Дюна
Book Three: The Prophet
Youmustunderstandthat.”
“Iunderstanditwellenough,”Gurneysaid.“Now,I’mcurioustoseewhatIshouldn’t.”
Paullookeduptoseetheoldandwell-rememberedwolfishgrinonHalleck’sface,therippleoftheinkvinescaralongtheman’sjaw.
Gurneynoddedtowardthedesertbelowthem.Fremenweregoingabouttheirbusinessalloverthelandscape.Itstruckhimthatnoneofthemappearedworriedbytheapproachoftheworm.
Athumpingsoundedfromtheopendunesbeyondthebaitedpatchofspice—adeepdrummingthatseemedtobeheardthroughtheirfeet.GurneysawFremenspreadoutacrossthesandthereinthepathoftheworm.
Thewormcameonlikesomegreatsandfish,crestingthesurface,itsringsripplingandtwisting.Inamoment,fromhisvantagepointabovethedesert,Gurneysawthetakingofaworm—thedaringleapofthefirsthookman,theturningofthecreature,thewayanentirebandofmenwentupthescaly,glisteningcurveoftheworm’sside.
“There’soneofthethingsyoushouldn’thaveseen,”Paulsaid.
“There’sbeenstoriesandrumors,”Gurneysaid.“Butit’snotathingeasytobelievewithoutseeingit.”Heshookhishead.“ThecreatureallmenonArrakisfear,youtreatitlikearidinganimal.”
“Youheardmyfatherspeakofdesertpower,”Paulsaid.“Thereitis.Thesurfaceofthisplanetisours.Nostormnorcreaturenorconditioncanstopus.”
Us,Gurneythought.HemeanstheFremen.Hespeaksofhimselfasoneofthem.Again,GurneylookedatthespiceblueinPaul’seyes.
