Chapter Three – Realms Beyond

Ishkinil did not know what exact to expect from Amuzad, for her means of accessing the realms of the dead would not be as he accessed the realm of the primal lands as they had been. She barely noticed the transition, for the world simply faded into the realm, becoming sharper, more vivid, more real as it were. Colours were brighter, as was the light, and the scents of the flowers around were headier. Sound too came to them, of splashing waters and the call of birds on wing.

Against it all, Amuzad appeared out of place, plain and washed out and grey, almost drowned out by the colours around. She too, no doubt, appeared the same way. They were in the realm, yet not at the same time, a part of them present there while their bodies still remained behind in the real world.

It was that faded nature that made the staff Amuzad held stand out more, for it appeared as real as the realm they were in, sharp in contrast, the grains of wood distinct. It was his conduit to this realm, much as her sword, Dirgesinger, was hers to Enkurgil’s realm.

His words, when he spoke, were likewise distant, faded, a hollow echo of what they should have been. “Come,” he said, “We do not have much time and there is still plenty to be done.”

So saying, he made his way back through the shrouding foliage that grew thick all around, a veritable wall that crowded the path as it had not done in the real world. For him it seemed to part aside, to allow passage through, closing in behind them again after they were gone.

If not for his skills and knowledge, their path would have become hopelessly lost, for little could they see but for a few steps before them, and yet he took them unerringly on. Ishkinil could hear the gurgle and splash of water at play nearby but not once did she see it. So to the birds that sung remained hidden, but not the butterflies, for they swarmed about, as large as an outstretched hand, vivid and golden. They wreathed about Amuzad to the point he appeared to be wearing a living cloak of butterflies, much as she had a shadowed cloak.

They walked for some time, though time seemed meaningless in that place, through the wild lands, until it opened up before them, atop a ridge that looked out across vast, wild forests, with brilliant ribbons of rivers snaking through them. Above shone the sun, warm and golden, not the oppressive crimson orb that she was accustomed to. Giant winged forms flew across the forests, vast and sinuous with feathered wings of rainbow hues. They were not birds, nor creatures that had flown the skies of the real world, at least not for many a long age.

“Here, then, is the primal world as it once was, and may yet be again. Herein dwells the Heart of Arkech Usor, who alone remembers what once was.”

Amuzad headed down the hill, back towards the forest. As they travelled, a change came over it and the sky seemed to darken. The leaves of the trees began to mottle, in sickly colours of reds and yellows and browns, while corruption crept up the trunks of the trees. The vines that clung became foetid and the flowers and fruits that hung gave forth the cloying scent of decay. Things crawled over the trees, wormlike and many legged and where they bit, sap dripped forth, flowing like blood from the trees. Some were an almost translucent white, while others were mottled greens and purples and other, stranger colours.

“The land here seems to be dying,” Ishkinil noted.

“Faugh, it is worse than I could have imagined,” Amuzad exclaimed, a pained expression appearing on his face. “It should not be so. The corruption from the real world should not affect the primal world like this.” He reached out his hand to a leaf, one withered and curled up, covered in sickly purple splotches. As he did, the leaf opened up again and the corruption faded from it. “We have less time than I thought,” he told Ishkinil. “The corruption has sunk in deep and if we are not successful the land may die.”

“I would not have thought that possible.”

“No, nor I,” Amuzad replied.

“What would be the consequences of that?”

“This may be but an echo of the primal world as it once stood, but still it is linked to the real world, the one touching on the other. Should the world here die, to be reduced to corruption and waste, then so too will the real world. Already the corruption has seeped into the waters and from there it will spread until none can live there and all that remains would be plants blighted as here.” His face took on a grim aspect, of the fury of nature itself unleashed, dark eyes like storms. Once more he strode on, now his steps filled with a fell determination, great strides pushing through the corrupted growth.

Small buzzing creatures began to burrow out of rotten limbs of trees, swirling around them, driving off the butterflies. Moisture filled the air, and decay with it, branches and trees rotting, covered with lurid coloured fungi. The ground beneath their feet was covered with decayed matter and each step disturbed it, raising a burst of rancid stench.

At the heart of it all, where the corruption was the worst, with crawling and flying creatures thick about, trees bursting with pustules of decay and the stench at a level almost unbearable, they came to a clearing. A great stone stood in it, like the ur-ankuzu stone back in the real world, though it bore no runic symbols.

A figure sat hunched beneath the stone, gaunt and terrible to behold. Of earth it was, and vines and woven flowers, but sickly as the corruption around. Broad antlers erupted from its head, chipped and stained, from which were festooned rotting reeds and leaves. Great pustules adorned its body, bursting open to release foul odours and weeping slime. Scars marred its body, burn marks scored deep into its flesh.

A mournful cry came from Amuzad as he saw the horrors inflicted upon the Heart of Arkech Usor, the very essence of the land. The earth spirit raised its head at the cry and looked at them, and in its eyes Ishkinil saw the same pain and madness that had been in the eyes of the drake at the pool.

“This cannot be,” Amuzad exclaimed. “The Heart is vast and ancient and powerful. It should not be possible that it should suffer like this.”

“Soon,” a strange voice from behind them said, “Its suffering will end. And yours will just begin.”

Ishkinil and Amuzad turned at the sound of the voice, one both familiar and unfamiliar. It spoke not in the hollowed-out tones of one who had entered the realm as they had, but instead as if they were truly present.

