Jim Henson’s The Dark Crystal Author Quest

Jim Henson's The Dark Crystal™ Author Quest

Featuring stories by:

Vinnie Chiappini

Greg Coles

Nancy Gray

J. M. Lee

Esther Palmer

Introduction by Cheryl Henson

GROSSET & DUNLAP

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Copyright © 2014 The Jim Henson Company. JIM HENSON's mark and logo, THE DARK CRYSTAL mark and logo, characters, and elements are trademarks of The Jim Henson Company. All rights reserved. Published by Grosset & Dunlap, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

ISBN 978-0-698-18377-3

Dear Readers,

We are thrilled to share the stories from the top five finalists in Jim Henson's The Dark Crystal Author Quest. Each of these authors has written a story set in the rich world of
The Dark Crystal;
they have brought their characters to life with fine detail, and woven complex stories that intrigue us, leaving us longing to hear more. Many of the characters and plots are original, yet they are also consistent with the canon outlined on DarkCrystal.com. We are so pleased with each of these five stories—any one of them could be expanded into a full book. We hope that you like them as much as we do.

What an interesting challenge it must have been to set a new story in a fantasy world that has been created by others. To enter this place and make it your own; to embrace what has been created and keep going with it, making it more textured, more nuanced, and more real. There is nothing more exciting to me than the possibility of expanding on the world that was created by my father, Jim Henson, and illustrator Brian Froud.
The Dark Crystal
was a truly groundbreaking film in its time, and we want to see where it could take us today.

The Dark Crystal
was always a unique film. It explored a world unlike our own, yet, like all good fantasy, it was a world that resonated with truth from our own. The Skeksis, the UrRu, the Gelfling, Aughra, and all the bizarre and wonderful creatures and concepts that were in the film are alive to us. There is a tactile depth to the world of
The Dark Crystal
that, for me, has never quite been matched in any other film. It is because of this that one can imagine endless stories continuing to happen there.

One year ago, we discussed holding a competition to find an author who could take us on a new adventure set in this unique world. We were looking for a fresh take on what had been created thirty-three years ago. We launched DarkCrystal.com, and we uploaded the full canon of everything we knew about this world—its lore, lands, language, history: any background information a writer would need to start creating a tale set in this strange world. We announced the competition at San Diego Comic-Con in July 2013, and we started to receive submissions that fall. By the end of the year, we had nearly 500. The editors at Grosset & Dunlap read all 500, and narrowed them down to a select twenty-five for the judges to review. My sister Lisa Henson, Wendy Froud, and I joined Rob Valois, Francesco Sedita, and Lori Burke to carefully read each of the twenty-five and select five finalists. We were impressed by all twenty-five that we read, many of which are now posted on DarkCrystal.com, but these five stories stood out to us—they were the ones that we fell most in love with.

We requested that all the stories be set in a very specific time period. It is long before the film that we know, in a time before the Gelfling race has been killed off by the Skeksis—a time known as the Gelfling Gathering. There are seven Gelfling clans living across all regions of Thra, each with its own individual characteristics, personality, and culture. The clans are united under a Gelfling Matriarch. While there are rivalries between them, each clan lives in its own relative harmony. The Skeksis do live in the Castle of the Crystal, but their true nature is not yet known to the Gelfling, who believe the Skeksis to be detached-yet-harmless overlords. But the innocence of the Gelfling cannot last—Gelfling are disappearing constantly, and someone has to find out what is happening. The Gelfling may all come from different tribes, but they must face the future together.

Our five finalists have all come from completely different backgrounds, too. They live in five different states, and they wrote five completely different stories with five completely different voices. Yet each of those voices is, in its own way, just right for
The Dark Crystal
. They are individuals as writers, and as people. I loved reading their answers to the question, “What does
The Dark Crystal
mean to me?” Below are a few of my favorite lines.

