Midwinter Fables - The Wishing Mirror

The first snows had fallen, and as Christmas was on the way, the Robber was out looking for a gift for his wife.

He had passed three little houses so far, but everyone was still awake, singing and drinking mulled wine. He was beginning to worry that he wouldn’t be able to steal anything for his wife at all, when he saw a little house by the trees all hidden in darkness.

The robber peered quietly in through the windows, no one was home. He carefully opened the door and sneaked into the house. It was a very bare house, with not much to steal, but just as he was about to leave and try somewhere else, the robber noticed a little mirror lying on the table. Thinking that would be ideal for his wife, he snatched it up and ran out of the house.

What the robber did not realise, was that this was the house of Old Mab, the witch. The mirror was to be a gift for her niece. It contained three wishes. When Mab returned and found the mirror stolen, she cursed the little mirror, and the thief, and then sat down at her fire to wait.

On Christmas day, the robber gave his wife the mirror and she was very pleased.

A few days later, she stood by the window admiring herself.
“If only my eyes were as dark as my hair.”
And at once, her eyes turned black as coal and all the world around her was in darkness. Cursing and blinded, the wife threw the mirror out the window into the river that ran behind her house, and it was carried away down stream.

The poacher was out that day, and as he stood, stealing fish, he saw the mirror come floating by. The poacher was not popular at home at the moment, as his wife did not appreciate the trout he had given her for Christmas. “This will fix things!” he thought.

So the poacher took the mirror and gave it to his wife that evening over supper. She was so delighted that he got two helpings of pudding.

A few days later the poachers wife was walking home, admiring herself in the mirror.
“If only my nose were as small as my feet.”
And at once, her nose shrunk back into her face until it was not there at all.
The poachers wife threw the mirror into a field as she ran past shrieking.

There was no pudding that night.

Later that night, the horse thief was out in the fields, having very little luck with so many horses stabled for the winter. As he wandered, he found the little mirror. The Horse Thief had not only forgotten to get his wife a gift for Christmas, but had also forgotten that it was her birthday a day later. “She will certainly like this mirror!” And so she did.

A few days later, she stood admiring herself in the mirror.
“If only my lips were as red as my cheeks.”
And at once her lips grew a dark, angry red, drawing all the blood from her face and leaving her pallid and weak. The horse-thief’s wife no longer had the strength to hold the mirror, and she dropped it. As she did, a crow flew in through the window and caught it. And the crow knew just what to do.

Old Mab sat by her fire and smiled as the crow flew in with her mirror. She gave the Crow some crumbs from her Christmas Cake. The she wrapped the little mirror with a slice of cake, and walked down to the village to see her niece.

Love’s greatest gift is to see that love reflected. That is something which cannot be stolen.

A Cure for Witches

badger woodcut by ross ahlfeld

"A tuft of hair gotten from the head of a full-grown Brock

is powerful enough to ward off all manner of witchcraft;

these must be worn in a little bag made of cat's skin - a black cat -

and tied about the neck when the moon be not more than seven days old,

and under that aspect when the planet Jupiter be mid-heaven at midnight."

That winter the sky was thick with witches, almost darkening the moon as they  shrieked and cackled across the night sky; and wherever their black shadows fell, there was trouble and misfortune.

Nothing and no one seemed able to stop them, not the watchmen with their swords and pikes and not the elders with their plans and schemes.

As the nights passed in the shadow of the witches, there was a sickness in the village and the harvest crops all rotted in the store. The people grew worried for there were many winter nights yet to come.

So it was that a Trapper came to one of the villages plagued by witches.

"There is only one way to keep the witches from your village," he said "and I can show you how it's done."

"What must we do?" asked the Elders.

"All you need, is a tuft of hair from a badger, nailed to each door, pinned above each bed and carried by each of you in a catskin bag. The badger is a creature of the twilight, just like them, full of old magics and riddles. Witches are feared of badgers. Your village will be safe."

"We'd need many badgers for that much magic." said the Elders.

"Ah!" said the Trapper, "I know a place very near to here, where there are fields of badger setts. If we went down near the dusk with traps and clubs, we would easily find enough of them to keep your village safe."

So, having no other plans or ways of guarding against witches, The Elders paid the Trapper to take them to the field at dusk, and the green grass ran red with blood. The next morning, every house in the village was made safe from the witches.

And sure enough, that night, when they flew overhead, the witches stopped cackling, and screamed away over the hills toward another village.

The Trapper tipped his hat and thanked the Elders, then headed off slowly in the same direction as the witches.

The witches never returned, and no one in the village ever saw a badger again, or gained the fair fortune they could bring. 

I'm actually not all that keen on animals; I don't like dogs, cats or even goldfish and  I'm a vegetarian not because of some sort of 'Meat is Murder' principle, but because I really don't like the taste or texture. But a childhood of Watership Down and Wind in the Willows does predispose me to anthropomorphic animal fiction. And I actually have an adopted badger...he doesn't live with me or anything, but I get photos and updates about how he's getting on not being culled. So, I'm very firmly in the "don't like the idea of a badger cull symbolically" camp, though I gather there are some very sound scientific reasons also. Obviously, the debates around the proposed badger cull can't be reduced to folktales, but I just though I'd say, "I don't like it". If you don't either, sign the petition.