Fearful Symmetry Page 9

  “Almost.”

  “But you answered the question. What were the riddles?”

  “The first one was about silence. I think it’s pretty much the same for everyone.”

  Dryden pictured the bird tapping endlessly at the window. He wondered, then he knew that Emmons had helped with that in some way with that answer. “And the second one?”

  “It was a logic puzzle. I would have shown you the answer, in some way, but it’s hard to show when you don’t have a voice.”

  “I know. It’s all right.” Dryden leaned forward and took Emmons’s hand in his. A simple, fluid gesture he didn’t even think about. “You actually helped me with that one, and you probably don’t even realize it. I don’t even think I could tell you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” Dryden gave a weak smile and felt his heartbeat quicken when Emmons returned it. The fire started to die down, and darkness around them began to usher in the cold. For a long time, they held onto one another’s hands in silence as the final embers burned away.

  “I don’t remember the third riddle,” Emmons admitted. “It’s so far away now. After I solved it, I had been so focused on running, then I hit my head. And now I’m a fox half the time, and our language is so different. I just…. Maybe if I have some time as a human again, it’ll come back to me. Maybe.”

  “It’s all right.” Dryden squeezed his hand. Already, Emmons’s skin was warm to the touch. Soft, too, not like the bark-like skin that had scraped Dryden in his bed at night. “We will figure something out. For now, though, I know Otto’s house is creepy, but do you want to come inside? I’m cold. And hungry, too. Maybe I can make us dinner?”

  Emmons gripped Dryden’s hand as a response. “I think I would like that a lot.”

  OVER DINNER, Emmons and Dryden talked about their lives before the cabin in the magic space. Emmons’s parents used to be farm people, but after a severe drought where he grew up, they moved closer to the city and the marketplace so they could work on wagons. When his father and Emmons’s aunt had died in a wild fire, Emmons’s mother had been too sad to move for days. She sent him to go attend to the burial, when Emmons wandered into a bar instead.

  “I used to drink a lot back then. Even before my dad died.”

  “Why?”

  “It was easier than thinking. I could never sleep for more than an hour at a time. I used to think it was just me—been born that way, bad family history—but then I realized it was really because of what I wanted.”

  “What did you want?”

  “You ask a lot of questions.” Emmons grinned to let Dryden know he really didn’t mind. He picked up a slice of bread, added some old cheese, and then chewed before he answered. “When I drank, I stopped thinking about the woman I had to marry even though I didn’t like her. I wanted my neighbor instead.”

  Dryden nodded, understanding. It was easier to fall in love with someone you couldn’t have, then drink the desire away, than to actually admit it. Dryden hadn’t been that perplexed with his own sexuality, but that was probably why he had been so quickly and easily seduced by Otto in the woods.

  “So, I got drunk that night and had to wander home. When I got into the woods, though, I wandered off the path and into the arms of Otto. He took me home and sobered me up. I thought I owed him so much because I could have been killed.” Emmons sighed. He pushed his plate away and glanced up at Dryden. “You know the stories, right?”

  “About the beast in the woods?”

  Emmons nodded, then they both rolled their eyes. “I thought he had saved me,” Emmons said, his voice distant. “So I took my clothing off and gave him what he wanted.”

  Dryden took a long drink from his water. Both of their stories were different but the same. If you squinted, we could have been mistaken for one another. Dryden thought he had been foolish for getting himself caught. He had gone too fast, been too naïve. But even Emmons was here. And there had been many, many men and women before both of them had ever even crossed the threshold.

  “We all… do stupid things,” Emmons said. “Especially when we’re suffering. But that’s no excuse. That’s all I was saying before.”

  Dryden nodded but didn’t trust himself to speak. At first, their meal together had been a hearty distraction. Dryden had felt his thoughts even out and his worry quell when food was in his stomach. But now the delicacies held no allure, and they couldn’t hide behind the pleasantries of the meal anymore.

