theFremenchanted.
Stilgarsquaredhisshoulders,steppedclosertoPaulandloweredhisvoice.
