"Blessed are the seekers, for they will find the path."
I find my way to the river of my birth, and remember the night my second life began. Remember the smoke that filled my nostrils; the shells that bit the soft meat of my limbs. Remember the blood that stung my eyes. Remember slipping in the gore-filth that filled the stream.
I knew nothing but my shrieking that night.
Until you found me.
"Blessed are the empowerers, for they will shape the way."
I remember your moonlit wings, Mother. Was it pity that lured you to me? Was it religion? The corpse-pile yawned before us. I remember how the heat had curled their scales, and every face blossomed with a hundred petals.
"Will you survive?" you asked me then.
I gave you the orchids that named me.
"Blessed are the preservers, for they will sustain the disciple."
You delivered me from death, whisked away to the mountaintop. I had never seen the sun from beyond the trees and mulch. I had never known more than the mud of the valley. You taught me civil letters and worship. You taught me there were more ways to be hungry than by stomach alone.
I could never replace your own lost children.
But through me, you could pretend they lived instead.
"Blessed are the acquirers, for they will record the journey."
You knew more than your own kinsmen of the Queen and Her faces, and you imparted Her vestiges to me. It was an ancient knowledge, lost and found again in the broken ruins of your people's ancestors... of my people's oppressors.
It was not the only thing that had grown old.
I cannot miss you. By my own blood-rites, you never left.
"Blessed are the weavers, for they will destroy the path."
The jungle has fed deeply upon my tribe. Its plants flourish, emboldened by carnage long-past. In the stillness of the grove I realize there is nothing left for me here. I close my eyes and breathe deep the memory.
I let the river take me.
The rose orchids are in full bloom.
"Blessed are the seekers, for they will find the path..."