The Most Clever

The warlock lay slumped atop the stump where Carys sat next to. For the past month, Carys bore witness to the warlock’s constant struggles to find a noble hero who could defeat the great beast of the cave. As the most recent chosen one’s corpse was tossed out from the hollow, the warlock released a deep sigh. 

He looked down at Carys. “Now, I don’t suppose you want to be a hero, little one?”

Carys huffed because she was simply a fox and that’s the sound foxes made. 

The warlock chuckled, “Of course not. You don’t wish for glory because you don’t even understand the concept. A shame these warriors can’t be more like you. They all fail this quest, for each and every one of them ends up being tempted by the treasures which reside under the beast’s belly. But you wouldn’t. Not unless there are gooseberries in there.” 

The warlock clapped his hands once to signal an idea had come to him. Carys slowly backed away. While Carys considered herself to be the warlock’s companion and friend, she knew nothing good ever came from the warlock’s ideas. After all, his last idea literally lay in a pile of bones a mere stone’s throw away. It was best to leave the warlock to his own devices, wait for the plan to explode in his face, and return to comfort him. Most of the time, he was too lost in his own thoughts to notice Carys’s absence. However, this time, he chuckled as he saw her attempt to leave.

“Carys, my dear. Please don’t go. I swear this time, my plan will succeed.”

He spoke the old tongue, some sort of cantation. Carys’s fur stood up as she felt a chill. Carys struggled to understand her warlock most days, even when he spoke in the modern tongue, so she had even more trouble understanding his spell. However, somewhere deep in her bones, she recognized it. But, of course, she did. Every animal—including man—recognized this bit of spell craft, for it was the spell which separated man from their primal cousins. 

This was a well known fact amongst the creatures of Earth, but of course, said fact would slowly descend into fairytale then myth then obscurity. Eventually, man would grow far too prideful to allow themselves to be associated with their unambitious kin. That is the nature of man after all; the constant desire to be greater than those around them.

Carys darted towards the forest as she felt her self change. The first change of note was how her limbs grew, in both size and weight, causing her to trip and collapse under her own body. Next, her fur sank into her flesh like a grand boat buckling under the weight of a whole ocean. Her nose shrunk to accommodate the new layout of her face and her eyes lost the ability to see in the dark. No doubt, more changes came about, however, mere moments ago, Carys had been a simple creature and wasn’t used to interpreting a vast amount of information. Now, her head pounded with thoughts and knowledge and ideas and realizations that would have best stayed non-existent. 

Once she felt as if the transformation had finally finished, Carys collapsed onto the floor. She looked down at where her paws had been, only to see five oblong appendages sprouted from a palm. The warlock outstretched his hand to Carys’s hands, for she had those now. 

“You stupid, man,” was the first thing Carys said to her former friend. “After all these years of support, you curse me so?”

Humor glittered in his old eyes. “Don’t you see, Carys? It is no curse. It’s a gift; the gift of humanity.”

“Well, I shall wish to return it,” she said, “I have no use for gifts. I am a fox.”

The warlock frowned as if he hadn’t considered Carys would not wish to be man. He didn’t consider much. He simply acted then acted surprised when his plans failed. “If that is what you wish,” he started, “Once you defeat the beast, I shall return you to your original state.”

“You mustn’t be serious.” Carys attempted to growl, however, her vocal cords could no longer form the sound the way she was used to. “I considered you my friend and this is how you treat me? You are going to send me to my death!”

“Carys, you are the most intelligent creature I have ever met. I am certain you will make it out alive.”

To punctuate his point—and most likely to avoid consequences—the old man disappeared in a puffing cloud of smoke, leaving Carys with only one path going forward. If she wished to be herself again, she’d have to defeat the monster which so many men had failed to do. But in her current state, she could not see how she could. She was a mere wild Canid. 

For the first time ever, Carys felt shame; in both her abilities but her appearance as well. Her fiery red hair cascaded down past her shoulders akin to a waterfall made entirely of fire. It was wild and untamed, a pure mess, and surely had any bystander walked by in that moment, they would be able to immediately tell Carys was an animal in mortal form, for no woman would dare leave her hair as such when an updo was the fashion of the time. Was this what it meant to be man? To be prideful but also filled with shame like a chalice filled with both wine and poison?