The most unusual background for a fantasy writer may be that of Vinnie Chiappini, who is an attorney in the US Army in Washington, DC. Vinnie writes, “The artful blend of solemn themes and playful humor in
The Dark Crystal
mirrors how I understand my own identity. On the one hand, the film is a grave, thoughtful story about an earnest underdog, the lone survivor of a genocide, who must resolve a Manichean battle between mysterious beings. On the other hand, Fizzgig's antics, Aughra's humorous dialogue, and Thra's distinctively ‘Jim Henson' feel make the movie a celebration. As a Pentagon lawyer who studied the classics but loves the Muppets and writing fantasy stories about Gelfling, that balance between the serious and the silly speaks to me.” I love that last line. You can hear Vinnie's knowledge of ancient Roman military history come through in his characters and appreciate the perspective he brings to his story.

Greg Coles, who is a graduate student at Penn State University, wrote: “I have always been enthralled by worlds not bound by the same rules as planet Earth, worlds where anything might happen and where the whole story hasn't been written yet. For me, the world of
The Dark Crystal
is such a world. I fell in love with Thra because it came alive to me. It stopped feeling like a fiction someone made up and started feeling like another home I used to know.” You get a sense that Greg has been around the world and enjoys telling stories from his travels, and that this could be a tale from somewhere that he has really been.

Nancy Grey is a writer, graphic designer and mother in West Columbia, South Carolina, who recalls being truly touched by my father's work. She writes, “
The Dark Crystal
means a great deal to me because it is one of the movies that inspired me as a child, resulting in my major in media arts. It also made me want to write fantasy. The setting was so real that you could almost touch it. As a child, I wanted to work for The Jim Henson Company, and writing for
The Dark Crystal
universe is like fulfilling that dream.”

Joseph M. Lee from St. Paul, Minnesota, is deeply saturated in the fantasy genre. He is a novelist, writing mentor, illustrator, and graphic designer. I found his illustrations to be marvelous (check out his website to see fabulous images from books by Neil Gaiman and others). Joseph says that as a writer, he “finds the most rewarding stories in fusion genre, from nostalgic historical fantasies to gritty sci-fi westerns.” He writes, “I've always been a fan of dark fantasy, but thinking back on how early it was that
The Dark Crystal
became a part of my VHS library, I wonder which came first: the Skeksis or the egg. Even now, the depth of world and profundity has continued to reveal itself as I grow into my so-called adulthood.” Being an artist, his writing also gives a visual experience, so intricate is the detail. When I read his story, I felt that I could see every leaf and each creature, as though I was watching a film. The imagined cinematography is striking; beautifully lit right on the page.

Esther Palmer from Castle Rock, Colorado, is a young-adult novelist with two published books. She comes from the perspective of a writer more than a fan when she says, “
The Dark Crystal
is a fantasy that explores our human natures in the form of an ‘alien' world, which makes it easier for us to accept . . . it's a story of ourselves and our continuing struggle with the different parts of ourselves, and how sometimes the dark side wins, but in the end, the good will triumph.”

Each writer so different; each story so unique. But this competition is not about the writers, it is about the stories that they write, the characters they create, and the plots that they weave. Now it is time for you to enter into the world of
The Dark Crystal
, as re-imagined by our five finalists.

After you read each of these stories, we invite you to visit DarkCrystal.com to share your thoughts and perspectives with other fans. After all, it is the fans who keep this world alive for all of us.

Cheryl Henson

Founder of DarkCrystal.com

Vinnie Chiappini

The Gelfling Guardian

The second sun had reached its height, and Parra needed to hurry. It was no longer safe to be in the fields after the third sun had set. He Parra knelt down over the turblaroots and sang. Though it hadn't rained, the soil looked wet. At first the ground didn't move at all, and Parra was tempted to jam his hands into the mahogany dirt and dig like he had done as a child, when he would follow his father around their fields. As always when he felt such a temptation, he recalled his father's long-ago laughter and chided himself. Instead, he touched his fingers gently against the soil and sang: “
Sī Anonna, sī Anonna, nyeahteetee, nyeahteetee.
”

The soil stirred slightly. Parra saw dirt on his wrist, but he couldn't be sure whether the earth itself had moved or whether he had leaned into it. He sang again: “
Sī Anonna, sī Anonna, nyeahtoomoh, nyeahtoomoh.
” The soil swirled with a sudden, silent magic. Parra kept his fingers still and eyes shut while he continued to sing the ancient Podling hymn to Anonna, Thra's soil spirit. The dirt spiraled deeper until it had made a hole almost two feet deep. An enormous turblaroot waited at the bottom.

