Riddles in the Road
Previously published in "What the Fox?!"
Riddles in the Road
Once upon a time, there was a fox. It's always a fox, isn't it? But this isn't just any old fox, no ma'am. This is the King of Trickery, Lord of Thieves and Thief of Hearts, Reynard T. Vulpes. You've probably heard of him. He prances through a lot of tales these days.
Now, Reynard was a wandering fox, and he liked to roam far and wide. No mountain was too high, no cave was too deep for his trouble-seeking ways, as anyone well-acquainted with him is quick to lament. Once, he even made it as far as Yggdrasil, tricked and fought a dragon there. But he grew weary of the cold North and, after fleeing from a scandal he no doubt caused, Reynard made his way to the balmy coast of the Aegean sea. His feet had barely settled into their first footprints upon the sandy shore when Reynard began plotting his first theft: breakfast.
Our foxy friend was just getting his grubby little paws on some lagana flatbread to go with the dish of saganaki he'd pilfered, when he saw something moving at a distant crossroads. It was barely more than a hint of movement, a flicker of interest, but it caught the wily fox's eye and drew the trickster like a moth to tallow flame. He snatched the lagana quick as you please and tucked it into his vest for later, then made his way towards the crossroads.
The short grass along the road brushed Reynard's black-furred ankles and the blue sky yawned above as he munched on his stolen saganaki. He tore a chunk from the lagana. Divine! They know how to eat here, he thought, licking his lips. No more lutefisk for me! I've had enough of that to suit three lifetimes. He trotted along, visions of bread and honey dancing through his mind, and still the thing by the crossroads remained. It seemed to flit from one corner to the next, never staying in one spot but never leaving the crossroads completely. Reynard was intrigued. Could it be a fey of some kind? Perhaps a nymph? He'd heard of nymphs. Lovely, immortal, capricious; as likely to love you as curse you. Just Reynard's sort! His pace quickened, slowed again. Or perhaps it's a maenad. Reynard recalled the story of one King Pentheus' encounter with such creatures, and he had no interest in having his head parted from his body. He needed his head right where it was, thank you very much, and was dearly attached to it. He approached more cautiously, ears flicking, tail twitching, and his pawsteps as silent as a cat's upon the sandy road. The canny fox would not be caught unawares! Finally, he could see clearly what manner of creature haunted the crossroads.
It has ceased its restless flitting and at last sat stock still, gazing up at Reynard. Sitting primly in the center of the crossroads, one front paw crossed primly over the other, was a sphinx.
She was a lovely creature, with tawny fur that shone gold in the bright sun and a long, black mane that fell like a waterfall across her feline paws. Great dark wings were folded neatly across her back, every bronze-colored feather in perfect order. She gazed at Reynard through slitted eyes, and flicked her serpent's head tail. Reynard frowned. No mere serpent, he thought. A sand viper. Dark diamond markings traced across the snake's back and disappeared behind the sphinx's muscled haunch.
"Well, well, well. What have we here?" she purred, tracing a swirl in the sand with one golden claw.
"Greetings, m'lady," Reynard said, bowing low. He was a thief and a scoundrel, but he knew his courtly manners. Besides, it was unwise to be rude to any creature in a strange land, and downright stupid to be inconsiderate to someone with such wicked-looking claws.
The sphinx regarded Reynard, and tilted her head to one side. A pair of leonine ears perked up through her dark mane and pointed his way. "What business does a fox have here?" she asked.
"No business, really. Just passing through. Lovely country you have here. Best food I've had in ages!" Reynard exclaimed, rubbing his ivory belly.
The sphinx smiled faintly and nodded. "It's even better when not stolen," she rumbled. A grin split her face, revealing very, very sharp teeth.
Reynard went still. "Stolen? This? No, I found it. Fell off the back of a cart."
"Plate and all, still warm?" The sphinx snorted. Her tail lashed, the serpent's head hissing softly. "I think not. You should return it, Reynard."
"I'll do no such--wait, what did you call me?"
The sphinx's smile widened. "Reynard, you're known even here. Rumor of you flew on Hermes' heels to my ears, and I waited for you to arrive."
"Waited...for me?" Reynard swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.
The sphinx nodded, just once. Wine-dark eyes gazed at him, steady as sunlight, and it made the rogue fox squirm.
