Editor’s Note: Continued from Bindle Zine Summer 2025. Previously posted parts can be found at https://bindlezine.com/coterminous
I behold the new clearing I have made as a result of my attack on Shriven. For all the damage I have dispensed, there is an equal reaction from the forest. Everything starts to rapidly repair itself, which isn’t a surprise to us considering the nature of this place. The river flows once again, closing up the ditch left from my assault. The bark of the trees resurface, and those that were completely cut down grow back. The Wolds turns the clock back, and the camp is as we left it before the Harrowed attacked us. It was as though we were never here.
Crozley, Cane and I share victory drinks and smokes, while the others all gather around Meresinea. “Doesn’t seem right to leave you all such a mess,” she says, waving her dainty fingers in the air and beckoning our allies to her. “So line up and allow me the pleasure of doing you all the pleasure.”
The crew all looks at one another and seems reluctant at first, but Tala leads the charge. She skips gleefully over to the sorceress for the first treatment. The slender jackal girl has suffered some scrapes to her face, and a few cuts and burns to her extremities. Meresinea reaches into her various satchels that hang from her waist, withdrawing vials, droppers, and tiny corked bottles containing balms, salves, and all manner of liquid remedies.
“Anodyne relieves the pain,” she announces, as if holding a class on the fundamentals of her craft. “All you need is a little dab.” She gently places a finger full of oil on Tala’s face, “Too much of this stuff will turn you into a pile of mush. Feels nice right? Addictive. Overdose on anodyne and you go comatose. Soaks right into the pours, acts faster that way. You can drink it, but it’s disgusting, for one, and two, it is harder to control dosage.”
Seeing the effectiveness of the resident Quintess’ conduct, Vore, Brune, Vespine and Urcus joined Tala for their treatment. Meresinea rubs a few drops on each of their foreheads.
“It working,” says Brune, eyes rolling back in what was either relief or ecstasy.
“Thanks lady of magic,” Vore purrs. I didn’t think his kind was capable of such tender noise.
“Smells good too,” Urcus sighs.
“Now, for Lavation!” The Conjuress shakes the contents of one of the bottles into her free hand. A fine powder comes out, and she lathers it in her palms. “Herbal mixtures. Powerful stuff.” She mumbles something, and presents her hands. The luminous dust seemed to dance in the air, catching the light from the canopy of the forest. It is giving off heat, crackling and sparking like the kindling of a fire. They observe in awe, then the display is suddenly over. The powder arranges itself in her palms, forming tiny symbols. She then pinches a few applications of the stuff into all their respective wounds. Tala’s face is now smooth and scarless. Brune’s chipped scales are made anew. The gash on Vore’s arm slowly seals up and disappears entirely. Urcus’ slice across his chest vanishes within a few moments. Vespine, who has been waiting patiently nearby, awaits her turn.
“Here you are my cute little bug.” Meresinea blows the last of the dust into the air and the wasp woman flies in and around the cloud until it dissipates. She sneezes and her tiny wounds fade instantaneously. Vespine claps and the others join in applauding the sorceress for her help. Meresinea bows and strikes a pose in an embellished flourish.
I take a drag off my krait. “You going to take her up on the triage?”
“Hunds heal quick,” Cane replies, swigging his drink. “I prefer not to load my body up on whatever drugs she has. I have enough running through my system.”
“But you have to be hurting, no? That wasn’t an easy fight.”
“Hurt is good. Scars are good. Wounds are nice reminders that this body is real. Brings the mind back from wandering.”
“That some kind of Hund philosophy?”
“I suppose you can say that. It’s just…what I feel. Pain keeps us in reality. Her methods make us forget the pain. We forget the feeling. Pain is a consequence of action. Forget that, and you may as well disregard the self entirely.”
“True. There are some wounds we can’t come back from.” Crozley says. “This one on my handsome face for instance.”
“Others deeper still.” I put out my krait and remove my medication, popping a pill and chasing it with a mouthful of Cane’s drink.
“Care to share what wounds require that regimen of prescription?” Crozley raises an eyebrow.
“Only when you are ready to share where you got that hideous scar. Where is the rest of your face?”
“We will swap those stories another time then.” Crozley caresses the leather patch over his face. “But what I do wish to talk about is that exciting display of yours just before.”
“As do I,” Meresinea approaches.
