The Misadventures of Darius and Elara

The Puppet Master

A damp wind rolled across the cliffs as the Eagle Parrot dropped anchor just off the jagged shoreline. The sky had gone a strange yellow gray, the kind of color that warned of coming storms or worse. Fog swirled low over the sea, veiling the base of the cliffs in ghostly shrouds.

Darius, Elara, Kale, and Rockford made landfall in silence, their skiff scraping against black stone as they climbed ashore. Behind them, Justina remained bound and guarded in the brig, watched closely by Henry.

The keep they’d seen from the ship stood ahead like a wound in the landscape, its spires broken and its halls choked with vines. Glass windows, long shattered, gleamed faintly in the failing light like teeth waiting to bite. Blue lanterns still flickered in the upper tower windows, despite no sign of life.

Elara lit a candle from her satchel, shielding the flame with her hand. “This place doesn’t feel abandoned,” she muttered.

Darius stepped to the far end of the hall, drawn to a strange pedestal. On it sat a terrarium long cracked but miraculously unbroken. Inside, half curled and motionless, was a lizard the size of a cat. Its scales shimmered faint green, and its eyes were sealed shut.

“Elara,” he called. “Bring the light.”

She came close, holding the candle near. As the glow fell across the terrarium, the lizard twitched and then opened its eyes.

They were made of glass.

Not metaphorically truly glass. Clear and shimmering like crystal, reflecting the flame in dozens of tiny refractions.

The lizard stared at Darius. Then it spoke.

Not with sound but with thought. A voice echoed in their minds.

“Welcome Darius. It's a shame I have to do all of this trickery just to have a word with my son.”