He recovered quickly, as rogues do. Reynard barked a laugh and hopped back a step. "If I'd known, I would have made better haste! I hate to keep a lady waiting. What could I--a mere vulpine veteran--do for you?" He wagged his tail, doglike and charming.
"You're not a veteran, you're a villainous vexation. And you can start by returning what you stole," the sphinx retorted.
Reynard didn't reply. He merely shoved another bite of stolen flatbread into his maw, licking his muzzle from corner to corner. He smirked, shameless, and groomed his fine whiskers.
The sphinx hissed. Her serpent tail arched over her back, and she bared her fangs, her hackles raised high. "Have a care, fox. It's been a long time since I've had a proper meal. You come to my home and blaspheme, blatantly violating one of our most sacred customs. Do not think you will walk away unpunished."
"What, the middle of the road is your home? No wonder you're hungry."
"Greece, rocks-for-brains," the sphinx said. "You break xenia with your thieving."
"I broke what?" Reynard asked, wiggling one finger in his ear.
"Xenia, you illiterate swine! Hospitality! Gods above and below, how have you not come to a messy end already?"
"Because I'm clever and cute," Reynard replied with a wink.
"Ugh," the sphinx replied. "Waste of breath. I should have simply devoured you from the start." The sphinx crouched, her powerful hind legs bunching to spring. "Pity, really, that my first meal in a hundred years is something so scrawny and mangy. But it will have to do, I suppose."
Reynard backed up and held his paws out before him. "Hold a moment! My deepest and humblest apologies, madam. I sincerely did not set out to offend. Please, allow me to make amends."
The sphinx growled and sat up once more. Her tail lashed, vemon dripping from the viper's long fangs, and Reynard readied himself to flee. But the sphinx nodded and ceased the restless motion of her tail.
"I will forgive your trespass and make amends to the shops you have pilfered, on one condition: you entertain me with a riddle contest until the end of the day."
Reynard blinked. "That's all?"
"If you fail to amuse me, I'll devour you and rid the world of yet another yapping fox."
"And if I don't agree to this contest?"
The sphinx grinned very, very wide. Much wider than Reynard thought was strictly necessary or anatomically possible. He shuddered.
"Then, I get to find out if you taste as funny as you look," the sphinx growled.
Reynard nodded emphatically. He had no desire to see if the sphinx's teeth were as sharp as they appeared. "I agree," he said. "May I finish my meal first? I'm starving."
"Of course. It is only proper," the sphinx replied.
Reynard finished his lagana and saganaki, and after he'd licked the dish clean, settled down on the side of the road. "Would you like to begin? It is your home, after all."
The sphinx shrugged and began, "What walks on--"
"A man," Reynard interrupted, smirking.
"Gorgon's blood, but you're an ass," the sphinx replied.
"No, I'm a fox," Reynard replied with a grin. "Use a less tired riddle, and I'll behave."
"That's funny, you look like Midas' brother. T'was the ears that fooled me."
Reynard covered his ears with his hands. "Low blow, sphinx. Low blow," he whimpered melodramatically.
"Bah, like you've never hit below the belt before."
"It might be a more pleasant use of my time than sorry riddles from a droop-winged sphinx!"
The sphinx laughed. "Very well, Knave of Thieves. Answer me this: There is a building. One enters it blind, and comes out seeing. What is it?"
Reynard rested his elbow on his knee, and then his chin upon his closed fist, and pondered. "That's more like it," he said.
The sphinx smiled and groomed the length of one golden paw. Reynard lost his train of thought when the sphinx flexed, flashing her wicked claws. She sheathed them again quickly, though, and waited patiently for Reynard to answer. If not for the occasional flick of her ear or tail, Reynard could have sworn she'd turned to sunset-colored stone.
He thought, and thought again.
"A school," he said at length.
The Sphinx beamed and nodded.
The corners of Reynard's lips curled upward. "My turn, then. I've watched many a maiden take to this thing. They store it in nooks and watch as it swells, pushing upon its covering. And when it has reached its peak, many a maiden takes this boneless hunk between her hands, and with her apron covers the tumescent thing!"
"Lewd!" The sphinx cried.
"That you took it in such a way says more about you than me!" Reynard chuckled.
The sphinx sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose with one velvet paw. "Bread, you insufferable cad. The answer to your riddle is bread rising."
