Foundlings (The Lost Dragons Book 1)

by Finley Aaron

  “Married.” I repeat dumbly. But of course she was. Mike already told us he’s not our father. “She was married to our biological father?”

  “Yes. A dragon. He lived in Europe. I can only assume he still does. He had many aliases. She preferred to refer to him as John. He was a man of great wealth and even, as I understand it, power. He was influential in the war.”

  “Which side?” Dad asks cautiously.

  Mike makes a face that’s half grimace, half smirk. “His own. You must understand, dragons are not like people. We live long lives. I have no idea how old John was, but he’d lived long enough, the boundaries of European empires and countries had shifted around his estates—I believe he had multiple estates in various locations. The official affiliation of at least one of his aliases was Swiss.”

  “So, he was neutral?” I’ve learned a bit about World War Two in school—not enough to tell you which side every country was on, but enough that I’m pretty sure I’m right about the Swiss.

  “Neutral is a funny word,” Mike says without smiling. “Does it mean on no side, or on both sides?”

  “You said he was on his own side,” Judy notes.

  “That is how I understand it,” Mike says. “He was happy to profit from both sides.”

  “Wait.” Mom interrupts. “If her husband was European, why did the US government have this woman inspecting our weapons? Doesn’t that constitute a potential conflict of interest? I’m not saying they should have locked her up, but don’t give the woman access to security secrets.”

  “No one else knew about her husband. It was a secret she shared only with me.”

  “But really,” Mom presses, “was she even a US citizen?”

  “Her identity was that of a US citizen. Please understand, as dragons, we do not wish to deceive anyone, but we have always had to keep our identities secret. Our kind have been hunted nearly to extinction, and if it became known there were any of us left, I have no doubt we’d lose our freedom, if not our lives.

  “While our longevity has many advantages, it presents a distinct identity issue. Most of us do not have birth certificates, because we were born before such things existed. If I were to give my true birthdate, no one would believe me. No, I took on the identity of Mike Smith when the US entered the war. There was a young man by that name who, due to personal obligations, did not wish to enlist in the army. In exchange for his secrecy, I took his identity and joined the war effort under his name. My skills with munitions took me to Hastings. Monica’s alias was accomplished in a similar manner.

  “It is also for this reason,” Mike adds, “that I chose not to raise the children. Having struggled to establish identification records for myself in a world where such documents are becoming increasingly important, I felt they would be best off raised in a human home, by human parents.” He looks at me and Judy each in turn. “It was as normal a childhood as I could give you.”

  Judy nods solemnly. “Okay, but I’m still confused about our biological parents. They’re living as dragons somewhere in Europe, with multiple estates and wealth and power, and we’re being raised by humans in the middle of the United States…why?”

  Mike heaves out a long breath. “Your mother fears your father.”

  Mom gasps. “Is she a battered wife?”

  “I don’t believe so. No. It is more complicated than that.” Mike looks thoughtful for a long moment before speaking. “You know that dragons hoard gold, yes?”

  “Yes.” We all nod.

  “John hoards gold obsessively.” Mike sighs. “It is a long history, dragons and gold. Most of it has fallen into legend. I never paid it much heed. I’m not much of a hoarder, personally. After seeing my home buried by an avalanche, and then digging it out only to discover it had been ransacked, I’ve never seen the point of hoarding anything, only to have another man or dragon steal it.”

  “But other dragons hoard gold,” Judy prompts when it seems Mike is likely to wander off on another tangent. “There are legends?”

  “Yes, legends.” Mike nods with a faraway smile. “According to the legends, dragons don’t just hoard gold. They make it.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  I can feel my eyebrows rising with disbelief. Mike has told us some pretty fantastic tales already—about immortality, breathing fire, teleporting, and changing into dragon form. If I hadn’t watched him do at least two of those, I might have some difficulty believing there’s any truth to his claims.

