Foundlings (The Lost Dragons Book 1)

by Finley Aaron

  “No sense in that,” Judy agrees, rubbing her hands together slowly like she’s still absorbing their transformation.

  “I suppose the two of you are hungry,” Master Sparks continues. “Why don’t you practice for another half hour or so while I hunt us up something to eat, then teleport back to the cabin for lunch?”

  We agree to his plan, and take up swords, sparring casually while we discuss this latest development.

  “I’m sure I could change my arm again,” I explain to Judy, “but changing our entire bodies is something else entirely.”

  “It’s the same principle,” she counters, meeting every move of my sword with a clanging counter-strike. “If you can do one, you can do the other.”

  “Yes, but under pressure?” I punctuate my words with the clash of metal on metal. “Master Sparks said he wants us to know how to change in case we ever have to fight a dragon.”

  “Our father,” Judy whips her sword around quickly, forcing me to take a step back.

  “Exactly. A very cunning, much older, probably stronger, far more experienced dragon,” I flick my weapon with slight motions, meeting blade to blade with each adjective I speak. “He’s not going to stand there peaceably while we attempt to make our first transformation.” I duck as Judy swings her sword high, and I bring my blade around in an uppercut sort of motion that’s nearly impossible to block from her position.

  “That’s why our best defense is to disappear.” As she speaks, she flickers out of sight, reappearing instantly a few feet behind me.

  I swing around, grinning. “You’re getting good at that move.”

  “Thanks.” She disappears again, materializing this time several feet to my left. “But short distances are easy. They require almost no energy.” Again, she demonstrates by teleporting a few feet away without becoming short of breath. “Longer jumps are more difficult. And yet, we haven’t practiced them at all.”

  Our swords meet in the middle and we both push forward, glaring eye-to-eye, each trying to outmuscle the other and force our opponent’s sword downward.

  Judy holds her ground without faltering. “If we meet our father, our best defense is not to change into a dragon, but to teleport away—far away. Not a few feet to where he can see where we’ve gone, but miles away, even hundreds of miles away, to where he won’t be able to find us.”

  I meet her blade strike for strike. While I could, likewise, counter her argument by reminding her what Master Sparks said—that our father, by virtue of his biological relationship with us, could possibly teleport to wherever we teleport. But I’m not sure I agree with that idea. I tried to teleport to Judy the night we fell off Mike’s back, but instead of teleporting to her, I reached the spot where we’d been standing before I teleported away.

  Even though she’s my twin sister, the person I know best in all the world, I was unable to teleport to her. Our father, who’s never met us and hopefully doesn’t even know we exist, couldn’t possibly have a stronger connection to either of us than we do to each other. So it seems illogical to imagine he could teleport to us, no matter how well-practiced he otherwise is.

  As a symbol of my acceptance of her theory, I teleport halfway across the training room, and call to her in a voice that echoes through the cavernous chamber, “If our best defense is long-distance teleporting, then I think we need to practice long-distance teleporting.”

  Judy grins and blips out of sight, appearing beside me, sword down. “Do you think we should try it right now, or ask Master Sparks about it first?”

  “We should talk to him about it. He’ll want to give us pointers.”

  “Do you think so? He might advise against it, because of the dangers.”

  “Dangers?” I blow out a breath that says I think little of the supposed dangers. “What? Jumping too far and getting exhausted? Jumping into a public place and being seen? We’re too smart for that.”

  “You know we are and I know we are, but does Master Sparks know it?”

  “He is very protective of us, isn’t he?”

  Judy touches her necklace again. “Probably because he promised our mother he’d keep us safe.”

  “We’ll just have to convince him that we will be safe, then. It’s just teleporting. It’s not really dangerous. Not like swordplay is dangerous.” I raise my sword, silently challenging my sister to spar again.

  “Exactly.” She meets my blade with a grin. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “What’s the worst that could happen?” Master Sparks echoes the question after we share the idea with him over roast beast.