Reynard tapped his nose and gifted the sphinx with a canine grin. He scratched vigorously behind one ear, causing the sphinx to wrinkle her nose.
"Fleas," she muttered grimly.
"What's a few fleas between friends?"
The sphinx didn't reply. She merely looked at Reynard, who shrugged and sheepishly ceased his scratching.
"Very well, my turn again. What we caught, we threw away. What we didn't catch, we kept. What did we keep?"
Reynard backed his ears and huffed. "Why would you not keep a thing you caught?"
"Well, if you can't answer it..." drawled the sphinx.
Reynard growled and curled his lip. He hmmed and hawwed, and the shadows grew shorter, then vanished altogether. Bright, noonday sun beamed down upon his russet back, and still, Reynard had no answer.
"Seems I'll be having a fox for dinner!" the sphinx said, and licked her lips.
Reynard whined and scratched behind his ear again, wondering where he'd picked up such annoying pests, and suddenly, "Ah-ha! Fleas! The answer is fleas!"
The sphinx settled back down and pouted. "That one vexed even clever Homer. Clearly, they make foxes of different stuff in the North."
Reynard preened and puffed out his chest with pride. "I am the cleverest of all foxes," he said. "I've stolen gold from a box without hinges, key, or lid!"
"You stole an egg and no doubt ate it too! And I'm counting that as your riddle." The sphinx rustled her wings uncomfortably.
Reynard opened his mouth to protest, but the sphinx interrupted him. "Riddling is such hungry work. Perhaps a snack to tide me over? Oh, something red and ripe would do just fine!"
"They say that hunger is the finiest spice," Reynard said. "The day is young, yet. Perhaps we let this red and ripe meal stew a bit longer?"
The sphinx snorted, then said, "Oh, very well. Here is my next riddle: Out of the eater came something to eat, and out of the strong came something sweet."
Reynard blanched. "I've heard this one. One moment, what was the answer, ahhh..."
The sphinx settled back and yawned. She stretched, catlike, and spread her wings to catch the failing light. Black shadows reached across the road, kissing stone, and sand, and grass. The ocean glimmered, diamonds upon sapphire, as the sun dipped below the horizon.
"Ah, yes! You've a morbid mind, Lady Sphinx. What is sweeter than honey, and stronger than a lion? I believe the answer is bees, making honeycomb within the body of a lion. That's a bit of a cheat, don't you think? If Samson's wife hadn't been sweet on me, I'd never have known the answer."
The sphinx threw back her head and laughed. "Oh, you are fun. Tell me another one, please."
Reynard bowed--a tricky feat for a sitting fox, but he managed--and said, "Here is a thing that, when you name it, you have destroyed it. What is it?"
The sphinx thought for a moment, and watched the sun sink lower and lower into the azure sea. "Silence," she said at last. "You've entertained me all day, and that is no small thing. Solve this last, and I'll consider your deal fulfilled: There are two sisters, one gives birth to the other and she, in turn, gives birth to the first. Who are they?"
The sun set, turning the sea wine-dark, before Reynard finally answered in perfect ancient Greek, "The sisters are night and day," he said. "Night and day being feminine in the old tongue." The moon rose and cast silver light upon the road where the pair sat, side by side.
The sphinx smiled and nodded. "And here I thought you were simply ignorant of our ways."
"Merely careless," Reynard replied. "I am truly sorry to have caused offense."
"All is forgiven. But here, I'd ask for one last riddle from you, for the road, shared from one friend to another."
Reynard looked up at the sky, and the last riddle came to him. He picked up the dish that he'd pilfered, that once held the stolen saganaki. It gleamed in the moonlight.
"A silver dish is set upon a black velvet cloak. All around, diamonds twinkle, and I can trace the paths between them with story after story. What am I?"
The sphinx rose and stretched, and flexed her wings. "You speak of the night sky, Reynard Riddle-Master. You've entertained me all day and into the night, and for that, you have my forgiveness and my thanks."
The sphinx took the dish from Reynard, and sprang into the sky. The night swallowed her up and Reynard was left alone. The only trace at all of his encounter was the place beside him, where the crushed grass still lay flat.
"Riddling is hungry work," he muttered. He turned around and regarded the city behind him, light from torches flickering to life. The scent of incense drifted past his nose, laced with the aroma of burnt offerings to the gods. Reynard grinned. "I wonder if that baker still has any bread left."