by Finley Aaron
“Not much left of any of it, I’m afraid. Dragon kingdoms, dragon kings and dragon queens—they are no more. For centuries, even millennia, benevolent dragon rulers kept the peace between kingdoms, and ensured the safety and well-being of their people. They provided for them during times of famine and disaster, and imparted justice through their wisdom. But over time, people became jealous of their rulers. The jealous ones inspired fear and resentment in the hearts of the people. They spread stories of dragons who used their power for evil. Whether the stories were true is debatable, but the tales accomplished their goal. People began to fear dragons. They sent their best knights to destroy them. You have seen what has happened to the great and lovely creatures of the earth to day—rhinoceroses, Bengal tigers, elephants, bald eagles—they have been hunted to the brink of extinction.”
“There’s some hope bald eagles may make a comeback,” Dad interjects.
“When was the last time you saw one?” Mike asks him.
“I’ve never seen one.” Judy pipes up.
“Likewise, dragons,” Mike concludes. “It is possible, there may be enough dragons remaining to someday repopulate the species, but, if I am honest, I thought dragons were effectively extinct as well, until Monica arrived at this cabin and laid the two eggs that would become the two of you—”
“Eggs?” I clarify. “We were hatched from eggs?”
“You are dragons. Reptiles,” Mike clarifies.
Judy jumps up and picks up a dark object from the corner of the room. “We found this in the fireplace when we first arrived.”
Master Sparks nods. “I tried to burn everything, to destroy the evidence you were ever here. Dragon egg shells don’t burn easily.”
“That was our shell?” I touch the edge of the charred remnant.
“One of the two,” Mike affirms. “But I’m getting ahead of the story. My mother was a Tibetan princess. My father was an Italian merchant. His family had once ruled a small kingdom, but when their people turned on them, they fled. My father traveled extensively, following the trade routes favored by Marco Polo and others who’d gone before him. He met my mother, they fell in love, married, and had three children. I was the oldest. At a young age I joined my father in his travels. I have lived in many parts of the world, but I have met very, very few dragons.
“Most of the dragons I have known, I met through my father centuries ago. But Monica….” He smiles a wistful smile. “I had not seen a dragon in decades. For all I knew, there weren’t any left in the world.”
“What happened to your parents and siblings?” Eager as I am to learn more about my birth mother, I’m equally enthralled by the history of my kind.
“Gone.” Mike gazes into the fire with a faraway expression. “I don’t actually know what became of my mother and siblings. My father and I returned from a long journey to find an avalanche had swallowed up the mountainside where they lived. We dug and dug. We found the family home. There were signs of a struggle, but no trace of my mother or my two siblings. I have been back to the spot twice since, and still found no clue.”
“How terrible.” Judy commiserates.
“That was in the eighteen-fifties, according to your calendar. We discovered them gone in 1857, but we had not seen them since 1854, so we cannot be sure when they were lost. From then on, it was just the two of us until my father died, shortly before the First World War.”
“What happened to him?” I ask the question quietly, so Master Sparks can ignore it as he overlooked my mother’s protests, if he wishes to.
But he answers plainly. “He was struck by a car. Simply didn’t see it coming. In many ways, he didn’t keep up with the times, hadn’t evolved with the changing world. He was too used to the world as it once was. It’s a risk we all face.”
“All of us?” I clarify. “All dragons?”
“Yes. You see, in dragon form we could live forever. Our scales are bulletproof, blade proof, fireproof, very nearly invincible. But our human bodies are different. We don’t age beyond adulthood, and we retain some of our dragon skills—keen eyesight, longevity, the ability to breathe fire—but beyond that, when we’re in human form, we’re mortal. A little sturdier than mere humans, perhaps, but not nearly as invincible as we are in dragon form.”
I nod all through Mike’s explanation. What he has to say is fascinating, but I’m equally interested in what he hasn’t said.
He hasn’t mentioned the ability to teleport.
Why not?