“As do we all,” Urcus nods.
“Want to know,” Brune says.
“Must see again,” says Vore.
“I want to learn!” Tala exclaims.
“Scindo,” I say, “and it would take time to teach, and that is no easy feat. It often fails to take to an individual even after the most rigorous training. The focus and meditation needed to develop the skill can easily kill the uninitiated. The art can not be learned, the art chooses.”
“Your value just keeps appreciating,” Crozley says. “The old wolf wasn’t kidding about your talents.”
“Likewise,” I address the team, “you all fought well. Thank you. Now, Crozley, care to fill me in on your old acquaintance Shriven?”
“As I said, we have crossed paths. Those as ancient as him and I tend to mingle every now and again. I confess I did have a feeling we would run into each other here.”
“Would have been nice to know that prior.”
“I admit we have an extensive history. Still, I was hoping to avoid the encounter. Shriven is of the old ways, the old philosophies. The ways of the Culling. But there are no more wars, so now he withers away. A rusting weapon once wielded by his Concilium masters. One of which was Lovren himself, whom he was both infatuated with and envious of. He aspired to be like him, and strived to surpass him. Shriven’s hounds are meant to be imitations of the Lykros, and in the earlier days they came close. But Lovren’s brood are far superior to those mutants. Seems now he has repurposed himself as a guardian to his former master’s grave. Shriven was a deiform of great note who’s godhood was stripped away due to his acts of butchery and depravity during the Cull. You see, there were metrics in place for determining which species were entitled to inhabit Coterminous, and it was a matter of overall viability.”
“And it was the Concilium who decided who was fit to live.” I say.
“Some would argue it was the planet that decided,” Crozley continues, “and the Concilium acted as proxy. They were born with Coterminous, so they certainly had a say on planetary matters. Coterminous is happy to feed its inhabitants, but it does not abide gluttony.”
“The planet is a living thing too,” Meresinea adds. “It nurtured us in the beginning but it has every right to decide when we can stop suckling at the teat. Some wanted to continued being coddled. They overdeveloped, over populated, and over polluted, so they were slated for extinction.”
“Such as it was for the Harrowed,” says Crozley. “Shriven’s ambition corrupted him, and it began to eat away at him and his brood. His acts of service to the planet became a burden, and thus he was judged. The Confessor was a heinous sort, who turned killing into sport, and he passed those qualities on to his children. He and the Harrowed were out of control, murdering Clades that were not slated for a cull. Shriven was eventually brought down by the Chimaeraus, who held a particular hatred against Shriven for his indiscriminate nature. Shriven slaughtered many of his Clades, most as an act of pleasure. Needless to say the Concilium disapproved of his gracelessness. As part of his penance for leading his own rebellion against the ruling Preceptors, the Chimaeraus was more than happy to settle both the score and his debt. When Shriven fell, the Chimaeraus sterilized his powers so he could no longer produce progeny. He possesses no power to create, so he resorted to other methods: Inbreeding. Fornication with other species. The results are a generation of Harrowed that are an inferior comparison to his original offspring. To further add insult to injury, Lovren forsook the Confessor and his remaining brood.”
“Stripped and shamed, he still stands vigil,” I say. “Atoning to a dead god. What a waste.”
“His mind has surely become warped over time so it comes as no surprise,” Crozley adds. “All the good it will do him, for Lovren possesses no more power, especially that of absolution. Not that he would grant it anyway. Shriven will wallow in his sins, and none shall hear his confession. He is bound to this place, as is Lovren’s husk, forever in a state of decay.”
“Seemed to be healing pretty well, even after Seirath’s attack.” Cane said.
I point to my forehead, “the third eye. All the deiforms have them. That’s the weakness. That’s how you kill them.”
“It is not something often exposed,” Crozley says. “The mark of an immortal, the god’s eye. Those of a divine nature are incapable of dying unless the eye is destroyed.”
“They can be wounded, and scarred, and harmed like any other living thing,” I say. “They can age, starve, grow feeble, and decompose. But they can heal. Long as that eye is there, they keep going on and on, and the sins continue. The eye is pure will, and they draw from it to repair and prolong themselves.”
Crozley raises his cup, “Yes indeed, but willpower is like any other. Greater wills can dominate lesser ones. Such is why Shriven can not create or bear progeny, and why both him and Lovren are locked away here.”