Carys attempted to walk as she had seen the warlock and so many other men walk, up right on their hind legs, but with each attempt, she fell back on her front legs—arms, that’s what they were called—for support. Carys had seen plenty of infant humans walk on all fours, so clearly, this was a skill one could learn, but Carys did not have a parent to teach her. She’d have to learn it herself. She crawled herself over to a sloping tree, grabbed onto the branches, and hoisted herself up, until her hind legs were the only things on the ground. She moved one leg, and then the next in mimicry of the movements she’d seen before. 

It took until near night fall for Carys to learn to walk. She’d always been quick witted and she supposed she still was, considering a skill that took most children a year to master, took her a few hours. It just did not feel like much of an accomplishment in that moment. She supposed there was nothing left stopping her from making her attempt. From here on out if she waited any longer, she was simply postponing the inevitable. She would succeed or she would die. Either way, she best get a move on. No point dreading her death any longer.

And so, our dearest former fox, traveled on the trail where the swallow would not follow deep down into the hollow. Carys descended until the light from the setting sun could no longer reach her mortal eyes. For once in her life, Carys was trapped in the shadows. Her bare feet scraped against the rough cave floor as she tumbled into the lair. Carys only halted her movements when some light flickered into her eyes. She knew though, that this light could not possibly be natural. 

Glittering gold and reddened rubies and turquoise gems lined the floor of the cave. The light came from each precious item reflecting the next one. Carys could see how so many knights and warriors were defeated so quickly, considering just how close the treasure was. Despite Carys loosing her superior hearing and eyesight, her mind was still trained to pick up on small details needed to hunt mice. So when she saw slight movement coming from the gold, she understood completely. These were not gems or gold, but scales. You could not simply pick up a treasure, because in doing so, you would wake the beast the faux treasure was attached to.

Carys perched herself atop a boulder and studied the creature along with the layout. Despite the exterior of the cave, the interior seemed manmade. There were stone pillars lining the walls keeping the ceiling aloft, off to the side resided a bookcase filled with spell books no doubt, and in a corner of the room—for it was a room not a cave—there lay a couple scepters. No wonder the warlock wished to get rid of this monster; it took over his home.

It wasn’t for a while that the being shifted positions in it’s sleep to reveal it’s two legs with sharp talons, a scaly tail the height of a tower, and a set of leathery wings the color of freshly drawn blood.

Our fox knew then what she was staring down; a fearsome beast, most never dare speak the name of. It was believed speaking the name of such a being would only summon it to destroy all that you loved. But Carys knew this creature to be a Wyvern for the warlock held no fear in his heart, only hubris. He never believed a Wyvern would be summoned by him for simply speaking a name and yet, here slept the beast in his very own home.

It was no wonder the beast’s existence incited worry in the nearby village. Despite having poor eyesight for the light, the Wyvern were not nocturnal. This meant that, more often than not, a Wyvern would fly so high up during the day and block out the sun with it’s wings. The mere presence of a Wyvern could result in an eternal night, with no hope for crops to grow. And based on the appearance of this Wyvern, it was only a babe, for it curled in on itself as if it wished to be held by a mother. 

Perhaps, the Wyvern had not yet learned to fly but as Carys had just discovered herself, it would only be a matter of time before instincts took hold and the Wyvern was forced to learn on its own. Soon enough, the Wyvern would grow too big for this cave and on it’s journey out, would desire to consume all the light of the sun. Considering all the food the warlock had provided for this infant Wyvern, the day was coming soon. This was possibly one of the last chances to kill the thing before it grew to adulthood and became too powerful.

As this realization set in, Carys couldn’t help but worry. After all, how did she expect to kill a Wyvern if it took her hours to learn to walk? There lie the issue. Carys had been trying to think like man, but all those men had failed before her. So clearly, thinking like man was not the proper approach. Carys needed to think like herself; like a fox.

