Wulfkovia

Brushka had never been to the palace before.

It stood dominating the snowy streets: A beacon of decadence as all around the fox, beasts of all sorts growled at one another - their clothes too large on their gaunt, starving, frames.

His purple eyes took in the palace doors as he drew closer. He had been summoned by the queen herself to see her only son: The sickly prince of Wulfkovia.

The wolves and bears that guarded the gates glowered at the purple-eyed fox in his brown monks robes as he drew closer. A flash of the invitation and a wolf grunted. Shouldering his bolt-action rifle, the imposing canine escorted the fox in with only the minimal amount of words required.

The palace interior was lavish, with rich red carpets and the finest of paintings adorning the walls. Brushka passed under the glimmering chandelier of the ballroom, and past many halls of splendor. Servants and ministers moved about their lives, some passing a glance at the fox in the robes and mussed fur.

The guard paused at a door to a room full of maps and models.

“Brushka, sire,” the guard said, snapping his boots together.

The king - a stately wolf in a military uniform pouring over miserable reports from the front - looked up with a look of deep concern on his muzzle.

“Show him,” the king replied curtly.

Through more splendorous halls the fox was led - up winding stairs until he was brought into a luxurious bedroom. The wolf queen was dressed in one of her oldest gowns as she sat on the large bed of the ailing prince.

Brushka bowed as he introduced himself.

“Brushka at your service, majesty.”

The queen nodded her greeting as Brushka rose. “Welcome, I have heard that you are a holy healer.”

“I am. Now I was told I would be given accommodations here for as long as I need?” The queen didn’t care for his tone, but other than a twitch of her ear, she did not comment.

“Yes... Are you certain you can heal him? No physician has been able to.”

“Madam.” Brushka grunted. “In my many travels and studies with gurus and wisemen, I have cured diseases that your nobility has never even heard of. Now...” he said with a warm, fangy smile. “Let me see to my newest charge.”

The fox approached the bed as the young wolf pup stared at the purple-eyed fox.

“Hello young prince,” the fox said with an exaggerated flourish of his tail brush.

“Can you really make me feel better?” the prince asked softly, half-hiding under his lush blankets.

The fox swiveled an ear back before pulling a coin from behind the prince’s ear.

“You seem to have a mint in your ear. Is that the problem?” Brushka grinned. The prince chuckled and lowered his blankets as the fox made the coin disappear in his palm.

“I’d say you probably feel better already,” Brushka stated. It was then that the royal doctor - a mink - appeared. The doctor’s tail went rigid in alarm.

“My queen! What is this charlatan doing here?”

Brushka did not respond at all, but merely stared at the doctor with a superior look on his muzzle. The doctor turned a pleading gaze to the queen.

“Majesty, I’ve heard of him. He’s nothing but a con-artist!”

The queen huffed and looked down at the doctor. “And what have you been able to accomplish?”

“The best any... scientist... can do.”

“My son has been wasting away while you fiddle with your... chemicals!”

Brushka took the opportunity and spun around to address the queen.

“My power fades if there is such a doubter among us. Faith is essential for this to work.”

The queen looked from one to the other. Tears formed in her eyes before she breathed in and made her decision.

“Perhaps, doctor, you would be of better use on the front with our troops.”

“But your highness, I-”

“Leave us!” She said, her eyes still wet.

The mink took his medical bag and left, shaking his head in disappointment, and his heart more than a bit broken. He had served the family for years, and now he had been usurped. Brushka had set himself in.

Days went by as the fox chanted and prayed over the young wolf prince during his episodes. It seemed that the young wolf complained about pain less and less, but he was still not healed. Brushka kept asking for more and more until he finally made a rather strange request.

“A... party?” The queen said.

“A gathering, your majesty,” Brushka corrected. “With your son as the guest of honor. The demons that inhabit your son are intractable and require an extra... inducement to leave in the form of this special ritual.”

“Anything for him,” she replied softly.