  “They make gold?” Mom repeats in full skeptic mode. “That’s not possible.”

  “To my understanding,” Mike concedes, “you are correct.”

  Mom smiles slightly.

  “If we define ‘possible’ as being something that has been done, then, no, I don’t believe it is possible to make gold. When last I spoke with Monica, fifteen years ago, she told me John had still not managed to make gold after decades of trying.”

  “So the legend is a myth,” Dad clarifies. As a literature professor, he’s got entire books of myths and legends on his shelves. He could probably tell you the technical distinction between the two, if you asked, but I wouldn’t advise letting him get started on the subject. It’s not likely to be half as interesting as what Mike has to say.

  “I’ve not explored the topic personally,” Mike says. “However, John is obsessed with the idea. It’s an all-consuming passion of his. He believes dragons are capable of making gold, and he runs experiments trying to figure out how. To that end, he has tracked and captured dragons, and keeps them imprisoned in cells deep under the mountains. That is why Monica did not want him to know about the children.”

  “Experiments?” If my voice wavers a bit, can you blame me? “What kinds of experiments?”

  “All kinds. He’s been at this for close to a century, at least. He’s experimented with magnets, electricity, centrifuges—Monica didn’t go into details. Not that any of his techniques matter. They’ve all failed.”

  “He puts the dragons in centrifuges? And uses electricity on them?” I’m terribly confused. “Don’t they fight back? They’re dragons. Aren’t they strong and mighty and powerful? How did he capture them in the first place?”

  “Trickery, false pretenses…I can only assume. I’m not entirely clear how he captured them,” Mike admits. “Anyway, it’s not the dragons themselves he’s been using. I believe it’s mostly their tears. That’s what the legends point to.”

  “The tears of a dragon?” I muse, casting a look at the eye pendant Judy’s still holding.

  “So he’s got them all locked up underground, and he goes around all day making them cry, because he wants to get rich?” Judy sounds aghast. “That’s terrible. Worse than leaving newborns in a duffle bag at a rest stop.”

  “Yes.” Mike agrees, smiling. “I’m glad you think so. I’m also relieved neither of you inherited his heartlessness. You both have your mother’s compassion toward living things.”

  “Mother’s got a heart, then?” I clarify.

  Mike nods. “And a strong conscience.”

  But just as quickly, Judy asks, “Why does our mother stay with him, then? Why didn’t she stay escaped when she brought us to you? Why go back? He sounds awful.”

  “That’s just it,” Master Sparks explains. “She’s got conscience enough for both of them. She’s keeping tabs on him. If he ran unchecked, who knows what he might do? She told me she’s been waiting for a chance to free the other dragons, but it’s been impossible so far. She’d have to get them all out at once, because the moment John realizes she’s not on his side, she’ll never get back in to free the rest. That’s not something she’s willing to risk unless she’s sure she’ll succeed, which is why she’s still there. Waiting.”

  “So she’s some kind of spy, then? Like a double agent?” Dad asks.

  “That’s a good way of putting it,” Master Sparks agrees. “That’s essentially what she was in the war. John wanted her to find out what she could about the technological arms innovation
s, but she wasn’t really working for him, either. Sure, she’d report back information, I suppose, but nothing that might endanger anyone.”

  “So she was more like a triple agent?” I’m trying to wrap my head around it all. “Working for the US, reporting back to her dragon husband, but all the while, she’s just keeping tabs on him. Really, she works for…who?” My head is still not wrapped around it.

  “Herself,” Judy guesses. “Her conscience?”

  “All dragonkind,” Mike declares. “John has imprisoned every dragon he could find. He’d imprison her, too, if he thought for one second she wasn’t on his side. And really, she’s almost imprisoned, the way she lives now. She can’t free the dragons on her own. Her only hope is to keep watch and wait for an opening.”

  “We could free her,” I speak the words in a cautious whisper.

  “We must free her,” Judy insists much more adamantly.

