THE LADY AND THE DWARF

THE LADY AND THE DWARF, by  Rebecca Brinker

Once, in a forest, there lived not seven but one dwarf. He was a hard industrious man who had an affinity for the earth and a talent for finding ore. It did not matter what kind of ore: copper, silver, gold, the Dwarf could find it all, but lived simply and was content. Until, one day, a woman lost in the forest happened upon his cottage.

So dark was his home and tired was the Lady that she could not see all the riches within, but collapsed on the Dwarf’s small bed and fell into a deep slumber. When the Dwarf came home he did not bother to light his lantern, and not seeing the woman, shed his clothes and climbed on top of her where he fell into a deep and restful sleep.

The next morning the pair awoke to a great and terrible shock! While the Dwarf had never slept so well, cushioned as he was in the woman’s bosom, the Lady having had a man on top of her could not feel her legs. After a long and breathful scream, the Lady promptly proceeded to faint.

The Dwarf felt such remorse for his folly and the Lady’s distress, that when she regained consciousness he asked for her hand in marriage.

“I know I am not much to look at, but I own all that you see here and can provide more at your command,” he said as sunlight spilled through the windows. Where once there was a hovel in darkness stood a room resplendent with gold. Cups gleamed on low shelves, while its woodwork was laden with intricate swirls of silver and set with stones.

Pleased with the arrangement, the Lady agreed.

Draped in the richest wools and finest silks, the Lady and the Dwarf walked hand-in-hand to an enchanted grove where an Elder Oak performed the ceremony in front of a fox and fawn.

That night, the Dwarf proved himself a capable and devout lover. With each passing day his love for the Lady grew, but with each passing night so did her demands, until one evening after the Dwarf had slaked his lust and spilled his seed, the Lady stroked his hair and asked: “Husband, how much do you love me?”

Quiet at first, the Dwarf weighed his words with care. “Were I a poet and could capture the language of heaven on earth then I would beg to be sent to hell. Only among the dark and damned could I find the phrases of my heart, for the beat of my soul is an ugly tattoo that no pretty words of purity can tell. It is a savage need I have to possess and be possessed by you.”

He kissed her hand and the Lady nodded. “If this is so, then make us a bigger bed and I shall be content.”

The next day the Dwarf did as his Lady asked. Carved with basswood and inlaid with gold, the bed was a masterpiece of carpentry. Topped by a mattress stuffed with down, the Lady had never seen its like nor felt its equal.

So satisfied were the Dwarf and Lady that life continued in the cottage unfettered until, one evening, after the Dwarf had slaked his lust and spilled his seed the Lady gripped his hand and asked: “Husband, how much do you love me?”

Quiet at first, the Dwarf weighed his words with care. “Were I the king of the gods and ruler of all there is, all there was, and all that ever will be, I would trade my realm with he who holds your heart. Before you I was just a man, but with you I feel like a god. You make me want to be better and strive for the stars.”

So sincerely spoken were his words, the Lady smiled. “If that is so then bring them to me. Here in these woods I can no longer see the starry sky and miss it dearly. To have the heavens in my hand is my greatest wish. Do this for me and I shall be content.”

The next day the Dwarf did as his lady asked. Deep in the earth he found her a vaulted sky of diamonds, and cleaved them out with an ax and pick to set into a bracelet. When his work was done, the Dwarf presented it to his wife. Pleased with her present, the Lady clapped her hands in joy as he bound it to her wrist.

“Not in your hand but on it,” said the Dwarf. “May its light guide you back to me, no matter how dark our horizon gets.”

Touched by his words and enthralled with her gift, the Lady took him to bed.

Two seasons came and passed, and the bracelet never left her skin. Until, one evening, after the Dwarf slaked his lust and spilled his seed the Lady nibbled his neck and asked: “Husband, how much do you love me?”

The Dwarf undid the bracelet’s clasp and watched it fall to the floor. “Cut open my chest and let spill my soul. See that it would devour the world just as you have consumed mine. Thoughts of your hair, the taste of your skin, the light of your laughter plagues my mind. Could the world feel as I do then no king or slave could stand against you. Or dare to suffer without.”

Happy with his response, the Lady hummed. “If this is so, then it is just as well I have your love for I shall never have my crown. Taken as it was from me by my mother. How I miss my subjects and yearn for a deeper set of duties outside of house and hearth. If only I had my kingdom as well, I would be content.”

