Editor’s Note: Continued from Bindle Zine Spring 2024. Previously posted parts can be found at https://bindlezine.com/coterminous
Crozley eventually calls for a rest, and at once we break and set up camp. I can’t tell how long we have been walking, or what time it is for that matter. The canopy obscures the sky, and although some light peers through, it is difficult to tell if it was the sun or moon. The forest is making its own light in the form of wisps that hide between the gaps of the branches. Some venture down to us playing a game of chase with one another and harmlessly bouncing off our company. I can hear them clearly when they are close. Some chatter and chirp incoherently, while others hum and even sing in whispers.
A narrow rivulet runs through our little camp, its flow erratic and continually changing directions. Tiny colorful fish swim within, some of them upside down, others breaching the surface and swimming above it. They are looking at me, smiling. Vespine sits at the water’s edge, splashing water at the fluttering fish with her tiny hands. She looks at me and sticks out her tongue. I divert my focus to the surrounding trees; we need wood for a fire. They are too large to cut with the tools we have, but that is the least of my worries. I have to think twice about disturbing this place. The trees are alive, as trees are, but these trees can fight back. Some were shaped like people, or were they people shaped like trees? They are moving, their branches intertwined in a slow dance, others reaching to the sky as if to pray or seek an escape. As long as they aren’t reaching for us. They shift intermittently but do not leave their roots, bark creaking and crackling in response to their creepy calisthenics. I will instead gather wood that has already fallen and doesn’t have a pulse. Tala starts the fire using what I have gathered. It burns, but never chars. Even the wood here is eternal.
Tala sits cross legged with Meresinea on a blanket I produce from one of the rucksacks. The sorceress’s long legs are stretched out and around Tala while she cut and styles the little jackal girl’s hair. She does it with great care, whispering in her ears while Tala smiles and affectionately caresses her, tracing her fingers over the markings on the sorceress’s legs.
“Did it hurt?” Tala appears dazed, eyes closed and biting her bottom lip.
“Of course. But I enjoyed it.”
“How did you get them?”
She tickles Tala’s sides, “Little metal bees with stingers full of special ink. They buzz buzz buzz and burn burn burn the glyphs into the skin. From these we draw our power, as they act as markers and channels to the organelles in our bodies that allow us to perform our arts.”
“Organs? What do they look like? How many are there?”
“We call them the Encephala. There are seven. Two for the legs, two for the arms, one here in the head, the chest, and finally here.” Meresinea pointed to each of her extremities then ran her finger down to her groin, making circles with her finger. “Small glandular nodes with tiny tendrils that run along our veins and nerves. They look like little round slugs with tentacles, and they glow through our skin when we use our magic. They are another gift from Ula, much like the serpents she made from her blood that were the first sustenance for the early hominids. These early progenitors all contained traces of her ichors, and after all those years of reverent consumption, future generations evolved to be born with the Encephala in their bodies. Those same serpents continue to be a source of recreation and pleasure for all the clades of Coterminous.”
Tala sighs in relief, “I want to learn what you know.”
“My dear, to become a maven like myself takes years of study and toil. But even so, your kind unfortunately does not possess these anatomical blessings.”
“Why not?”
“My Preceptor, Ula, has gifted us these bodily boons. She did not govern your clade, but that makes you no less special. Your Preceptor has gifted you with your own inherent skill sets, I am sure.”
“I may not be the brightest, but I can run fast, jump high, and my claws are pretty sharp. Oh, I can bite really hard.”
“And because of that I feel all the more safer in these woods.”
I stoke the fire while eavesdropping, roll a cigar, and sit with Crozley on a large mossy stone opposite the women. Vespine is lounging on his shoulder nibbling on a piece of the peppered jerky and singing to herself.
“The sorceress seems to have gotten her hands on our little Tala, in more ways than one,” Crozley says as he packs his pipe.
“And this concerns you?”
“I am not one to stifle such activity, especially since we have the best seats to witness it.”
“There is a time and a place.”
“What better time than now and what better place than here in this ancient place? I am sure they would not take it as an imposition if you offered a third player in their little game.”
I light my cigar and enjoy a long well deserved drag, “The only thing I am interested in is getting out of this place.”
“Well, we have to be in before we can get out. There is still some time before we reach the Hallow.” Crozley strikes a match and ignites his pipe, diverting our focus back to Meresinea and Tala. “She may currently hail from Threnus, but she is no native. Meresinea is a Quintess from Miribilia of the eastern heights. She’s a hominid derivative that has established a symbiotic bond with the Encephala. Such as it is, this is no mere grooming, nor is it an exchange of intimacies. Everything is a ritual to her kind. She has relaxed her subject, and that energy has remained in the hair she has cut. See how she ties the little locks she cuts with that twine? They call this act Tonsori.”
“One of their sorceries I take it?”
