Fearful Symmetry

by Francis Gideon

  Dryden stayed quiet.

  “I will take that as a no. Anyway, Reynard was a fox who tricked nobility and commoners alike. There are many stories, each with differing degrees of debauchery and violence. My favorite version ends when he kills the king and seduces the queen into marriage. As soon as they have spent three nights together, however, he uses his new power to usurp her. How he did that—now this is my favorite part—was that he found a loophole in their marriage contract. And he wiggled right out of that loophole. I like foxes, really,” Otto insisted. “They are always cunning. They will find you and trick you, no matter who you are. And they will always figure out the riddle at the end of the day.”

  “So? What are you saying?”

  “Merely that all foxes are the same.” Otto tossed the fox skin down onto the table. It looked too worn, too old to have been caught today. It can’t be Emmons, Dryden told himself. That just isn’t possible. He couldn’t have been caught. Besides, he had been shot by an arrow before and survived. And regenerated. How did Dryden know for sure that Emmons could be killed? It could be part of the curse, never allowing death.

  Then again, Dryden countered, if someone has created something, then they have the power to take it away. If Otto had been the one to use the curse, surely he could also change the rules? Dryden didn’t answer his own question. The pain that came from the answer was too great, so he willed it away.

  “What I’m saying is that perhaps, dear Dryden, you should try to think more like a fox instead of admiring them. You’ll need about as many tricks as you can possibly get in order to get out of this mess.”

  If you let me out, Dryden thought but didn’t dare say aloud. Was it better to anger Otto by trying to defeat his game, or should Dryden give up and move into submission? He had no room for error anymore, and time was running out. He could become Otto’s partner, a new treasure for him to keep, or he could become like the hide on the table. Dryden didn’t know the better answer yet. His gaze darted from the fox skin, to Otto, and then back to the fox skin.

  “I’ll let you keep him tonight,” Otto declared, referring to the hide. “But for me, I must be off. It’s been such a pleasure.”

  Dryden didn’t move. Otto gathered the last of his venison in butcher paper and slipped it into his bag. He plodded along in the cabin, before he approached Dryden again. He leaned down and lingered. Dryden knew he wanted a kiss, but the thought made his skin crawl. He kept his eyes fixed on the bloody flowers on the table, only presenting the crown of his head for Otto’s lips.

  Otto made a displeased noise. “Not the mouth? Not this time?”

  Dryden tilted his neck up. He met Otto, who smiled and tried to deepen the kiss more. As soon as Dryden moved into the embrace, Otto pulled back.

  “Good night,” Otto stated, his lips still glistening. “I will see you in another two days. Unless you have anything to tell me? Anything you wish to add?”

  Dryden knew Otto wasn’t asking about the riddle; this was a last request to stay with Otto. To call off the entire charade and become his partner. His trophy. Dryden turned away and looked at the body of Emmons. No, he corrected, just the body of a fox.

  Dryden shook his head. “I have nothing else to say.”

  “Very well. Good night.”

  Dryden let out a low breath as Otto left the cabin. He waited until he could no longer hear the trudge of his feet before he moved to the window. With the fox skin on his lap and the sacred heart in his hand, Dryden glanced out into the night. The moon shone and the stars sparkled, but nothing came. No Emmons, no other fox, nothing at all.

  As the last bit of night slowly faded into morning, Dryden realized he had to save himself.

  Chapter Nine

  BY AFTERNOON the next day, Dryden had a plan. He found a small, wooden ladder in the far closet and took it outside so he could scale the high roof. As he leaned the ladder against the stone walls of the cabin and felt the wood tremble as he got on, he wasn’t afraid. He kept repeating What’s the worst that could happen? as he ascended. If he hadn’t used up all of his luck, well, then the fall would surely kill him before Otto did.

  And who knows, Dryden thought bitterly, maybe Otto can even bring me back to life! This was a land of magic. No other rules applied, which was why measuring smoke would prove impossible unless Dryden could figure out the new elements of the world before the final sunrise. Failing that, Dryden knew his next best effort at solving the riddle would be to complete a few experiments for himself.