Silence stole over the small cottage as the Dwarf dwelled upon her words. When morning broke he came to a decision.

The Dwarf worked laboriously for three days and four nights. When the sun rose on the fourth day, the Dwarf presented his wife with a chaplet. Shaped from the finest silver and leafed with golden ivy, it was the most glorious crown in creation.

“My love, these woods are all I have. Never have I felt the need to claim kingship over them, and I suspect I never shall as I am bequeathing them unto you. Rule as you see fit, my queen.”

The Lady took to her knees and let her husband place the crown upon her head. Touched by its majesty, the Dwarf spoke the words that imbued his wife with ancient knowledge. No longer a lady, she arose a Queen.

Time passed in the forest and under the Queen’s rule the Woodlands grew prosperous and gay. Until, one evening, after the Dwarf had slaked his lust and spilled his seed the Queen kissed his lips and asked: “Husband, how much do you love me?”

Quiet at first, the Dwarf weighed his words with care. “When you met me, I was not a virtuous man. Mocked for my stature and reviled for my wealth, I thought my form a punishment from the gods and hated them for it. Then they sent me you. Few have treated me like a man but you were the first to see me as one, and that is a gift I cherish more highly than gold. For this, for you, I thank them everyday.”

The Queen squeezed his hand and felt his words were from his heart. “If this is so, then we should show you to the world. What use is our wealth and prosperity if there is no one to impress it upon? Let me take you to a ball. Do this and I shall be content.”

The Dwarf did not wish to go nor disappoint his sovereign wife. So, on the Summer Solstice, the Woodland court made its first appearance in the neighboring kingdom.

Headed a procession of squirrels, sparrows, and roe the coterie was received with all honors and great care as they passed through the castle gates.

Once dismounted, the Queen was complimented on everything from her manners to her dress and ushered inside while the Dwarf was left to tend to the animals.

Given quarter in the most lavish rooms, the Queen wondered why her husband did not join her. On announcement that the festivities would soon begin, she dismissed the thought and began to prepare.

Larks dressed the Queen’s hair in flowers while snakes slipped her into a gown of sun-spun gold. No eye could be swayed from her as she stepped down the staircase and into the Great Hall.

Festooned in garlands of daisies and stocks of wheat, the hall was littered with sunflowers and scented with sage. Fires roared all around in great pits while the wine poured freely from casts to goblets. The more the nobles imbibed the more curious they became about the Queen.

Many marveled at the artistry of her crown and inquired about its origins, but the Queen seeing their baubles and hearing their pride for expense, knew hers would diminish should she tell the truth. But when the King himself wished to know who crafted her crown, the Queen could no longer deflect. “My husband made it for me,” she said.

Quiet in a corner, the Dwarf waited for the fated question.

When the King asked the Queen where her husband was, she pointed him out. Around her, the courtier’s brow wrinkled in confusion.

“I do not see him, your Grace,” said one.

“Nor I,” spoke another.

The Dwarf pushed away from the wall and walked into the light, proclaiming himself as her husband. When the nobles saw the Dwarf, they turned to the Queen who said it was so.

To dispel the shock of silence, a song was sung and a dance was danced but no noble talked to the Dwarf that night or any after. He was not their equal.

The Dwarf did not care, and the Queen was so enthralled with the nobles’ fine ways and wears that she did not notice. Her delight was heightened when she discovered the envy they took in her things.

When they praised the softness of her wool, she said that her sheep gave only their finest. When they marveled at her silks, she said that the spiders spun it. And when they cooed over the colors of her clothes, she said the forest made them because she was their Queen and that was her wish.

Only when the King questioned her about her jewels did the Queens’s smile slip as she told him: “While I rule everything in the forest only my husband can command what is beneath it.”

Consumed by petty jealousies and greed, the King plotted against the Queen. If he could not have her wealth then he would destroy her happiness, and knew from her frown that the Dwarf was key. With his teeth in his tongue, the King set to work with his nobles by asking the Queen where her husband was. A question they posed only when the Dwarf was in plain sight.

With their noses so high and the Dwarf standing short, the King and his courtiers would feign innocence and chagrin whenever he declared himself.

The Dwarf tried telling his wife that it was deliberate, but the Queen would not listen. Her friends, she said, would not humiliate him.