“Yes, one of many. A subdivision of their craft known as Augury, to be precise. This is a wholly symbiotic exchange though. Tala’s clade, the Lupella, take great pride in their hair. Each strand is rife with nerve receptors, hence her current amorous state of fixation for our resident sorceress. Those large and luscious mops are as strong as whips, capable of rending the skin off a man like tissue paper. Maybe she will make those clippings into tiny killer hair dolls that will creep around at night and stab you in your eyes. Isn’t that right, Meresinea?”
The sorceress smiles broadly, “Most of our higher end incantations require ingredients. The body provides plenty of spices for our compounds, hair being just one.”
Tala sits up, “What kind of things can you do with hair?”
Meresinea gently loosens a single strand from Tala’s hair and presents it. She firmly grasps it with her index fingers and thumbs. She stretches it and it slowly transforms into a thick black knife. Crude and fragile, but still sharp and deadly. She withdraws her hands, and the black dart levitates above her palms. She spins it slowly in mid air then jerks her hand forward to launch the tiny spear launched forward. It embeds itself into a piece of wood near my foot, disintegrating a moment later. Crozley and Tala applaud the act while I remain unimpressed.
“Although that is a remedial technique, most shun what we can really do with the art of Augury.” Meresinea explains. “I prefer the standard non invasive practices as opposed to the more savage ones, which are dated and just simply unclean. Conjury is viewed as more socially acceptable, as it evokes the natural energies of the outward world by eliciting the inner workings of our own constitution. Manifest a flame, bring forth a gust of wind, or heal a wound and no one bats an eye. But the moment the body comes into play as a medium, or all the things that comprise one, you are a labeled a freak.”
Crozley points his pipe in her direction, “Perhaps that has something to do with the reputation of some of your peers using more vital fluids in your evocations, and I don’t mean their own.”
“As I said, such methods are old and heinous. Unfortunately there are a minority of those who indulge in the darker forms of our arts. Such are things that we all must learn, but the strongest of us must have the strength to resist their use in excess. It is easy to get lost in the allure of what those abilities have to offer. The most powerful techniques require the most sacrifice. The end result is gratifying, but not always beneficial.”
“I am not interested in the particulars of your crafts,” I say. “If and when the time comes, do whatever needs to be done to keep us on this path, and those that live in here off it.”
“Looks like our escort is a bit frustrated.” Meresinea resumes styling Tala’s hair. “He may need a little reassurance, or a little release.”
“That man is cold,” Tala sighs. “I bet this fire doesn’t even warm him. Do you think our company would help?”
“I am unsure of what company he would prefer.”
“Is this another one of your skills?” I ask. “Agitating others?”
“I am curious as to the extent of your own skills, Seirath,” says Meresinea. “I know that many in Crozley’s company are aware of what I am capable of, but nothing of you. Everyone in this world has their inherent strengths, isn’t that right Crozley?”
Crozley raises his flask, “You are correct my dear. I myself am able to instill a certain rapport with all those I come across. Some would call it an extrasensory advantage, but I attribute it to my natural born charisma.” He wears a ragged leather mask over the left side of his face that would often reveal the scarring beneath. He would pay it less attention while his wits were dulled by drink and drug, but even now he raises a hand to pat it down and secure it. He appears lost in thought for a moment with a grin plastered on his face. Crozley takes yet another drag from his pipe and a swig from the flask. “As for my newest friend and the tricks up his sleeve, you may ask him but he will not tell you much. Not by choice, but by ailment.”
“What sort of malady is this then?” asks Meresinea.
“Memory,” I reply.
Tala furrows her brow, “Sometimes I can’t remember things; most of us can’t. We are all just bits and pieces at this point, but that is on account of how old we are, right Mister Crozley?”
“We Chimera live very long lives,” replies Crozley. “And the longer the life the more there is to remember. Unfortunately, the mind can’t retain every moment.”
“One has to have had a life to remember in order to lose the memory of it,” I say.
“You have a name,” Meresinea says, “A man with a name has a history, no? Someone gave it to you, did they not? Parents, guardians, someone who knew you, individuals whom are a part of your past. He who has a past has a life.”
“I gave myself the name. I know things, things about this world, but not everything about me. I wonder and I question, but I prefer to keep to my course.”
“And what course is that?”
“Right now it is getting you to where you need to go.”
“That is your job at the moment, yes, but what is your purpose?”
“That is a loaded question.”
“You seem like you can handle it.”
“I don’t determine my purpose, the one putting money into my hand does.”
“I confess I am of the same sort,” Crozley raises his drink. “Money is purpose enough for me, and we are all getting our fair share of it for this mission, as I am sure you are my Mavourneen.”
Meresinea sips a hot herbal concoction she has been heating on the fire, staring pensively into the flames. “I am doing this for something far beyond the material gratification. I expected as much from you, Crozley. But as for you Seirath, your motivation is the one that surprises me.”
“Why?”
“You seem capable in making your own decisions. You don’t strike me as one so deeply attached to the shallow profundity that comes with an exorbitant payout.”
“And these observations are based on what? You hardly know me.”
“I have a knack for these things.”
“I make my own way, we all do. But at times one must follow a path, theirs or another’s, and stay it. Delineation, self or otherwise, is focus and such is the foundation of the will.”