  Dryden’s reasoning was this: if he climbed atop the roof and found the chimney, he could trap the smoke as it emerged. Using one of Otto’s stray suspenders, he had strapped a glass jar onto his back. He looked like some obscene butterfly about to fall into a bell jar, which he knew wasn’t far off. As soon as he reached the ledge, he lifted himself up from the ladder with a heave. Careful not to break the jar, he detached it from his back and then lay down on the shingles. The warm sunlight heated his skin through the fabric of his clothing. Dryden knew he couldn’t rest long looking at the sky, even if he had wanted to. The smoke billowed out of the chimney and was caught in the current of wind. He glanced around, assessing the clouds in the sky, and watched as the smoke disappeared as soon as it was released into the larger air. It was like a small fish in a small pond, merging into the stream. Dryden would have to work quickly if he wanted to catch any of this at all.

  He sat with his legs around the chimney, hugging it like he would a tree trunk. The house shifted and creaked with each of his movements. The heat of the sun, plus the smoke now, was brutal. No matter. He pressed on. Holding the jar above the smoke, he kept one hand on the base and another hand on the lid. After filling it up, he pressed the lid tightly shut and sealed it. The metal clasp closed against the glass, and that was that. Smoke inside the jar.

  Dryden’s eyes went wide. The smoke stayed inside. The gray swirled around like a tornado in a glass case, like one of the wonders inside Otto’s house. Dryden had never seen anything like this before. How was it possible? He tapped the glass and watched as the smoke shook like water. Maybe, since they were in a different time frame, the weather acted differently too. He held the jar close to himself, hugging it tightly, though the glass had now increased in temperature. Each tap of his fingers made him think of the vortex around the flowers that prevented him from leaving. Now that he had trapped some of the smoke inside, he grew hopeful again.

  Now, he thought, I just have to get down. He placed the glass against his back again and tossed the suspender around his torso. The sharp loop hit the glass edges, and he heard the telltale clink of glass shattering.

  “No. No please don’t break.”

  It was too late. The small crack at the corner for the jar now spread out like spider webs. The gray, almost blue, cloud of smoke began to change from the tight tornado figure into a light cloud and then into nothing at all. Really, if Dryden had been looking closely enough, he would have already noticed that the cloud of smoke he had collected before in the jar had already started to leak long before the crack. The lid to seal the jar was thick, but the rim around the top wasn’t airtight. Nothing could be airtight. Eventually, even the best glass jars would let the smoke out. It would find a way to pass through the glass, like the very best ghosts through walls.

  Dryden’s heart sank deep down into his stomach. Sweat broke out on his brow as the glass continued to crack in the heat. When he nudged the side and it began to roll, he didn’t bother chasing after it. The jar rolled to the gutters, bounced slightly, causing another crack, and then fell to the ground to shatter. The rose bushes became littered with tiny glass fragments that reflected the light as if they were snowflakes. There was no more smoke to be found.

  Dryden lay down on the roof again. The smoke billowed out of the chimney and then disappeared. Maybe I can die like this, he thought. I could just let the sun cook me until I dry out and blow away. Smoke was impossible to catch, impossible to trick. Even if he had gotten the jar dow
n into the kitchen, what would he have done with it then? He had already measured the jar so he could deduct the weight when he measured it a second time. But what would it matter now? In the skyline, Dryden noticed the moon, half-hidden, and laughed a little. Even the moon couldn’t just have the night; it wanted both, too.

  Dryden heard the clatter of his ladder. He shot up on the roof and saw that the wind had pushed the rickety wood to the side until it had tangled with the gutter. And because the shards on the ground now made it a bumpy pathway, the ladder had twisted and fallen over.

  “Oh no,” Dryden cried. He peered precariously close to the edge and saw there was no way down now. The ladder lay against the pathway with the brambles, covered and too far away. I could jump, Dryden reasoned. But when he dangled a leg along the edge of the roof, his stomach flipped. The cabin had one floor but high ceilings so Otto could transform without bursting through the roof. He was simply too high. Even if Dryden wasn’t so easily spooked by the height, there was no way he could jump down without hitting brambles or fracturing a bone. Then how would he get inside with broken legs? Or run away? No wonder Otto had a femur in his treasure chest. Dryden’s stomach turned with vertigo, then revulsion. He had not been the first person to consider jumping off this roof, and if he did, he would not be the last who had their mistakes added to Otto’s collection. There’s no way down without a ladder, so forget it.