  Mike holds up a hand. “Someday you may try. But it is far, far too dangerous for you to go there now. You can’t risk being captured. In the meantime, we can train.”

  “That’s right.” I’m grinning. “You have a secret training facility inside the mountain.” I rise, tired of sitting. “Let’s get started.”

  Mom’s not keen on letting us teleport inside the mountain, but her fears aren’t even terribly relevant yet. Master Sparks insists on making sure both Judy and I are adept at teleporting shorter distances before we attempt to go inside the mountain, or anywhere else.

  “There’s a great lot of discipline involved in teleporting,” Master Sparks explains as he drags the cot into the back bedroom. “You’ve got to be able to focus. If your mind wanders mid-jump, you could accidentally end up wherever your mind wandered to, or somewhere in between. We’re going to practice teleporting from this back bedroom to the front room.”

  “Why only that little bit?” I’m not going to lie—I’m sort of disappointed to learn I’m going to be using my fantastic super power to do something I’m perfectly capable of doing with little effort without any super powers.

  That makes it seem not so much like a super power, as just…an alternate means of transportation.

  Kind of lame.

  But whatever. Back in our martial arts classes, we had to practice thousands of kicks before Master Sparks ever let us try breaking a board with a kick. I suppose this is sort of the same.

  “There are many reasons why you don’t want to attempt to jump too far,” Mike explains. “One is that, the farther you jump—the greater distance you intend to cover—the more lost you could become if your jump fails. If you can’t make it from here to the front room, chances are you will end up somewhere in between. The doorway. Perhaps the kitchen. We stand little chance of losing you.

  “But another reason, and this becomes a very important reason if you’re thinking of attempting longer jumps, is that teleporting is really not that much more efficient a form of movement than flying or walking.”

  “Is that why you flew here last night, instead of teleporting?” I ask. Granted, I’m not one hundred percent sure he flew instead of teleporting, but given that he landed barefoot on the front stoop, it seems like a logical conclusion.

  Master Sparks nods. “That, and I wasn’t sure how far you’d come on your journey. If I’d jumped directly here, and you were still on the road somewhere, I’d have to fly back and look for you. It made much more sense to simply fly above the road and look for you as I traveled here. Dragons have much better eyesight than humans, so I could fly among the clouds, out of the range of human eyesight, but I’d still be able to see your vehicle.”

  “So, flying is often a better means of transportation?” Judy clarifies.

  Master Sparks nods. “They both use essentially the same amount of energy. Yes, by teleporting you are able to cover considerable distances in a very short time—I have jumped back to Tibet from the United States before, but I only did it once, and I don’t intend to do it again.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because longer jumps require more energy. Just as flying from the United States to Tibet would require a great deal of energy, likewise jumping that distance also depletes your stores of energy. When I arrived in Tibet from the United States, I was more exhausted than I have ever been in my life. I cannot fly from here to there without stopping to rest, to eat and drink, and refuel. It was foolish of me to attempt it at a jump.”

  “So, why did you do it?” Judy challenges.

  “To be honest, it was shortly after World War Two ended, a couple of years after I had spoken with Monica. She had told me that John had captured dragons—that he tracked them down all over the world and imprisoned them. I had been mulling that in the back of my mind ever since, and it suddenly occurred to me that he may have kidnapped my mother and siblings.”

  “But, I thought you said they disappeared in the eighteen fifties.” I try to recall exactly what he said.

  “You are correct,” Mike confirms. “I told myself that was too long ago, but then again, I had no way of knowing when John started kidnapping dragons. I also knew it had been almost a hundred years since my family disappeared, but they lived on a remote mountain, virtually inaccessible by foot, so there was little chance the site had been disturbed. I debated whether I should go, but I couldn’t shake the hope that I might find some clue, so I jumped.”

  “What did you find?” Judy asks.

