Foundlings (The Lost Dragons Book 1)

by Finley Aaron

  “Besides that, I didn’t know how closely your mother may have been followed. What if someone knew about the cabin? What if they found you here? It was clear to me. You needed proper parents, and you needed to get away from here. I accomplished both.”

  “You left us at a rest stop in a duffle bag.” Judy speaks each word with emphasis, as though she’s addressing someone who’s very dull-witted.

  “It worked out well.” Master Sparks looks to my parents, like he wants them to agree with him.

  Mom gives a tentative nod. “If he hadn’t left you at the rest stop, we never would have become parents.”

  Dad nods, but he’s still scowling.

  “I watched until the teenager found you,” Master Sparks explains. “I saw enough to know you were in caring hands, I made a note of the kid’s license plate number in case I needed to use it to track you down, and then I drove away. You were the big news story the next day. It wasn’t difficult for me to learn where you ended up, and then I bought a house that was for sale down the block. I made it a point to walk my dog past your house, to stop and chat when you were outside, to encourage you to enroll in my martial arts classes once you were old enough. I’ve taught you many of the things you need to know.”

  “What do we need to know?” I ask, concerned because the emphasis of our martial arts training is self-defense. Based on what Master Sparks has just said, he thinks we need to know how to defend ourselves.

  From what?

  And why?

  “Those your mother was mixed up with—they’re powerful. Very powerful.”

  Mom gasps. “Are they drug lords?”

  “No,” Master Sparks assures her. “I really don’t think so.”

  “What are they, then?” Dad presses. “Stop making us guess.”

  “Yes,” Mom insists. “Just tell us clearly what’s going on.”

  Master Sparks sighs. “For fifteen years, I’ve tried to think of the best way to tell you, once the time comes. It’s going to be difficult for you to accept, of course, but I think this will quiet most of your doubts.” He stands. “Please step outside with me.”

  “But it’s blizzarding out there.” Mom pulls the sleeping bag more snugly around her shoulders.

  “The four of you can stand on the stoop,” Master Sparks offers. “This won’t take long.”

  It’s blasting cold outside, so we bundle up. Mom looks wary, like maybe it’s a trick and she’s not sure whether we ought to even go outside. But honestly, what could Master Sparks do to us outside that he couldn’t do inside? We’ve always trusted him before. In fact, of all the people I’ve known, even the grown-ups, maybe even especially the grown-ups, Master Sparks is the kindest, most honest, most patient and responsible.

  I’ve trusted him for years. So why would I stop now, just because things are weird?

  While we bundle up, Master Sparks waits patiently by the door.

  I can’t even look at his bare feet without shivering.

  When we’re all ready, he leads us outside. We wait on the stoop while he descends the steps into the swirling snow.

  With his back to us, he peels back the long leather coat until it’s hanging free of his shoulders, covering only what’s below his waist.

  “I’m not sure this is appropriate.” Dad mutters.

  But he’s hardly spoken when something large and bright emerald green flashes from Master Sparks.

  Or rather, Master Sparks flashes a luminescent green, glowing from amidst the snow. His shape changes over a matter of a couple of seconds. His neck elongates. He sprouts wings, drops his coat, waves his tail.

  He has a tail.

  And wings.

  He’s a dragon.

  He’s huge and shining and terrible, all at once. His body has basically doubled in size, though his tail is long and so is his neck, and in the blowing snow, it’s difficult to judge his size with any accuracy. He’s got a wingspan as wide as the cabin, and all of him is that bright, emerald green, each scale sparkling like a massive gemstone.

  Master Sparks turns to face us and blows a gentle stream of orange fire into the wind above our heads. The snow hisses and steams, falling in a mist of ice in front of us.

  He beats his wings downward, stirring the snow, and rises into the sky. He soars out of sight, then loops back out of the blasting blizzard, angling his horned head toward us and snapping his jaws in what I somehow feel is a friendly greeting, although his fanged mouth is large enough to snap off any of our heads in one bite.

