Editor’s Note: Continued from Bindle Zine Summer 2024. Previously posted parts can be found at https://bindlezine.com/coterminous
I tend to the fire while Meresinea and Tala sip their teas and smoke. The glowing ember bugs surround us, harmlessly encircling our camp and flying through the flames unscathed. Vespine launches into the air to give chase, settling down shortly after upon Crozley’s head. Crozley is in full swing with his story and his small audience has no choice but to listen. He rises from his stone seat at times to pace around the flames, raising his crosier for theatrical effect, all the while pulling from his pipe or sipping from his drinking bladder. I sit back and enjoy the show, inspecting and cleaning my guns. I keep the slug rifle within reach, leaning it on a log beside me, while my sword remains strapped to my back. I take out a bottle of boomslang from my pack and pour some into a little metal mug, lighting a smoke in the process. When Crozley gets going it is best to just let it be.
“I suppose my diligence as your designated docent has been rather lacking, mainly due to my various indulgences. Drugs and drink tend to degrade my sense of courtesy. We have time to spare, and the fire still burns. I shall tell you of this place, and of those which call it home.
“Ab Initio, the origin of our world has been the center of much debate amongst those still willing to make the effort in educating themselves. Most tend not to dedicate much thought to it, for lack of care or risk of madness, for true knowledge is dangerous and infectious. But some of us who are able to tune into the secret conversations of this reality can listen to the whispers of what was once known as the Promised Age, a time of one dream. As opposed to our present days where all of us are scattered, minds fragmented, purposes unclear. There was clarity then, and this very place, despite its nature, is a remainder of that past. The foundation of which was built by the Preceptors.
“Those were savage times, and there were many gods then. Each of them carved out a section of Coterminous and made it their own. The nascent planet was still forming, and quickly became overpopulated by the primal Deiforms that occupied it. The burden of their presence threatened to smother the infant world, so they tasked themselves with alleviating the encumbrance. This was the time of the devouring, a great cannibalism among the earliest gods. At the end of the feast only the strongest remained, engorged but empowered from the flesh of their brethren. After they were satiated they fell into a deep slumber, and while they slept they dreamt of the world and how they imagined it to be, wishing to play a part in its development, all the while Coterminous continued to grow. When the dreamers awakened, the wandering began, and they ended up here. They erected the Xenolith, and began to cultivate the Wolds. They populated it with their early progeny at first, some of which still exist in the world today while most fell out of favor and now lurk here in exile.”
“So does that means your Ula ate a bunch of her kin?” Tala asks Meresinea.
“We are all born in darkness,” she replies, “and the gods were no different. The Preceptors had to survive in violent and questionable times, as we do now. They were young and hungry, suckling on a planet rich in the only thing that could satisfy their hunger: themselves. Ula rose above those brutal methods, and with the help of some fellow like-minded survivors she shifted the common aim of her kind toward enlightenment. The first step was to abandon their primitive natures.”
Vespine flies to Meresinea and lands in her lap, sitting cross legged on her thighs. “And her first creation were the slugs and the snakes, right? The slugs are inside all the humans now, and they give you your powers?”
“Indeed. The Encephala have granted us with long lives, and every part of the serpent provides us the mind expanding effects that elevate our spirits and bring us closer to the ethers that bore our benign deities.”
“They ate their own. I wouldn’t consider the consumption of another being a benign act,” I say.
“Shh, Seirath,” Tala snaps, “Crozley is telling the story!”
Crozley continues, “Yes, Ula created the serpents and the slugs first, creatures that knew only how to crawl but nonetheless possessed great power. But they were the first step in exercising her powers as a Preceptor. The humans came next, and they were subsequently gifted the benefits that her other offspring could provide. All the remaining gods began to populate the world with their children. There were beings borne of whimsy and then those of their Preceptor’s image. These Clades still exist today, most notably the Hominids and their derivatives.
