Dyuna

                                                                              Book One

                                                                                DYUNA:

A beginning is a time for taking the most delicate care that all is in its correct balance.  This every sister of the Bala Garrasaid knows. To start your study of the life of Niaeb'D'd, then, make sure that you first place him in his time:  born in the 57th year of the Pbejtibi Sultan, Turgay IV.  And take the most special care that you locate Niaeb'D'd, in his place: the planet Dyuna.  Do not be fooled by the fact that he was born on Eser and lived his first fifteen years there.  Dyuna, the planet also known as Dune, is forever his place.

                                                             --from "Tome of Niaeb'D'd" by the Princess Dalia

In the week before their departure to Dyuna, when all the final scurrying about had been reached a nearly unberable frenzy, an old crone came to visit the mother of the boy, Alexei.

It was a warm night at Castle Eser, and the ancient pile of stone that had served the Romanov family as home for twenty-six generations bore that cooled-sweat feeling it acquired before a change in the weather.

The old woman was let in by the side door down the vaulted passage by Alexei's room and she was permitted a moment to peer in at him where he lay in his bed.

By the half-light of a suspensor lamp, dimmed and hanging near the floor, the awakened boy could see a bulky female shape at his door, standing one step ahead of his mother.  The old woman was a witch shadow---hair like matted spiderwebs, hooded 'round darkness of features, eyes like glittering stars.

"Small for his age, is he not, Alexandra?" the old woman asked.  Her voice wheezed and twanged like an untuned baliset.

Alexei's mother answered in her usual soft contralto.  "The Romanovs are known to start late getting their growth, Your Worship."

"So I've heard, so I've heard," wheezed the old woman.  "And yet he's already fifteen."

"He is, Your Worship."

"He's awake and he's listening to us," said the old woman.  "Sly little rascal."  She chuckled. "But royalty has need of slyness.  And if he's really the Sokratit' Puti....well....."

Within the shadows of his bed, Alexei held his eyes open to mere slits.  Two sun-bright ovals---the eyes of the old woman----seemed to expand and glow as they stared into his. 

"Sleep well, you sly little rascal," said the old woman.  "For tomorrow you'll need all your faculties to meet my run sheffes."

And she was gone, pushing his mother out, closing the door with a solid thump.

Alexei lay awake wondering:  What's a run sheffes?

In all the upset during this time of change, the old woman was the strangest thing he had seen.

Your Worship.

And the way she called his mother Alexandra like a common serving wench instead of what she was----a Bala Garrasaid Lady, a duke's concubine and mother of the ducal heir.

Is a run sheffes something of Dyuna? I must know before we go there? he wondered.

He mouthed the strange words:  Run sheffes....Sokratit' Puti.