Fearful Symmetry

by Francis Gideon

  Dryden’s eyes were closed. His body felt foreign, flushed, and not like his own anymore. But he got the benefits of pleasure, the pressure of Otto, and the softness of his bed.

  “No. Not scared.”

  Dryden had done this a couple times before. Mostly with stable boys from the farm down the road. They were all younger than Otto and inept at balancing attention for one another and their own dicks. Otto’s hands didn’t show such a worry. He still held both of them together, rocking back and forth, each movement practiced and skilled.

  “Look at me,” Otto asked. “I want to see you when I ask you a question.”

  Dryden opened his eyes. He let out a low, quivering breath as he saw gold shimmer inside Otto’s gaze. “Yes?”

  Otto stroked his face. “Will you stay?”

  Dryden didn’t answer at first. He hadn’t thought much beyond the few minutes after his orgasm, whenever that would come. When he glanced at the dark window by the fire, he realized what Otto probably meant. Stay the night, right? That seemed to be what all people wanted after they had sex. To stay the night.

  “Yes,” Dryden said. “I’ll stay.”

  Otto grinned wider than Dryden had ever seen before. “Good,” he murmured before he pressed a kiss to Dryden’s mouth. Otto’s strong hands moved between Dryden’s legs, prying him open and begging to go inside. Dryden, without a second thought, moved his legs and gave Otto anything he wanted.

  Anything? Dryden asked himself, questioning his own thoughts. Just as Otto’s cock pressed against his thigh, Dryden swallowed hard and leaned his head back into the bed. Anything. When Otto moved inside of him, all Dryden saw was a flash of gold from his eyes, and then the sun over the hills as darkness faded into light.

  Chapter Four

  DRYDEN WOKE alone. As the light came in from the window, he realized it must have been well into the afternoon. He sat up in the bed and felt his nakedness right away. His skin was tender around his neck from where Otto’s beard had left scratch marks. His hands were equally red and cut from gripping Otto’s skin, or the bed frame later on. Dryden smiled at the sudden burst of memory and pleasure, before he dressed quickly. He knew he had fallen asleep in Otto’s arms. Strong arms, around him, protecting him—from what, Dryden wasn’t sure. But he recalled hazy dreams of running, of mushrooms from the tea rising up to touch him, shooting arrows, and wounds that bled without a source.

  He could smell the food before he reached the end of the hallway. Eggs and meat, toast with butter—all rich substances that Dryden could only have at very limited times of the year. His stomach rumbled as he entered the living area. Otto stood at the kitchen counter, his back to Dryden. He wore a green shirt with suspenders, black pants that gripped the lower half of his body, and black boots up to the knee. He hummed as he cooked, not seeing Dryden at first. As Dryden approached, Otto smelt faintly of sawdust.

  “Morning,” Dryden greeted, placing a hand on Otto’s waist. “Or afternoon?”

  “Yes!” Otto turned around with bright eyes and a smile. “I believe it’s afternoon. But no matter, it is a good day, for sure. Time has eluded me too.”

  Dryden felt a pang of regret. “I think my mother’s going to be worried sick.”

  “Aren’t all mothers? I’m sure, with the grief that she has suffered, she may not even notice you’re gone. You can stay awhile. Have a bite to eat.”

  Otto’s arms directed Dryden to his set table. Eggs and sausage already lay on a plate where Dryden had sipped tea the night before. He moved back into place easily.

  “You’ve already eaten?” Dryden asked.

  “Ah. Yes. I’m afraid sleep does not always come to me so well. I am usually up for long periods of time before sleep, and I often wake in the early mornings. Please, dig in.”

  Dryden didn’t need to be told twice. Each item was creamy, decadent—better than the cake from the night before. He felt the food stick to his stomach and build him up. “What do you do when you wake up so early?”

  “A lot of things.” Otto smiled as he drank a dark liquid—probably coffee—from a beige cup. “But this is not really my house. It’s a side house, one I only stay in when it is so dark I cannot return to where I really live.”

  “Where’s that?”