Is that a thing dragons do? Is that what I did? Or do I misunderstand what happened Monday night?
My parents don’t know about that, still, so I don’t bring it up. Mike may yet get to it, or he might not.
Time will tell.
“My father,” Mike continues, “was as skilled at self-defense as I am. He could defend himself adeptly with his bare hands, or wield a sword, and had, many times. He was strong and fast and had quick reflexes, but he belonged to a world long gone. He simply wasn’t used to the fast pace of the automotive age. It took him by surprise.
“Since then I have sometimes wondered if I am up to the challenge of living in this modern world. I’ve wondered if I am not a relic of a forgotten age—if my time has come and gone.” He shrugs. “Not that I would complain. I have been given far more years than most. But I never had any children. I never had anyone to teach all I’d learned in my many years, no reason, really, for having been.”
Master Sparks takes a long sip of cocoa, then looks up and smiles. “And then I met your mother.”
Chapter Ten
Master Sparks falls silent again.
Dad gets up and puts a couple more logs on the fire.
Judy’s been holding the charred remnant of the dragon egg on her lap for the last few minutes, studying it. If I can read her face (and Mom seems to think I’m pretty good at that), I’d say she’s wondering about the woman who laid the egg, and everything that’s happened since. Now she sets the husk gently on the floor.
Mom’s still sipping her hot cocoa, watching Mike warily. She clearly doesn’t believe his story, even after seeing him in dragon form with her own eyes. Mom’s a super rational person and likes to stick to solid facts, like the answers to the complicated math problems she solves in her college classes.
Dragons don’t solve like math problems.
And though I’m convinced Mike Sparks really is what he claims to be, if I’m honest, I have to admit I haven’t begun to accept what he’s telling us. Not that I disagree with it. My own experiences tell me nothing here is going to come out clean and easy like an equation out of a math textbook.
It’s just that it’s so completely different from the world as I’ve always known it. I can’t feel it or touch it, so how can I come to grips with it? It’s like I’m watching a fantastical movie, and when the lights come back on, I’ll walk out of the theatre and back into the cold blowing snow of the real world.
Except this is the real world, now. My real world.
Judy squirms impatiently on her chair. “How did you meet our mother?” She asks Mike.
But Mike’s face, which is generally olive-toned, even ruddy, looks pale. It occurs to me that his current lethargy may be more than reflective musing.
Is he ill?
Mike makes a noise that’s half sigh, half audible yawn, with undertones of agonized moan. It’s a long sort of growling sound that would pair as well with his dragon form as his current human shape. He shakes his head briskly, like he’s trying to wake himself up.
“I haven’t eaten.” He smacks his mouth and looks around the cabin.
“You had cookies.” Mom’s eyes go wide and she scoots back on the futon, away from him. “What else do you need to eat?”
“Meat. Lots of meat.”
For a second, I’m tempted to back away, too.
“Flying makes me ravenously hungry,” Master Sparks explains. “Especially flying long distances, and into a blizzard on top of that. I need to hunt.”
“But it�
�s the middle of the night, in the middle of a blizzard,” Dad protests. “Aren’t most animals hibernating at this time of year?”
“We have some lunch meat in the cooler,” Mom offers. “Ham, turkey, or salami.”
“Thank you, no. I need many more calories than what you have in your cooler.” Mike rises and moves toward the door. “I lived in this cabin for many years. I know where the animals may be hiding.”
“I want to go, too.” I all but jump off my chair after him.
“It’s blizzarding,” Mom protests.
“He’s going to kill an animal,” Dad adds.
I turn to Mike. “You’re going to fly, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“I want to go, too!” Judy hops up.
“Flying in a blizzard,” Mom starts, the no firm in her voice.
“There is very little danger to them,” Master Sparks points out.
“With no seat belts, no helmets,” Mom continues.
“I will not be flying very high,” Mike promises. “Even if they were to fall off, there’s a least a foot of snow on the ground. It’s like a safety net covering the entire mountain.”