  “If we can only teleport to places we know, we can’t really get lost.” I point out between bites.

  “And we’ll be careful only to choose a place where no one will be,” Judy adds.

  “It should be a place you know well,” Master Sparks reminds us. “Do you have anything in mind?”

  “We could jump home,” I offer, trying to think of a place we know well. “Mom and Dad won’t get there until late tonight, or possibly tomorrow morning.”

  “Remember.” Mike’s voice holds a note of caution. “A long jump will be exhausting. If you jump home, you’ll want to eat and rest before you jump back here.”

  I finish for him. “And if Mom and Dad get home to find us already there, they won’t want us to jump away again.”

  “Besides,” Judy reminds us, “Mrs. Ferguson is cat-sitting. If we show up suddenly when she’s in the house, she’ll freak.”

  “We don’t want to distress Mrs. Ferguson,” Mike agrees.

  “But what other places do we know well, where people won’t be?” I run through a list inside my head—friends’ houses, relatives, even places like school and the library—but they’re all likely to have people about. The school has a holiday basketball tournament with teams from all around the region, and even the college where our parents work hosts some random things over break. I can’t remember all the details of what and when, which means I can’t be sure we wouldn’t risk people seeing us.

  “I know!” Judy swallows a bite of meat, her eyes brightening.

  “What?” I feel a rush of hope.

  “Grandma’s cabin. She never goes there in the winter—she’s in Florida. And we’ve been there for weeks and weeks every summer since we were babies. I can picture myself on our bunkbeds—”

  I grab her hand before she can teleport away. “Judy!”

  “The cabin sounds perfect,” Master Sparks agrees.

  “It’s not.” I insist.

  “It’s in a remote area, so no one would see us,” Judy adds. “And there’s plenty of wildlife if you wanted to come with and go hunting for us.”

  “But Judy—” I continue to protest.

  Master Sparks is optimistic about the possibility, though, and cuts me off. “I could probably jump with you if I hold your hands. I’ve known you for years—I was the first person you saw when you hatched. That’s got to count for something. We could go, spend a day or two there, and then jump back here or to your parents’ house.”

  “No, we can’t.” I have to nearly shout to be heard.

  “Why not?” Master Sparks asks.

  “It’s in Maine. Grandma’s cabin is in Maine.”

  “The state?” Mike’s expression droops.

  “Yes. Somewhere upstate, far from everything. We always flew in to Bangor and then drove for hours into the middle of nowhere.”

  Judy’s face is still hopeful. “It is in the middle of nowhere. Out of sight of everyone, even during the summer. In winter I’m sure there’s no one for miles.”

  “Maine.” Mike runs a hand through his dark hair. “That’s well over two thousand miles from here.” He looks us over. “You’re young and fit. Strong. Neither of you feels sick or tired?”

  “I feel great,” Judy assures him.

  “That’s a long way to teleport,” Master Sparks makes a face.

  “It’s not possible, is it?�
�� I ask.

  “Oh, it’s possible,” Master Sparks corrects me. “I teleported all the way to Tibet, once, remember?”

  “But you almost died.”

  “But I traveled almost halfway around the world—over ten thousand miles, maybe twelve, fourteen thousand. I don’t know, I never sat down to sum up the numbers. Whatever the case, the trip from here to Maine is a small fraction the distance.”

  “But we’re inexperienced.” I feel a bubble of something like fear rising in the pit of my stomach. “And you almost died.”

  “What do we risk?” Judy asks. “If we can’t make it there, what happens?”

  “You’ll just stay here, I guess,” Master Sparks offers. “Or end up in the next-closest place you’ve ever been, maybe another cabin between here and there?”

  “We don’t know of any,” I assure him.

  “It will be an exhausting journey,” Master Sparks admits, “but I believe the two of you are strong enough to make it there. More than that, I think you’ll be able to recover your strength in a couple of days and teleport back to Hastings. Honestly, I think this will be a good test of your skills, and excellent practice for future jumps. After all, if you can jump two-thousand miles, most any other jump will seem like nothing in comparison.”

