How to Fracture a Fairy Tale

by Jane Yolen

  “Old man,” Two Ox began, the words as round as bubbles, “I wish to speak to your master, the Master of Masters. I wish to speak to Kuang-jun.”

  “Are you not afraid of the dragon?” asked the old man.

  “My need is greater than my fear,” said Two Ox.

  “And your foolishness exceeds them both,” said the old man. “But I will forgive you this once.”

  Two Ox drew himself up. He towered over the old man. “Do not confuse my nakedness with unpreparedness, old father. Take me to this Kuang-jun.”

  “And I will forgive your bad manners twice,” said the old man. He handed Two Ox a ceremonial robe the color of the sea.

  Suddenly ashamed of his behavior, Two Ox put on the robe and bowed his head. “Forgive me, but it is because my mother lies ill and would have died already to see me in such fashion. It is for her sake that I must see the Dragon of the Western Sea.”

  “Then listen well, son of a dying mother: I am the Master of Masters. I am the Dragon of the Western Sea. And when the sun goes down, darkening even these dark waters, I become the Naga in truth. Then I will be much tempted by the meat in your arms and thighs, now salted to my taste by the waves.” He reached out and pinched Two Ox on the arm.

  Two Ox shivered, though the robe was warm. “O mighty dragon,” he began, “the doctor says that my mother is beyond all help save that of the Waters of Life. But to get the waters my brothers and I need three magical objects to trade. We have each gone out on the road to find such pieces of magic to tempt the Dragon King.”

  The old man smiled, looking up toward the top of the waves which were, even then, beginning to darken. When he looked down again, bubbles formed around his head like horns. “And you thought I would just give you such a thing.”

  “I was hoping beyond hope . . .” Two Ox said, his head bowed low.

  “And what will you give me in exchange?” the old man asked. His voice grew rough, and when Two Ox looked again he saw that green scales were beginning to form on the old man’s face.

  “I had but a single coin,” Two Ox said, “with which I purchased the use of the net. And my clothes were all stripped away by the waves. All I have left to give you is myself”—he hesitated for a moment—“and my name.” He took a deep breath and tasted salt in his mouth. “I am called Two Ox.”

  “Good answer,” the old man said. “I will not eat you now.” But when he spoke, his tongue stuck out and it was black and forked. He reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a silver hairpin. “When you are once again on land,” he said, “use this when need is great. This is a piece of magic even the Dragon King will envy. And when your mother is once again well, come back to the Western Sea.” He handed the hairpin to Two Ox. “I will work you hard for a year.”

  “I am not afraid of hard work,” Two Ox said.

  “But be very afraid of me,” came the response. And as Two Ox watched, the old man changed completely into a dragon the green-black of the sea, its silver teeth glittering like the tops of waves.

  Two Ox’s knees trembled, and he let out a soft moan. As he watched, the green-black dragon shook out its great green-black wings, lashed its mighty tail like a rudder, and sailed off through the water in a cascade of foam.

  When the bubbles at last subsided, Two Ox thought to himself, “The dragon will not return until morning. I should leave at once.” But when he looked around the shell castle, he saw that everything had been greatly disturbed by the dragon’s leaving, and his old land habits claimed him. He picked up the bright red robe and hung it on a peg. He straightened the matting on the floor. He tidied up the dishes. And what with one thing and another, he was not done in the sea castle until the first waves of light had filtered down from above. And then he was so tired, he fell asleep on the floor and so did not see the dragon return, or see it change back into the old man. He woke only when he was shaken.

  “Come, my good worker, come,” the old man said. “You have already pleased me well. But now you must go. Your brothers will be waiting.” He took Two Ox’s ceremonial robe and handed him trousers, shirt, shoes, and the child’s netting. Then he gave Two Ox a push that was so hard, Two Ox was propelled straight through the water and onto the shore.