They argue back and forth, and I remain quiet. Of course my mother, who tends to be overprotective anyway, doesn’t want me and my sister flying through a blizzard in the middle of the night on a dragon’s back, especially when he’s out hunting.
But I don’t know if I’ve ever wanted anything so badly.
“Please, Mom?” I cut in when she hesitates. “You know how much I love flying. Maybe this is why. Maybe it’s because I’m a dragon. I need to fly like a dragon because that’s who I am.”
“Can’t we go with him?” Judy joins in. “If we’re dragons ourselves, this will be good practice.”
“Really, it’s far safer than what we could be doing,” I add.
Mom and Dad both shoot me shocked glares.
But Dad is clearly leaning our direction. He puts a hand on mom’s arm. “If it’s only a hologram, it won’t do any harm to let them go outside.” His smirk says he knows exactly what he’s saying.
Mom turns her glare on him. “There probably are drugs in this cabin. Hallucinogenic drugs, in the fire or something. Now we’ve all inhaled them and we’re all seeing things. This is absurd!”
While she’s talking, Judy and I slip back into our boots and coats. If Dad gives us permission, we need to be ready to dart out of the house before Mom tries to stop us. Her concerns are obviously unfounded, anyway. We’ve only ever been safe with Master Sparks before. He’s one of the safest adults I know.
Dad puts his hands on Mom’s shoulders and talks to her quietly.
Master Sparks slips past us toward the front door, almost like he’s planning to leave without us.
“Please don’t go yet.” Judy’s tying the straps of her hat securely under her chin, the necklace from our birth mother just visible inside the collar of her coat. “Can you take us with you?”
Mike glances at my parents.
“Please?” My boots on, I hop to my feet and slip my hands into my gloves. I need to do this. I’ve been wondering for days—really, for my whole life—who I am and where I come from. Master Sparks says I’m a dragon. I need to experience what that means.
“And what? You can’t ride a dragon like you ride a horse. I don’t have a saddle.”
“You’re bigger than a horse,” Judy points out.
Mike clutches his midsection, which is growling audibly. “I’m so hungry. I just want to grab something to eat.”
“Maybe we can help you find something. We have really good eyesight, remember?” Judy gives him a pleading look.
“What do your parents say?” Master Sparks looks to them.
“Go,” Dad says quietly. “Be safe.” He’s still got his hands on Mom’s shoulders. She doesn’t look happy. Mostly she looks tired, and maybe a little scared.
“We’ll be fine,” I assure them both.
Dad murmurs something to Mom, just loud enough I can barely hear. “We always said if we found out, no matter where they came from, no matter what their background was, we’d let them experience their birth culture. We wouldn’t interfere.”
Mom lets out a shaky breath. “We said we’d support them and love them no matter what. But I assumed they were human.”
“Go,” Dad repeats.
Mom nods slowly. “Stay safe.”
“We will!” Judy and I both promise. We follow Master Sparks outside.
“You’ve got to hold on tight. If I feel you’re slipping off, I’ll have to land. If this doesn’t work, I’ll hunt alone. Understand?” He gives us a firm warning look, the kind he uses in class whenever we practice falls or throws or anything where there’s a potential for serious injury.
We know the look, and we know enough to quit our giddy grinning, and nod solemnly.
Mike steps off the porch and drops his coat even as he transforms into a dragon before our eyes.
Though I saw him do the same thing barely an hour ago, I still gasp in surprise. He’s so massive, so shimmery. His wings are incredibly large. They unfurl with a slight rippling sound, a bit like an umbrella opening, but far, far bigger and more powerful.
The dragon crouches low in the snow next to the porch. Judy and I bound forward, and I give my sister a boost onto Mike’s shoulders, just below his neck.
His wings sprout out high on his back, essentially right out of his shoulder blades. There won’t be a lot of room for us to sit.
Master Sparks holds out his dragon arm, talons curved inward like a fist. I get a knee up near his elbow, and he raises his arm, lifting me high enough that I can scramble onto his back behind my sister.