“My apologies,” Carys whispered like the stealth animal she was as she put her entire body weight against the closest pillar. She used all her might until it came toppling down, landing right next to the tail of sleeping Wyvern. Before the Wyvern could rouse from it’s sleep, the cave rumbled as more pillars collapsed in on themselves and the ceiling came racing down. In mere minutes, a blanket of rubble covered the no longer sleeping, but dead, Wyvern.

It was indeed rather un-noble of Carys to kill the creature during it’s slumber when it had no chance to defend itself, but as established earlier, Carys was unburdened by nobility. She was a fox. And a fox knew the best time to strike during a hunt was when your opponent was asleep. Perhaps, a death in sleep was better than any other alternative, Carys mused. Maybe she had been merciful. Of course, that was Carys’s introduction to a famous tactic of man; rationalization. 

When Carys emerged from the cave, the warlock was waiting for her, his hand rested on his scepter. “Have you done it?” Carys noted there was no concern from him of her well being. He simply wanted to know if the deed was done. She told him it was.

The warlock laughed with pure mirth. This was possibly the first time one of his half-concocted plans actually succeeded. “Fantastic! Oh, the village will be so pleased. I am certain they will throw a festival in your honor.”

“They best not. It would be rather odd for me to attend as a fox.”

The warlock’s amusement dropped. “After what you have experienced, you still wish to return to your inferior form?”

Carys resisted the urge to bare her teeth, for it would likely not have the same effect now that her canines were dulled. Instead, she said, “We made a deal. I expect you to uphold your end of the bargain.”

The warlock hurried to say, “But just think for a moment. If you remained in this form, you could have glory beyond measure! You achieved what none other before you was able to. You could be the Slayer of Wyvern.”

Carys shook her head. “I thought you wanted a hero with no desire for glory. And yet, you wish to turn me proud. Return me to my true form, warlock. Our deal is done and so is our partnership.”

The warlock’s eyes turned cold. He sighed and he seemed so very old in that moment. “I’m afraid I can not return you. The spell is permanent. You can not strip away humanity once it’s been added as you can not remove fire from a burnt forest.”

Something boiled in her veins, perhaps her red blood, only to freeze over as a chill of ice ran through Carys’s whole body. Ever since she’d been transformed, she’d felt cold and now she knew she would never have her furcoat again. She would be cold for the rest of her existence, and it would be a longer existence now considering the life span of man was larger than that of a fox.

“You have ruined me,” Carys choked out.

“How have I ruined you when you are now the most clever woman to exist?”

Carys laughed and it was the first sound she made that sounded like her true form. “And I was an average fox. I preferred it that way. I do not wish to be great or most or legend or woman. But you never cared to ask me what I wanted before cursing me. One of these days, that will destroy you. You will create a far less forgiving creature than I. But I suppose you knew I would have no desire for revenge. You knew I would simply want a simple life. That’s why you picked me in the first place. Your perfect hero.”

The warlock seemed to have no response to Carys’s ire. He stood there and stared at her, as if she were mad. Carys knew the warlock to be quite intuitive. He could always manage to summon the bravado needed from a hero to force them on a doomed quest. He was likely shocked that for the first time ever, he hadn’t been able to predict his hero.

“Never speak of me again. If I hear word of legend surrounding my name, I will reveal your secrets, my dear friend,” Carys spat.

That was how she left him before running into the woods reminiscent to how she’d attempted to earlier that day. But this time, the warlock allowed her to run. After all, he had no further need for her.

A few moons later, Carys padded into a cavern. The soft glow of the lanterns illuminated a bard, softly strumming his crwth as he sung a tale about the Wyvern and the warlock who slayed it with—a sword, of course. Carys scrunched up her unfoxish nose. It made sense, in the end, for the warlock to claim the glory for himself. He was man after all.

However, so was Carys. She’d been trapped in her form of man for about the lifetime of a housefly, but she did not feel that much different than she had as a four-legged creature. Perhaps, the spell which created man had not been what turned their hearts cruel. Could it be that it was what the men used their souls to create, that which destroyed them? Now that was a question for philosophers, not for a fox.