Foundlings (The Lost Dragons Book 1)

by Finley Aaron

  “You promised Mom. Let’s go!” I’m practically squeezing Judy.

  Above us, the feet move, heading downward. If we’re not going to come to him, he’s obviously going to come to us.

  Judy flickers away.

  Father leaps toward me.

  I jump.

  Eiffel Tower. Breeze on my face.

  The middle of the night.

  Thankfully, it is the middle of the night, and I’m on the Eiffel Tower, which is closed at this hour.

  Where’s Judy?

  The sky is filled with a frosty mist, which reflects the lights of the city and the tower itself, giving the air an otherworldly pinkish-yellow glow, almost like daylight, yet nothing like daylight.

  There she is, across the tower from me on the same observation deck level—not the highest level, which anyway is fully enclosed by metal fencing, but the next one down, the one we visited on our trip with our parents. Judy loved looking out at the Seine, whereas my clearest memories were of looking down from the side facing the Champ de Mars.

  I hurry around to her side.

  She’s crying. “I waited my whole life to meet her. There are still so many questions I wanted to ask her. She’s stuck in that awful place, with that terrible man.”

  I put an arm around her shoulder, and she wipes her eyes against the guard uniform I’m wearing. “I know.” My throat feels unusually tight. “I’d love to let you cry about it for as long as you need to, but our father could still find us here. We need to get moving.”

  She sniffles and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “I suppose he could, if he figures out who we are.”

  “Or even if he doesn’t know. He’s powerful, and a practiced teleporter.”

  “He teleported to where we were in the hallway.”

  “Because of our mother.”

  “Yeah, probably because of her and not us. Still, you’re right.” Judy clears her throat and straightens. “We need to get going. Change into dragons and fly—that way?” She points off in the distance, to the left of the Seine.

  “Yeah. The English Channel is beyond the river. The west coast of France is over here.” We reach the railing on that side and I look up, past the protective barrier designed to keep even the tallest of tourists from falling off the observation deck. The wirework even bends inward a bit, but there’s enough open sky, we should be able to fly out—assuming we can turn into dragons.

  “So, we just—change into dragons?” Judy clarifies, looking at her hand, the one she changed into dragon claws and talons not so many days ago. “And jump off and fly west?”

  I nod and try to muster up some confidence, because she looks a little shaky and because honestly, I don’t feel confident, not at all. “Once we reach the Atlantic Ocean, we can land and fish for food.”

  Master Sparks explained to us all about how we can fold our wings back like a cup, like we’re floating in our own personal boat, and let our trail droop down into the water like a fishing lure. It sounds a little weird, but I’m still lightheaded from teleporting, and ravenously hungry, so even raw fish straight from the ocean is appealing right now.

  “And our clothes will just, what, split out and get left behind?”

  I shrug. “There’s no way around it. We’ve got to hurry.”

  “Right, then.” Judy looks to the west and steels her expression, stretching out her arms in front of her. Her fingertips turn purple, but not from the cold. Then her hands and face ripple with iridescent purple, and her whole body seems to flicker as the guard uniform she was wearing essentially explodes outward from her swelling body.

  In an instant, she’s an amazing purple dragon, standing amidst the shreds of the guard uniform. Her wings hang limp at first, but then she reaches her arms up, and the movement sends her wings billowing out like a parachute pulled from its pack. The only thing she’s still wearing is the necklace. Its long chain is no longer dangling, but pulled almost snug around her larger dragon neck.

  “Wow!”

  Judy’s sinuous neck angles down toward my face, and her eyes—which are at once my sister’s eyes and also glowing purple eyes such as I’ve never seen before—look into mine, as if to ask what’s holding me up.

  Right. I could stand here marveling at the dragon that is my sister, or I could hurry up and change, and become a dragon worth marveling over, myself.

  I stretch my hands out and try to feel the change that extended talons from my fingers once before. As a dragon, I should look a lot like Judy does now, only silvery pewter blue. I picture it in my mind.