  Otto didn’t answer. He bent down underneath the cupboards and rooted through some drawers. Dryden didn’t let the sudden departure from conversation bother him, though he found the worry about his mother returning. She was grieving, this was true. She had been staying longer and longer periods in her room and not noticing when Dryden came and went. But it was still important for him to return as soon as he could. He had duties, like every son did.

  Dryden paused when he saw a shimmer of copper wire from the jewelry piece he had given to Otto the night before. Otto noticed Dryden’s piece, and his stare, right away. He brought the large tub he was holding back to the dining room table, along with the hemp jewelry in his hand.

  “What do you call this piece?” Otto asked.

  “It doesn’t have a name. Not yet, anyway. But I think….” Dryden moved his fingers against the copper flames at the center of the heart. “I like calling it the sacred heart. Like in old paintings I used to see.”

  “Very nice. I like it a lot. Probably my favorite gift so far.”

  Dryden’s brows furrowed, though his smile remained. “So far? What do you mean?”

  “Yes, this is my favorite piece I’ve collected so far. I was just adding it to my collection now. Would you like to see?”

  Dryden’s eyes moved down toward the bucket Otto had been carrying. Inside, he saw many other trinkets and toys. There were some balls and jacks, a small doll with an eye patch over the left eye, and lots more jewelry—some of which probably had been made by his mother and sold elsewhere—along with wallets, pocket squares, and even some feathers. Otto held a veritable treasure trove in his hands, hidden from view.

  “What’s all this?”

  “Things that have been given to me for a night’s stay.”

  “Oh.” Dryden’s eyes moved down to the table. He knew he should have realized that he wasn’t the only person Otto would have had back at his cabin. He was an attractive man, and a fair amount older than Dryden. With age came experience—and apparently a big tub full of gifts.

  “Don’t worry,” Otto said, touching Dryden’s cheek. “I did say you were my favorite so far.”

  Dryden smiled weakly. The final so far lingered in his mind. Dryden could accept that he wasn’t the first, but to hear confirmation that he was not the last man to spend the night cut him deeper than he expected. He still had a small bit of breakfast left on his plate, but his stomach quivered a bit. “May I see the other gifts? Is this allowed?”

  Otto considered for a moment, then passed over the tub. “By all means. I have to make a few notes before tonight, anyway.”

  Dryden watched from the corner of his eye as Otto made his way toward the books on the shelf. He pulled down a black-bound one, half-filled with items Dryden couldn’t read from where he was, then began to write. A feeling of déjà vu came over Dryden that he pushed away once more. Up close, the bucket of gifts was even deeper and vaster than he could have imagined. He spotted more rings, bracelets, and necklaces all made from gold and silver. There were small notes—poems? he wondered—and small stories written in immature, scrawled handwriting. Some of the gifts were clearly from adults, but others were from people much younger and inexperienced. Another nagging feeling emerged at the base of Dryden’s back. Children? How old was Otto—and exactly how long had he lived in the woods?

  Dryden didn’t dare voice his questions aloud. He had a feeling the answers wouldn’t be anything he’d want to hear. He was about to pack up his bag and leave before the bad feelings came crashing down, when he spotted something peculiar in the bottom of the bin. He dug past the shoes and the bracelets, dolls and toys, only to find a small piece of white bone. Perhaps a bird or another small forest creature. The bone was sligh
t and nimble enough to not concern Dryden right away. But another white bone emerged, slightly larger this time around. Then another. Soon an entire femur appeared from the bottom—this time, clearly from a human being—and Dryden jumped out of his seat.

  Otto stood behind him. “Is there something wrong?”

  “No. Um. I just must be going. My mother needs me.”

  “Sit. She won’t miss you.”

  Dryden’s skin went cold at Otto’s tone. “I think she will. I have to work for her, of course. Now that father….”

  “Your father has died. But that does not mean you do not have your own life, your own story.” Otto scanned his box of treasures with a smile. He closed the book he held in one hand with a snap. Dryden could only see the faint traces of names and ages before there was nothing but the black cover.