Time passed in the castle, and while the taunts towards the Dwarf escalated it was never in front of the Queen. Of that the nobles made certain. While the Dwarf tried to leave, the Queen refused to let him avowing that she was happy, that she was not lonely, and that she did not wish for him to abandon her side.

The Dwarf could not deny her.

So it was that summer turned to autumn, and as winter clung to its leaves so too did the nobles clutch at the Queen’s elbow and ear; haunting her shadow until the Dwarf drifted further and further from her thoughts.

Then, one evening, after the Dwarf had retired to his room, a countess leaned in at banquet and asked the Queen: “Lady, do you love your husband?”

The Queen thought for a moment and then a moment more, replying honestly when she said: “I do not know.”

In truth the Dwarf was different from all the other men at court. He was not tall nor nearly so handsome, nor well dressed. His manner was coarse and his language was crude. Yet, when the nobles laughed at her answer the Queen reluctantly laughed with them. They did not approve, and in that instant neither did the Queen. She regretted her choice in husband and felt ashamed.

No longer did she look on the Dwarf in affection but at him with disdain, and whenever he reached for her hand she shirked away making her excuses.

The Dwarf was no fool. He knew his wife was under the King’s influence, but no matter how lovingly or how cajolingly he spoke, her mind would not be swayed.

Unable to leave but unwilling to stay, the Dwarf took to wandering the remote edges of the castle. It was on one of these walks that he felt a small but discernable tug on his talent. Unsure, he followed it up to the highest turret where a decrepit looking door gave way to a dark and dusty room.

Guided by the light of a tracery and the pull of his gift, the Dwarf felt his way to a large canvas covered object. In a fluttering wave of dust and dirt he pulled it off revealing a mirror unlike any he had ever seen.

Framed in bone and etched with care it was the smoothness of the silver that sang to him, that called him by his name, and invited him to touch it. Not a single blemished marred its perfect surface. In it the Dwarf saw himself as he was, as his wife saw him. And not knowing why he did, his hand reached out to touch it.

“Careful,” a voice cried.

The Dwarf spun around but saw nothing. Again, he faced the mirror but his reflection was gone. Replaced by that of a sorceress.

Shocked, the Dwarf stepped back.

“Looks can be deceiving,” she said. “Ah, but you are troubled. Tell me Dwarf what burdens you?”

Scared the Dwarf swallowed and said: “My wife. She does not love me.”

The Mirror was silent as she studied him. “No, she does not. But I suspect you have known this for some time. So if the question is not about love then it must be about trust. Tell me Dwarf, do you trust your wife?”

“How can I? She does not love me.”

“But you love her.” The Mirror laughed. “You can have trust without love but not love without trust. Tell me Dwarf, do you trust your wife?”

The Dwarf could not answer.

“Step into my mirror and you will know.”

When he asked her how he would gain this knowledge, the Mirror measured her words and said: “Your pain will splinter into something you can carry. If your Queen is still your Lady then she will end it completely.”

“And if not?”

“Then you will never be as you are now, but you will have your answer.”

The Dwarf deliberated and came to the conclusion that he could not continue as he had. With the question of trust firmly in his head, he stepped into the Mirror and broke into seven pieces. Scattered by a wind that could not be explained each shard held a different reflection of the Dwarf.

When day fell into night enough times for the Queen to finally notice her husband’s absence, she summoned her royal guard.

A brown fluffy tailed rat bowed before her feet. “Margrave Muridae, I wish to know where my Consort, your Lord and Master, is. Seek him out and bring him to me. Do this and I will sing you such praises that man will never hunt you from their homes again. Fail, and I will pluck every hair from your tail until it is as bald and ugly as a vulture’s head. Go, with this I charge you.”

The Margrave did as she commanded, but not matter where he looked he could not find his Lord and Master. When he told his Queen, she stripped him of his tail fur, and as a reminder of his failure ordered that each of his children should carry it into the next generation.

Again, the Queen summoned her royal guard. This time a black crow bowed before her feet. “Barron Corvus, I wish to know where my Consort, your Lord and Master, is. Seek him out and bring him to me. Do this and I shall appoint you my musician so that all the world may hear your wonderful and varied songs. Fail, and I will strangle the sound out your voice until it is as strained and unpleasant as a broken bagpipe. Go, with this I charge you.”