“The Preceptors followed Ula’s example, each protecting her and one another as they sculpted the planet. The most exalted of them formed the Concilium. This small group charged itself with the rearing and regulation of the world, as well as keeping the lesser immortals in check. With Ula included, the Concilium was a quartet of the most prominent Deiforms of the time. It was through their might and merit they elevated themselves, endorsed by Ula for their dedication to the grand vision that would be Coterminous.” Crozley stands and gesticulates with hand and staff in ritualistic fashion. “Farkasa, the warden of the wolves! Raiser of trees! He who created the forests, populated them with his lupine progeny and conscripted them as Ula’s ground soldiers. Sarkanis, the sovereign of the skies! In the beginning he filled his realm with the cloud singers, avians that today still herald our mornings with their songs. After, he created the reptilian Vovin to match the majesty of Farkasa’s wolves, and to provide Ula with strength in the air. Then there was Chimaeraus, father to the chimera, who spawned the multitude of animalia that roam the lands of Coterminous and befriended the hominid species. Together they shared the journey through the epochs of evolution that followed, prospering through the ages as the Preceptors continued to mold the earth.” Crozley bows his head. “But there were those remaining from the wakening that thought they were more entitled to the territories of Coterminous. These Preceptors overpopulated the planet with their creations which in turn threatened the balance that Ula and her peers wished to establish. At the behest of the Concilium, these heretical gods were advised to stifle their actions and quell the numbers of their children. Some fell in line, albeit after some expected resistance. Chimaeraus was the first to express sedition, leading a rebellion against his former companions. He was eventually defeated by Sarkanis and his Vovin, but spared by Ula and reaccepted into their ranks. This was the beginning of the Culls, the era of eradication and systematic extermination of the more pestilent offspring. Still, there were Preceptors that wished to preserve and propagate their progeny unhindered. Coterminous inevitably became overwhelmed. The environment began to fail, violently so, and a period of great tempests smothered the planet. Scarce resources led to open war, dooming the innocent to starvation. This was the age of storms. It was almost as though the planet itself tried to fight back. It was clear to the Concilium that new measures needed to be taken in order to rescue the doomed planet.
“Ula called upon her closest retainer in response. It was he who would offer a solution to be executed by their divine hands. The Lykrovren was his title… today we know him as Lovren. He called that solution the Interfection, the culling of not just the children of the renegade Preceptors, but the Preceptors themselves. Until then it was considered blasphemy to murder a fellow god, as the Concilium wished to leave their violent primordial proclivities in the past. Lovren’s creations would be proxy to the act that would save the planet, and this place we are in now is home to those wandering vestiges. In the time of the old philosophies, those of violence and control, they were the weapons of Lovren, the god killers. Dark was the night, darker still the days. They hunted in twilight so you could still see them coming, and they killed you in the gloom so the dusk could ease your passing into darkness. They crept on the ground, tread through the water, and tore through the air to spread their declaration of despair. These monsters did not snarl or hiss, coo or growl, as silence was the language of these things. Beasts and devils to some, but beautiful to their creator. They are the Lykros, the children and disciples of Lovren.
“Wave after wave they tore through the armies of the eternals, extinguishing their numbers and murdering their Preceptors. They chased away the storms and restored Coterminous to its glory, liberating the meeker masses from the oppression of the insane. However, when their massacre was complete they were rewarded not with ceremony but with condemnation. It was determined that despite their services they were to be exterminated so the remaining clades could thrive and prosper. Lovren obeyed the orders of the Concilium and called upon his children. They lined up for the slaughter, presenting their necks without question in genuflection. They loved their father, and would accept the blade rather than refuse the will of the creator. But Lovren opted for sedition.
“The Calamity began. Lovren and his brood set out to destroy the rest of all who dwelled in Coterminous, inclusive of those gods who were spared prior and the members of the Concilium. In his rage he lay waste, leaving swathes of husked landscapes in his wake. Many fell, and more remain forgotten. He would have burned the char if he could, had it not been for the efforts of Ula, the Nullanya, the zero mother, the matriarch of humanity. At the onset of his anger, her affections for Lovren hindered her judgment, but she held her children dearest, and was left with little choice. To stop the onslaught, she slept and slipped into a dream, this time not to create but to kill. She slumbers still within the comforts of Threnus, as the story goes, and Lovren remains pacified, his children stymied.”
“Our goddess dreams on,” Meresinea prays. “Protecting us from the nightmares of the past and healing the world while she rests.”
“All the good she is doing,” I say. “The world doesn’t seem to have gotten any better.”
Vespine threw a small pebble at me, “Seirath, shut up!”
Crozley chuckles and sits back down on the rock that we shared, packing his pipe. “The defeated Lovren retreated with the endangered remainder of his Lykros horde, numbers impaired and will broken. It is here in the Wolds they remain in seclusion and sorrow, watching over their withering father forever. The Preceptors of the Concilium disbanded, the others scattered and lost, never to dream again. The mortal survivors of the calamity either wander without aim, seeking warmth from the waning fires in this cold world, or toil to rebuild under the burden of loss. Indeed Ula continues to sleep, and we wait for her awakening, where she will breathe life into the world once again.”