  Judy grins. “Even jumping home won’t be as hard, because it’s not as far from Maine to Hastings as it is from here to Maine.”

  “And I suspect,” Mike continues, “that the two of you are genetically predisposed to be particularly good teleporters. Rudy, the fact that you teleported the first time without even knowing it was possible, is a good clue that you’re probably better at it than most dragons I’ve known.”

  “This will be a good test of our skills, won’t it?” Judy’s eyes are lit with hope.

  Master Sparks nods with approval. “Let’s finish eating. Then we can make our preparations and go. We’ll want to arrive before the sun goes down, and Maine is two times zones ahead of Wyoming, so we’ll need to leave here before mid-afternoon.”

  I’m chewing a big bite of meat, so I can’t say anything just yet. Besides that, I don’t know what to say. When I think of the long jaunt we’ve always made to get to grandma’s house in the past—the drive to the airport, flight connections, the lengthy drive north from Bangor—the idea of teleporting there instantly seems much too easy.

  Surely it can’t be that simple, can it?

  *

  As it turns out, it apparently is that simple. We’re ready to go in under two hours, which includes packing all our stuff into our backpacks and strapping them on so we can take them with us, and cleaning up the cabin and finishing off the meat.

  The three of us hold hands in a circle. As Master Sparks explains it, anything we’re holding or wearing should travel with us when we jump, and he often held hands with his father when they teleported, just to make sure they both ended up in the same spot.

  To be on the safe side, so he’ll know what to picture when he jumps, Judy and I describe our grandmother’s cabin to Master Sparks in detail.

  Mike then asks if we’re ready. When we nod, he says, “On three,” and starts counting.

  Judy nearly jumps too soon—I feel her flicker away just as Mike opens his mouth to say “three”. But I’m already picturing myself in the cabin, and an instant later, all three of us are standing on the braided rug near the fireplace, hands still linked.

  I feel a rush of elation, followed by intense exhaustion.

  We break off holding hands, and I sag backward onto the sofa.

  Judy flops into the recliner, head back, eyes closed.

  “Tired?” Master Sparks asks.

  “Yes.” I hold my head, trying to gauge my level of exhaustion. I feel like I’ve just run the mile in P.E. class—tired, but not bone-tired. “Mostly hungry.”

  “And thirsty,” Judy echoes.

  We stuffed the last of the granola bars into our backpacks, but I’m too tired to even unzip mine. Thankfully, Mike doesn’t mind waiting on us. He’s used to far longer jumps than this, so it didn’t drain him as much as it did the two of us. He gets us each glasses of water, then heads off to hunt some meat to restore our strength.

  The taste of meat revives us both, though I seem to regain my strength more quickly than my sister.

  “As I suspected, you have a gift for teleporting,” Master Sparks assesses, when I spring to my feet after eating. “Dragons, like people, have different skill levels for different things. Some fly faster, some are better hunters. My father could blow fire farther than anyone. You’re an excellent teleporter.” He smiles. “It is a skill that will serve you well.”

  For the next two days, we do little more than rest and eat and drink. By the third day, I feel stronger than I did before we left.

  “Oddly enough, I think it was good for me,” I admit, not mentioning to either Mike or Judy that I’d had sincere reservations before we made the jump.

  “Ready to head home?” Mike asks Sunday morning.

  “We told our Mom we’d arrive this afternoon,” I remind him.

  “There’s not much to be gained by waiting around here. Why don’t we surprise your parents by arriving early?” Master Sparks suggests.

  “Mom would love that, wouldn’t she?” Judy says. “Let’s get in a good meal first.”

  I don’t mind the plan. In fact, I’m feeling good about jumping. Home should be super easy. I teleported to my bedroom before I even knew teleportation was possible, or anything about how to accomplish it.