  “What is all this?” Dryden asked, his voice quivering. “I’ve seen nothing like it before.”

  “They were all like you. All of them who had come to the forest for mourning. All of whom had lost fathers and sought help.”

  “So you took them?” Dryden asked.

  “I helped them. They stayed with me, found comfort in me. They gave me gifts they were so grateful.”

  “But where are they now?” Dryden swallowed. “Are they all gone?”

  Otto slammed the book down into the bucket. “And if they are gone? What does it matter for you?”

  “You can’t just… take people, Otto. You can’t—”

  “I never took anyone who didn’t want to go.” Otto’s voice boomed as he went on, his eyes fixated on Dryden, pinning him in place. “They came willingly, they lived willingly, and now their small artifacts are still here while they are gone. I am not a monster because you label me one. I am a healer.”

  Dryden backed up and knocked his chair over in a panic. His skin felt hot, prickly. He couldn’t say anything back anymore. He was out of words and out of any intellectual tricks. What had he done? One moment he had thought himself in love with the man who had rescued him—now he wondered how to leave without being hurt.

  “I’m sorry,” Dryden begged. “I meant no offense. I only wondered. Please forgive me.”

  Otto’s eyes flared, but he said nothing for quite some time. His hand moved through the overflowing tub of toys.

  “I did keep them,” Otto said. “Each one of them was lovely. Very good conversationalists. And other things.”

  Otto’s smile made Dryden’s skin crawl. He wanted to throw up the food he had eaten, but he knew it would make him weak. He needed to stay strong in order to get away from this place and warn people. Dryden edged his way toward the door, only to have Otto stand in his way.

  “What are you doing? Stay.”

  “I can’t. I have to go back. I’m sorry. I….” He didn’t want to upset Otto, but he wasn’t sure how easily he could slip by without spitting in his face. “I will tell everyone how kind you were.”

  Otto’s smile barely moved from his face. “You will sit down. You said you’d stay.”

  “It’s morning now. Afternoon, really. I must….”

  “You told me you would stay. You must be true to your word here.”

  “I did stay. I stayed the night. That is what people do after….” Dryden stopped, not wanting to think about what had occurred the night before. “I must go.”

  “No, I’m afraid you can’t.”

  “What do you mean? You may have tricked younger people, you may have pulled children into the woods and out of their homes, but I am a son. I am free.”

  “No one is really free. Not under this king, not in this lifetime. We always owe someone something or another.”

  “No.” Dryden furrowed his brows. “No one—”

  “Yes,” Otto cut him off. He placed a hand on his shoulder, directing him into the chair again. A heavy, heavy burden set over Dryden as Otto looked down. “We always owe someone something. I saved your life from the fox. You came into my house. We had tea and cake. We shared a bed, and now you said you would stay. You must honor your promise, or your words mean nothing.”

  “And what if I go?”

  “You can’t. The land won’t allow it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Otto sighed. “Seems like your mother didn’t tell you everything about these woods.”

  Dryden’s skin went cold. He heard his mother’s warning. Don’t go into the woods, not past a certain point. And how would he know about the certain point? The manmade items, the fearful symmetry. Dryden looked back at the butterfly wings, perfectly symmetrical, inside a maze on Otto’s wall. Dryden wished, from the deepest pit of fear inside of him, that he had listened to his mother’s warnings and understood each word.

  “Where am I?” Dryden asked, knowing the answer would be unfamiliar. “I thought I was in the woods.”

  “You are. But this is a piece of land not marked by God or Country. At the center of these woods, there is a magic zone. It forms a five-pointed star outwards—and the lemon tree is its top. The daisies line all around it. Inside this star, there is no sense of time, no sense of place. Only magic. Only what I say.”

  Dryden closed his eyes. He saw the fox steer him out of the line of daisies—the little beasty who had tried to warn him—and Dryden cursed himself. But, he thought, trying to calm himself down, if there is no time here, then my mother is not alone. It could still be the night I entered the woods. She may not be worried about me. The realization was a relief, no matter how small.

