Support thy brother, should he be just or unjust.
— Zensunni Saying
After the successful kanla raid, Ishmael addressed his people inside the largest meeting chamber in the cave village. He felt alive again, the blood running hot in his ancient body. He and the too-civilized desert men had slain their enemies and reaped the spoils of the slaver camp. They had taken the offworlders’ water, food, equipment, and money. But it was not enough for Ishmael— never enough to repay what the flesh merchants had done to the other villages they had raided.
Now that the ordeal was over and they were home, El’hiim was deeply disturbed by what he had seen, especially the draining of an enemy’s blood to take his water. “Centuries of civilization have been stripped away from us,” he had said quietly to Ishmael. “We turned into animals, and now no law on Arrakis will take our side. We have lost more than we gained.”
“No. We regained our heritage,” Ishmael said. “We have always followed the law of the desert, the law of survival— the law of Buddallah! What do I care for the rules laid down by civilized men in their comfortable homes?”
El’hiim frowned. “I care, Ishmael.”
But Ishmael refused to let matters rest as they were among the villagers. He spoke vehemently when the elders gathered, and many impatient younger men and women stopped to listen. “Slavers attacked our village, but we drove them off. We avenged all those who were lost when they struck another village— but our enemies will come back again and again! We have opened our door to them. We have let the jackals take advantage of us.” He raised a gnarled fist.
“Our only hope for the future is to go back to the ways of Selim Wormrider. We must pack up only those possessions we need for our survival, and retreat into the deepest desert, where the slavers will leave us alone.”
Some of the people cheered enthusiastically; others seemed troubled. After the bloody raid, a number of the young Zensunni men wanted to launch more vengeance attacks, as in the old outlaw days.
But now a troubled-looking Naib El’hiim stood and tried to calm them. “There is no need to be so reactionary, Ishmael. Those who preyed upon the unprotected village were criminals, and they have suffered the ultimate punishment. We’ve taken care of the problem.”
“The problem is at the core of our society,” Ishmael said. “That is why we must leave and find our souls again. We must remember the prophecy of Selim Wormrider and do as he told us.”
El’hiim said, “I am Naib, and the Wormrider was my own father. Let us not put too much stock in the dreams he experienced after consuming excessive amounts of melange. Do we not all have strange visions when we drink too much spice beer?” Some of the Free Men chuckled, while Ishmael scowled.
“Running away from our problems will not solve them, Ishmael. Your solution is… simplistic.”
“And your solution is blind and lazy, Naib,” Ishmael snapped back. “You’ve seen how the offworlders enslave and kill our people, yet you still want to form a business relationship with them and pretend that nothing happened. You think we can coexist peacefully with them.”
El’hiim clasped his hands together. “Yes I do! We must all coexist.”
“I have no interest in becoming a good neighbor to vermin!” Ishmael had hoped that by gaining obvious and overwhelming support he could make his stepson change his mind. But he saw now that there could be only one solution, one that had been growing for years. Because he had raised El’hiim, because he had promised Marha, Ishmael had refused to consider the obvious, necessary action. Now— for the good of his people and the future of Arrakis— he could no longer avoid it.
He turned to face his stepson, whom he had rescued from an infestation of black scorpions, whom he had taught and protected. Now it was more important to protect their people. The decision tore him apart, and he feared that Marha’s ghost would come back to haunt him for breaking his sacred word to her. But he had to do this. He must keep the Zensunni alive and free. He knew in his very soul that El’hiim would lead them into weakness and destruction.
“Ishmael, there are many factors to consider,” El’hiim said, trying to placate him. “We all understand how unsettling the recent events have been. But if we simply become outlaws again, we lose all the progress we have made over the past half century. Perhaps together we can— “
“A challenge,” Ishmael said, his voice booming in the cave.
El’hiim looked at him. “What— ?”
Ishmael drew back his hand and struck the Naib resoundingly across the face, for all to see. “A challenge, by Zensunni tradition. You have turned your back on much of your past, El’hiim, but the people will not let you ignore this.”
A collective indrawn breath echoed through the chamber. El’hiim reeled backward, unable to believe what the old man had done.
He raised his hands. “Ishmael, stop this nonsense. I am your— “
“You are not my son, nor are you the son of Selim Wormrider. You are a ruinous insect that eats at the heart of our Zensunni people.”
Before he could stop himself, Ishmael slapped him again, harder, on the other cheek. A mortal insult. “I challenge your title of Naib. You have betrayed us, sold us out for profit and comforts. I challenge you to a duel for control of all the Zensunni people, and for our future.”
El’hiim looked alarmed. “I will not— I cannot fight you. You are my stepfather.”
“I tried to raise you in the ways of Selim Wormrider. I taught you the laws of the desert and the holy Zensunni Sutras. But you have shamed me, and you shame the memory of your true father.” He raised his voice. “Before all these people I renounce any claim to you as my adopted son— and may my beloved Marha forgive me.”
The people were unable to believe what they were hearing. But Ishmael did not waver in his determination, though he saw the stricken, frightened look on El’hiim’s face.
“Zensunni law is clear, El’hiim: If you are not willing to fight me, as tradition demands, then we will let Shai-Hulud himself decide.”
Now the younger Naib looked truly terrified. The other Free Men in the speaking chamber stared, knowing exactly what Ishmael meant.
A sandworm duel would determine their future.