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 walls canyons greeted the, on 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 feather 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 crystals 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 enku 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.”
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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 grow 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 began 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-enkuzu stone,” Ishkinil said upon seeing it. “I have heard of them but never before have 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.”