  There’s a fantastic tearing sound as the guard clothes burst, and then I’m stretching the unfamiliar weight of my wings.

  Judy nods toward me, pushes her wings down hard, and rises up just high enough to hover above the safety enclosure that encircles the observation deck. Then she sags downward and grasps the top railing with her taloned feet, perching on the guardrail like a bird on a wire.

  A huge, fire-breathing, purple bird.

  I push my wings down, flapping ungracefully, waving my arms erratically like a marionette in the hands of a toddler.

  Somehow, tipping first too much to the right and then overcompensating a tad to the left, I get my bulky dragon body off the floor and onto the railing.

  Judy looks impatient. There are late-night tourists far below us, and I don’t doubt they’re wondering about the purple and blue glowing gargoyles the Eiffel Tower has suddenly sprouted.

  With a nod toward Judy, I stretch out my wings and leap from the rail.

  I have always wanted to fly. To that end, I’ve studied the principles of flight, and made countless paper airplanes and kites to test the dynamics of airborne movement.

  My paper airplanes, and even my kites, often crashed.

  I’m not doing much better in dragon form. It’s a good thing the platform we took off from is almost four hundred feet above the ground, because I need at least two hundred feet of downward gliding before I figure out how to get any lift.

  To my relief, Judy catches on immediately, and glides past me with a gracefulness that almost makes me wish I’d continued taking gymnastics alongside her for more than two weeks.

  There’s no going back now, though. We swoop and glide (or she does—I mostly flap and dip) across the city, through the mist that hopefully camouflages us from sight, past the buildings and lights, to the countryside beyond.

  In spite of the mist, or perhaps because of it, the bright glow of Paris is visible for dozens and dozens of miles—enough that, by keeping its light directly behind us, we’re able to steer ourselves more or less straight to the ocean.

  It’s a tough flight, mostly because we’re already insanely exhausted from teleporting, and also, perhaps it’s just my imagination, but I think just being a dragon has zapped what little energy I had left. In addition to that, we’re new to this flying thing, and I, especially, have to work hard to keep my body headed where I want it to go—mostly, not downward.

  Once we’re out to sea, past the boats and lights near shore, Judy and I glide down toward the water, and flop, exhausted, amidst the waves. Thankfully, the weather is calm and the waves aren’t big. Just as Master Sparks instructed us, we stay close together, and even link our fingers tightly together, so we won’t drift apart even if we fall asleep.

  Within a few seconds, Judy’s breathing falls low and even beside me.

  I could fall asleep easily, too, but I’m more hungry than tired, and I’m eager to try fishing.

  Attracting fish with my tail is apparently the easy part. Grabbing them out of the water is a bit more difficult—they’re slippery and quick. But I soon discover I can spear them with my talons as I grab them, and they don’t swim away.

  I’m not sure what kind of fish I’m catching (I know they’re not antelope—that’s something, right?) but they’re tasty and plentiful. After I’ve swallowed several, I catch another and hold it in front of my sister’s face, awakening her so I can share.

&
nbsp; For a second, she looks disgusted, like I’m trying to play a trick on her. But then realization dawns in her purple eyes and she grabs the fish with her free hand and munches it down.

  She gives me a look like where’s the rest?

  So I show her how to fish, and pretty soon we’ve both eaten our fill.

  As we’re fishing and eating, I’m using my legs and tail in idling propulsion to swim us away from France, toward North America. After a while, the sky grows pale behind us—a sign that the sun will be coming up.

  Somewhere around that time, we fall asleep.

  It’s not a deep sleep. As much as I can, I’m trying to keep paddling in the direction of home. Every so often I open one eye and track our location in relation to the sun. Even though the sky is rather overcast, I can tell from the brightest part of the glow where the sun is, even with the clouds.

  First it’s behind us, then overhead but somewhat to our left, which should be south, and since it’s early winter that’s where it should be in this hemisphere.

  Before long, when I rouse from sleep enough to peek at our location, I notice the sun is dipping low in the west. Soon it will be night.