  “The people who get this far….” Emmons stopped, started again, trying to get the words just right. “Those who solve the riddles—he wants us to think we are the right kind of victims. The men who solve things—the right kind of guys. But what kind of man is that, really? He wants us to strive to be like them, and yet, he insults them with the next breath. He makes us exist as two people at once, then punishes us for what we’re lacking. Head and heart, right?”

  “Head and heart,” Dryden echoed eerily.

  “He’s… he’s a beast. The beast in the woods. Not us. Not ever, all right?”

  Dryden’s eyes fixated on the lemons on the table. He ran his fingers along the wedges, then placed one into his mouth. He squinted at the sour, bitter taste and spit it out.

  “I’m sorry,” Emmons said. “I’m talking like a fool here. I’ve just had a lot of time to think.”

  “I can tell. I’m short on time.” Dryden’s laughter turned to a wracked sob in his throat. He trembled in his chair. “I’m sorry… I just….”

  “Shh.” Emmons rose from his seat. He knelt by Dryden’s chair and placed a hand on his back. Emmons wore some spare clothing now that they were indoors: a collared shirt and drawstring pants. As Emmons touched Dryden, he could smell his own scent on Emmons’s skin, embedded in the fabric. It was comforting because it reminded him of home. The image of his father, a stoic man who had bought his mother a lemon tree full of jewels, came into his mind, and another sob tore through him.

  “I didn’t cry,” Dryden said. “When my dad died. I didn’t cry.”

  “Neither did I.”

  “Not until I got here. Then I cried for me.”

  Emmons rubbed his hand back and forth. He didn’t have to say anything for Dryden to know that he did the same as well. Dryden turned to Emmons then, still smelling his house on his shirt.

  “Shh,” Emmons cooed. He placed a hand around Dryden’s shoulder, holding him close. He nuzzled the side of Dryden’s neck. Normally, Dryden would have thought the action to be indicative of desire. But this was platonic, solely done for comfort. The gesture was, Dryden figured, like something an animal would do to someone they cared for.

  “It’s fine,” Emmons whispered. “Do what you have to. Let it all out.”

  So Dryden did. He cried, finally allowing the tears to fall down unselfconsciously. He thought of this father—from his first memory of him to his last. Everything played out like a performance where he had never really been bothered to stay in the audience long enough before. It didn’t have a happy ending—what death did, really?—but it was a good show, Dryden thought. It had been a fine show.

  “I loved him.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “Did I let him down?” Dryden wondered aloud, though he didn’t know how Emmons could ever respond.

  “I don’t think so,” Emmons answered anyway. “I don’t think we can let people down, not in the ways we fear.”

  “What do you mean? I thought we owed one another?”

  “We do. But…. I owe you help. I help you because I know what it’s like to be in the same position as you. We see the gap in the world where someone let us down, and we try to fill it. But how are you supposed to know that a gap was there before you suddenly feel it? How do you know what you’re supposed to do, unless someone tells you? All I’m saying is that your dad loved you. For whatever thing you forgot, or that you think you did wrong, he probably still loved you anyway.”

  “Yes?”

  “Of course. Love isn
’t conditional.” Emmons paused, his voice slightly wobbly. He glanced around the inside of the cabin, and even Dryden could feel him shudder. “Love isn’t a deal. It can’t be. Love must be something you give without question, not something that comes with a contract. I refuse to believe anything else.”

  Dryden nodded, nuzzling his head into Emmons’s neck in the same way they had embraced before. Dryden, having now cried, felt considerably lighter. The tears stained his skin and made him want to sleep for years. But he felt purged and good. Normally, he would have gone to bed after sobbing like this. Gone to bed, and maybe invited Emmons with him. But the sun will be up soon, Dryden reminded himself, and Otto will be back. Dryden was always lacking with time.

  “I’ll help you,” Emmons said. He glanced out the window, probably to check on how far off dawn was. “I don’t remember the last riddle, but that’s because I haven’t thought about it in a long time. I’ll think, though. I will help you.”

  “Thank you.” Dryden was shaking, so Emmons held him closer. “What do I owe you?”

  “Nothing,” Emmons said without a second’s thought.

  “If you save me….”

  “I will save you. No caveats, no deals. I’ll give you the answer because I wish someone had given it to me.”