The Barron did as she commanded, but no matter where he flew he could not find his Lord and Master. When he told his Queen, she choked him of his breath and listened until his song became a scream. Unable to teach his children, the crow’s call was carried into the next generation.

Ready to send for another guard, the Queen heard a small voice begging: “Please, send me to look for the Lord and Master.”

The Queen strained her eyes downwards and saw that the plea belonged to an ant.

“Sir Apocrita, you small. What hope do you have of finding my husband?”

“None whatsoever, Your Majesty. Which is why I shall succeed.”

The Queen laughed. “And in exchange?”

“Lift the ban your husbands father placed upon my people. Allow us to procreate and thrive where we have dwindled and died.”

The Queen pretended to ponder it over as though the request merited great consideration. When enough time had lapsed she tilted her head and said: “Done. But fail and I will smother you beneath my boot. Go, with this I charge you.”

The Ant did as she commanded, but where the others had taken to their task alone he did not. With what remained of his kind, the Ant marshaled an army that swarmed the land unseen and searched the castle in secret. When every crack and corner was covered, it was through the door that no rodent or crow could pass that the Ant found a footprint in the dust matching that of his Masters’ and just beyond, a single shard of glass.

When he told his Queen, she lifted the ban but squished the Ant. After all, she reasoned, a footprint was hardly her husband.

Still, she climbed the turret tower to see the step, and when her fingers traced its outline she saw a shimmer and stayed her hand. It was a piece of mirror. When she picked it up a dwarf came rolling out.

Old, decrepit, and hunched over the dwarf bore little resemblance to her husband. His hair was gray and his beard was so grown that it swept the floor whenever he walked, yet it was his eyes that held the greatest difference. There was no mirth or joy in them, shadowed as they were by the burly brows of great knowing.

“You are not my husband,” said the Queen.

“But you are my wife,” replied the dwarf.

The Queen held the glass against his heart and demanded to know his name. The dwarf pushed her hand aside and lifted his chin.

“I am a reflection of Him that you fear the most. Who has encountered your apathy, seen your cruelty, and grown in the shade of your intrigue. They call me Wisdom,” he bowed.

“They?”

“They are ‘we’ and we are more than one.”

“One what?”

“Reflection,” he said. “Of Him whom you seek.”

“You mean my husband?” she twisted the shard. “Tell me where I can find him.”

“He is ‘we’ and we are divided of Him over you.”

“You speak in riddles.”

“I speak the truth,” he said. “No more no less.”

“Then where is he?”

“Not here,” said Wisdom. “Not all of Him.”

He looked down at the glass. In it the Queen could see herself but not the dwarf. Confused, she lifted her gaze to find him focused on the empty frame.

Empty, but for a single shard she held in her hand.

“How many?” she asked, knowing what he knew.

“As many as it takes to make a man,” he said.

That night the Queen left the castle in secret and released her royal coterie from the stables. Back into the forest they fled, and there she searched for the Dwarf but found only her bracelet. Incensed, she ripped the gems from their settings and summoned her royal guard.

A beautifully feathered bat bowed before her feet. Its wings flattened in an array of white, and rom her pouch the Queen pulled the piece of mirror.

“Viceroy Pipistrel, I wish to know where more of this mirror is. Find the pieces and bring them to me. Do this, and I will reward you with enough stones to make your nest the envy of every bird. Fail and I will cut off your nose, place you in pitch, and pluck out your eyes. Go, with this I charge you.”

On a wave of wings, the Viceroy flew with his colony west across land and over seas, but no matter where they looked they could not find the mirror. Afraid to return, the bats took refuge in an abandoned mine where deep in its darkness they found the first glimmers of glass.

Too big for one to carry and too sharp for many to maneuver, the bats took to wing to bring their Queen to it, but in their haste a single feather fell. Fluttering on a surface untouched by mud or muck, it released another reflection. When the Queen and Wisdom rode to the mine, they were equally surprised to hear a great clamoring coming from within.

Lanterns raised, they wound their way through the tunnels and drifts to find a dwarf hacking away at the earth. Short but standing tall with a beard cut cleanly across his face, he was younger than her husband with a vigor about his work that had him stripped to sweat.

One look at him and the Queen turned to Wisdom. “Who is he of my husband?” she asked.