“These times are trying, but such is our test,” Meresinea continues. “We would rather rouse her than wait.”
“Is that why you are here?” I ask.
“You know why I am here.”
“I guess that sleeping goddess of yours got a little boring.”
Meresinea clicks her tongue and waves her finger, “Don’t blaspheme now.”
“Sure she is even there? I mean, I hear that no one other than the Executive of Threnus has seen her.”
“Those of my faith do not scrutinize. My people share common interests with the Executive, and he is afforded certain privileges, those that even I am not entitled to. I may be a maven of my arts, but there is more to achieve. Upon the successful completion of this mission we will be able to awaken her. In turn I will be granted the highest of joys that a Quintess can hope to attain.”
“What’s that?” Tala asks.
“My voice is just my own now, but in her presence I will also be hers. I will bring her message not to just those of Threnus, but with the help of the Executive we will increase our broadcast range and spread the word of her awakening the world over. The cooperative efforts of our people will finally be realized. This has been years in the making, and we are on the precipice of truly restoring Coterminous to its state of perfection.”
I laugh, “Look, whatever you are, or whatever you think you are going to become, you and your Executive must be mad to pay for this little expedition. You are going to find something, and you are not going to like it.”
“I am aware of the risks but the reward is too great and too important. Not just for myself, but for everyone on Coterminous. As for what we will find, I am confident it will be enough to stir our dreamer from her slumber.”
Crozley clears his throat. “Consider it found.”
Meresinea’s surprised eyes are focused on something behind me. Tala turns her head to follow Meresinea’s gaze and slowly moves away when she locks on to what sits at my back. Vespine whimpers and flies to Crozley’s shoulder, burrowing back into his mantle. Crozley pivots my way, and simply smiles.
Save for Crozley none of us saw when the thing appeared. I hear the flapping of tiny wings as I carefully shift my position and turn to face our new visitor. My hand instinctively reaches for my sword still strapped to my back. My other fist clenches as I consider reaching for one of my sidearms resting on the stone between me and the intruder. It will be quicker than drawing my sword, or trying to grab the shotgun leaning against my seat on the opposite side. All these options would surely agitate the guest and I will be open to reprisal. The immediate conclusion is to remain still and calm. Despite its sinister appearance it just sits there, lacking any obvious malice toward our group. At least for the moment.
“I love stories,” it speaks. Smiling, male, his voice gritty and grainy, like coarse sand paper scraping against bones. The flapping sound came from the three big billed, bushy headed butcherbirds that flank him, two perched on either shoulder and the other atop his head. He sits with a strong posture, insane eyes shifting constantly, aggressively analyzing each of us. They are recessed in large black sockets, the pupil like a little globe of light, no discernible lids or skin of any kind, but a nictitating membrane instead. In fact, his entire skull was exposed, but he could still emote as if there were muscle and tissue covering it. The entirety of his body is covered in a dark shuck, thin but tough and with a provocative sheen. His mane is a collection of spines, from the base of his neck to the tip of his tail, rattling rhythmically together as he takes each breath, like instruments made of bone. The ears are stiff and upright, tufted at the tips with a smattering of hair. Between them is a set of what was once four horns, now jagged and broken, except for one that retained its original length.
He raises a foreleg to his chest, and with an articulate claw makes an odd gesture across his collarbone. “My name is Shriven. Have thee anything to confess, besides the ignorance of your trespass?” As the canid creature speaks, he exposes a set of solenoglyphous fangs set in the front of his mouth that would bare and retract with his speech.
“Confess… a priest are you?” I ask. “With a face like that no wonder it’s behind a confessional box.”
“I would very much like to see you in a box,” he says, “but eager still to hear your sins.”
“I hope you have the time and the ears, it’s a long list.”
“Ahem, if I may, my dear confessor, we are just passing through,” Crozley interjects with his usual flair, winking at me and pointing at my sword with his eyes, shaking his head ever so slightly. I comply with the silent advice and loosen my grip, but the tension remains. “We meant not to invade, only to satisfy our own curiosities of this fine place. We are travelers you see, thrill seekers of a sort, hungry for exploration of uncharted frontier.”