Later in that week a lavish party occurred with the king and queen and their daughters in attendance, and all of Brushka’s invited guests. He had many giggling vixens in low-cut gowns that seemed to cling to him as he spouted wordy sayings that ultimately meant nothing.

Various other beasts danced and lit incense in the darkened hall as lit candles dimly illuminated the exhausted and laughing faces. Brushka’s eyes, however, were brighter than all of them: watching the festivities, all the while knowing that troops were freezing and dying at the front.

“Mama, I’m tired,” the young prince said as the little hours of the morning started to appear.

“As am I!” Brushka declared taking two vixens with him to his chambers. “I shall recharge my energies.”

The vixens giggled while the king and queen - intoxicated with relaxation and wine - held their son close and wished him good night.

Word soon spread of the party, and other rumors from the palace. The citizens whispered among themselves. They heard that the fox had seduced the queen, and the king was too foolish and too cowardly to stop him. The peasantry weren’t the only ones talking: The nobility, too, were angered by just how much the fox was gaining in influence.

Somewhere in the depths of the capital, a wolf, a lion, and a badger had all gathered at a table as they hatched a plan.

“This mad monk has gained too much favor!” The wolf noble grunted.

“He’s making our rulers look like fools!” the lion scowled.

The badger sipped his tea. “If I may, I am here as a diplomatic attache. Your allies are even growing concerned, how can we depend on the rulers in our war if they are so easily duped?”

The wolf growled. “He’s no holy man, he’s a dark mage! I can smell it on him.”

The lion drummed his claws on the table. “Perhaps, if we truly care for our rulers, we should do something about this outrageous fox.”

“Indeed,” the badger nodded. “And the one thing we know about him is that he enjoys parties.”

A plan was soon hatched and a cordial invitation was sent to Brushka. he fox met with each of the three conspirators who all smiled in his face and presented him with food and wine.

“Hello, Brushka!” The wolf nobleman greeted.

“Greetings to you, my son,” Brushka beamed, smiling graciously as he eyed the glasses and platters on the table. “I do love to partake in a good glass of wine.”

“I’m sure you do,” the lion nodded. The conspirators watched as the fox ate at least three pastries, and drank his wine.

“Are you feeling well?” The badger asked.

“Ah yes,” Brushka replied as he stood up and stretched. “I feel fine.”

The three looked at each other nervously.

“Do excuse us,” the wolf said as the three went to an adjoining room.

“That’s enough poison to kill three creatures,” the lion said. “He should be feeling the effects by now.”

“He’s a devil,” the wolf growled.

“Shall we take a more direct approach?” The badger asked as he held up a revolver to his grinning conspirators.

Brushka was still standing and alive, his brush flicking to and fro as the three rushed into the room with their revolvers. His purple eyes widened as the three opened fire.

The fox collapsed to the floor, clutching his wounds.

The conspirators breathed a sigh of relief... before the fox began to crawl towards the door, a trickling trail of blood following after him.

“Impossible!” The lion shouted.

The wolf broke a chair leg off and began to beat Brushka. The lion joined in with kicks. The badger stabbed with a carving knife. Finally the body lay still, but kept twitching and spasming.

“Let’s dump him in the river,” the badger suggested.

The three drove to the freezing, half-frozen river and heaved the rug with the fox into the waters. They watched in ominous silence as it sank: fading into the deep.

Days later, the river's cold embrace relinquished its hold on Brushka, casting him ashore, a macabre relic of the watery grave: His body was found free of the rug on the river bank.

Rumors raged, and - only a fortnight from the mysterious holy creature’s violent death - a peasant revolution erupted, resulting in the murders of the entire royal family.

Now, decades later, whenever the full moon makes the shadows in Wulfkovia long, there always seem to be lingering reports - never confirmed - of violet eyes in deep alleyways.

It’s been a while. Now babushkas tell their pups before bedtime that, if they misbehave, Brushka might get them. Usually, it earns a giggle.

But not always.