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'