  Dryden touched his forehead and felt thirst on his tongue. He could not catch smoke today, and he would not get down.

  So, with a final anguished cry, Dryden lay down and tried to sleep.

  HE WOKE up with the sticky taste of copper in his mouth. He tried to move, but his body rebelled and smarted with pain. Oh God. His head throbbed. Oh no. He reached out a hand to touch his face and felt nothing but dried, caked skin. Burning to the touch. He realized he hadn’t died in the desert like he had dreamed. He had merely fallen asleep on the roof and was now burned, probably beyond recognition. He sat up slowly and bent his knees. Anytime he shifted his clothing, he could feel where the fabric had been on his body like a knife. Everything hurt with sunburn, including the part of his hair.

  As soon as the roar died down in his mind, he heard the other sound. A low growl and roar, then the screeching of a creature. Dryden’s heart pounded. There was no smoke anymore from the chimney, no light from the house. The moon shone bright as it could and illuminated the twisted shadows of the pathway. Dryden was in too much pain to get too close, but he leaned part of his face over the edge.

  He saw a puff of red fur. Though his body still hurt, hope also flooded his system. For a time, that feeling was stronger, and Dryden even smiled. The tail of a fox bobbed up and down, searching through the bramble patch. In the moonlight, Dryden could see the blood left behind from earlier in the day. But there was more now, small drops added to the first puddle like ripples in a pond. The fox had been ceaselessly searching inside the thorny brambles and had also gotten injured along the way. The fox kept making the low sound in its throat, as if trying to call out a name but unable to make its sharp teeth and tiny lungs do the work.

  “Silly fox,” Dryden whispered. He was so thirsty he was surprised he didn’t spit sand. “Silly fox. You need to look up.”

  Dryden’s words worked. The fox’s eyes, still stark blue in the moonlight, glanced up. Dryden could swear he saw a smile grace its narrow face before its fur began to fade away and change. The red was shed, along with the thorns the fox had in its side from searching. Before he could become fully human, the fox ran out of the rose bushes and away from the glass. On the front doorstep, Emmons’s skin began to show through. Some cuts from the thorns remained by the time he was human—and fully naked—but no matter. Emmons was there. He had not died nor abandoned Dryden.

  Emmons stood on the steps and looked up, not bothering to shield himself. “I-I was worried he had taken you.”

  “No,” Dryden whispered again, hoarse as anything. “But I need your help.”

  Emmons’s blue eyes blinked in realization. “You’ve been up there all day. I’m so sorry. Don’t say another word.”

  He dug through the patches of roses quickly, not caring that his hands were cut. He pulled the ladder from the ground and then steadied it by the house. “Do you need me to come up to get you? Or should I stay down here and hold it?”

  Dryden didn’t answer. He was already sliding his body over the edge. He reached his foot out gingerly. His skin pulled tight as he reached, then he sighed in relief as his foot hit the wood. The entire ladder felt sturdier than before with Emmons’s hands on it. When Dryden reached the bottom, Emmons’s hands moved to his back. Dryden smiled, no longer caring about how tight and painful all of his body was.

  “I’m so sorry,” Emmons said. “I couldn’t come before. He was hunting. He patrolled the borders, trying to find me. I think he knows you can turn me into me, and it makes him nervous. I can’t…. Are you all right? I’m sorry. We need to get you inside.”

  Dryden reached out an arm to touch Emmons’s shoulder. He felt so cold next to the fire of his own skin. Emmons’s eyes grew wide at the touch. He wrapped his hands around Dryden’s palm quickly, sandwiching it. Dryden didn’t feel the cooling touch of magic under Emmons’s palms the same way he felt it with Otto and the brambles earlier. Instead, all he felt were the small wounds that Emmons had on his palms too. It’s better this way, Dryden thought. It’s always going to be better this way.