Wisdom tilted his head and fluffed his beard. After a moments study, he replied: “He is a reflection of Him that you admire most. Whose ambition and fortitude of will match your own. He is Confidence.”

The Queen inclined her head and announced her presence. When she asked if he would go, Confidence said yes. When it required his mirror he said no.

“Nothing is free and neither is this. What will you give me for it?”

“What will you have?” she asked.

“A hand to hold and your thanks to give.”

So small were his requests, the Queen could not deny him. But when Confidence gave her his mirror, she pocketed it away and commanded he go to Wisdom. When he asked her why she said: “His hand you will and my thanks he will give. Our deal is done.”

After he retrieved his gifts, the Queen delivered Confidence to the safety of the cottage. There she locked him away and summoned the Viceroy. With a gem and a command, she ordered him to find more of her mirror.

On a wave of wings, the Viceroy flew with his colony south over desert and dune, but no matter where they looked they could not find the mirror. Afraid to return beneath the beat of the sun, the bats took shelter under a cart. In its shade and under dust they found another shard of glass.

Too big for one to carry and too sharp for many to maneuver, the bats took wing to bring their Queen to it, but in their haste a single feather fell. Fluttering on a surface untouched by dirt, it released another reflection. When the Queen and Wisdom rode to the cart they were equally surprised to find a dwarf lying in it.

Short of limb and wide of eye, smooth of chin and round of cheek, the dwarf was not a man but a mere boy. One look at him and the Queen turned to Wisdom and asked: “Who is he of my husband?”

Wisdom tilted his head and fluffed his beard. After a moments study, he replied: “He is a reflection of Him that you love the most. Who loves to laugh, and is kindness incarnate. He is Innocence.”

The Queen inclined her head and announced her presence. When she asked if he would go, Innocence said yes. When it required his mirror he said no.

“Nothing is free and neither is this. What will you give me for it?”

“What will you have?” she asked.

“A smile and a moment of fun.”

So small were his requests the Queen could not deny him. But when Innocence gave her his mirror, she pocketed it away and said: “To make me smile would cause you grief, so have your fun and make me frown. Your smile is the only way to satisfy both your desires and mine.”

The boy frolicked in a field and played upon a wall. Loose stones became his bricks for fairy houses and frogs, while the Queen and Wisdom watched. When enough time had passed, she delivered Innocence to the safety of the cottage. There she locked him away and summoned the Viceroy. With a gem and a command, she ordered him to find more of her mirror.

On a wave of wings, the Viceroy flew with his colony southeast across vistas of water and lakes of lava, but no matter where they looked they could not find the mirror. Afraid to return and too thirsty to try, the bats took refuge on the lip of a well. Deep beneath the water was another shard of glass.

Too big for one to carry and too sharp for many to maneuver, the bats took wing to bring their Queen to it, but in their haste a single feather fell. Fluttering a surface untouched by water it released another reflection. When the Queen and Wisdom rode to the well they were equally surprised to find a dwarf pushing the windlass wheel.

Younger than Confidence with a smattering of stubble and an air of adolescence, the dwarf’s gaze was as dull as his cheek was dimpled. One look at him and the Queen turned to Wisdom. “Who is he of my husband?” she asked.

Wisdom tilted his head and fluffed his beard. After a moments study, he said: “He is a reflection of Him that you exploit the most. Who is blind where I see and accepts where I question. He is Ignorance.”

The young dwarf clasped his elder’s wrist in a shake of good faith, but genuflected when he saw the Queen.

White fingers tapped his chin and lifted his gaze. When the Queen asked if he would go, Ignorance said yes. When it required his mirror he said no.

“Nothing is free and neither is this. What will you give me for it?”

“What will you have?” she asked.

“A kind word and a kiss.”

So small were his requests the Queen could not deny him. But when Ignorance gave her his mirror, she pocketed it away and surveyed the land. “‘Nature’ is a kind of word, as it is not in mine to bestow such affection easily. For that I am sorry.” She plucked a flower. “A Farmers Kiss, reputed to balance the bodies humors and restore a restive soul. It is yours. Our deal is done.”

Ignorance took his kiss and thanked the Queen. Wisdom waited until he was away to ask: “Is that plant not also known as Hairy Pigweed?”