  Dryden shook more and was relieved when Emmons held him even closer. He felt his pounding heart through the thin fabric of his shirt. He wanted to touch Emmons skin to skin, just to be sure he was real. He wanted him so much in that moment. More than Otto, more than his first love, more than anyone. The feeling was almost too overwhelming for Dryden to handle. Instead, he merely looked up from their hug with a coy smile.

  “Are you staying the night? With me?”

  “In your bed, you mean?”

  Dryden grinned. Neither one of them bothered to correct that nothing in this cabin was really theirs. They both agreed, through a silent look in their eyes, that it was much better to pretend. “Maybe that’s what I mean. But I think I’d like to have you around. Keep guard.”

  “As nice as that would be,” Emmons said, “I can’t be here. Not in this form.”

  “You’ll change back?”

  Emmons nodded. “I figure once the sun comes up I’ll go back to what I was. I haven’t had too much opportunity to really see for myself. If I don’t change, well, then I really must go, or else he will hit me with an arrow—one I can’t recover from so easily.”

  Dryden grabbed Emmons’s fingers from around his arm. He fought the urge to kiss the tips down to where the arrow had pierced the fox’s paw but left no trace on his human skin. “But you’ll come back?”

  “I will,” Emmons said, squeezing his fingers back. “I promise.”

  For once, Dryden trusted the words. They stayed in the embrace a moment longer, before they rose to finish clearing off the table. After Emmons gathered the dishes by the small sink, Dryden pulled him down the hallway toward the bedroom.

  “Are you sure you won’t come to bed with me? Even for a moment?”

  “A moment can last a long time here.”

  “Is that an answer?” Dryden lingered by the doorway.

  “Perhaps. I do need to give you back your clothing,” Emmons said. “But I can only do that once I know you’re in bed. Asleep. That’s the only reason I’m coming this far.”

  “All right, then,” Dryden said playfully. As he yawned and he stepped into the room, the morning cries of the birds sounded. Emmons leaned by the doorway, fighting back a yawn himself.

  “Go on.”

  Dryden wanted to kiss him so badly. He thought that was where they had been heading the entire night. This beautiful man, one with just as much tragedy in his blood, was the only person who could understand him. And he isn’t even a full person! He was still a fox, and they were both still cursed.

  Perhaps kissing was not the right thing for tonight. Dryden began to remove his clothing before he shifted back into the bed, pulling the covers up to his neck. Emmons looked away, granting him privacy.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.” Dryden looked up at Emmons. He stared into his eyes, trying to remember every last inch of his skin, every mark and flaw. This close, Dryden realized a faint scar etched itself under Emmons’s lips. He tried not to stare too long. “Tomorrow?” he asked instead.

  “Tomorrow,” Emmons confirmed. “And maybe I’ll remember more.”

  “Good night.”

  “Night.”

  Dryden turned around in the bed, granting Emmons the same amount of privacy to change. As he began to drift off into sleep, Dryden swore he felt a kiss at the crown of his head. If only I should be so lucky, he thought, and then was met with dreams.

  Chapter Eight

  “WAKE UP.”

  Otto stood over Dryden in the bed. His shadow blocked all the light from the room—his human shadow—to the point where Dryden worried he had slept through the day and it was now another night. When Dryden didn’t move fast enough, Otto grabbed his shoulder and jerked him upright. His strength was still surprising, even though Dryden had felt those strong arms lift him up before. He recalled their first night together, still feeling Otto’s body over him like a bruise, and he tried to swallow down the bile that rose.

  “I’m up. I’m up.” Dryden shook Otto’s hands off of him. Standing now, Dryden gazed up through furrowed eyebrows and his messy hair. Otto’s smile was petulant. He ran his hand gently through Dryden’s tangled curls, before he lingered over Dryden’s chin. Dryden moved with Otto’s embrace, allowing Otto to guide him because he thought he didn’t have another choice.

  “Long night?” Otto asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Thinking and reading all the books so you can be prepared?”

  Dryden tried not to react when he thought of Emmons. “Sort of.”