Parra leaned into the deep hole, wobbling fitfully on the edge as he snatched at the turblaroot. Then, with a muffled
Yip!
Parra fell in. He tumbled downward, whacking at the sides of the hole all the way, until he landed in a heap at the bottom. He flipped himself over clumsily, and the hole smoothed itself back to its pristine dignity.

“Very well,” Parra said, wiping himself off. As he brushed the dirt away, it flew to the walls of the hole like specks of iron to a magnet. He picked up the turblaroot that he had been reaching for and dropped it in his basket. It looked delicious.

A dim jingling distracted Parra from his admiration of the root. With many
oomph
s and several
almost there
s, he climbed out of the hole and peeked over the tall stalks at the road that bordered his family's field. A lone Gelfling warrior marched confidently down the road.

Next to a Skeksis or one of the Mystics, the Gelfling warrior would have appeared tiny. Yet to a Podling like Parra, the Gelfling was a titan. He was young with dark brown hair down to his shoulders. Beneath his softly sloping forehead, his black eyes were locked on an unknown destination. Gelfling warriors had come to Parra's village before to discuss trade routes or their pledges of mutual protection with the Podlings. Normally they wore simple leather armor. But this Gelfling wore armor like Parra had never seen before. Two ornate silver blades shaped like lightning bolts shot down from the sides of his helmet. His breastplate was a glossy black studded with oval turquoise stones and gold squares. Beneath his armor, he wore a black robe embroidered in purple with elegant geometric designs. Parra was more impressed by the Gelfling's martial flair than fearful of his unusual attire; if anything, the Gelfling seemed more vain than vicious.

“Sir! Mr. Gelfling, sir!” Parra grabbed his basket and bowled along the ground toward the stranger. The warrior plants flattened as Parra moved across them.

Parra, chest out and chin forward, popped out from the field on to the road in front of the Gelfling. He dropped the turblaroot at his feet and stood at attention. “Mr. Gelfling, sir! I am Parra, a Podling from the village of Greggan, the son of Orritch, a warrior whose legend I'm sure you know—he is quite respected in Greggan, and I can only imagine his fame has traveled.”

The Gelfling laughed. Parra did not move; he kept his knees straight, his hands cupped loosely at his side, and his mouth strong and serious. He wanted to show this Gelfling that he too was a warrior.

The Gelfling cleared his throat and stood up straight. “Yes, Orritch, of course. Very famous. Fought in the expedition to the north, no?”

“The east, in fact,” Parra said proudly.

“Ah, yes. The expedition to the east, tough fighting then—only the bravest of the Podlings were involved.”

“What is your name?” Parra asked.

The Gelfling put his hand on Parra's shoulder. “I am Kairn, a Gelfling of the Spriton clan. Where's your village, Parra?”

“Just over that hill. I insist you stay with us. We Podlings are great friends of the Gelfling and are renowned for our hospitality.”

“I am still two days from my home village of Hallis. If it is not an imposition, then please, show me the legendary hospitality of the Podlings of Greggan.”

Parra picked up his turblaroot and dropped it back into his basket, which was tightly woven with blue and black strands. “My basket matches your armor, Kairn!” he said with a smile.

It is good to have another warrior here at last
, Parra thought. His countrymen were lazy. They couldn't swing a bola or manage a sword. They just wanted to sit by the fire drinking ale, playing music, savoring freshly roasted turblaroots, dancing, smiling, and forgetting. They didn't have the hardy streak that he and Kairn had. He could see it in the proud, stern expression Kairn wore, the same face Parra always thought he wore.

Of course, technically speaking, Parra was not a warrior, but that was merely because he had not been given the opportunity yet: the Podlings had few enemies to fight. Parra was confident, however, that when the day came, he would be ready.