The Queen lifted a shoulder and said nothing. Together they watched as Ignorance twirled the plant between his thumb and forefinger. “Curious,” she said. “Despite all that I have done and all that I am, he still looks on at me with affection where you do not. Why is that?”

“Simple,” said Wisdom. “He does not know you.”

After the Queen delivered Ignorance to the safety of the cottage, she locked him away and summoned the Viceroy. With a gem and a command, she ordered him to find more of her mirror.

On a wave of wings, the Viceroy flew with his colony east over valleys and through gales of wind, but no matter where they looked they could not find the mirror. Afraid to return with empty claws on empty stomachs, the bats took refuge in a quarry. Under a stone and surrounded by beetles was another shard of glass.

Too big for one to carry and too sharp for many to maneuver, the bats took to wing to bring their Queen to it, but in their haste a single feather fell. Fluttering on a surface untouched by bugs it released another reflection. When the Queen and Wisdom rode to the quarry they were equally surprised to find a dwarf pacing it.

Older than Ignorance but younger than Confidence, the dwarf worried his lips and stroked his chin. An uneven beard littered his cheek. One look at him and the Queen turned to Wisdom. “Who is he of my husband?” she asked.

Wisdom tilted his head and fluffed his beard. After a moments study, he replied: “He is a reflection of Him that you hate the most. Who turns on himself with every disparaging remark until he is a plague upon on us all. He is Doubt.”

The Queen inclined her head and announced her presence. When she asked if he would go, Doubt said yes. When it required his mirror he said no.

“Nothing is free and neither is this. What will you give me for it?”

“What will you have?” she asked.

“A friend, and the truth to any question I ask.”

So small were his requests the Queen could not deny him. But when Doubt gave her his mirror, she pocketed it away and commanded he go with Wisdom. When he asked her why, she turned to him and said: “You ask me a question and this is my answer. He will take you to a friend who will listen where I cannot and see that you are never harmed. Your friend will be your whipping boy. Our deal is done.”

On Doubt’s return to the cottage, the Queen summoned the Viceroy and gave him a gem with a command to find more of her mirror.

On a wave of wings, the Viceroy flew with his colony northeast over meadows and across moors, but no matter where they looked they could not find the mirror. Afraid to return and too tired to try, the bats took refuge in an empty trough. Under it was another shard of glass.

Too big for one to carry and too sharp for many to maneuver, the bats took wing to bring their Queen to it, but in their haste a single feather fell. Fluttering on a surface untouched by grass it released another reflection. When the Queen and Wisdom rode to the trough they were equally surprised to find a dwarf sluicing through it.

Younger than Wisdom but older than Confidence his beard moved in a tangle to his mutterings. Vague and fanciful, he drifted from one thought through to the next with no breath of pause in between. One look at him and the Queen turned to Wisdom. “Who is he of my husband?” she asked.

Wisdom tilted his head and fluffed his beard. After a moments study, he replied: “He is a reflection of Him that you like the most. Who sees what is not there and believes what cannot be done. He is Dreams.”

Rocks crunched beneath the Queen’s feet causing the dwarf to twitch.

“Take care my Queen. All creativity comes at a cost and his is steep. Caught in a web of fancy, he cannot discern reality. He is as likely to bite your hand, as he is to lick it. So have a care with how you give it; in friendship or a fist, he will not know.”

The Queen inclined her head and announced her presence. When she asked if he would go, Dreams said yes. When it required his mirror he said no.

“Nothing is free and neither is this. What will you give me for it?”

“What will you have?” she asked.

“A hug to hold and an idea to till.”

So small were his requests the Queen could not deny him. But when Dream gave her his mirror, she pocketed it away, and in tones barely above a whisper said: “I am with child.”

When she saw it had its desired affect, the Queen unclasped her cloak and draped it over his shoulders. “Warmed by my skin and now wrapped around yours, may its embrace bring you comfort where mine cannot. Our deal is done.”

When his fingers curled around her hug, she delivered him to the safety of the cottage. There she locked him away and summoned the Viceroy. With a gem and a command, she ordered him to find more of her mirror.

On a wave of wings, the Viceroy flew with his colony north across mountains and over snow, but no matter where they looked they could not find the mirror. Afraid to return and too ill to try, the bats took refuge in a mineshaft. Deep in the earth and through the fog of their breath was another shard of glass.

