Not fairy tales

But the instigator himself is nowhere to be seen. He probably keeps his witch to himself, too.

Ugh, what a mess! What a mess!

The dragon panted, releasing a jet of swampy yellow fire from its ajar mouth: two hundred yards away from the ranks of the palace and the kingdom’s defenders, ready to attack. A little more… and a little more…

The trebuchets surged forward, sending a small citrus cloud that seemed incapable of even tickling the skin of the creature crawling at them.

A few small stones hit the enemy fighters, bruising them and causing them to laugh maliciously. But they could not make fun of the weakness of the blow.

The oranges clattered against the dragon’s hard shell, scattering in bits. The acrid, fragrant juice tickled the beast’s eyes and nostrils. He shook his head, hissed, puffing gray smoke, and then suddenly reared up and spun, sneezing and coughing like a man on fire.

Each «Aa-pchhhh’ was accompanied by a burst of flame, wiping out all those who, by an evil stroke of fate, happened to be in the vicinity. The heart-rending screams of the burning people, the shrieks, the hubbub, and the jostling of those who tried to dodge and escape from the fiery death filled the clearing.

The duke’s army was spreading like worn fabric, ripping in the most inopportune places. Panic washed over the rebels.

The dragon, still sneezing and wiggling and tearing at its throat with its forelegs, darted back toward the lake a few miles away.

A few almost demonstrative raids by the king’s cavalry completed the job: a wide swath of land was strewn with corpses, and the rest fled in terror.

Sniffing at the strangely pleasant smell of roast meat in the air, despite its actual origin, Gafarro stepped away from the trebuchet and approached the mage.

«How?! What kind of magic did you stuff them with if such a small thing could turn a real dragon into a fugitive? Oranges… who would have guessed…»

Dorrenoi averted his eyes. He looked up at the king with embarrassment and explained:

«You see, Your Majesty, long ago, even before I entered Your Majesty’s service, I had to do all sorts of things to survive, you know, to get food. I was a healer, in general. I lived there, in Ilfania, almost at the border of the Marshlands. Whoever came to me for medical help, yeah. He was young then. A teenager, in fact. Did me no harm, either. I helped him as much as I could, so I know…»

«What do you know? Who did you help? Speak clearly…»

«So, who… the dragon, yes. He can’t stand citrus fruits. He’s been allergic since childhood.»

Thing called spring

Once there was a thing called spring…

Spring is here!

Why doesn’t my heart go dancing?

Spring is here!

Why isn’t the waltz entrancing?

No desire, no ambition leads me

Maybe it’s because nobody needs me?

    Frank Sinatra

The monumental bulk of the Tengwang Pavilion stands out clearly against the background of the river at this sunset time.

The lanterns circling the tower are about to flash, echoing the color of the brick-red walls and the emerald-green roofs. Actually, the pavilion could be called a pagoda, but it lacks the usual elegance of these traditional structures. However, it makes a remarkable impression: yes, it is new, but something so ancient, some spirit of place, no doubt, lives in these stones. And surrounded by dozens, hundreds of skyscrapers, each year more and more squeezing their arms – both on this coast and on the opposite one – scratching the clouds with their claws, the Tengwang can seem like a pillar, piercing and linking the past and the present.

The rain that had fallen since this morning had washed everything away, making the colors more vivid. The wide stone staircase leading up to the pavilion now looked more like a rock than a human creation.

Two young men – obviously out-of-towners, tourists – stop right at the Yin-Yang symbol – the Great Limit sign – take their eyes off their smartphone screens, and look up.

«Hmm, there it is. Well, not bad, huh? We didn’t go here for nothing.»

«Impressive. It’s not a small thing,» the guy sips his iced tea from his cup, smacks his lips. «You know, it’s not bad. I don’t really like herbs, but it’s nice and refreshing.»

His buddy sips his drink too, nods.

«Yeah, it is good. Well, shall we go?» he waves his hand in the direction of the rise.

«Soon, give me a couple of minutes. Let me catch my breath: you’ve been dragging me around all day… didn’t even take a taxi.

«Taxi… You’re such a sissy. We never even left the neighborhood. And dragging… like I made you do it.»

«All right, all right, it’s about work, I agree. But it’s time to rest now, isn’t it? So, what’s the hurry? This tower isn’t going anywhere,» he looks at the Tengwang again. «Look, what’s that up there?»

At the corner of the curved roof, remotely resembling a dragon’s spine, stood a strange figure. It wasn’t easy to make out the silhouette in the twilight: not human, but certainly someone alive.

«Wait a minute, I think that’s one of them. He’s going to jump, look! Oh, that’ll be a sight to see! Come on! Jump!»

***

He is standing on the very edge.

In general, the weather today is windless, but not here, not up there. However, the wind is a friend, one of the few: violent, uncontrollable, necessary.

Now any gust threatens to rip him off the roof. Rip him off, throw, spin… no, not now… a little more later…

Down below, behind him, a dark ribbon of river winds, lazily rolling its still-cool waters into the distance: a few weeks, and the heat will take over. A heat from which he must get away. Is it worth it?

For what now?

Why should he go back to his homeland now? Alone… without her…

What’s driving him back?!

Spring…it’s all her, part of the eternal cycle of this world. The law of the universe, if you will. A law demanding and inexorable, embedded in the very depths of the subconscious. To go back…

He thought they would go home together. Together from this seemingly benevolent place to which they were strangers.

Aliens. Incomers.

Scarlet faces, scarlet feet, white covers.