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 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 dark. The leaves of the trees began to mottled, 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.

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“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 purples 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 remained 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 borrow 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 feat 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-eknuzu 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.”