When testing our powers against each other, challenging our skills and careful routines, we can try to prepare for every eventuality. But as soon as we face real battle, everything we know becomes mere theory.
— ZUFA CENVA,
lecture to Sorceresses
Though Quentin and Faykan never suspected as much, Abulurd made regular visits to see his mother in the City of Introspection. Now, after he’d received his promotion only to be struck down again by the terrible news of his father’s brave end at the hands of the cymeks, he felt more alone than ever.
His brother was engrossed in politics as Interim Viceroy, while Vorian Atreides focused on how best to fight the cymeks if Agamemnon and the surviving Titans were planning further action against free humanity. Abulurd could not go to either of them for commiseration or sympathy, not now.
So, Abulurd went to see his mother. He knew Wandra couldn’t respond to anything he told her. In his entire life, he had never heard her speak a single word, but he wished he could have known her. All he knew was that his own birth had taken away her mind.
Two days after learning of his father’s death, his shock had abated enough for him to make this visit. He was sure no one had bothered to tell Wandra her husband’s terrible fate. Likely no one, not even Faykan, considered it important or necessary, assuming she would be incapable of understanding.
But Abulurd dressed in his spotless formal uniform, making sure to polish the new bashar’s insignia. Then he carried himself with all the dignity and impressive demeanor he could gather.
The devotees let him through the gates of the religious retreat. They all knew who he was, but he did not speak with them. Abulurd gazed straight ahead as he walked along the gem-gravel paths, skirting ornate fountains and tall lilies that evoked a placid atmosphere conducive to deep thinking.
For the morning, the caretakers had moved Wandra in her chair out into the sunshine next to one of the fish pools. The gold-scaled creatures darted among the weeds in search of insects. Wandra’s face was pointed toward the water, her gaze empty.
Abulurd stood in front of her, his chin up, his back straight, his arms at his sides. “Mother, I’ve come to show you my new rank.” He stepped close, pointing to the bashar symbol, its polished metal reflecting bright sunlight.
He didn’t expect Wandra to react, but somewhere in his heart he had to believe that his words penetrated, that perhaps her mind was still alive. Maybe she craved these visits, these conversations. Even if she truly was as empty as she seemed, Abulurd didn’t feel he was wasting his time. These were the only moments he spent with his mother.
He’d come here more often after retrieving her from the rescue ships at the end of the Great Purge, when Salusa was deemed safe from the robot extermination force. Abulurd had personally seen to it that Wandra and her caretakers were restored to the religious retreat.
“And… there is other news, too.” Tears filled his eyes as he thought of what he must say. Many people in the Army of Humanity had already consoled him about the loss of his father, but that had been only passive sympathy. Too many knew that Abulurd and his father had a distant relationship. Their attitude angered him, but he kept his bitter responses in check. Now that he was speaking to his mother, he had to face what he knew and admit that the news was accurate.
“Your husband, my father, fought bravely and well in the Jihad. But now he has fallen to the evil cymeks. He sacrificed himself so that his friend Porce Bludd could get away.” Wandra showed no response, but tears now streamed down Abulurd’s cheeks. “I’m sorry, Mother. I should have been with him to help fight, but our… our military assignments did not coincide.”
Wandra sat with bright eyes, staring disinterestedly at the fish in the pond.
“I just wanted to tell you in person. I know he loved you very much.”
Abulurd paused, thinking, hoping… almost imagining that he saw a sudden glint in her eye. “I will visit you again, Mother.” He looked at her for a long moment, then turned and hurried along the gem-gravel pathways out of the City of Introspection.
On his way, he stopped at the original crystalline coffin that held the preserved infant body of Saint Manion the Innocent. He had paid his respects at the shrine before. In the endless years of the war against the thinking machines, many visitors had come to see the baby who had sparked the entire Jihad. Abulurd stared down at his blurry reflected visage in the crystalline coffin, studying the face of the innocent child for a long time. When he left the City of Introspection he still felt very sad.