The waters of the swamp grew deeper as they followed the krithik further into it, slowly climbing first to their waist before reaching near to just beneath their arms. The much shorter krithik had no great problems with it, spending much of the time submerged, gliding through the murky waters, popping up now and then for air and to keep the two humans on the right track.

There where things hidden in the water, things that brushed against them as they waded; fish perhaps, or eels, but they could not be sure and hoped that it was nothing else.

The tall trees towered high above them, canopies thick and shrouding the sun, their branching roots protruding above the water, a tangled web of them that blocked most passage but where the krithik lead them, along water courses and hidden routes, deeper and deeper into the swamps. The buzz of insects filled the air, and swarms of them could be seen hovering above the surface of the water. Ripples spread across the top of it as fish swam up to snap at the insects. In the treetops above could be seen the flash of bright coloured birds that called and sung, and there were also the hoots and hollers of leaping monkeys that swung from tree to tree, clambering up and down vines and branches to snatch at the fruits that festooned the treetops.

Their path eventually led them to a region where the waters began to recede once more and the two krithik led them up out of the swamp onto a large island at the heart of it, one surrounded by tall trees, making almost a wall around it, with a thick glade of grass across it, soft and green underfoot. There were small shelters built upon the island, simple houses made of branches oven together with vines and covered with broad laves and reeds. Numerous krithik could be seen upon the island, at work and play, young and old. As they were led towards the centre of the island, where a larger shelter had been built, Ivkarha could see that all of them, no matter the age, wore a necklace of some type, each decorated with different materials; beads and bone, shells and teeth and feathers and polished stones. Those upon the youngest of the krithik appeared overly large, almost as they had been made for adults.

There were a number of effigies erected around the entrance of the central building, about man height in size, of carved wood, and decorated with paints; about some of them had been placed garlands of flowers or hide necklaces decorated with beads and more. Wooden bowls were set before the effigies, with fruit or other food offerings placed within them.

One of the krithik sat before the building, an elderly one Ivkarha took by the grey, leather nature of their skin. They slow rose with the aid of a staff as they approached. Aedmorn knelt down on one knee before them, taking their hand in his own.

“I see you well, Mother Kreboak,” he said.

A particular laugh came from the aged krithik. “You see me old, my boy,” said she, in a peculiarly accented tongue, speaking not in her own language but that of men. “My time is nearing its end, but it is good to see you once more.”

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“There s trouble, Mother?” Aedmorn asked. “The guides spoke of such.”

“When is there ever not trouble?” Mother Kreboak asked. “Come, we will eat and discuss it. Who is your friend?”

“This is Ivkarha of the Ra-Armal, of the far off desert lands.”

Mother Kreboak made a clucking noise deep in her throat. “Too dry,” said she, “Too dry. Best you stay here, keep you moist.”

“Your offer is kindness itself,” Ivkarha replied, “But it is not for me; my home is the desert lands, it is where my soul belongs.”

Mother Kreboak laughed at that. “It is probably for the best; there is little enough room in the swamps for all you drylanders.”

They were ushered over to a building at the back of the island, behind Mother Kreboak’s one, an open aired one made of wooden pillars with a roof of woven leaves and reeds. Beneath it sat a long, low wooden table. Reed mats were spread around it to sit up. They sat down on the mats as food was brought over; flat bread and a thick stew, fruits and bowls with a drink in it, which Ivkarha found, upon tasting, was some form of fruit juice. Taking the bread, they broke chunks off it and dipped it into the stew, a spicy fish stew. They ate as Mother Kreboak talked.

“Shaman Reebor is dead,” she told them.

“I had not heard,” Aedmorn replied quietly. “I had not had the privilege of meeting him.”

“He kept to himself a lot; not one for meeting drylanders much. We interred him in the Throne Room.”

“That was he we saw? Has the one to come been born yet.”

Mother Kreboak shook her head. “There in lies the problem. He was murdered and his korkorun stolen.”

Aedmorn frowned. “I saw it around his neck, the golden gem.”

“That is not the real one.”

“I am not following here,” Ivkarha interjected.

Mother Kreboak fingered the necklace she wore, one of feathers and coloured beads. “These are our korkorun, our souls,” said she. “We wear them from birth unto death; they are not merely for show, for they absorb all of whom we are. When we die, a child is hatched and they receive our korkorun, and all whom we are and were passes onto them, an unbroken string that extends back to the first hatching. Without his korkorun, all of Reebor’s knowledge is lost and there can be no new shaman to rake his place.”

“This is a most serious and distressing thing,” Aedmorn replied. “What do you wish of us?”

“You are a cruaith of the Green Goddess, whom we revere as well, and one of the few of the drylanders that we fully trust. His murder was one by the hand of a drylander, his korkorun taken beyond the swamps. We need you to go where we can not, to retrieve it for us, so that the next shaman can be born unto us, for without them our people will dwindle and die.”