  To my surprise, I’m already feeling my energy return. Maybe it’s because Judy and I have several teleporting trips behind us, and we’re starting to adjust to the strain. Or maybe, like our healing tears and the saline solutions that burn units use on their victims, the salty sea is acting like a soak in healing waters, helping to revive us.

  Whatever the case, I’m eager to test out my wings. I’ve always wanted to fly, and I was too exhausted and scared to really appreciate my flight off the Eiffel tower.

  But before I go, I need to eat again.

  I wake Judy and we fish, stuffing ourselves near to bursting on fish, and then I let go of her hand before flapping my wings.

  I’m supposed to rise gracefully into the sky, but mostly I’m just splattering seawater all over her.

  She looks sincerely annoyed.

  But after a bit of struggle I manage to pull myself, dripping, out of the water and into the air, at least a few feet above the waves. From there, I flap my wings and hover above her, angling my long dragon neck down toward her face, giving her a look that says, Come on, let’s practice flying!

  Anyway, she should be able to guess what I’m doing, because I’ve always talked about how cool it would be to be able to fly. And as I recall, she always rather agreed with me.

  Now she gives me a looks that says, I’m still tired, but fine, if you’re going to insist on flapping water all over me, I guess I can get up.

  Just as before, Judy proves to be a more graceful flier than I am. We turn our eyes westward and practice flying at different heights, rising and falling in the air, the whole time speeding toward home as fast as we can soar.

  We’re in the wide-open part of the ocean. Europe is far out of sight behind us, but I’m sure we won’t reach the coast of North America for days at the rate we’ve been going. It’s hard to keep track of time after everything we’ve been through, but I’m pretty sure it’s Tuesday evening right now.

  School started back today, without us.

  Our parents have got to be terrified.

  The thought hits me like a punch in the gut, and I sort of crumple in the air and sag toward the sea. We’ve been gone far too long. We promised them we’d be back Sunday afternoon, and we broke that promise. Not even Mike’s assurances will assuage their fears for long.

  Waves splash against my toes, and I curl into a wing-cupped ball and settle onto my back in the sea. I’m exhausted. Maybe it’s too soon after teleporting to fly so much.

  Judy circles low, peering down at me with questions on her face.

  I’m not sure what to tell her. We don’t have words anyway.

  Judy settles into the sea beside me. We fish and eat, each of us using one hand to catch our supper while keeping the fingers of our other hands linked tight together.

  Night falls and my eyelids droop. The next thing I know, Judy’s on her hands and knees on my belly, yelling at me to wake up.

  “Roo-roo! Come on, we need to get home. Roo?”

  Was I dreaming? Am I dreaming now? Judy’s in human form.

  I crane my long dragon neck forward, until my wide blue nostrils are mere inches from her human nose. I give her a look that asks what she’s doing in human form in the middle of the Atlantic in this kind of cold.

  “I wanted to wake you up, and we need to teleport, and anyway, I don’t know if I can teleport in dragon form. But I am cold, so let’s just get going!”

  As she’s explaining all this to me through chattering teeth, I realize a couple of things.

  One, it’s morning. Wednesday.

  We promised Mom we’d be back Sunday afternoon.

  And two, Judy’s right. She’s completely right. We need to get back. I’m not sure where we are in the ocean exactly, but after all this floating and fish-eating, we’ve got enough strength back to teleport, probably. Anyway, it gets easier every time, so it shouldn’t be that difficult.

  And finally, I’m going to have to change into human form to teleport too, aren’t I? It’s one thing for Judy, who’s got my enormous dragon belly to rest upon, protected from the waves by my wings. But if I change into human form, there won’t be anything to float on, so we’ll have to teleport immediately after I switch over.

  Which leaves just one other concern, and I communicate this to Judy with a stern glare.