  “I found myself utterly exhausted on the floor of my childhood home, in a place inaccessible by foot. I very nearly starved to death, but I’d strapped a pack of food and water to my body before jumping. Along with a day of resting, those gave me the energy to hunt, and I was able to restore my strength from there. Once I did, I made my way back to the United States via a series of shorter flights.”

  “Did you find any clues about whether John kidnapped your family?”

  “Nothing conclusive. Nothing new. It was a terrible waste of energy. I only tell you about it because I do not want you to ever make the same mistake.”

  “Always wear food and water when attempting a jump.” Judy shoves a granola bar in her pocket and grins. “Got it.”

  Master Sparks ignores her sassiness and gives us preparatory instructions. “From here,” he points to the bedroom floor, “to there. Proceed when ready.”

  I close my eyes, imagine myself standing near the fire, and open my eyes when my mom gasps.

  I’m standing in the warmth near the fire. “Don’t worry, Mom,” I tease her. “It was just a hologram.”

  Judy makes a grunting noise from the other room. She has her eyes pinched tightly shut, and her hands balled into fists. “How am I doing?”

  “You look constipated,” Mom whispers from the doorway, perhaps not quite discretely. “Don’t force…anything.”

  Judy opens her eyes and bounds past Mom, skidding to a stop next to me, sneakers squeaking. “There. I leapt.”

  “Doesn’t count.”

  “Breathe fire.”

  I open my mouth and…let out a belch.

  Judy grins. “You blow fire as well as I teleport.”

  Master Sparks walks over and joins us. “This is precisely why we’re not attempting to go any farther.”

  Judy points out, “I can’t go anywhere, so attempting a long jump wouldn’t be any different than attempting a short one.”

  Mom nods solemnly. “Any number times zero is zero.”

  “I’m a zero,” Judy explains, looking pleased with herself.

  “Fine.” Master Sparks crosses his arms. “Be a zero. But you’re never going to leap in to help your mother if you can’t teleport anywhere.”

  Judy makes her determined face, the same look she gets in martial arts class when she’s about to attempt something particularly challenging.

  And just as in class, Master Sparks gives her last-minute instructions in a low soothing tone. “Focus. Imagine yourself in the back bedroom. Imagine the cooler air, the dusty, closed-up scent. Picture yourself there.”


  For several long seconds, Judy is silent. Then she flickers ever-so-slightly, so that I’m about to look to the back bedroom, hoping to see her there. But she’s still here.

  “You’re still here,” I inform her.

  She opens her eyes and makes a face. “I didn’t really think I would jump.”

  “You flickered.”

  “Did I?”

  “Yes,” Mom and Dad both assure her.

  “You can do this. Want me to jump with you? Maybe it will be easier if you hold my hands.”

  “That could help,” Master Sparks agrees. “When my father first taught me how to teleport, he held my hand.”

  “Hold my hand.” I reach for my sister.

  She places her palm against mine.

  I raise one eyebrow in challenge. “Do you want to save dragonkind?”

  “You know I do.”

  “Then let’s jump.”

  I squeeze her hand and pinch my eyes shut.

  A second later, I can no longer feel her hand, but I hear her laughing from a room away. I open my eyes, fully expecting to see her still standing in front of the fire.

  But no, I realize, I’m still in front of the fire.

  She jumped to the back bedroom.

  *

  We practice jumping back and forth between the rooms of the cabin. It still takes us tons of tries before we even get to the point where we can dependably jump when we want to with any consistency. While we’re at it, Master Sparks announces he’s going to go hunt us up some lunch, because if we’re going to be doing dragon things, we need to eat a dragon’s diet for proper fuel.

  He’s gone awhile, but returns as far as the front yard, sticks a bloody carcass of some big animal (I got lucky when I correctly identified that antelope yesterday, and that was before it had been skinned. I’m not even attempting to guess what this is) on an improvised spit he’s made out of tree branches, and then he piles firewood under it and blows flames until it’s flickering nice and hot.