The foetid corruption parted, allowing a man to merge from among it, one who bore the visage of Heshberu, yet one different in so many ways. He walked tall, and arrogant, malice in his eyes, the hunched and nervous posture of Heshberu nowhere to be seen. The simple herders’ clothes were gone too, and now long robes he wore, dark as corruption, edged in blood.

“If not for your efforts, I could never have found this place,” he said, “And my victory could not have been complete. One such as myself, or who you perceived me to be, you would not have brought to this place, but one such as Ishkinil of Athan Arach? Oh, yes, she you would bring.”

Amuzad’s face was as fury itself, suffused with rage. “Betrayer,” he snarled. “It matters not what you plan, for you shall be stopped.”

“How? You would rely on her?” he asked, pointing towards Ishkinil. “This is a realm of life, not death. Her powers, her sword shall not work here, and here she is vulnerable. More, the corruption that I have unleashed gives me power that you cannot understand, or stand against. You can resist, and die, or stand aside and let me end the suffering of the Heart.”

“I cannot do so,” Amuzad replied, raising his staff, gripping it tight with both hands. He shook his head. “You should not be here. You can not be here.”

“And yet I am.”

“How?” Amuzad asked. “Only one of the anku can do so, and you are not one or I would have felt it.”

Heshberu laughed. “Once, long ago, I was much as you. The suffering of the land troubled me, the hatred of the tyrants plagued me, but in a moment of despair I had a revelation. The strength of the earth provided much, but the suffering of the earth much more. I have taken the suffering of this broken, dying world and used it for true power.”

“You are much like the tyrants,” Ishkinil observed.

“The tyrants?” sneered Heshberu. “They are petty things, with no vision. They seek to destroy the anku out of fear and envy, little realising what power they could gain. Once I feared them, but no longer. Soon they shall fear me. Come,” he said to Ishkinil, “In this we are of an accord. Together we could end the rule of the tyrants. Together we could remake this world, I as Lord of Life and you as the Lady of Death. No more would you have to do the bidding of the Bringer of Ends, but rule in his stead.”

Long did Ishkinil look upon Heshberu, her face without expression. Then, slowly, she drew Dirgebringer, the sword now but simple bone, its mystical connection cut. There was no link there, no shadowed cloak upon her shoulders.

“Long has it been my desire to end the reign of the tyrants,” she said, speaking slowly, softly, gazing upon her sword. Then she lowered it. “There is one thing that you forget.”

“And what is that?” Heshberu asked.

“I never trusted you.” Her sword came back up and white-blue flames rippled along its length while shadows drew in around her. Heshberu gaped and even Amuzad seemed surprised.

“Your powers can have no effect here,” Heshberu stated.

“In normal times, no, but these are no normal times. Look around you. Decay has set in, by your hands. The Heart and the land are dying. Death you brought, and from that I can draw strength. More, I still have a link back to the real world. My body in part resides there, and the raven as well. He is a messenger of Enkurgil, much as I am his Handmaiden. A link we share, and through it I can reach the Halls of Enkurgil.” Slowly she began to walk forward, towards Heshberu, a shadowed figure bearing a longsword wreathed in pale flames.

Heshberu threw up his hands and swarms of bloated flying insects swirled forward, a ribbon twisting through the air, to descend upon Ishkinil. She came to a halt, waving her hand about to try and fend off the swarming horde, insects tangling in her hair, crawling over her face, forcing her to close her eyes.

Amuzad thrust his staff forward and the insects broke away, forced back by a force unseen. A few still clung to Ishkinil. She raised her sword near to her face and the white-blue flames upon it began to crackle as the bugs were caught in it, burned away, though the flames touched her not.

Once more she began to stalk forward and once more Heshberu threw up his arms. Dark vines erupted from out of the foetid soil, crawling across it, vines with thorns and decaying leaves, surrounded by the stench of corruption. As each came near, Ishkinil slashed with Dirgesinger, sundering the vines, to leave them thrashing upon the ground. Still more came though, until the ground was a heaving, pulsating mass of sickly vines, weaving through each other, reaching out to snare and tear at Ishkinil.

Ishkinil began to pull back, driven slowly away from Heshberu by the wall of vines, each swing fending off yet more vines, the air filled with the scorched stench of them as she hacked away at them. There was no way through the wall of them.

Amuzad had planted his staff in the ground and around him the wall of vines writhed, for they could not break through the barrier he was projecting.

“He is too strong,” he said through clenched teeth, face locked tight with the strain of resisting. “He is here not in spirit but in body, standing in the heart of the corruption. I can not hold him at bay for long.”

Ishkinil pulled back into the protection that Amuzad provided and the vines no longer attacked her. “Is it dangerous to be here in body?” she asked.

“Very.”

“Good,” she replied and flung Dirgesinger. The sword spun through the air, a white-blue comet of flame searing through the air. Heshberu gave a startled cry and started to raise a hand to ward it off but too late it came, for the sword struck home, flaming blade impaling him. He let out a scream and the vines collapsed, shrivelling away. He staggered back a few steps, the sword transfixing him, then faded from sight, Dirgesinger dropping to the ground. Ishkinil raced over to pick it up once more.

“A dangerous gambit,” Amuzad said.

“There were few other options to be had,” Ishkinil told him. “Is he dead?”

“I do not know. Wounded, certainly, but no longer a danger to us.” He turned to face where the earth spirit still crouched hunched up, pained and maddened. “For now it matters little. Our concern now is if we can save the Heart of Arkech Usor and save the land.”

On to Chapter Four – Now and Always