  “This is not fair,” Dryden begged. “There should have been a sign. Something with words to mark the place, so I knew how far I could go.”

  “That’s why the stories exist. To warn little boys like you.” Otto shrugged. “All of this is fair, by these laws. No Gods, no Country, just magic. As far as anyone else is concerned, you still owe me. And I’m a reasonable man—I always have been. I saved your life from the fox, and now you are mine.”

  Dryden looked around at the antlers on the wall, the books, and the collections in jars. This wasn’t Otto’s home; he had said as much himself. Instead, this was a place for magic, a place to keep things—like him—until there was a better use. This cabin wasn’t a real place, but a museum inside a magic circle, with no time to corrupt any perfect vision. Otto’s words from the night before, I am a collector of beauty, echoed in his ears. Dryden should have been honored to be here, but he only felt his fear return.

  “My father can—”

  “Your father is dead,” Otto cut down the remark. “And he already owes money to the merchants. Your name can’t be put on a list here. You are here until I let you go.”

  “What if I won’t obey your rules?”

  “You act like you have a choice! You foolish boy.”

  “I am not a boy. Not anymore. You can’t—”

  “Do not tell me what I can and cannot do. Boy,” Otto hissed. Soon, his anger took over his entire body. His eyes turned from gold to a blazing white, the pupils narrowing until they disappeared altogether. His clothing stretched across his body, bulging against his muscles. As he took a step back from the table, his arms and legs opened like a five-pointed star. The rip of the fabric sounded like a clatter of thunder in Dryden’s ear. Otto’s skin— skin that Dryden had kissed, sucked, and once thought he could love—burst forth. The hair on his chest turned hard against his skin, plaiting down it like the grain of wood. Otto grew in size, his arms thick and strong and extended into spindly fingers like trees branches.

  A tree, Dryden realized. Otto was turning into a tree. His spine broke out of his skin and then anchored itself to the floor. All the rough patches of his skin were now plated together to form bark that ran up and down his body. His arms grew taller and taller; his legs fused together. And the center, where Otto’s heart should have been, Dryden knew would be hollow. The deep booming voice Otto once had was now replaced with a thin rasp, like leaves from the woods crunching under footprints in autumn.

  “Dryden,” Otto hissed. “Yo
u must listen to me. You must sit down. You belong to me now.”

  Tears stung Dryden’s eyes. He wanted to scream. How could he have been so stupid? He was duped by tales and stories, by lies and deception. Everyone always wants something. Everyone always needs to be paid. Now here was the hollow tree—the true beast from the forest his mother warned him about—demanding to be paid with his life. Dryden glanced at the torn clothing on the ground and saw his bracelet’s stone glisten in the low light. The gift he had once given to Otto now lay in tatters. A sob ripped forth from Dryden’s chest, and then he swallowed down hard.

  “There has to be something,” Dryden asked, trying to compose himself. “Something that I can bargain with you.”

  “I have no need for bargaining. Only company. I want you. And last night, at least, you let me have you.”

  Otto’s eyes, still marked with gold and ochre, stared directly at him. Dryden’s stomach quaked, with joy and revulsion. They had made love. Dryden had wanted it, and he had freely given himself. But he didn’t realize the consequence to such actions. Hindsight hit him like a wave, and he wished with all of his being for more time to sort out the matter. For not having rushed into anything.

  Dryden took a deep breath. He tried to pull his mind away from the vortex of pain and misery. He glanced at the wall and saw the blue beetle nearly at the center of the maze. All night that small beetle had worked from the dead end he had found himself in. He had traversed the labyrinth Otto had made, and soon he would reach the center. The thought gave Dryden a sudden burst of hope he desperately clung onto.

  “You want company?”

  “Yes.”

  “But why? Surely you want more than someone in your bed at night. Especially since you don’t seem to sleep too well.”

  Otto didn’t move. The small bit of silence gave Dryden hope.

  “It’s really learning you like, right? You wish to learn something from me?”

  “I already have,” Otto answered. “And I will keep learning. It’s my right now.”