I mash the remainder of my krait between my fingers, sprinkling ash and ember into the air. “Until they have the strength and the will to gather their power again, they will remain here. Cursed and shackled by defeat. I would beware the weak-willed, especially one that has been subdued, as it can just as easily make a resurgence. Whether it be due to revenge, or a renewed sense of purpose.”
“All so absolutely correct!” Meresinea exclaims. “I can only hope my mission here will provide our goddess Ula with that very sense of resumption.”
“And how exactly will you and the Executive do that with the Ystenglaive?” I ask.
“It is a historical relic of great power,” she replies. “Perhaps it can stir Ula’s will once again. But I can say no more.”
“I think you have a lot to say on the subject,” I retort. “Why endanger yourself for this and potentially reawaken the confidence of the cursed residents of the Wolds?”
Meresinea approaches me. “Am I being interrogated now?”
“Interviewed. Pretend it’s one of your shows.”
“Easy Seirath,” says Crozley. “Questions cost money. We went over this.”
“Your charm is overshadowed by your sarcasm, Seirath,” she whispers. “Both are qualities I find very attractive.”
“So you’ll bite then?” She huffs,
“I would rather you bite me.”
“You don’t have enough to chew.”
“Well then a morsel is all you will get, darling. Ula shared a connection with Lovren. They were peers in the beginning, then enemies. But despite the sour nature of the relationship there is still a strong association. The Ystenglaive is the link between the two, a parallel resonance that can surely resuscitate our goddess.”
“Surely, huh? How sure are you?”
“The Executive has done his due diligence and research. As Crozley said, and you confirmed, the power of a greater will can subdue the lesser. Could it not potentially work in a different context? Could we not stir Ula’s will to awaken in the presence of an artifact that emanates such a magnitude of will of equal hue?”
“You tell us. Your Executive is the one who ‘researched’ it, right?”
“You wanted answers, I am giving them to you.”
“Seem more like hypotheticals rather than clarity,” I scoff, lighting another cigaret. “Sorry I pursued the topic, but here’s to hoping it will happen. Maybe the combined wills of the Executive and yourself will rouse Ula from her sleep, coma, death, or whatever state she’s in.”
“It will happen, for I have faith in the sciences of the Executive, and devotion to my goddess.”
“Faith and devotion are relatives to obsession. Look where that zeal got Shriven.”
“You are keen on blaspheming.”
“Keener on getting out of here. Let’s just rob this grave so we can all get paid and get on. We have stuck around long enough to agitate one former Preceptor, I don’t feel like going two for two.”
“Our destination is not far,” cheers Crozley, “and with such a great will as yours Seirath it is doubtful we will be delayed again! But let us not linger.”
We took some time to gather our supplies then continue promptly after. The Wolds became quieter, and much darker. A few grey rays of light shine through the canopy, but do not aid the journey, and our footing became questionable. Meresinea uses some minor Fulguration technique to emit a glow from her body that illuminates our trek. The local flora and terrain begins to drag us down, so she manipulates the dirt and brush to create a foot path. A few focused swings of my sword cut everything down just as easily, but no matter the method theWolds retaliate by growing back quicker and thicker. Another hinderance are the naturally occurring caltrop thorns growing from the ground. The Chimera in our group are barefoot, and even their tough hides are penetrated. They move forward despite it all, hacking and chopping away at vines and branches, trying to keep up with the rapid regeneration of the forest.
The way darkens, only lit by Meresinea’s conjury, and now by hundreds of bioluminescent glow mites that crawl on the moss of the trees. No bigger than a pebble, they emanate a gentle green-blue light that was beautiful to behold. But get too close and they were prone to releasing a defensive puff of gas. It mostly smelled terrible, but a full inhale would cause one to pass out. Of course our resident sorceress desired to take one, and took one she did, unaffected by the scent and toxicity. She was able to neutralize a few of them, and she stuck them in her satchels sealed in small jars with porous lids.
Some other local fauna begins to emerge. Thankfully they were either harmless unless provoked, or easily dispatched nuisances. The chook, a ground dwelling avian with a broad bill that was serrated on the sides, knee high, more curious than aggressive, unaware that its beak could cut an artery. Now there are chitter bugs, large moths with the teeth of a man, fly aimlessly around us. They form no words, but instead various clicks and clucks made from the chattering of their little jaws. At Meresinea’s behest, Vespine wrangles a few of the pests near Tala who quickly smashes them between her hands. Meresinea gathers the dead critters then removes their teeth, depositing them into one of her pouches.