Too big for one to carry and too sharp for many to maneuver, the bats took wing to bring their Queen to it, but in their haste a single feather fell. Fluttering on a surface untouched by frost it released another reflection. When the Queen and Wisdom rode to the shaft they were equally surprised to hear a cough coming from within.

At the bottom of the pit, curled in on himself lay a dwarf. Older than Wisdom but younger than all, his appearance changed with the ebb of light and the fall of shadow. Behind his beard, his skin was white as his eyes were bright. One look at him and the Queen turned to Wisdom. “Who is he of my husband?” she asked.

Wisdom tilted his head and fluffed his beard. After a moments study, he replied: “He is a reflection of him that you do not dwell on often. Who ties us all to our end but without whom we cannot meet it. He is Mortality.”

The Queen inclined her head and announced her presence. When she asked if he would go, Mortality said yes. When it required his mirror he said no.

“Nothing is free and neither is this. What will you give me for it?”

“What will you have?”

“Solace. And something warm to drink.”

So small were his requests that the Queen could not deny him. But when Mortality gave her his mirror, she pocketed it away and handed him a skin of wine. “Cold it may be but your belly will be warm. Drink and rest assured that you do not have the luxury of dying this night or any after. I will not let you.”

Mortality took her meaning with her wine, and drank deeply.

After they returned to the cottage, the Queen laid the pieces of the mirror out one by one on a table. When none were found missing, she wrapped them in linen, lifted her head, and summoned the Viceroy.

On the backs of beasts the Queen rode with the dwarves to the kingdom’s castle. When the gates did not open she told the Viceroy to fill the air with fang and feathers until the sun could not be seen. With orders from the King, the guards lifted the barriers and let her through.

No one dared to try and stop the Queen as she marched up the tower’s steps to find the frame where she placed the pieces inside the setting. The bone glowed and the silver hummed as the cracks sealed themselves whole, but the Dwarf remained split in seven.

The mirror cast no reflection. When the Queen tried to touch it, Wisdom grabbed her hand and shook his head. Deep inside the silver, a fog swirled to the surface and from it stepped a tall and lithe figure. It was the sorceress.

“I have come for my husband,” said the Queen.

“I know,” replied the Mirror. “I have been watching. You have done much for the Dwarf, but now I wonder if you will do a bit more. Tell me, my Queen, how much do you love your husband?”

“With all my heart,” she said.

“Then step inside and he will be whole.”

The Queen did not.

“If you love him as you claim then you have nothing to fear.”

“Liar,” said the Queen.

“The magic of the Mirror cannot lie.”

“But it can deceive?”

A moment passed and in it the Queen had her answer. When she asked if there was another way to unite the Dwarf, the Mirror said no. Only it could mend that which it had broken. When the Queen asked how, the Mirror spoke of love. When the Queen asked why, the Mirror spoke of man. The Queen listened carefully then held her hand for silence.

“You misunderstand me Mirror and not for the first time, I think, deliberately. So allow me to be blunt. If I step through you, will I step out?” she asked, clutching her belly.

At first the Mirror did not speak, then with great solemnity said: “You can lie to the Dwarf, and you can lie to yourself, but you cannot lie to the Mirror.”

“Meaning I have lied already,” remarked the Queen. “About what?” she asked.

“How much do you love your husband?”

Seven sets of eyes turned to the Queen and watched as a great and terrible change came over her. Her skin became pale and her eyes were like saucers. No longer breathing, the Queen clawed at her hair and shrieked to the heavens. Done, she lifted a chair and turned to the Mirror. Poised overhead and ready to strike, it was Confidence who stayed her hand with a plea for calm.

The Queen lowered the seat to the ground and collapsed upon it.

While the dwarves quarreled among themselves about what to do next, it was Wisdom who said: “Your words are not yet lies.”

The Queen startled. “You love yourself above all others, I know that and so does she, but you are also possessive and that does not come without care. Step through the Mirror and you risk yourself, but in doing so you will prove that you love your husband with all the heart you have.”

The Queen considered his council but told him no. Her life was not her own but her subjects, and she could not abandon what they had made. Wisdom disagreed.

“You mean what He has built?” he said. “We are your husband, and what we gave you is not yours to keep but ours to command. If you abandon us now, then there is nothing left between us but that which drew us to you first: your beauty. And when that fades we will be one, we will remember, and we will reclaim what is ours.”

