Fearful Symmetry

by Francis Gideon

  Defeated, Dryden sat back down on the grass. The fire still burned. What’s the worst that can happen? he asked himself once more, only to realize he had been focused on the wrong goals. He had been hoping to make people notice he was here, when he should have been going for them. What if I ran away? If he ran for it, out of the woods and past the clearing, so what if he was caught? What did it matter, really, when he already knew he was damned?

  Dryden rose to his feet. He walked around the front of the house and tried to retrace his steps from the night before. Then as the moon broke free from the clouds and lit a dirt pathway, he ran at a breakneck speed toward the edge of the woods. Rabbits jumped and darted out of his way. Birds—maybe the dove from before?—also flew out of their nests in the tops of trees. Dryden paid no mind to them; he kept running. He thought nothing would stop him short of an arrow through his left arm, like the fox from before. Dryden would always keep going, and if he saw that fox again, he would sweep it up into his arms, and they would both run away.

  As soon as Dryden saw the ring of daisies through the trees his heart swelled. There it was—the border and the lemon tree. A fork in the woods. His stomach curled as he thought of the riddle, then he dismissed it. Without the moonlight guiding him, this part of the woods looked particularly ragged and worn away. When Dryden looked into the lemon tree branches, he realized it held no fruit anymore. Only stones, none of which were like the yellow jewels his mother loved. Everything was different now that the fantasy had been broken.

  No matter, Dryden kept running. As soon as his foot breached the line, it wrenched back. He smacked up against a clear border, like an invisible wall around the place. The force of the impact sent him down onto his back, his tailbone throbbing as he hit the hard dirt. The breath was knocked out of him. He writhed on the ground for a moment before he got back up to his feet. Cursing under his breath, Dryden touched the air around him, and his fingers stopped midair as he hit the invisible wall again. He slammed both of his hands forward, hitting the wall with a smack. He kept his palms in place, his feet lined up at the edge, and began to walk along it like a balance beam. If I just get to the end, to the end…. He soon stopped, realizing this wall would keep going on forever. The daisies were a never-ending border that ran all around and had no limits.

  “No,” Dryden gasped. His body ached from the impact and the run. His feet were bloody, he was sure of it. And his stomach rumbled for more food. He couldn’t ignore this any longer. He had to go back—if only to live through another night before his fate. Otto depended on this kind of desperation, he knew, in order for the magic to really work.

  Dryden turned around toward the cabin and saw the small blue trail of smoke. At least, he figured, he had done something right before leaving. He followed the patterns in the sky until he spotted the two oak trees that led to Otto’s door. At the back of the house once again, Dryden collapsed in front of a nearly spent fire. He worked at getting the flame back up to full strength before sitting by the edge. He pulled thorns from brambles out of his toes and then warmed up his hands. He was about to go in and grab some kind of food, when a small puff of red hair distracted him. Dryden jumped and turned around, holding a log out for protection.

  “Oh,” he said, relaxing his stance. “It’s only you.”

  The fox stood between the house and the forest, its gaze focused on Dryden. When it realized Dryden posed no threat, the fox took a few tentative steps forward. Probably for warmth, Dryden reasoned. The spring air was refreshing but still chilled from the effect of winter. The fox no longer growled or hissed; it seemed halfway tame by the polite manner it approached, casually glancing at Dryden between each step as if to ask for permission.

  “’S all right. Come closer if you’re going to steal my fire. May as well while it’s still warm.”

  The fox tilted its head at Dryden. The eyes were as sparkling blue as before. Dryden supposed that was why he liked the fox; his eyes were human. Dryden especially liked the fox now that he realized it wasn’t the beast but may have been trying to scare Otto away.

  “Wait here, all right?” Dryden stood and held out his hands, showing he had no weapons or intent to harm. “I’m going to get us food.”

  On the other side of the fire, the fox sat down and folded its paws in front of its body. Satisfied, Dryden walked back into the house. He had to rummage through bins and a cool storage area in order to find food that hadn’t been spoiled earlier in the day by the flies. He gathered up some dried cranberries, some hunks of bread, and a couple bits of smoked meat before he returned outside. The fox still sat patiently, its eyes wide and attentive.