  Otto tilted his head, examining Dryden with eyes like a magnifying glass in the sun. Dryden remained hunched in front of the small fireplace in the bedroom, Otto only a few inches from him. Dryden was still naked from his sleep. As much as he wanted to cover himself, he knew he couldn’t in this moment. And again, what’s the worst that can happen? Otto had already seen him like this. Surely he wouldn’t care? But when Otto moved swiftly to place a fierce kiss to Dryden’s mouth, Dryden could only gasp. He took Otto’s tongue into his mouth with a gnash of teeth and a taste of blood. Otto pulled away before Dryden could respond.

  “Ahh,” Otto hissed as he sniffed the air. He clapped another hand on Dryden’s back. “If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought I smelled animal on you.”

  Dryden paused. “Animal?”

  “Yeah. Dirty vermin from the forest.”

  “I… I made a fire last night.”

  Otto nodded. He ran this thumbnail through his teeth to pick out leftover food. “Yes, that must be what I smell. Now come on, get dressed and into the kitchen, and I’ll give you the last riddle.”

  Dryden waited where he stood until Otto left the room. As he pulled on his pants, he could still smell the smoke of the fire from the night before in the fabric. Maybe—he thought long and hard—Emmons’s smell is there too. He had never been so grateful that he had not kissed him the night before. Surely, Otto would have tasted him on his lips. And surely, that had been the only reason to show whatever small bit of affection. Control. Order. Otto only embraced him and demanded attention because he wished to use Dryden, not because he could love him. Dryden needed to remember this fact most of all.

  “Come now,” Otto called from the kitchen. “Your tea is almost cold.”

  OTTO WATCHED as Dryden ate his breakfast in silence. He kicked his feet on the edge of the table, periodically running his thumb through his teeth. It was clear he had already eaten from the state of his body, his arrows—fewer this time in the quiver on the wall—but Dryden attempted to give him food, anyway.

  “Seems like you were cooking. But no, I’m fine. Finish up now. This isn’t a picnic or a feast.”

  Dryden did
his best not to respond. The silence was better than hearing his words torn apart and misconstrued. Finally, when he thought he couldn’t bare the tension anymore, Dryden ate his last bite of breakfast, and Otto rose from the table. He opened the back compartment of the desk and pulled out the biggest hourglass yet. Blue sand filled the inside, shiny and crystalline like Emmons’s eyes.

  “This one will be set for three days, give or take.”

  “Give or take?” Dryden asked, his voice cut with worry.

  “Well, we ought to start at dawn. It’s not my fault now you slept through it.”

  As Otto turned the hourglass over, sand poured through into a heap. The pile then stopped as suddenly and single grains fell away. The rush of time made Dryden’s skin tense. Wasted time, wasted potential, Dryden mourned. He bit his lip to keep from screaming.

  “When that runs out, remember that it’s still not the final step.”

  “I know,” Dryden snapped. “I must get through the forest if I want to leave the magic circle.”

  “You’ve been listening.”

  “Just tell me the riddle. Please.”

  “Hold on, hold on. Why so fast? Do you think you’ll answer it right away? Or do you have some place to be?”

  Dryden’s jaw tightened. “No, sir. I just know that time is a currency here. I need to keep as much of it as I can.”

  Otto let out a low laugh that sounded like twigs snapping in the distance. “All right. I suppose I’ve teased you enough. The question is simple: What is the weight of smoke?”

  “That’s… that’s it?”

  “Yes. I want you to tell me the weight of smoke. That is the riddle.”

  “All right,” Dryden said. “But I’m not sure that makes any sense.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Well.” Dryden shifted in his seat. There was always a kind of unreality to riddles and brainteasers like these. That was the entire point of them, to stretch the brain and to strengthen the head (even if it was at the cost of the heart). But even the question about silence had made sense once Dryden had the answer. The logic problem with the knight and the knave also had an ending if he was patient enough to trace through all the options. When the endings were known, the questions were reasonable. But the weight of smoke? “You can’t measure smoke. It’s air. It’s particles. There is no scale that could hold it.”