The Queen smoothed her middle and touched her crown, but said she would not relent. Seven men could not rule as one, and so she was still their Queen. Then, with mantle and might, the Queen banished the dwarves to the Woodlands to work the mines and raise the whipping boy in peace.

For five years the Queen waged a war on the kingdom that conspired against her happiness, by ordering the animals of the forest to hide themselves while she bid a blight upon the kingdom’s crops. Desperate to end his people’s suffering, the King came to the Queen to beg her forgiveness.

“Your hand and your head for your kingdom’s safety,” she said. “Do this and I will lift my curse, refuse me and you will all die. The choice is yours.”

Left with no recourse, the King consented and the Queen was married. On the day of her wedding his head was removed and his family enslaved. The peasants were stark but no longer starved as the land once again flourished with food. There was much rejoicing, but the Queen was not content.

As for the nobles, they were stripped of their land and titles, then everything else. Those who found the courage to rise against the Queen were quickly killed. Of that the Mirror and its mistress made certain. And once the Mirror was moved into her rooms, rumors of the Queen’s magic filled the ears of every gossip as servants armed with candles would listen at her door while the Queen conversed with shadows in the night.

Yet life continued, as is its wont, until one day the Queen summoned the Viceroy to her chambers.

The bat bowed before her feet and lay prostrate on the floor. The Queen took no notice, but asked if he remembered her Mirror. The bat said he did. The Queen hummed as though delighted, and asked if he had gathered all the pieces. Again, the bat said he did.

“Then if this is so, why is my husband not whole?” To which the bat said he did not know. For his ignorance the Queen cut off his nose.

When the Viceroy’s screams became a screech, the Queen continued to ask if her Mirror was complete. The bat sobbed and said that it was, but the Queen shook her head. “If this is so then you are blind,” and struck him of his eyes.

For lying to the crown, the Queen boiled the bat in pitch and hung him by his ears, where they stretched and dried into something new.

No longer feathered in white but furred in black, every bat in the Viceroy’s colony would undergo the same treatment, the Queen declared, until all the pieces of her Mirror were returned. But no matter how many gems they gave back or shards of silver they brought her, the Queen’s wrath could not be appeased.

The bats were burned of their feathers and robbed of their sight. No longer fit for the day they roamed the night, forever in search of what could never be found. Thus their mien was carried into the next generation.

Time passed quickly for the Queen, but her beauty did not diminish. She was desired across the land and many vied for her affections but all were rebuffed until, one day, a prince came to court.

Unlike the others before him, the Prince was not taken by the Queen’s land nor moved by her looks. For him, she held no sway. Intrigued by his indifference, the Queen was gracious towards the Prince in all things and held a feast in his honor.

Treaties were struck and deals were bargained, but while the Queen kept company with his advisors, she ordered an eye to follow the Prince. For though she did not love him she coveted his attention, and when it wavered the Queen knew and followed his gaze towards the cupbearer.

Uncommonly comely, the servant rushed from the hall to the kitchens to keep the wine flowing. When the youth reappeared it was at the Queen’s side where she ordered him to her chambers. That night, she stripped the servant bare and bathed him. When he was scrubbed of scum and smelling sweet, the Queen plunged her dagger into his chest and carved out his heart.

 

 

Bite by bite, the Queen swallowed the heart. When she was done she turned to the Mirror, and in it she watched her skin soften and her face fill while her hair turned and her body changed. So altered was the Queen’s appearance that none seemed to know her the next day.

Enticed, the Prince approached the Queen and entered her bed where he was filled with royal pleasure. When she was finished, the Queen turned him out and the Prince departed the realm deeply satisfied and never knowing.

But the Mirror knew.

It watched from the wall as it always had, whispering words to the Queen who stared into its depths day after day, looking for flaws that were never there until they were. Slowly forming imperfections in the cracks of her mind, the Mirror’s corruption of the Queen spread.

Many followed in the footsteps of the cupbearer and even more on the path of the Prince, until one day the Queen stood in front of the Mirror and asked: “Am I still the fairest of them all?” To which the Mirror answered and a child’s laugh echoed throughout the castle’s halls.

 

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Rebecca Brinker is a youtube film critic living in Los Angeles California.