Snakes of varying species slither on the ground and some hang from the trees. Those that accost us Cane takes care of. Crozley is happy to tend to the carcasses, extracting what he needed to increase his Colubrine drug stock. I see Vore tear one right out of a tree and bite its head clean off, slurping the rest of its body down his gullet like a noodle. Urcus picks up a twig from the ground to chew, and it comes to life in the form of a small winged serpent that flies into the closest tree. It hollers at him in a series of squeaks and chirps that alert the rest of the bird snakes that made their colonies in the trees, silenced only when Brune swings his club into the trunk.
Larger animals began to appear, all of them primordial leftovers from the beginning of Coterminous. Marseals, bizarre mammals that meander through the forest, covered in spines, carry their young in pouches, with fins for legs and arms. They float through the forest making melancholy sounds, perhaps to warn us not to get close, for each of their spines can be likened to the lethality of a spear. Drezzers, reptilian predators with armored hides of iridescent scales, three rows of teeth line their jaws with a cowl of spikes around its neck and tail that fan out when it is irritated. If not for the intimidating efforts of myself and my bigger allies we will certainly have another fight on our hands. But our very presence seems to discourage further interference from the creatures of the Wolds. Vore provokes one of the Drezzers for the sheer sport of it, and it whips its tail in response, sending a spike spiraling into the air. Thankfully Brune steps in to intercept it. The bone dagger lodges itself into his scales, which Meresinea promptly removes and adds to her collection.
The path begins to clear up, and the track goes from difficult to manageable. Now we are able to walk two by two as opposed to a tight single file. Something shuffles in the trees, and we all come to a halt, wondering if the Harrowed have returned. But these indigenous are a different sort. Several of them appear, then a dozen, then more, hanging upside down from the branches above. Meresinea and I remain still, but the others are unconcerned. They proceed without acknowledging our new company. Cane and Crozley come up from behind, the former signaling Vore and Brune to take the lead and keep going, while Urcus takes the rear.
“They will only watch us,” Cane says. “Cautious, but crafty. Try not to make prolonged eye contact. If they think they can take you they will.”
They are long, full bodied, winged mammals with strong elongated chiropteran legs that allowed them to hang as they do. They have the head of a fox, big broad ears cropped high like the antennae of a hornet, and the hooded neck of a vulture. Their wings are folded, cloaking their lean mass, while their bushy tails whip around in idle observation. With articulate hands, they spread and stretch their wings, then huddle once more, tapping their taloned fingers patiently on the membranes of their forelimbs.
“There is something so dark yet so majestic about them,” Meresinea says.
“The first chimera,” Crozley speaks. “The Roah. They were created by the Chimaeraus in the early ages. The Roah are one of the oldest clades on the planet. Highly intelligent, despite their aloof nature. They are keen observers that rarely engage with others. Cautiously opportunistic, full of cunning, and quite strong.”
“They just going to hang about? Or are we going to have problems?” I ask.
“We can walk, just pretend they aren’t there,” Cane replies. “We have stalled long enough.”
“They are masters of mimicry,” Crozley continues, waving us forward with his crosier. “They study other species to copy their skill sets. They need not study your ways but only you, and they don’t need to see what you can do in order to perform. They are reading you even now, and if they felt compelled they would be quite the match.”
“So keep walking,” Cane says.
“What are they doing here?” Meresinea asks.
“The Wolds are a refuge for the wayward.” Crozley answers. “No one from the world dares to tread here so it makes for an excellent shelter for the endangered. A self-sustaining, self- repairing, infinite ecosystem that is more welcoming than led to believe. Maybe not so much to the hominids, but they have an entire planet to call home. The progeny of the fallen Preceptors still thrive, most refusing to go the way of their progenitors. Still, some are lost, and some have faded into the annals of passing time. The Preceptors that went into hiding abandoned their children, and those clades have either gone feral or died off. In Ula’s case, her following still remains. The humans, much like the Roah, have proven themselves resilient even without the hands-on guidance of their creators.”
One of the Roah stir and shift position, defecating on the ground below and right at my feet. “And they all shit just the same. You want to take a sample and stick it in one of your bags Meresinea?”