  “Here,” Dryden said, tossing down some smoked meat. Dryden could have sworn that the fox smiled before it took the piece of meat between its paws and started to gnaw away. “You’re welcome, then.”

  As Dryden sat across and ate his meager meal, he realized the fox was no longer injured. The paw that had been pierced by an arrow was still there, intact and not harmed; the fox was even using its paw to hold its meat in place as it ate. He eyed the animal suspiciously, before it locked eyes with him again. There was no doubt with those eyes that this was the same creature.

  “Odd. Your paw.”

  The fox glanced down at its paw as if it understood. It licked the appendage and then looked up at him again.

  “I’ve lost it,” Dryden stated, talking more to himself now. “I’m speaking to a fox and actually thinking it understands me. I’m even giving it what little food I have. As if it’s really mine to take.” Dryden tossed another hunk of meat over to the fox and, with a shrug, some cranberries too. The fox caught the sustenance between its teeth and pulled it closer to its small body. Dryden swore, once again, that the creature nodded a thank you.

  “Huh,” Dryden murmured. “I’m really losing it now. Stupid fox.”

  “Hey. We all need help sometimes,” the fox replied.

  Dryden rose. The fox across from him started to shake and blur. Dryden blinked, unsure if it was his own bewilderment that affected his gaze or if the fox really did suddenly change. When he looked again, the fox had doubled in size. Its fur had fallen away and been replaced with pale skin. Paws turned to hands, then to arms and legs as a full body of a human emerged. In a matter of seconds, a boy—no, another man—sat where the fox had been. His arms bent over his knees, covering himself slightly as the last bits of his fur fell away and into the flame. Dark curly hair lined the top of his head and dusted parts of his arms and chest. He shook his head, brushing the last bits of his transformation away, and then gazed back at Dryden. The eyes—the blue gemlike eyes—were the only thing to remain the same from fox to man.

  “Help is nothing to be ashamed of,” the human-once-fox said. “Which reminds me—thank you.”

  “I—I—” Dryden stuttered. He knew he wasn’t afraid. Again, he thought, what’s the worst thing that could happen now? He wasn’t even sure if he was surprised. He had watched a man turn into a hollow tree from a legend today. What was a fox turning into a man? “I’m not sure what’s going on. Who are you?”

  The man smiled. Light and easy, not as menacing as Otto’s expressions had been. “I’m Emmons.”

  “All right. What does that mean?”

  “Emmons. It’s just a name. What is yours?”

  “Dryden,” he said. “I… I’m afraid I still don’t know what’s going on.”

  “I tried to stop you from going into the woods.”

  Dryden’s face fell. “Why? I still don’t understand.”

  “Because we all have to help one another. I was trying to help you when you walked too far.”

  “But why?” Dryden pressed. He rose from where he sat by the fire and paced anxiously around. Emmons remained seated, his arms over himself, covering his body. “I’m sorry, but I don’t buy into this whole ‘we owe each other’ excuse anymore. Maybe you were just helping me and that was it. But I’m hard-pressed to say thanks. Not after the day I’ve had. Hah. What’s th
at expression? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice….”

  Dryden didn’t bother to finish as he continued to pace. He hoped the final line of the expression was obvious, because it still hurt him too much to think about. He didn’t even care that another strange creature was visiting him that night. It didn’t matter—nothing really did anymore—except his own thoughts that stabbed at him like knives. He should have been smarter. He should have slowed down. He kept imagining the moment he walked into the woods like the riddle he had solved earlier that day. If only he had had the right answer then, he could have avoided this fate. Fool me once, he thought again. But fool me twice, and nothing but shame, shame, shame on me. With a heaving sigh, Dryden scrubbed his hands over his face. He felt tiredness in his bones. He realized he had been putting off going to bed because sleep meant he would be that much closer to his eventual downfall.