  “I-I thought you were dead.”

  Emmons’s face fell. “He can’t kill me. Not the way you think he can.”

  Dryden nodded. He didn’t want to ask what the other ways he could be killed were and what that could mean. Instead, he rushed forward and into a hug. Every bone in his body ached. But he also felt something more than fear.

  “I’m so glad you came back.”

  “Of course I would. I promised.”

  Dryden’s eyes filled with tears. He couldn’t cry right then; he was too dehydrated.

  “Hey, hey,” Emmons said, whispering into his ear. “You may be hotter than the sun right now, but it’s cold, and if you don’t recall, I’m naked. Let’s go inside. Get warm. Talk….”

  “The third riddle—” Dryden nearly choked. “You have….”

  “Shh.” Emmons held Dryden closer. “I will help you. Of course. But first….”

  Dryden nodded into his arm. There would be time. Even if it was only a small amount, it seemed like the world right then.

  “You good to walk?”

  “Yes. I think so.”

  “Well then let’s get you over the thres—”

  Dryden cut Emmons off with a sudden—but well needed—kiss.

  “WHAT IS the third riddle?” Emmons asked.

  They were now inside, and the fire had been relit. Emmons was dressed in Dryden’s old clothing, and Dryden had found a spare pair of pants in the drawers that were his size. Considering how much larger Otto was from him, Dryden didn’t like to think about where the extra clothing had come from. He remained shirtless, since fabric over the extreme burns on his chest, arms, and neck still smarted with any touch. He drank some tea Emmons had made for him, along with a couple glasses of water, to hopefully set himself in order again.

  Their kiss from before had lasted mere moments. Mostly because they knew they had to get inside and back to work, not because it was ill-fated or unwanted. As Dryden sipped his drinks and Emmons fixed the fire, they both sent small glances and smiles to the other person. Each time Emmons’s crystal-blue eyes saw his own, Dryden felt butterflies burst inside of him.

  “I’m sorry?”

  Emmons laughed. “You can’t get too distracted, now. We have work to do.”

  “I know, I know. Otto said he won’t be back until the third morning. So we have two more nights.”

  “That’s good. I can stay like this a little longer, then.”

  “You won’t change at dawn?”

  “I probably will. So far as I know, this transf
ormation only lasts for as long as I’m around the person who has named me as such. Then it fades. But even if I do only last twelve hours like this, I merely have to wait for you to call me a fox again. I can do that.”

  “Silly fox,” Dryden corrected. “I usually call you silly fox.”

  “Yeah, you do.”

  Their smiles lingered. Emmons stood up from the table, bending over at Dryden’s seat to clasp his empty mug of tea. “More?”

  “Yes.” Dryden glanced up at Emmons with an expectant stare. Emmons only grinned, then casually bent down to give him a kiss. Dryden opened his mouth again, wanting to taste Emmons this time around. He pressed his palms—though it hurt still—into Emmons’s large, muscular arms and then waited until he responded. Emmons’s smile fell from his face into a more persistent kiss as he opened his mouth and allowed Dryden inside. Dryden could taste the bitter berries from their tea and dirt from his former life. Maybe it was because Dryden first knew Emmons as a fox, but he could swear his teeth were sharper than before.

  “Enough,” Emmons said, pulling away gently. “I could do this all night. But we have work to do.”

  Emmons filled up their drinks again. Dryden allowed this departure with only a minor complaint. When Emmons no longer sat in front of him at the table, Dryden’s eyes caught the big hourglass along the back wall. Blue sand glistened inside half the lower bulb. They had to focus—especially as so much time had already been lost during the day.

  As Emmons set the mug down again, his eyes narrowed. “The third riddle?”

  “Right.” Dryden sighed, his mood swayed. “He asked me to find the weight of smoke.”

  “That’s it? No story, no parameters?”

  Dryden shook his head. The look of worry on Emmons’s face made his blood cool. “That’s not a good sign, is it?”

  Emmons scrubbed his hand across his face. “That’s not the one he told me.”