“Don’t be disgusting.” Crozley chuckles, “interestingly enough, their excrement is able to duplicate any compound when mixed accordingly. Feel free to check the ground. They may not share many words, but they have no need for the remainders of their bowel movements.”
Meresinea’s eyes are alit with fascination. “Ah, serendipity, how I love thee!”
I sigh, “Sorry I even mentioned it. Just be quick.”
She slips on a glove and casually approaches the base of one of the trees from which a group of Roah hang. “Shame it has come to that though,” she says, tweezing a bit of the dungfrom a pile and placing it in a small jar. “But once Ula is awake all will be well. She dreams of a world renewed, where all clades will thrive again, this time together in harmony and continued growth.”
“How are you so certain?” I ask. “She talk to you? Or does your executive tell you that?”
“Instinct, Seirath. Faith, belief, feeling. Optimism mostly, the opposite of what you seem to feel. I am attuned to the natural world, and she had a hand in creating it. One need only open their hearts to her, temper their spirit, allow their souls to be fed with her energy. Listen and her voice is there, feeding our souls with her message.”
“Says the woman picking up Roah shit.”
She stows her new find, removes her glove and tosses it at me. I grimace when it hit my shoulder, catching a whiff of fresh dung. “I don’t even know why I bother. But I am not surprised, you are just a man with big guns and a bigger sword.”
We start walking again, catching up with the others. “Such are the reasons I was hired. I have little interest in your religious vagaries.”
“You are a hominid, Seirath, what interests do you have if you don’t care about your own Preceptor? Surely you believe in or subscribe to something?”
I let out a long sigh, “I will tell you, and I don’t charge for inquiries.” It was time to medicate. I tap Cane on the shoulder and gesture for his travel tankard. I swallow a pill and light a smoke. “Those of the school of noetics commune with the ethers, a place that is far beyond Coterminous, and at the same time right here. What do I subscribe to? The will of the Totality. The immensity of space and time, the continuum of existence and reality. Those are my gods, those are the things that I put my faith and feeling into. The Totality is all that is, it is all that matters, and it’s indifferent. That’s the real, truest way I know. What do I believe? Those who practice Scindo believe in power, both inward and outward, and the Totality provides, just as it did to the gods long ago. It feeds us the same knowledge and strength it gave the immortals that built this world. An ageless old mind, a singularity. The path to senescence. I have listened to that voice, and given it my heart, spirit, soul, and everything else. One only needs look at the current state of affairs of the world to know what it has to say. It doesn’t care. It cradles the planet in its power and its only objective is to keep it sustained despite who or whatever inhabits it.”
“I am no stranger to the Totality, Seirath,” Meresinea responds. “But your system is too apathetic for my tastes. The Preceptors communed with the Totality, and at the height of their senescence they used it to elevate themselves from their primal natures and mold a young Coterminous. You seem to draw on it just to fuel your superficial strength. I believe there is a purpose for us all, not just the humans, but all clades.”
“Not this purpose stuff again. The humans were the most suited, and that’s why they were, and are, the guiltless survivors. The gods have died, or went off to die, or they are hiding and dying. Here we stand. No deiforms. No eternals, gods, Preceptors. Just long living mortals. There is only the will of humankind. We are the gods now.”
“And even gods need guidance,” she retorts. “Transformation requires application, Seirath. The Preceptors listened to the Totality and they drew upon it to cultivate this planet. Humans do not have the capacity to contemplate the cosmic will, that is why we need to revive Ula so she can be our proxy once more. There is no doubt that Coterminous is still coming back from the calamity, but it is barely standing on two legs.”
“You can have your crutch then. If you and the Executive’s method works, so be it. If not, it is business as usual. I could care less either way.”
“What is it that you do care about?”
“Getting to the Hallow. Then retrieving Ystenglaive. After, we get out of here. Once back at the caravan, perhaps I will drink and drug myself into a stupor. I will adjust accordingly after that.”
“For someone who has their mind in the ethers you are very concerned for your corporeal pleasure.”
“I am still a man.”
She sighs in disappointment, “and what if the method works? What if the world changes for the better?”
“World is just fine by me. If it becomes better, whatever. If it gets worse, well, there will be more work for me.”
Continued in our Winter 2026 issue!