  The dragon lands lightly, grabs up his coat (he’s got arms in addition to wings) and holds it in a modest position while he shrinks back to his normal self, buttoning the coat again before he spins around.

  He’s in his usual Master Sparks form now, and he’s got that sheepish, almost apologetic look on his face again.

  Now that he’s only human again, I’m able to look away, to meet Judy’s eyes. Beyond her amazement is another look, a look that says, this is connected to what we are, isn’t it?

  Chapter Nine

  “Back inside. You’ll catch your death of cold out here.” Mom marches us into the cabin. She shed her sleeping bag for a coat and boots, but her long flannel nightgown whips around her bare legs as she stomps inside after us. She knocks the snow from her boots just outside the threshold before taking a spot in front of the fire.

  I place another log atop the burning wood and watch the flames dance.

  How did something so similar come out of Master Sparks’ mouth?

  How did fire come out of Judy’s mouth?

  Can I breathe fire?

  “So you’re a dragon?” Dad accuses Master Sparks as soon as the door is closed, sealing out the howling wind.

  Master Sparks only nods. He’s got that solemn look on his face again, the one he uses in class when he’s waiting for the students to settle down and pay attention.

  “Is-is that what’s after my children?” Mom’s voice shakes. “Is that what you’re trying to protect them from?”

  The shiver in her voice dances down my spine.

  Dragons?

  Dragons.

  Can dragons teleport? Or did I fly home from the alley on Monday? Maybe I can fly really fast.

  This explains so much.

  This raises so many questions, which swirl in my mind like the whirling snow flurries, piling up to a suffocating height.

  No wonder Master Sparks didn’t know where to begin his story. I don’t even know which question to ask first.

  But Mike Smith or Mike Sparks or whatever we’re supposed to call him is already answering my mom’s question so there’s no time for me to ask any of mine yet. “Of those who seek the children, I know only what Monica told me.”

  Instead of coming to stand around the fire like the rest of us, Master Sparks crosses the room to the back stone wall. It’s not the same part of the room with the hidden door, but a bit off to one side.

  “Monica?” Judy repeats the name. “Is that—?” She can’t seem to bring herself to speak the word out loud.

  “Your biological mother, yes.” While he talks, Mike pulls at a section of the stone the wall, a nondescript gray area down near the floor. With some jiggling and tugging, he hauls a chunk of stone from the wall.

  The rest of us brace ourselves, looking warily around the room, waiting for a secret door to swing open or a hidden entrance to appear.

  But there’s only a dark space behind the stone, and Mike reaches into the cavity and pulls out a metal box. “I didn’t like leaving this here, but since I wasn’t sure exactly where I’d end up, or what I might encounter along the way, this seemed like the safest place.” He places the box on the table.

  Everybody’s staring at the box.

  Are the answers in there?

  My Dad speaks first. “What’s in the box?”

  Master Sparks gives us that apologetic look again. He looks at me and Judy instead of Dad. “You have inherited a legacy. A responsibility.”

  “I
s that a treasure chest?” I ask, tired of cryptic answers. It doesn’t look nearly as big as a treasure chest. Maybe a small jewelry box, but still.

  “Quite the opposite, I’m afraid.” Mike lifts the lid. “Your mother left this.” Mike pulls out a slender gold chain with a pendant dangling from it.

  “A necklace?” Judy steps forward, one hand extended.

  “There is only one. Your mother did not realize when she left to find me, that there would be two of you.” Master Sparks places the necklace on Judy’s open palm. The pendant looks like an odd, pointy letter “C” cupping a half circle.

  “This is half of a picture. Your mother has the other half. When placed together, they join into one piece and form the image of an eye.”

  Judy closes her fingers around the necklace. “I need to find her.”

  “No.” There is suddenness and conviction in Mike’s answer.

  Both Judy and I look at him in surprise.

