The Expedition

"A storm approaches from the south, Adherent.". The thick set man spoke with a natural authority, his reddened skin taut across his face as he unveiled his protective scarf from the brown hood.

The Adherent slowed her tired stride and looked out upon the desert. The golden sand gave way to a sunset orange sky upon which a faint discolouration on the horizon gave the clue to the danger ahead.

The expedition paused around her. Hooded figures in brown cloaks, loose garments over the skintight survival suits crudely duplicated from the Desert Born original. A wagon train and several horses came to a halt, bred over an age by the Concordat Imperium to survive the harsh world of Araxes. Perhaps two thousand years or more of evolution, compressed into mere centuries. The expedition had thinned in number - the desert had claimed a third or more of the party in their seven week journey into the southern deserts.

She lifted a hand and nodded at another figure, a man who lifted a pair of binoculars. The digital display began to scan the horizon, a grid like pattern overlaid with numbers.

A female voice interjected. "Sixty three miles an hour or so....a mere cub by Araxian standards.". She pulled down her hood as she walked to the Adherent's side, revealing a flock of dark black hair.

The Adherent smiled wryly, turning her head from the female to the man with the binoculars still waiting for the computation cycle to complete. He removed the device from his eyes and nodded - "Sixty three miles an hour."

She turned back to the woman, "I thank the Messiah for your companionship, Taryn of Jorbis. Your counsel is invaluable. Your advice would be welcomed once more?"

"A cub is but the foreshadowing of the fierce creature it will become. If our storm becomes hungry and swallows the sand, it will grow and devour us. We should take shelter."

The Adherent rolled her head back slightly, nostrils flared, eyes closed. Taryn recognised her leader's submission to the trance and instinctively touched her blade and pistol, her eyes surveying the expedition party for a flicker of danger. This was the Adherent's most vulnerable state - communing with the spirits and Albino Ghost.

For the Adherent, the world drifted away. In her mind's eye, she stood no longer in a humid desert but upon a cool grassy vista, suspended impossibly in space. Her brown survival suit and ragged cloak were replaced by an elegant jade tunic and long skirt. Spirits swirled around her and the faint form of a white haired, pale woman gently billowed upon a breeze. The misty form mouthed silent words. The Adherent nodded in appreciation and awoke from the trance as swiftly as she had entered it. For a moment, she yearned for the coolness of the vista as the Araxian heat beat down upon her. The pain from her psoriasis returned, inflamed by the excessive exposure to the Araxian sun.

"The Messiah calls for the preservation of life and agrees with Taryn. The search for the artifact will continue but it will not be today. We will make camp. Taryn, take a team and scout for a suitable place for our retreat."

Taryn placed a hand on her breast and nodded, pointing at several people and signalling for them to move out. The Adherent retired to the wagon three down from the front of the train and embarked. A crude way to travel but the lack of technology and energy sources made them difficult to locate. She pondered what was happening in the infernal north, what was happening in the city of Al Raqis. A blaze needs but an ember to survive to be reborn. The Laandsrat and it's forces sat upon a tinderbox.



The wind had picked up speed. Taryn raised her hand to her face as she looked out upon the desert. She knew what they needed. A large land formation, preferably of rock although the opposite side of a dune slip would suffice. Time was precious. They needed to stay within travelling distance of the expedition but cover enough space to make their search worthwhile. They had less than hour to find cover, return to their party and ensure they could arrive in time.

Sixty three miles an hour.

They had perhaps forty minutes to find shelter before they would be forced to face the storm head on. Casualties would ensue but their water would preserve the rest of the party. The Jadeists didn't fear death and she respected them for it. In their religion, Jade Moonkill had given herself fearlessly to protect others. Had the temerity to stand up and be counted when needed. She had considered herself "just a moonbaby" and yet to those that knew her story had become a unifying force for those 'ghosts' on the fringe of society. A voice for the unseen, the downtrodden. Her influence upon the Inspirtu had been nothing short of revolutionary. The outcasts had fled Al Raqis many years before seeking a sanctuary in the desert. Freedom or death. Maybe freedom in death. Regardless, this forgotten group of misfits had grown into a culture in it's own right and had spawned not one but two religions. The Inspirtu, the "spirit" people, the metaphorical invisible ghosts of Al Raqis had found their messiah in the one cruelly known as the Ghost.

Realising her mind had wandered, she returned to the task at hand and partly to her own amazement identified a ledge of rock jutting from the sand. It would be big enough. She put a device to her mouth, a high pitched whistle that alerted the members of her team. She pointed to the direction of the ledge and signalled for one to return to the expedition party.

No-one would die today.

Rebirth

It is a curious thing to be reborn. I am at once a moonbaby and something more. There are people amongst my tribe who say I was created by the desert itself, angry at the death of Jade Moonkill,  particles of matter swept up in a sandstorm and fused in this form. It is a story that Cadiz let prosper amongst the population.  And who was I to disagree? My memories are limited. If I did exist prior to the desert, I have no recollection of it. To all intents, whoever I am today was born there and whoever existed before died there.

Some might call it a resurrection of sorts. It is a duality of the person I have come to terms with. I am a moon baby in biology alone. In spirit, I am an Inspirtu. It is this fusion between the off-world and the desert that makes me unique.

Myths and legends abound. It is the nature of religious devotion. There are those that claim I am an empty vessel, a creature without a soul, who exists merely to channel the souls of others back to our mortal realm. They do not mean this as an insult. In our tribe, to channel the spirits of the dead is an ultimate honour.

We do not know if this belief is unique to us. For centuries we have allowed ourselves to become hidden, forgotten, even to the Desert Born.  We view them with suspicion as they must view us. Yes, our cultures were forged in the the same fires but we are different. For hundreds of years our sanctuary has been hidden deep in the south where off-worlders are forbidden and devoured by their ignorance. We permitted trade with our Desert Born brethren in our earliest years but grew weary of them.  Our contact with the outside world in the centuries since has been fleeting and deliberate but we watch. Oh yes, we watch.

As of today, we have set course north and intend to return to our Santwarju. Our pilgrimage is complete and we must return home. Our numbers become thinner with each day as the desert reclaims our people to become one with the world upon which we live. What greater honour than for our ashes to sweep majestically in the sandstorms, to settle for all eternity on this world while our spirits move on!

They have joined our greater community - our numbers on Araxes may shrink but our numbers there forever grow. These corporeal bodies are a temporary home. We will all be elevated to the greater planes of reality where we will exist for all eternity.

And yet death still pains.

I have tried to summon the spirit of my adoptive father. He does not come to me. How much longer, father, must I cry these blood red tears? You called it the Albino Stigmata. A sign, you said, of my connection with our messiah, the Musaii, Jade Moonkill. Perhaps you are angry with me. Was the search for the artefact a distraction from our cause? I did only what I thought was right.

You have educated me the way only a Preceptor of the Inspirtu could. You educated me in the ways of the people and told me tales of the Musaii, Jade Moonkill. Together we forged the Jadeist Congregation in the name of the Messiah. A Messiah who rode to our Santwarju on a huge clawed beast with such knowledge. A Messiah who gave hope to our people that our seclusion from the world may end, a Messiah who mirrored our spirit in such ways and matched our ancient religious text that you thought it impossible for her to be anything but the Messiah.

I know you believed that the Messiah and I are linked in ways mere mortals cannot begin to comprehend.

I will die willingly to bring the Messiah's Universe into existence, father. I prey that she guides you on your journey in our community of the dead and that you will guide us on our path to the ultimate cause.

Extract from the Adherent's personal papers published posthumously in 'Shifting of the Sands - A History of Araxes'