  “I’ve never liked that expression.”

  “What?”

  “The fool me once saying,” Emmons spoke. “I don’t think emotions should be taken advantage of, no matter how many times something has happened to someone. People make mistakes. People get fooled. But it’s not their fault that they have been.”

  “Even if they weren’t using their heads, but instead just their hearts?”

  “There is always room for both. No one is to blame for mistrust, except the person who abused trust.”

  Dryden eyed Emmons. Emmons stared back, his gaze unwavering, but not in a challenging way. He didn’t morph into anything else, nor did he try to raise another point to further his argument. He stated his opinion and left it there, out in the open. Hell, Dryden thought, Emmons is still naked even after the change. But he didn’t use his sexuality as a weapon like Otto had earlier, nor did he seem ashamed of his body. Emmons was animallike in that very way where nakedness was not a concept or something to be feared. It was just skin, and they were outside in a place that had no one else to worry about.

  “You’re… you’re not working for him, are you?” Dryden asked.

  “No. I don’t work for Otto.”

  “Oh, all right, then. I didn’t mean to accuse. Hey, I’m sorry,” Dryden said. He took off his jacket and handed it over around the fire. “I’ve been rude. I realize you’re probably cold. Do you want to go inside? Here.”

  Emmons rose precariously to grab the jacket. He took the edges and tied them around his waist, covering himself. “Thank you. That was kind.”

  Dryden waved a hand. “Do you want to go in?”

  Emmons shook his head.

  “Can’t say I blame you. It’s creepy in there.”

  “I know.”

  “You do?”

  Emmons nodded again. Dryden shifted closer—to get to the fire, he insisted to himself. “How are you here? Does Otto know? What happened?”

  Emmons chuckled slightly at the barrage of questions. “He knows about me, yes. It’s why he shot me earlier.”

  Dryden eyed Emmons’s wrist, seeking out scars from the arrow, but found nothing. In the firelight, it was hard to get a good look without Emmons noticing the stare as well. “How did you get to be this way? And why are you human now when you weren’t before?”

  “Because you called me a fox. I can’t change unless you call me by name. And when I’m an animal, that is my name.”

  “But I thought….” Dryden scanned his memory for the first time he had come across the fox in the woods. He had spoken to the fox then, hadn’t he? But he had called him little beasty, small creature. He had never called the fox a fox. “Oh. Is that another rule of this land?”

  “All magic has rules, and all rules form curses. This is just who I am.”

  The way Emmons’s voice lingered at the end mimicked Otto. Dryden felt a rush under his skin—of desire this time instead of fear. Desire directed toward Emmons, though Dryden couldn’t think of that right now. “So until someone calls you a fox, you’re trapped?”

  “Yes, more or less. So, thank you. You’re the first person who’s talked to me in a long, long time.”

  Dryden could hear the loneliness in Emmons’s voice. The shadow of flames danced against his face, making him look older than he probably was. His body was young; Dryden could see the lithe leg muscles under the jacket, and his hands were limber like a tradesperson. Emmons reminded Dryden of the older brother of a stable boy he had been with a long time ago now, tender but sturdy. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, easily. But the years spent trapped in a body that was not always his own could wear someone down to nothing. Dryden suddenly felt lucky that Emmons had held on for as long as he did.

  “You know, it’s funny,” Emmons added, slight sharpness to the laugh in his voice. “The edge of the woods works two ways. If you get away from the house but only make it halfway across the line before your time runs out, you effectively get trapped both in and outside the circle. So while you’re free of the house’s burden, and Otto’s burden, you’re still a cursed creature.”

  Dryden imagined Emmons running like Dryden had earlier, getting to the wall of daises but only getting half out by the time allotted. He saw the invisible wall come down again like a guillotine, trapping half of a human body and spirit over the border. Dryden couldn’t imagine the pain of being stuck in two different worlds, as two different kinds of people.