  He shakes his head solemnly. “Your mother made a difficult journey, risking much, that you could escape from the situation she was in. You must not attempt to visit her, not unless many things change in the world first. Where she is, that is the last place on earth you should ever go.”

  Judy’s face holds disbelief. “You told us you’ve been teaching us what we need to know. Self-defense. We’re both black belts.”

  “First degree black belts,” I remind her. We’ve watched higher-level black belts compete at tournaments. They’d wipe the floor with us. And I couldn’t even stand up to the seniors in the alley back home—a bunch of guys with no martial arts training. Something tells me I’m not equipped to stand up to whatever my birth mother tried to save me from.

  But my thoughts are buried by Mike’s adamant insistence. “This is not about self-defense. Your mother is involved in a centuries-old battle against good and evil. There may come a time, some day, when you will be able to help her. But in order for that to happen, you must remain hidden. You must train hard and learn all you can about your enemies. If you attempt to reach her now, you will throw away all she risked so much to give you—life, and freedom.”

  Mom and Dad have been standing quietly behind us this whole time. Now Mom lets out a breath that sounds slightly relieved. “Well then. That settles that. Let’s rest up now so we can head home tomorrow.”

  We may have had a long day, but I’m nowhere near ready to fall asleep. I have about a thousand questions in my mind, so many I don’t know which to ask first. But the most important one seems to be, “Are we dragons, too?”

  Mike sighs. “Yes.”

  Mom gives a little gasp, like maybe she’s been telling herself ever since Master Sparks changed into a dragon, that it was just a weird dream, but now she has to accept it’s real.

  “And yet,” Master Sparks continues, “you’re not—not really, not yet. Do you see my eyes?”

  Rather than look directly into his eyes, which feels like it might be a kind of trap, especially considering the eyeball symbol on the necklace in my sister’s hand, I study them sideways. They’re sparkling green, almost iridescent, like emeralds lit with a bright light, or maybe even illuminated from behind.

  They’re not normal human eyes. Not nearly.

  “Your eyes don’t usually look that way,” Judy observes. “Usually, they’re just a really dark brown. But they’ve been bright green since you changed into a dragon. They’re the same color as your dragon scales were.”

  Master Sparks nods, the old familiar nod like he always gives in class when a student correctly answers a question. It’s more than a nod of the head—it’s like his entire upper body leans forward the tiniest bit, not in a real bow, but in acknowledgment that truth has been spoken. “The two of you have never assumed dragon form. As long as you remain in human form, your eyes will look as they do now. But once you change into dragons, your eyes will change color forever, and you will always after have to hide them.”

  It occurs to me that Master Sparks usually wears tinted glasses, even indoors.

  “But you don’t always wear your glasses,” I realize aloud. “I’ve seen your eyes before, and they weren’t anything unusual.” I try to recall exactly what they looked like. Dark brown, like Judy said, common and nondescript, sort of smiling, but certainly not anything abnormal like their current bright green.

  “I have tinted contact lenses. They aren’t particularly comfortable and I prefer not to wear them, but since glasses aren’t always practical, especially not in martial arts, I have both.”

  “So they shouldn’t change into dragons,” Mom concludes, sounding slightly pleased.

  Mike nods, the same almost-bow like he gave my sister. “It is dangerous for them to change. They are in hiding, but once they change, they will be easier to spot. They will always have to take measures to keep their true identities secret. No, the two of you must remain as you are.”

  I feel something that’s a mixture of disappointment and relief.

  Judy looks frustrated. “What happens if I breathe fire? Does that change anything?”

  “It is difficult to breathe fire in human form,” Mike notes. “It can almost be dangerous, since dragon scales and wings are fireproof, far more than human skin. Still, it can be done.”

  Either to prove him right, or perhaps more accurately, in open defiance of his cautions, Judy opens her mouth and emits a flicker of flames.

  Mom and Dad step back, eyes wide.

  I’m about to laugh, but Master Sparks looks concerned. “You’ve done that before?”

