Chapter Two – A Land in Turmoil

The broad expanse of the desert wastelands, of broken stones upon sun-baked earth, spread out before Ishkinil and Heshberu as they climbed up a rocky slope. Loose scree littered the slopes, threatening to shift and slide at any moment, yet through it all a path could be seen, winding ever up, to where a cave entrance could be seen.

The desert lands were stark and desolate, and yet they had a beauty to them, the rich red of the earth highlighted by swirls of other colours within, of creams and yellows, of browns and purples. Nothing could live there, not beneath the glare of the crimson sun, with its extreme heat and lack of water or shelter, but it had a primal magnificence to it. Little did it care for the works of man, for it had existed long before them and would endure long after.

Heshberu led the way to the entrance to the cave in the side of the ridge, one around which the stone had been daubed with white, red and yellow paints, forming elaborate geometric swirls, images of trees and men and beasts.

There Heshberu stopped, hesitant. “He lives within,” told Ishkinil, “Though ever is he out walking the lands. It may be that he is not here now.”

A voice came from within the cave, strong and commanding. “This day I am.”

Heshberu’s eyes widened and he shrunk back behind Ishkinil. The raven on her shoulder shifted and half spread its wings.

From the depths of the cave a man emerged, tall and wild, a long, gnarled staff in hand. Taller even than Ishkinil he stood, as solid and enduring as the earth. Once dark hair was now mostly grey and hung loose to his shoulders. Likewise was his beard thick and full, and neither had he oiled or curled or braided it as was the way of the men of the cities. He wore but a simple robe of rough linen, with a rope for a belt and sandals on his feet. No ornamentation or decoration could be seen upon him. Dark piercing eyes studied them from above a sharp nose, his face hard and weathered and stern. Of Heshberu he paid little heed, instead his focus being upon Ishkinil. The two stood there, eyes locked as they sized up the other. There was no noise but for the softest of winds in the air, one that barely stirred the ever present heat that hung harsh upon the land. Stones could have withered and shattered between the gaze, their faces hard and reflection no indications of their thoughts.

It was Ishkinil who spoke first. “You are the anku?”

“I am,” the man replied. “Amuzad I am, who watches these lands, anku of a land in turmoil. You I know, Ishkinil, the Handmaiden of Death.” As each spoke, their words were short, clipped, giving little away.

“It is so.”

“Your master I am not yet ready to meet.”

“I am not here for you,” she told him. Amuzad twitched a brow at that, the faintest of impressions of a reaction.

“Then what brings you here?”

“A darkness hovers over the waters,’ Ishkinil told him, the two still with unbroken stares upon each other, “And a sickly death is within, yet not one of Enkurgil’s design, for it is a death of madness and agony.”

Amuzad leant against his staff. A simple nod of his head followed. “The lands of Arkech Usor cry out in pain to me. Their pain is my pain and yet its source remains clouded from me. If it were a natural blight I could have cleansed it. This defies me. It spreads and grows more virulent still. Not of natural origins does it come. What care you, though, who walks with death within?”

“All come to Enkurgil, in time, yet he wished not for them to come before their time, nor means unnatural. If I can do so then I will stand opposed to those who would prey upon others, to bring death early and unrequired. Those are my foes.”

Another pause followed, with no words spoken, before at last Amuzad spoke once more.

“It would appear that I have misjudged you, Ishkinil of Athan Arach.”

“Many do.”

“Come,” he said, “We will sit and talk, for I would not have these lands die, and if you are willing to aid me then perhaps we can end this blight together.” Thus saying, he turned and headed into the cave. Motioning to Hesberu to follow, Ishkinil strode in after the tall anku, to discover what she could of the land and its torments.

*****

The interior of Amuzad’s cave was a sparse place, a natural cavern hollowed out into the hillside by the forces of nature over many long years. The floor was sandy underfoot, and the cave was cool, and while shaded, was not dark, for small openings in the roof allowed light to still seep in.

In one corner was a pile of furs and reeds that served as bedding, while a number of stone jars and clay pots were lined up along the walls. Furnishings consisted of a simple table that had been shaped from a rock that sat in the middle of the cave, and around it were simple wooden stools to sit upon. Upon the stone table were some utensils and tools, of plain and utilitarian design.