  “Otto’s world thought it was a fit punishment to put me like this—half fox, half boy—so that he could still hunt me. But because I’m not really an animal, none of his weapons really wound me for very long. The arrow from earlier hurt, but in another hour, I was fine again. A long, long time ago I realized this, and I thought, why use something like this for evil when I could warn others about what he does? About what he did to me? It’s hard without a voice, but I try. Sometimes, it works.”

  Dryden stayed silent. He was ashamed because he had not heeded Emmons’s first warning in the woods. But more than that, Dryden wasn’t sure if he could ever put someone else above himself in that same way, especially after what had already happened between him and Otto. Slowly, Dryden turned to Emmons again as he realized the second connotation in Emmons’s words. “You’ve been here too? Stayed the night?”

  Emmons nodded, his eyes dark.

  “He seduced you too?”

  Again, Emmons nodded, and his dark eyes remained fixed. They both stared at one another, the word “seduced” hanging over the air. Dryden thought of the same lines being said, the same hands touching, the same questions, and the same tea being drunk. None of this was new. It was as old as time itself.

  “In the next morning, he showed you the box of former treasures. Then you solved riddles?”

  “More or less. I solved them, but the last one….” Emmons’s face twisted up. “He said there was a technicality. I got the right answer but by the wrong means. So he made me run. Gave me the three minutes from before.”

  “That was how you only got halfway out?”

  “It was only fair,” Emmons said, inflecting a tone like Otto’s. It was so accurate it made the hair on Dryden’s neck stand up. “I’m half earth and half man now. Half magic and more.”

  “How long have you been this way?”

  Emmons shrugged. “Time doesn’t really exist here. Not in the way it does out there. People probably know I’m missing now. But… I’ve been here, in this space, a long enough time to know that you have nothing to be ashamed about.”

  Dryden let out a low laugh. He knew he wasn’t the only one who had gotten here before—Otto had made it part of the whole ordeal to show him as much with the trinkets. But Dryden still felt the sting of guilt all over his body. “I appreciate the kindness. I really do, Emmons. I know we both need it right now. But let’s not kid ourselves—we both brought this on ourselves.”

  Emmons shook his head. “We never asked for this.”

  “But that’s where you’re wrong. I asked for this. I wanted to get away from my mother, I wanted to go into the woods, and I wanted to spend the night with someone. So
I did. And you know what’s worse? I liked being in his bed. I liked him touching me, kissing me….” Dryden cut off. His chest hurt, and his body was half-aroused. He looked away from Emmons as he continued to talk. “I wanted all of it. So I’m in this now because I brought it on myself. It’s my fault I’m here, and you know what? I’m debating going with it. Just living with him and calling it even. Because I deserve this, really. I chose everything that happened.”

  Dryden felt a stray tear role down his cheek. He had never felt so much hatred for himself as in that moment, and he could no longer hide it. He drew his knees closer to his body and breathed in deep, shaky breaths. He was surprised when he heard Emmons sit closer by him. He didn’t touch him, not at first. Only as Dryden’s breath evened out did Emmons dare to put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Shh,” Emmons cooed. “It’s all right.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know you’re not the only one he’s done this to. So many of the others liked being with him—that’s how he gets us. Otto makes us want to be around, he makes us trust him, but then he abuses that trust. That’s not our fault.”

  Dryden couldn’t answer. He pushed away the tears on his cheeks instead.

  Eventually, Emmons moved on. “It doesn’t matter, though. Because I’m here, you’re here. And now, we have to help people out. That’s why I watch the woods.”

  “How many have you stopped?”

  “Some,” Emmons said with a smile. “Some leave as soon as they see me. But many don’t. Even if they still go in, it’s not their fault.”

  Dryden shook his head again, still finding it hard to believe.

  “Why do you keep rejecting that this couldn’t be your fault?”

  “Because,” Dryden said, his throat tight. “If I do, then I have no control over anything. I have to take responsibility for this, even if I could have never seen it coming, because it’s all I have left. And those riddles—those riddles—I have to answer them. It’s the only way I can redeem myself.” Dryden turned to Emmons, his eyes wide and hope welling in his chest. “You got out, right?”