  Judy nods.

  “Be very careful.” He pauses.

  “Oh, it’s fine—I’ve never really burned myself. A couple of times it started to sting and brought tears to my eyes, but I rubbed the tears on it and the burn healed immediately.”

  “Tears will do that. Hospitals use a saline solution similar in composition to tears to help burn victims heal. And your tears are stronger than that—but that’s not what I’m referring to.” His tone drops to a serious octave. “If anyone is looking for you, watching you, tracking you—breathing fire will prove to them exactly who you are. Your mother risked much to keep you hidden.”

  “You’ve said that before.” Judy’s eyes hold challenge. “I don’t see how that’s possible. All she did was get rid of us. She gave us up. She didn’t do anything brave or risky. She quit.”

  “You hold much anger.” Mike looks sad. “If you knew what your mother has done and is doing, your heart would not be so hard toward her.”

  Judy’s got her lips pinched shut, and her eyes are simmering with anger and maybe tears.

  I stick my neck out. “Do you know what our mother has done and is doing?”

  “Some of it. As much as anyone.” Mike’s voice sounds unusually raspy.

  “Can you tell us? Maybe then we’ll understand.”

  “It is a long story. A complicated one.”

  “We’re snowed in.” Dad gestures around us. “We’re not going anywhere.”

  Mom mutters softly, “I was going to sleep.” She clears her throat and speaks louder. “I packed hot cocoa mix and cookies. We can put some more wood on the fire, and you can tell the story.”

  Master Sparks pulls a tea kettle from a shelf in the kitchen, and shows us how to use a long metal hook to place it on a rack inside the fireplace, close enough to the flames that we’ve soon got hot water (it helps that the water from the pump isn’t cold to begin with).

  While Mom and I get the hot cocoa ready, Dad and Master Sparks push the futon back into sofa mode and scoot it closer to the fire. They pull the chairs over from near the table, and within minutes, we’re all circled up around the blazing flames.

  Master Sparks takes a long drink of cocoa before he begins. “I met your mother during World War Two.”

  Dad immediately interrupts the story. “That was over fifty years ago.”

  Mom makes a scoffing noise. “You can’t be more than thirty years old. I’ve always thought you hardly look twenty
.”

  Mike blinks his emerald eyes at them patiently. He’s quiet for a long moment, during which time it occurs to me that if he can change into a dragon and fly and breathe fire and all those things, he can probably do a lot of other strange things. Like maybe teleport, like me (that’s another of the thousand questions I’d love to ask, but I’m hoping he’ll get to it in the course of his story, if Dad and Mom will let him get more than one sentence out at a time).

  So maybe he doesn’t age like mere humans.

  “I am old,” he says simply.

  “How old?” Judy asks.

  Master Sparks considers his hot cocoa, watching it swirl in the cup as he moves it ever-so-slightly, stirring it without a spoon. “Old. I was born in Tibet, which as you might know uses a very different calendar from the one you’re used to. That makes it tricky to figure my age with precision. Last time I sat down to work it out, I figured I was a little over five hundred.”

  “Five hundred? That’s not possible.” Mom, ever the mathematician, sounds like she’s certain of her conclusion.

  “Muriel.” Dad pats her hand. “The man can turn into a dragon. You saw him. It’s possible he might defy our assumptions about longevity, as well.”

  “Can he really turn into a dragon?” Mom hisses in a whisper. “It’s impossible.”

  “You saw it with your own eyes,” Dad insists, likewise whispering, though we can all hear them both.

  “It was probably a hologram.” Mom scowls and sips her cocoa.

  Mike ignores their argument and continues with his story. “My mother was a Tibetan princess. All dragons were royalty once, you know. They were the de facto rulers, and their royal treasuries comprised the traditional dragon hoards of gold, jewels, and other treasures you may have heard of dragons keeping.”

  Judy looks down at the gold chain and pendant, still in her hand. “Not much left of it, is there?”