Hues of Uncertainty
“What are you then? A hero or a villain?”
The light above us swung on its chain as the waves buffeted us this way and that, sending shadows dancing across the creaking walls. The flame seemed to catch on his green catlike eyes and I was aware that he was observing me just as intensely as I was him.
“What do you think?,” he asked back.
“I’ve heard the stories…”
“So then why ask a question you already know the answer to?,” he demanded with a scoff as he leaned back in his seat.
“…but you saved my life.”
The light swung towards him and banished all shadows from his visage for only a moment as we stared at each other. He seemed so still in that room of perpetual motion, the only point of stillness aboard the whole ship as if the waves had no effect on him. It was that contrast more than his clothes of brilliant green which drew all eyes to him for he always seemed to be the single point of stolidity upon any horizon. It was also that contrast which drew the eye to that single part of him which seemed always in motion as that empty emerald sleeve forever swung at his side.
“And you,” he countered, “why did they throw you overboard?”
“I already told you, I fell.”
I could have sworn I saw a flash in his gaze.
“Right,” he responded in a tone which dripped with incredulity, “you fell from a ship traveling through calm waters and despite a busy deck no one noticed your absence nor heeded your screams.”
“I did not scream.”
As we continued to stare at each other I found myself faced with a kindred spirit, someone who would never admit defeat, and that frightened me more than any of the stories I’d heard.
“And what is it you wish us to call you again? Miss Helen Gates?”
“Call me? It is my name,” I affirmed with a solidity to my tone as I leaned forward in challenge.
“Is it? I wonder.”
“You’re one to talk. Either your parents were crazed jewel enthusiasts or they didn’t actually give you the name Emerald.”
His eyes narrowed and I reveled in the momentary victory.
“Em Rolds,” he said.
“What?”
“My name,” he explained as he climbed to his feet, his chair screeching against the wooden boards of the floor as he rose, “it’s Em Rolds.”
I watched him with narrowed eyes of my own as he started towards the nearby door, leading out onto the deck, plucking his hat up from where he’d set it earlier, affixing it to his head.
“But so long as you’re aboard my ship you will call me captain.”
“And how long will that be?,” I demanded and I continued observing him as he stood with his back turned.
“That,” he said as he finally opened the door and turned to face me once more, “miss whatever-your-name-is, is entirely up to you.”
He tipped his hat to me as he stepped out before closing the door behind himself. Even through the wood I could hear his resounding tones rattling off orders to his crew as his boots thudded across the deck. I turned to look out the single window in those cramped captain’s quarters and through the glass, warped and stained from the seas relentlessness, I could just make out that emerald colored figure as it moved, even and steady in the face of the waves’ constant motion. He hadn’t actually answered any of my questions but I took pleasure from knowing that I hadn’t answered any of his.
I paused and thought on that for a moment.
Every question he’d asked had been in response to one of my own and even then it had almost felt as if he’d already known the answers. I didn’t know what to think about this ‘Captain Emerald’, or rather ‘Em Rolds’, whether or not I should believe the myriad of conflicting stories about him or even if I should believe my own eyes. He seemed a man of mysteries and I wasn’t sure anyone could really trust such a man. He’d saved my life but even of that I wasn’t entirely sure. Could anybody really be sure of anyone or anything? Nobody ever had been of me.
His Heir
“She was my daughter!”
The silence which then fell seemed to ring following the previous cacophony and we stared at each other from opposite ends of the room, various emotions flickering in our eyes.
Our people were no strangers to hardship and loss. I was so young when I saw my first procession up into the mountains, countless torches illuminating a stranger’s final journey into their tomb, that those nightly rituals had become as much a part of me as the language which I speak. No, we were no strangers to hardship and loss, such were commonplace in our lives, but still we feel their sting.
Perhaps I’d let my grief get the better of me, perhaps my people had been removing me from their own ranks for so long that I’d started to remove myself, or perhaps I’d seen my grandfather as only an advisory for so long that I’d let myself forget the thing which connected us. I’d let myself forget that she had been kin to us both and that our shouts hadn’t been our usual back and ...
Snowfall
The wind was biting as it kicked up heavy drifts. It was that time of year in which eager children press their faces to frosted windows and fires are lit early in their grates. She was an older woman, her hair greying, dressed in many layers even as she sat before an alluring fire. She sat back in her rocking chair, swaying to and fro, her latest knitting in her lap. Every once and awhile she’d glance towards a window which sat in the far wall, its frost earlier banished by a steady hand, and she’d watch as the snowflakes fell in their thousands. She’d imagine that she could see each in perfect detail, entirely unique. They were like glass, cold and sharp but beautiful with a bewitching quality all their own. She knew them and their magic as they traveled the winds, blanketing the earth and weaving their spell. Come morning she knew that flocks of children would descend upon them, their laughter like bells as they frolic. Within and watching their families would be ...
When Spirits do Wander
Have you ever been awake when spirits do wander, when graves loosen their tethers, and bleached skeletons dance about? Don your masks and capes and sheets with some eye-holes cut out. Go forth and traverse the streets with goblins, ghosts, and ghouls and pass yourself off as one of their numbers, wholly awful. Don’t attempt to unmask your neighbors least you find not paper nor plastic but a face of flesh, leering at your side. Don’t look too closely least those beings, otherworldly, look closely in return and find not a boon companion but an enemy with privileges they themselves are denied. Dance with them in moonlight and be merry in secret parade. Be jubilant in your quest for treats and threat of tricks as you go at the side of those who think you are the same. Show your kindred spirit with those monsters of the night and know that you are hidden, safe in your disguise. When black cats dart out and witches cackle ahead, when bats are heard chittering and ...
As you know, Warner Brothers announced that it will be making a film called The Hunt for Gollum, directed by Andy Serkis and produced by Peter Jackson.
But…why does that title sound familiar? I was talking with a few friends about it when the story broke and someone mentioned that there was a fan film of the same name on YouTube.
So this week has been a wild one for fans of sci-fi and fantasy. Three trailers. Three shows. And three vastly different responses. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, the trailer for Rings of Power S2, House of the Dragon S2, and a new spin-off series Dune: Prophecy, all dropped this week. Which offers a unique (and probably intentional) opportunity to compare the three pieces, and their subsequent shows.
So…this is not just a headline. A few days ago, Warner Brothers announced a new slate of Lord of the Rings Movies, the first of which will be The Hunt for Gollum (an animated series which predates the LOTR timeline by 200 years will also be made called The War for the Rohirrim)
Yes. I’m as confused as the rest of you. Does this mean more garbage like Rings of Power? Maybe…though not from the same source. It would be too long and, frankly, unnecessary to describe the strange division of copyright between Amazon and Warner Bros. Suffice it to say, Warner Bros. owns the rights to the main timelines about the actual characters. Amazon owns the rights to a prologue.
Now, I’m as annoyed as the rest of you. They are making more Harry Potter, more Lord of the Rings, a freaking Mufasa movie?! What happened to original Hollywood stories?
