Two Foxes

The Curse

One day, a week after his arrival, he found a small boy in the empty great hall. The boy was coaxing a fat cat into play. The cat only twitched her tail, having seen too many lengths of wool yarn in her day to be bothered.

Rummaging through his many pockets Harry found his silver mirror, a parting gift from his teacher. He drew the boy aside and said, “Look here.”

The boy was fascinated by the mirror. He must never have seen one before. Harry led him over to where late afternoon sunlight shone through a small window up near the rafters. Holding the mirror in the sunlight, he directed the refracted beam to where the cat jerked its head around at it, and the ensuing chase was a thing to see. Harry had never seen a cat so fat frolic with such joy.

The boy squealed with laughter, which brought women from the kitchens to see. Finally some of the castle guards happened by. At the sight of the mirror, one strode over and snatched it out of Harry’s hand to crush it under his foot.

“I say, what was all that for?”

“Mirrors are forbidden in this land. King’s orders.” And the guard marched away leaving Harry stunned and the commoners in the hall cowering in fear.

“Do you happen to know why mirrors are forbidden here?” Harry asked Fastfoot that evening.

Fastfoot nodded. “When king was born, his parents ask fortune teller. Fortune teller say, one day king see reflection, is drawn down into reflection. All his power gone. All his work undone. Mirrors banned.”

Harry nodded. Perhaps he would have to add that to the story. Actually, he would most certainly have to; anything verging on magic attracted people.

It was a fortnight before Harry managed to drag his thoughts away from his bleeding fingers long enough to realize that though Dewclaw and Fastfoot were married, he had never yet seen the two of them together.

Was it part of their punishment, that they be separated? Or was it only that their duties kept them apart? Neither had been forthcoming with information since that first morning. Harry hated to spy on them, but he thought long and hard about it and decided that it was his duty as a minstrel and story teller to accurately record a story.

He stayed awake all that night and watched Fastfoot climb up the ladder to the loft, the fox behind him. He waited to see if Dewclaw would come.

The door of the stable did not open. Hours later, Harry glanced out the window of his stall and saw the sky paling. Biting his lip, he crept as silently as he could manage, up the stairs, and lifted the trap door to the loft.

Silhouetted by the morning light from the window at the other side of the loft, Fastfoot knelt on one knee across from the fox. The fox looked up at him and placed one paw in the outstretched hand.

Through the window flashed the light that comes at the exact moment of sunrise, and for half a moment, Fastfoot knelt in front of a naked human Dewclaw as their lips nearly met. But then the light faded into the ordinary light of dawn. Fastfoot’s clothes fell in about him, and in the pile of clothes where Fastfoot had knelt, now sat a fox with his paw in Dewclaw’s hand.

Over breakfast, Harry made Dewclaw explain.

“King become sorcerer to try change fortune teller’s prophecy. Is why he look for Naiads. He need Naiad for spell. Seven finger of Naiad to boil in blood. King catch us stealing chickens. King put spell on us. Fastfoot fox by day, human by night. I fox by night, human by day. Only way to break spell, fortune teller’s prophecy come true. Then we take true forms and can speak again.”

“You can’t talk to each other at all?”

“No. Is part of curse.”

Oh, what a tale to sing! Harry would be famous. He would be called to sing the tale of Dewclaw and Fastfoot in the greatest of halls, for the greatest of kings.

Dewclaw turned her head away and finished her half-loaf. Gathering up her skirts, she left with Fastfoot the fox following at her heels. Harry was again left with the mouth agape, realizing he was a selfish cur.

All day, Harry thought about this. Real pity tore at him—he must do something to break the spell and free the lovers, but how? He thought and thought until he was sure his hands were dirty from digging in his mind, and he rose from his bed of timothy hay to wash them in the ice cold water of a nearby trough. Then looking down at his reflection as the ripples in the water calmed, he thought of a plan.