  “Yes, I know.” Her teeth are chattering harder now, and she’s shivering convulsively. “We have to go home, to Hastings, to Mom and Dad, not to our mother. Let’s just go. Now. You change, and we’ll go.” She grabs one of my big dragon claws in both her relatively tiny human hands, and holds on tight as if to say she’s not letting go until we’re home.

  I give her a sharp nod, switch into human form, and for an instant we’re both in the ocean, which isn’t probably technically that terribly cold, what with the way the current carries warm southern water northward, but it’s still a good deal cooler than anything I’d like to be floating in as a human being.

  But all that occurs to me in one sharp instant, and I hardly acknowledge it, because I’m focusing all my thoughts on home.

  My room.

  My bed.

  And suddenly I can feel the quilt against my hands.

  Against both my hands. Judy’s not holding them anymore.

  I’m alone.

  Chapter Twenty

  My ramming heart is the only thing keeping me from passing out from sheer exhaustion. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so tired before.

  But I’ve got to find my sister. Where is she? Did she go back to our mother after all? The first time she jumped there was by accident. It’s entirely possible, even if she meant to come home, that her heart led her back to Switzerland instead. She was still wearing the necklace, even if she wasn’t touching it this time.

  And I am much too exhausted to go after her again.

  Just as I’m opening my mouth, summoning breath to call out for my sister, I hear a fumbling thump in the hall, and then a tired voice calls, “Mom?”

  “Judy?” I think Mom, Dad, and I all called her name the same second.

  I fling my tired body off the bed, grab my robe from the hook by the door, and pull it on as I stumble toward the hallway, sagging against my doorframe as I try to summon the strength to take another step.

  “Judy!” Mom’s in the hallway, light on, and she scoops Judy’s trembling, quilt-wrapped frame from her bedroom doorway. “You came back!”

  “Rudy!” Dad spots me and crushes me in a big bear hug, which is helpful insofar as he’s toasty warm from sleep and I was cold, but not helpful insofar as it makes it difficult to breathe.

  “You’re back! You came home!” Both Mom and Dad sort of tug us into the middle of the hall, into a giant group hug, which lasts until Mom realizes Judy has passed out.

  “Judy?” Mom shrieks.

  “We
’re exhausted,” I explain, leaning hard on Dad, panting between each word. “We teleported, probably too soon.” That sentence is too much for me, too, and the next thing I know I’m in my bed again, tucked under warm covers, and Mom’s pressing a spoon of something salty to my lips, encouraging me to drink.

  I drink, then sputter and nearly spit it back out, but it’s already on its way down my throat. “What was that?”

  “The broth from a can of salmon. Here—if you’re awake, you can have some with meat in it.” Mom holds another spoon to my lips. “Master Sparks said you’d need protein.”

  The spoonful of canned salmon tastes little like the fresh fish I caught in the ocean, but I’m not complaining. It’s warm and I’m starving.

  “We called the school and told them you’re going to be home sick again today.”

  “Again?” I ask before swallowing another bite.

  “You missed yesterday already. Today’s Wednesday.”

  Right. But, “I’m not sick.”

  “What were we supposed to tell them? You’d run away from home?” Mom’s voice catches. “Master Sparks said you were coming back. We had to believe him.” The tremor under her words tells me that she’d considered what it would mean not to believe him—to accept the likelihood that we weren’t coming home.

  “We promised we’d be home Sunday,” I acknowledge.

  “I know. But you made it as soon as you could, and that’s what counts.”

  *

  Judy and I rest and eat all day. By Thursday we feel like we could go to school, but Mom says we’re still too weak to make it through a whole day of classes, and anyway, we haven’t had Christmas yet. So we open presents that morning and eat Christmas dinner, which is a huge turkey Mom put in the oven during the wee hours of the morning, which Judy and I devour down to the bones.

  Technically, we even eat most of those.

  But by afternoon we’re tired of sitting around the house, and I ask if anyone minds if I walk to the library.

  “I can drive you,” Dad volunteers. The college doesn’t start back to classes for another week, so Mom and Dad have been hovering over our every move, between running to the store to buy more meat to feed us.