Then he twists his sinuous neck around so his head is pointing at us.
It’s a strange thing, his dragon head. It’s huge and a bit like a horse head, only with sharp teeth and horns, all scaly green. But his eyes are the same tired eyes that have been watching us as we sat around the fire for the last hour. And if you look past their bright greenness, they’re really the same eyes we’ve known our whole lives.
Maybe the first eyes we ever looked into.
He gives us a look that asks if we’re ready.
Judy’s got both arms wrapped around the dragon’s neck. I can’t do the same because she’s in my way, so I hold tight with my legs, put one arm around Judy, and grab hold of whatever I can find behind me. There’s a protruding knob at the top of each wing where it sprouts from the dragon’s back, so I grab the closest one.
“Ready!” I shout over the howling snow.
Mike bounds forward, unfurling his wings and pushing off the ground. Though he’s certainly being careful for our sakes, I imagine it requires a great deal more lift to take off with the two of us clinging to him, than it did just a bit ago when he flew a circle by himself.
And then we’re in the air! We’re flying! This is so much cooler than being on a plane. It’s quieter, more open. Somehow it feels more real.
Master Sparks rises above the scattered treetops, then chooses a path where the trees are few, mostly bushes covered by snow. He glides low, tracing the circumference of the mountain just downhill from the cabin, below the belt of trees. His shoulders feel rigid, like he’s trying extra-hard not to tilt his body in any direction—like he’s doing his best not to spill us off his shoulders.
For a minute or two, this works. We cruise low along the ridge of mountains. The blizzard rages furiously all around us, but unlike flying in a plane, in which the slightest bit of turbulence makes the craft feel fragile, I feel like the dragon is stronger than the storm. Master Sparks flies defiantly into the wind. The stinging snow doesn’t seem to bother him.
However, it does bother me. Bundled up though I am, the pelting cold and freezing temperatures make it difficult for me to keep my eyes open. I try to shake it off, to enjoy the thrill of flying in spite of the cold, but the biting fierceness of it makes me wonder how much longer I can stand to be out here.
Then Judy gasps in front of me. She pulls one hand free of her hold around Mike’s neck, and points to something moving far below.
It’s an antelope, or something. Some kind of deer-like creature. To be honest, I’m not any kind of expert on Rocky Mountain fauna. Whatever it is, it looks like it would make a good meal.
At least, Mike seems to think so. He beats his wings and turns in the air, angling his body toward the animal. As he does so, I’m instantly aware of a number of things. One is that, when he extends his wings upward to dive for the animal, the protruding top-knob wing handle I’m grasping sort of disappears down below the level of his scales, leaving me with nothing to hold on to.
The other thing is that, given the sudden change of angle, I’m not sitting nearly so steadily on the dragon’s shoulders. In fact, I’m quite off-balance. On top of that, my clothes have just enough icy snow stuck to them, that clinging to Mike’s back is like attempting to walk across a sheet of ice.
Slippery.
Perhaps most importantly, though, I realize Judy hasn’t got hold around the dragon’s neck again. She used her hand to point out the antelope or whatever, and then Master Sparks turned in the air so quickly, she wasn’t holding on again yet.
The reason this is so important is, as Mike picks up speed, angling downward toward his intended meal, I feel myself slipping from my perch, and instinctively scramble for a hold, which means I lean into my sister to try to regain my balance so I don’t slide right off Mike’s back.
But Judy isn’t holding on with both arms. The one arm she is holding on with, is wrapped round underneath Mike’s neck, on the same side I’m slipping off. So when the force of my downward slide pulls her down, too, she hasn’t got anything to apply counter-pressure, or to balance the force of our fall.
In other words, as Master Sparks zooms toward the antelope, the two of us slip off his back.
We don’t fall far. Master Sparks never got very far off the ground on purpose, and he had swooped down toward the antelope, and was skimming the ground behind it when we fell, so it was probably only ten feet or so from his shoulders to the snowy earth.