“This is your place?” Ishkinil asked.

“It serves my needs,” Amuzad responded, “Though seldom am I here for long, for ever do I walk the lands of Arkech Usor, tending to its needs.”

Ishkinil looked around, her thoughts hidden behind her features. “You are not concerned that any could come here while you were away?”

“For what purpose? I have nothing of value and live a simple life. All I need, the land gives to me.”

“You are of the anku,” Ishkinil said, “And many are those who bear enmity towards you and your kind. The tyrants have hunted them down and but few remain.”

“I know well the ways of the world,” Amuzad told her, looking at the raven perched on her shoulder. “I have my messengers, just as you have.” A flurry of quiet movement came as a pair of desert mice crept out of a hiding place, and a handful of thorny lizards. One of the mice ran across Amuzad’s foot, scurrying away. Then they were gone again. “It is the nature of things. We can but endure. Should we live or should we die, the land will go on regardless.”

“That is not the way of the tyrants. They corrupt and destroy, and that includes the lands. We live in a dying world, destroyed by greed, and worse. Where once waters flow now but dust drifts. Where once forests grew is now but barren wastes.”

“Not here,” said Amuzad quietly, taking a seat on one of the stools. Ishkinil joined him at the table, before Heshberu reluctantly joined them. “Arkech Usor has always been as thus, a land of deserts, or rocks and sands and hidden oases.”

“Yet those too are dying,” Ishkinil pointed out, “And not by natural means as you have said yourself. Maybe it is not the touch of the tyrants who are responsible, but it would appear that by the hand and design of man it is so doing. The land is in pain, you said. We cannot stand aside and endure that, not while strength remains to resist.”

Then did Amuzad laugh, a deep and booming sound that filled the cavern. Heshberu flinched at the sound yet Ishkinil reacted not.

“Good,” said Amuzad when at last he had ceased to laugh. “You understand. I had to make sure,” he continued, “For though you are Ishkinil of Athan Arach, of who it is said that even the tyrants live in fear, my brethren have had those come to them feigning friendship, but with daggers in their hearts, sent by the tyrants themselves.”

“Your caution I understand, yet you I would have know that never would I deal with those who seek to thwart the purpose of Enkurgil.”

Amuzad nodded slowly. “One can never be too cautious, not with the tyrants. I needs speak with the land itself, to understand what manner of darkness beguiles it, and for that I shall need to put myself in a vulnerable state, easy prey for any who should wish me harm. I need one that I can trust, else it cannot be done, one to guard my back in dangerous places.”

“If by my sword and my life it can be done then I shall do so.”

Amuzad turned to look at Heshberu, who had sat silent the whole time, hunched so as to appear far off. “And what of you, son of Arkech Usor? Will you  aid us too?”

“I am but a simple herder,” Heshberu responded. “What can one such as I do against so mighty a foe as is arrayed against you?”

“You sell yourself too cheaply,” Amuzad said, “For you have eyes to see and a tongue to talk with. Watch us and warn us and your part will be played.”

Reluctant he seemed but Heshberu nodded. “I will do what I can.”

“That is all we ask. Now,” Amuzad said, once more addressing Ishkinil, “What know you of the Heart of the Land?”

“Little, for they fall not under the purview of the Bringer of Ends.”

“Aye, they belong not to the living or the dead, being but the primal essence of the land itself, as endless as the land itself. We of the anku know them, can speak with them. I have heard the Heart of Arkech Usor cry out in pain. We must speak with it, to find out what troubles it and its source. Only then can the waters be healed and life once more to return.” He rose to his feet, clasping his gnarled staff. “Come, we must journey, to the place where the Heart dwells and where we can speak with it.”

*****

Amuzad had led them down from his cave, into the desert wastes below, and to a region of canyons and rugged pillars that had been hidden away in a depression in the ground, all but impossible to see until they were almost upon them. A labyrinthine maze of red walled canyons greeted them, one that Amuzad led them into with unerring stride, never pausing as he picked a path.