“I've never seen a Podling with fields like this, Parra,” Kairn said while surveying the land Parra worked.

Parra knew exactly what he meant. Most Podling fields were a mess—a group of rollasnaps here, a cluster of pomintinas trees there, inexplicable holes dotting the soil, baskets piled high nowhere in particular. His fields were an endless sequence of perfect squares, forty feet by forty feet apiece. Each field held a different crop, which Parra identified to Kairn as they walked toward the village.

He pointed toward some tight bushes with golden bulbs that were spaced at exact intervals in parallel rows. “See there? Those are rollasnaps. They are delicious with Nebrie milk, and they're always in season. And over there—” Parra pointed at small green plants standing in a neat grid punctuated occasionally by precisely circular holes “—those are the best turblaroots you'll ever taste. Just wait till tonight!” He shook his basket excitedly and looked over at some high-canopied trees drooping at the bough from the weight of enormous purple fruits. “Those are pomintinas trees. We used to stand on each other's shoulders, six Podlings high, to pick their fruit—that is, until we learned the song.”

“The song?” Kairn asked.

“Well, yes, the hymn to Anonna, which Thra obeys. We sing it and the fruit rains down. Would you like to see?”

“They do look delicious. I think I could grab one myself if you don't mind.”

Parra looked at the branches and then back at Kairn. The lowest branch was twice his height, but he didn't want to deny his new friend. “Please, go ahead,” he said.

Kairn put down his sword and helmet and rushed at the tree. He leaped high, but his outstretched arm could not even graze the bottom of the fruit. He tried again, then again.

Parra smiled politely. “They look delicious, don't they?”

Furtively wiping away his sweat, Kairn agreed. “It's a shame I have been walking so long today. I nearly have it, but my legs are so tired.” He took off his armor. Dressed only in his robe, which was fastened tightly at his waist with a leather belt, he took a longer running start and jumped. With both arms extended, he soared through the air but never came close to reaching the pomintinas. He landed facedown in the field's humid soil. Parra looked away out of respect, but he couldn't help but notice Kairn's frown and muddy robe.

Parra handed Kairn his armor. “The branches are very high during this season, Kairn. Please, allow me.
Sī Anonna, sī Anonna, paminoorah, paminoorahsee
.”

The leaves hummed and the boughs trembled. Kairn looked at the precarious fruit in wordless wonder.

“
Paminoorah, paminoorahsee, shendeemoh, shendeemoh.
” The shaking boughs dropped lower and lower.

“Watch out!” Parra lunged forward to grab Kairn, who had wandered beneath the branches. But he was too late—the tree yielded to the song and rained its fruit on their heads. Even after the fruit had knocked them to the ground, the tree's bounty wouldn't cease. Ripe, purple pomintinas pounded down on the pair relentlessly as they rolled away to safety.

Parra crossed his small hands and looked at the ground in front of him. He feared how this proud warrior might react to being defeated by a fruit tree. He glanced up just in time to see a piece of fruit tossed by Kairn bounce off his hands. Kairn held pomintinas in both hands and smiled at him. “Hungry?” he asked. “I'm eating two.”

Parra crunched into his pomintinas. Once they had finished eating, Kairn and Parra gathered the fruit into Parra's basket and made a pact not to share their embarrassment with the village.

Once they reached Greggan, the Podlings poured out of their homes to meet the visitor. Orritch emerged from the center of the crowd. A lumpy Podling with squishy cheeks and bright eyes, he did not look like the warrior Parra claimed he was. He was dressed in a simple brown frock, like the other villagers, though his did appear newer. “Stranger, welcome to Greggan. I am Orritch, though I am sure I need no introduction. And what is your name?”

Kairn knelt before Orritch. Now at equal height with the Podling, he said, “I am Kairn, a Gelfling of the Spriton clan. I am honored to be your guest.”

Orritch bellowed in laughter and slapped Kairn on the back. “Rise, Kairn. Tonight, we shall have a banquet in your honor, but for now, clean yourself up! If I didn't know better, I would think you were rolling around in the mud under a pomintinas monsoon!”