  No sooner did Two Ox’s feet touch the beach than he got dressed. He found the hairpin stuck into the waistband of his trousers. Spreading the fisher lad’s netting out to dry, Two Ox removed the hairpin and looked at it. It caught the sunlight and shimmered. When he touched the tip, it pricked his finger and he cried out, dropping the pin to the sand. No sooner did it touch the sand than a fountain of water sprang up.

  Two Ox bent down, picked up the pin by the head, and drew its point along the sand. A river of silver water tumbled into the groove, and a silver boat bounced up and down on the waves. Two Ox climbed into the boat and, using the hairpin as a rudder, steered himself down the stream toward the road and the three forks.

  Meanwhile, Three Ox had gone forward into the hills. There were no Nagas in the hills, only spirits like elves and ghosts and worst of all the wang-liang, ogres whose bodies are covered with coarse hair and who devour any human being whole.

  Three Ox walked into the hills until his feet ached and his stomach proclaimed its emptiness, but he did not dare rest. He thought only of his sick mother and the magic gift he might find somewhere in the hills.

  But as the way grew steeper and darker, Three Ox decided to cut himself a stick—pointed at one end, it would help him with the walking; pointed at the other, it could serve as a weapon.

  No sooner had he done this than he heard a noise and, turning, saw a strange creature following him. Head to foot it was covered with coarse orange-brown hair, and when it smiled its teeth were sharp and long.

  “Who are you?” Three Ox asked.

  “Give me a coin and you may pass,” the creature said.

  “I have already passed,” said Three Ox.

  “Give me a coin and I shall not eat you,” said the creature.

  “I will not make much of a meal,” said Three Ox.

  “Give me a coin,” said the creature, “and my magic is yours.”

  Three Ox dug into his pocket and pulled out the single coin. He tossed it to the ogre. The ogre bit into the coin, swallowed it, and laughed.

  “I lied!” the ogre cried. “You will still be mine.” It leaped.

  Three Ox held the stick in front of him, one point at his own breast, one at the ogre, for he thought, “If the ogre is to eat me, at least I will not be alive to suffer it.” But unaccountably the ogre hesitated in the air, as if held there by invisible ties.

  “O mortal,” the ogre screamed, “how did you know only such a pointed stick at your breast and mine would stop me?”

  Three Ox hadn’t known, but he thought he should not tell that to the ogre. “Everyone knows such tricks,” he said.

  “O mortal,” the monster cried, “let me go and I promise I will not harm you. “

  Three Ox thought to himself that such a promise was bought too cheaply. “What more will you give me?”

  “I will give you back your coin,” the ogre cried.

  “That’s one,” Three Ox said.

  “I will give you my boot,” said the ogre. “Have you not heard of such boots? They can run many miles.” The ogre smiled.

  Three Ox did not like the ogre’s smile or the way the coarse hair blew in and out of its mouth as it spoke. Then he remembered an old story his mother had told.

  “The boot you offer me is a coffin. If I take it from you, I will lie in it forever.”

  The ogre gnashed its teeth and spoke curses that blued the air.

  “Then will you take my hat!”

  Three Ox did not like the eager way the ogre spoke, or that the nails on the hands offering the hat were the color of a storm-stirred pond. He remembered another story his mother had told.

  “The hat you offer me is a funeral fire,” he said. “If I take it I will be burned to ashes.”

&nb
sp; The wang-liang gnashed its awful teeth and roared until the grass wilted in three circles around it. “Then what will you have?”

  Three Ox smiled. He remembered still another story his mother had recited. “I will have my coin,” he said. Then while the monster spit up the money, he added, “And I will have your face!”

  The wang-liang screamed until the trees near them shivered and lost their bark, but Three Ox was not moved. And so the ogre had to strip the very skin from its face with its muddy brown nails.

  “Remember your promise,” said Three Ox, slipping the face into his pocket. Then he set down the pointed stick.

  The wang-liang whimpered, and holding its hands in front of its blank face, wandered away into the forest leaving a trail of ashes wherever it stepped.

  Three Ox found a cozy cave in which to shelter for the night and in the morning headed back down the way he had come.