Deeper they went into it, the canyons narrowing around them so that on occasions they had to shuffle through sideways. Red were the walls of the canyon, a deep red that brought to mind blood; patches of moisture upon the walls in places added to that impression. The sun did not shine down into the canyons and so it became a place of shadows and silence, almost cool compared to the oppressive heat in the baleful light of the sun.

The raven ruffled its feathers from its perching place atop Ishkinil’s shoulder. “This place,” he said, croaking in barely a whisper, “Feels off. Power is at work here, ancient and enduring.”

“Aye,” Ishkinil replied. “It feels not of this world.”

Amuzad looked back over his shoulder at them as they walked. “Here the power of the Heart of the Land is at its strongest, touching this world. It is both real and not at the same time. Come, we have arrived.”

He stepped out of the canyon, Ishkinil a step behind. The canyon opened up into a broad bowl in the hills, one formed of horizontal striations of many colours, layer upon layer climbing up. A pool of clear water sat in the midst of it, fed by a trickle that ran down the rock walls, one that had carved a channel into it. They could see, in the crystal waters, the silver flash of shoals fish swimming across sandy surfaces and between fallen stones. All around was greenery and colour, with plants in full bloom, and the air was heady with the scent of their perfume. Vines climbed the walls, and clouds of vivid butterflies swirled about.

Heshberu’s mouth gaped open at the sight of it and even Ishkinil found herself impressed at the sight of it.

“We never knew of this place,” Heshberu said. “Never dreamed it existed.”

“None but one of the anku can find it,” Amuzad told them, “For the paths are not one that men could walk. We stand at the edge of what is and what was, an echo of the primal world as it existed long before the coming of man. It is here that we can reach out to the Heart; it lives not in our world but its own, in that primal world. Yet still it has ties to our world and what effect our world effects it.” Amuzad turned his gaze upon Heshberu. “You would I have stay here, were it is safer, son of Arkech Usor, to keep a watchful eye out. I will press on into that primal world, with Ishkinil of Athan Arach where we can endeavour to uncover the source of this blight.”

Heshberu nodded nervously. “I will do what I can.”

“You will not be alone,” Ishkinil promised him. “The raven will stay with you.” A shadowed beat of wings followed as the raven hopped from her shoulder, to drift out to land on a rock that sat in the middle of the pool.

“There is no need for that,” Heshberu replied, his mouth twitching in something of a smile, rubbing his hands together with nervous energy. “I can manage, I am sure.”

“None the less, he shall stay,” Ishkinil announced, “For he can not travel to where we are going. His is another realm, and not the primal one.

Heshberu eyed off the raven where it sat before nodding. “Very well,” he said. “I am sure we can manage.”

“Yes, I am sure you can,” spoke Amuzad. “And now we must press on. Come.” Leaving Heshberu and the raven behind, he strode onwards, deeper into the hidden oasis. A path wound through the trees and the bushes, and the air about them was warm and moist. Butterflies swirled along the path while bright flowers grew alongside it in a rainbow array of hues. Never before outside of the private gardens of the tyrants had Ishkinil encountered such richness of life, and yet she knew it was but a part of how the world had once been before it had begun dying. Where now were deserts and wastes had once been rich forests that mirrored this hidden oasis.

The path made its way towards the back of the bowl, to where the waters flowed down from above. A small clearing in the thick growth was to be found there, the ground thick with grass and flowers. A soft mist of water drifted across it from where the waters tumbled down into the pool. Standing in the centre of the clearing was a tall, rough cut stone, twice the height of Amuzad. It was clad in moss of greens and whites and yellows while vines bedecked with small flowers climbed over it.

Amuzad approached the stone and brushed some of the vines aside, revealing that on its surface had been carved ancient runic symbols.

“An ur-ankuzu stone,” Ishkinil said upon seeing it. “I have heard of them but never before have I seen one.”

“Aye, few there are that remain, for the tyrants have thrown down all they have found. They fear any power that they can not control or might challenge them. This one is hidden, safe.”

“For now,” Ishkinil replied with ominous foresight.

Amuzad nodded. “For now, yes. But the future matters little if the land dies now.” Taking his gnarled staff, he rested the head of it against the stone, in between a number of runes. “Prepare yourself,” he said, “For we shall pass now into the realm of the Heart of Arkech Usor.”

On to Chapter Three – Realms Beyond