“Well said, albeit a bit fatalist.”
“Such is my way.”
“Those of Seirath’s ilk are adherents to a different discipline, one that will keep us safe here,” Crozley says.
Meresinea was exhaling smoke rings at Tala who eagerly awaits each one to grow bigger before she pokes and breaks them. “And how is it that you presume to know so much, Crozley?”
“Knowledge is my business, and my purpose. You and Seirath have your skill sets and I have mine. I walk a path paved with wisdom. My feet ache, but grow strong from such travel.”
“That is our Mister Crozley, the walking wisdom!” Tala exclaims and bows her head in a manner of respect to the leader of the caravan.
“What about you, sorceress?” I ask, “What’s your purpose?”
“You know why I am here.”
“You opened the door, Meresinea, now he has his foot in it,” Crozley chuckles.
“Good, because his reticence bores me,” she says.
“Anything in this world can be defined by its purpose,” I continue. “Purpose is motive and meaning, the framework of individual will, and the power of the will is everything.”
“Is that another quip from your school of discipline?”
“It is an older philosophy, but so am I.”
“The will of the goddess is everything to us, and the Executive is he who delineates her motives and meanings. Such is my purpose, and the purpose of all her followers.”
“Ah yes, your Executive,” Crozley pats the patch over his eye. “I am not surprised that someone as young and lovely as you is ignorant of the strings that bind you.”
“We live by rules, not by force,” she scoffs.
“We all have a structure we live by,” I say. “I don’t care about caravan caveats any more than Threnian tenets. I get it, the world is broken, and we are all looking for the glue, but personally I think we are allowed to believe in what we want and live how we want so long as we don’t impose it on others. I stick to my system, you all stick to yours.”
“That system being?” Meresinea asks.
“Please, indulge us,” Crozley says.
“Yeah, you barely talk Seirath, this is fun!” Tala giggles.
“I take it moment to moment. Right now, I am doing what I am being paid to do. I don’t need to say any more than I want to.”
Meresinea pulls out a long stem cigaret holder and with an abrupt yet graceful gesture she remotely removes my pouch of tobacco and rolling papers. With slight gesticulations of her fingers she rolls a smoke in mid air and lights it with a finger snap. The pouch is now floating in front of me. I snatch it back and “cheers” her with my beverage. “Do you mind?” she asks. “No? Good, and thank you. That big, strong, silent act is sexy at first, but I love layers. The only thing I love more is peeling them back. Now, correct me if I am wrong, but it is the Executive that is paying you, yes? Come to think of it, he is filling both your pockets, and the coffers of the Concordance and the Caravan. I am here as proxy, not just to him but to Ula as well, as this mission will benefit them both. As proxy, that money flowing into your honeypots is just as well mine, so here sits your employer. I am paying you to show me the way to the extraordinary, which I trust you all will. Now, Seirath, considering where we are all from, where we are, and where we are going, I need to know my employees. Which brings me back to the question regarding your innate skill sets, as I am still curious as to their nature.”
“You are better off seeing for yourself when the time comes. I am not evoking the will for a show and tell.”
“What is this ‘will’ you keep talking about?”
“It is my ineffable creed. It manifests at my behest, but it is not to be abused.”
“Ulric vouched for him,” says Tala. “He must be quite the something to be worth the word of the wolf.”
“The old beast wouldn’t serve up a novice; he has a reputation to maintain,” adds Crozley.
“You both speak for him now? Is it inappropriate for me to ask about the company I keep? Such a small company too. Tell me, why didn’t we bring more bodies?”
“Tell me why someone with your abilities is so concerned,” I say.
“You are my guide, so, guide me. What makes Ulric such an authority anyway?”
“He is the Shepherd of the Concordance,” I reply, “which effectively gives him the authority over the entirety of the Northern Rises which makes up most of the Expanse.”
Crozley extends his crosier and stokes the fire again. “Regarding the case of our minimalist approach to this expedition into the Wolds, there is no safety in numbers. If the indigenous saw us come in here with an army, they would likely become agitated. A small group isn’t a threat. If they do engage, they will do so with a smaller, and more manageable contingent.”
Meresinea pauses to smoke. “And what can we expect from the natives here?”
Crozley chuckles, “You mean to tell me that the stories of they that dwell in the Wolds does not reach the ears of Threnus? I find that difficult to believe, considering why you are here, and who you work for.”
“I have only heard whispers myself,” says Tala, “as has everyone in the caravan.”
Meresinea strokes Tala’s hair, “Have you been keeping secrets from me now?”
“Nothing loud enough to share, but us Chimera know to stay away from here.”
“They are better left as whispers,” I say.
“Sounds as though you have been here before.”
“No, at least I don’t think so. It seems familiar, I admit. Perhaps I was here long ago or in a dream. Even those who are the farthest of cries from here have heard the stories, and the warnings.”
“Again with this talk of stories,” Meresinea groans. “I would very much like to hear another.”
Crozley withdrew his staff from the fire, “Then allow me.”
Continued in our next issue!