  “I’ve never been inside your house before,” Master Sparks reminds us over a breakfast of what I’m pretty sure is moose (I’m stuffing myself extra full in hopes of fending off the exhaustion I felt after jumping here). “So I’ll jump to my house, then run down the block and ring your doorbell. You shouldn’t be as exhausted this time—your bodies should be adjusting after your last jump. But just to make sure you’re both able to leave without any problems, I’ll wait until the two of you have jumped away from here before I go.”

  “Sounds like a good plan,” I agree between bites of moose.

  We gather up our things while Master Sparks flies off with the remnants of our meal, leaving them for scavenging animals deep in the woods. When he returns, we do a final inspection of the cabin, making sure we’re leaving everything just as it was when we arrived.

  Finally, we gather on the braided rug. This time, we do not hold hands.

  “To home,” I announce, preparing to picture myself in our living room. “To Mom and Dad.”

  “Home,” Judy repeats, fingering her necklace pendant. “To Mother.”

  In an instant, I’m standing near the familiar sofa in the living room of the house where I’ve spent most of my life. “Mom? Dad?” I call, but receive no answer, other than Keats and Tolstoy scampering into the room.

  Tolstoy, the cat who’s always been most fond of me, rubs against my leg. Keats looks around in confusion.

  “Judy?” I feel a prickle of concern.

  Where is everyone? The house feels warm, which means Mom and Dad have been home and turned the furnace up from whatever low setting they had it on while we were all in Wyoming. And I can see the road atlas back on the bookcase where it belongs, which means my folks have been home long enough to put things away.

  Keats makes a questioning sort of meow, and I meet his eyes. Whereas Tolstoy has always favored me, Keats is essentially Judy’s cat. Right now, Keats seems to be asking where she is.

  I don’t have an answer to that.

  “Mom? Dad? Judy?” I make a circle around the first floor of the house, feeling somewhat lightheaded.

  There’s no sign of anyone on the first floor. A couple of packages of frozen steaks are thawing on the counter. Mom and Dad must have realized we’d be hungry for meat when we got home, and set them out so we could have them for supper. How thoughtful of them.

  “Judy?” Still no answer. She should be here by now. Technically, she should have arrived the same
moment I did, but she should certainly be here by now. I look at the clock.

  How long have I been here? Probably not even a minute yet. It’s a quarter after ten.

  A quarter after ten on Sunday morning. Mom and Dad probably went to church. They’ll be home before lunch time.

  But where is Judy?

  Keats meows again, echoing my question. Normally the cat has a pretty good sense of where Judy is. Sometimes he’ll even get up off the sunny spot on the back of the couch and go stand by the door a minute or two before Judy walks in.

  The cat seems to know whenever Judy’s around, but the questioning look he’s giving me right now says he has no idea where she is.

  I’m still exchanging looks of uncertainty with the cat when the doorbell rings. I let out a relieved sigh and let Master Sparks into the house. At least he made it. Maybe he knows something.

  “Where’s Judy?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. I was hoping you’d know. Are you sure she jumped?”

  “I waited until both of you left the cabin before I jumped. She was gone, completely gone.”

  “Let me check her room.”

  Keats doesn’t bother to follow me up the stairs, probably because the cat already knows she’s not up there.

  And she’s not.

  “My parents are probably at church,” I explain to Master Sparks as I descend the steps on my way back down from searching the second floor. I’m trying not to let on to my rising fear. If Judy isn’t at the cabin, and she’s not here, where could she possibly be?

  “Do you think Judy would have jumped to be with your parents, and ended up at church with them? When you jumped, you said—”

  “To home. To Mom and Dad,” I repeat my exact words.

  “And Judy said, to Mother,” Mike recalls.

  “Mother,” I repeat. “We never call Mom Mother. It’s always just Mom.”

  “But she has used the word Mother several times lately,” Mike notes.

  “Only in reference to our biological mother.” I start to shrug off the connection, then freeze. “Wait.”