“I too am hungry. I starve for violence.” Something stirs and hisses within his spines. With flicking tongues and murderous eyes, two cobras slither forth from the mane of their host. They coil themselves around his neck and hang like a lazy living necklace.
“We mean you no harm!” Tala exclaims, her hand creeping toward my shotgun.
“I care not for your meaning toward me, or your purpose.” He begins to circle our camp. One of the birds caws menacingly and takes flight. It lands on a stump next to the rock where Crozley sits and begins squawking at Vespine. She responds with a profane gesture and retreats into Crozley’s hair. “But I will admit I too am curious as to your presence here. We’ve had eyes on you since you entered. You had every opportunity to turn back, but instead you spite the nature of our home and continue on. The hexes of the Wolds have had little effect, which is intriguing to us.” He looks at Crozley, “Although it comes as no surprise in certain cases, such as yours. Meddle enough in the affairs of others and it affords you a certain level of adaptability, does it not, Crozley?”
“I have no intention to meddle,” says Crozley, “I am here to motivate.”
“You two know each other?” I ask.
“All too well,” answers Shriven, “although it has been far too long.”
“The longest living of us all tend to run into one another now and again, the weirdest of us more often still!” Crozley exclaims.
“I take it the history between you two wasn’t the brightest?” I ask.
“Unfortunately no,” replies Crozley, “as during one of them I made him appear as you see him now.”
“I am sure he was just as ugly then,” I say. “But what a face lift.”
Shriven blinks and twitches he head, processing our muffled commentary. He smiles again and now looks at the women. He finishes pacing and sits, his long whip like tail swinging slowly back and forth like a pendulum. A natural bone blade at its tip points at each of them as he makes his address. “A witch and her sycophant. You must be very skilled to resist the entrancements of these woods. My clade is still trying to discern whether you are foolish or insane. But I know the truth: you seek something not suited for your possession.”
“Such keen observation and welcomed flattery,” Meresinea replies. She removes a vial from her leather purse. “All it took was some simple alchemy. Lucent compounds. I tend to mix them with more appealing refreshments, making them easier to imbibe and distributing them through the bloodstream faster. Now, although I appreciate your recognition of the strength of my techniques, I do not care for the insult that followed, especially toward my new friend here.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t too thrilled either.” Tala stands up slowly, my shotgun now in her hands and aimed at Shriven. “I don’t know what sick-oh-fant means, but I know enough that it isn’t something I want to be called.”
Shriven barks, aggressively snapping his jaws in Meresinea’s direction. “An occultist and her invalid apprentice, meddlers all! You, like so many others of your kind, are ignorant of what lies beyond here! Just more dreamers seeking reality. I assure you the latter is not pleasant, so I suggest you leave and go back to the comforts of your delusion. As for you, Crozley, and your constant kibitzing, you know you are not welcome here. But what did I expect from a busybody like yourself? Take the harlot witch and the rest of your gypsy morons and go back to your parading circus.”
“You were never one for warnings, Shriven,” says Crozley. “So forgive me if I don’t believe that you will let us simply walk out of here.”
“I’m not putting my back to this freak,” Tala says.
Meresinea rises, “And I am not one to walk away without giving injury to insult.”
Vespine stands on the top of Crozley’s head grasping his ears for support, “He still has a bit more skin to burn off doesn’t he Mister Crozley?”
Shriven grunts, his glowing eyes shifting toward me. Their light seems to brighten then dim as he squints. “So much for meaning no harm. Here this one sits armed for war. I hope the price they paid you was worth coming in here.”
“You talk a lot. Even more than this one,” I point a thumb at Crozley. “As for the matter of cost, it’s always a priceless experience to explore the outer reaches of Coterminous and meet such pleasant beings such as yourself.”
Shriven opens his mouth and snaps his jaw shut, quickly twisting his head to the side. This irritates the birds and they begin to hover around him while the snakes hiss and stand upright from the confines of their host’s hair. “I am my master’s actuary, and I specialize in mortality tables. Yours isn’t looking too good.”
“You best try again,” I say. “I am not just another one of your statistics.”
Shriven furrows his brow. The sparse layer of fur and skin in the center of his forehead stirs and splits apart revealing a third eye, set vertically with a dark slit pupil and a grey iris. The branches of the nearest trees begin to snap and the surrounding brush rustles; something big is coming. They are among us.
Continued in our next issue!