  As Three Ox had a full day on his brothers, he arrived at the place of the three forks first. There he sat down with his back to a tree, and flipping the coin, thought about the ogre’s face in his pocket. His mother’s story had said such a face made the wearer invisible.

  “But the wang-liang himself wore the face, and he could be seen,” he reminded himself. It was a puzzle. Still it was worth trying. So he pulled the face from his pocket and drew it over his head.

  He looked down at his hands. They were no longer there.

  He looked down at his feet. They were no longer there.

  He picked up a leaf. It disappeared.

  He touched the tree. Where his fingers met the bark, the bark disappeared. But the rest of the branch and root and buds and leaves were there to see.

  Smiling, he drew off the face and put it back into his pocket.

  “Here is a piece of magic that the Dragon King will envy,” he said to himself. He spent the rest of the day looking for food and feasting on berries. The night passed quickly, and in the morning of the third day he knew it was time for his brothers to arrive.

  “I can surprise them,” he said as he pulled the wang-liang’s face down over his. Invisible, he sat down and waited.

  Suddenly by his invisible feet a river began to run, glittering silver in the morning light. Three Ox stared up the river and saw a silver boat bobbing along the current. Sitting in the back and steering with a silver rudder was Two Ox, smiling to himself.

  The boat reached the river’s end, and Two Ox got out. He took the silver rudder from its lock, and it became a silver pin. At the same moment, both boat and river disappeared. Smiling even more broadly, Two Ox stuck the pin through the waistband of his trousers and sat down to rest.

  “As I am the first,” he said aloud, “I must now wait; and as I had little time for sleep at the dragon’s home, I will take a rest.” He lay down and was soon snoring.

  Invisible, Three Ox watched his brother for some time, and when he was sure nothing would wake Two Ox, he drew out the silver pin from his brother’s waistband. Then he waited to see what more would happen.

  Soon the sounds of horse’s hooves came to his ears. And as he watched, a brown horse with a foam-colored mane and tail came galloping to the place of the three forks. Atop its back was One Ox, grinning broadly. When One Ox saw Two Ox asleep by the roadside, he dismounted and patted the horse on its flank. Then he pulled the horse’s head until its nose touched its neck, pushed the horse onto its knees, and wrapped the tail up over its back. The horse gave a tiny whinny and shrank and shrank and shrank until it was the size of a folded letter. He slipped it into the pocket of his shirt.

  “If my brother can sleep, so can I,” One Ox whispered. “For I got little rest in the dragon’s house.” And he lay down by Two Ox’s side. Within minutes he too was snoring.

  When Three Ox was certain nothing would wake his brothers, he knelt beside them and drew out the folded horse from One Ox’s pocket. Then he stood and waited to see what else would happen.

  After many minutes the two brothers awoke.

  “I was the first!” said Two Ox.

  “Indeed you were,” said One Ox. “And I the second. But where is that laggard youngest brother of ours?” For, as Three Ox still wore the wang-liang’s face, he was invisible. “Once he is here, I shall show you both the great piece of magic I have.” One Ox tapped his pocket but there was no crackling sound. He reached into his pocket. There was nothing there. Turning on his brother, he shouted, “You have stolen my piece of magic while I slept!” He raised his fist.

  “Wait, I too was asleep,” said Two Ox. “And what need have I for your magic when I have magic of my own? I will show it to you.”

  He felt along the waistband of his trousers. There was no pin. “Aieee, my brother, you have taken what is mine!” He raised his own fist.

  Just then Three Ox laughed, and the brothers, hearing the sound but seeing no one, grew very afraid.

  “Who is it?” they cried as one. “Who is there?” And they stood back to back, ready to defend one another.

  Three Ox drew off the wang-liang’s face and was visible at once. Stuffing the mask into his pocket, he handed the folded horse to One Ox, the silver hairpin to Two Ox. “Brothers, we must trust one another,” he said, “but trust no one else. The two of you went to sleep and anyone—man or monster—could have stolen your magic. What then would our poor mother do? Come, we must take our three pieces of power and make our way to the Dragon King.”

  Ashamed, One Ox and Two Ox bowed their heads, for they knew Three Ox was right. And taking what was theirs, they followed their youngest brother along the road.

  They went beyond the mountains and there, as the doctor had said, was one mountain farther. Neither horse nor boat could help them now, for the way was too rough for the horse, and what rivers could be made to spring up along the crags flowed downward.

  Three Ox showed them how to take a stick and sharpen both ends, in case of ogres, but none came to trouble them on their climb. Indeed, the mountain was strangely still. No birds, no frogs, no bears called out. It was as if a great magic had silenced them all. Even the three brothers had trouble speaking as they climbed.

  At last, after many hours of effort, they saw a cave.

  “Should we go in?” asked One Ox.

  “Dare we go in?” asked Two Ox.

  “How can we not?” asked Three Ox, so they entered.

  A cold wind seemed to blow through the cave, carrying with it a fine fragrance, something like jasmine, something like rain. A thin fragment of sound was carried in the wind as well, like the ringing of silver bells.

  “This must be the cave of the Dragon King,” said Three Ox.

  “Be kind to old serving women,” cautioned One Ox.

  “Be kind to old serving men,” added Two Ox.

  The wind’s fragrance turned to dust and ashes; the sound of the bells became a roar. One Ox and Two Ox turned to face the oncoming wind, holding their hands over their eyes. They did not see Three Ox slip the wang-liang’s face over his own and disappear.

  “Who has dared enter the palace of the Dragon King?” came a voice out of the wind, a soft voice that was somehow more terrible than a scream.

  “We are sons of a poor farmer, O Master of Masters,” One Ox and Two Ox said together.

  The wind swirled suddenly in the center of the cave, kicking up dirt and sticks and tiny stones which suddenly formed into the shape of a very large man. He had a long beard and mustaches drooping down either side of his mouth like twin waterfalls of hair. His gown was gray-green, like old moss, and emblazoned with dark green dragons. He did not smile.

  “What do two farm boys have to do with me?” the man asked. “For I am Lung-Wang, King of all the Dragons.” Though he asked a question, he did not look at them but stared at the ring on his hand, the center of which contained a shiny pearl as large as a pea.

  “Two?” whispered One Ox.

  “Two?” whispered Two Ox.

  Then they mentioned it no more, guessing their youngest brother had some
plan in mind.

  “O mighty Lung-Wang,” said One Ox bowing low, “our mother is desperately ill.” He did not dare look up.

  “And needs to drink of the Waters of Life,” said Two Ox, bowing even lower.

  “Yes, yes, I know all this,” said Lung-Wang, his voice sounding bored. “My sister Kuang-li, the dragon who enlarges good, and my brother Kuang-jun, the dragon who enlarges favor, have told me all about you when we flew together in the night. I expected you long before this. You must have slept on the way.”

  “Never,” said One Ox.

  “Never,” Two Ox said.

  “Do not lie to me,” said the Dragon King.

  “We slept,” they admitted.

  “Good, good,” the Dragon King murmured, his voice like water over stone. “And what pieces of magic have you for me! Not that tiresome folded pony of my sister’s! It always returns home to her.

  “And not that silly silver hairpin of my brother’s. The waters only flow downhill.” He twisted the ring once more around his finger, then polished it on his robe.

  The two brothers held up the disfavored gifts. “Alas, they are all we have.”

  The Dragon King took the gifts and, putting his head back, roared with laughter. The sound filled the cave until the two brothers had to put their hands over their ears or be drowned in it.

  Lung-Wang threw down the gifts at their feet and stopped laughing.

  In the sudden silence, the silver pin made a little tinkling noise on the rock floor and the packet whinnied painfully.

  “Well, my two fine fellows, if this is all you have, then your mother will surely die.”

  They were about to answer him, to tell him about their brother Three Ox and the wang-liang’s face, when invisible fingers touched their lips and an invisible mouth whispered into their ears. “Trust no one else.”

  “What did you say?” the Dragon King asked suspiciously.