The Hollow Rigors of Gnome

By Ashley Parker Owens

One can run from destiny, but only in a circle- 

Grass Hollow Grove is a garden in a parallel universe far removed-a land where gnomes and ogres work together to feed the masses. There lives Og, a gnome who lacks a green thumb. Instead, he has a mind for mechanics-a blessing and a curse.

When the Day Council offers to place him

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ashley Parker Owens
• Release date: Feb 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9781792381430

Book preview

The Hollow Rigors of Gnome

by Ashley Parker Owens

All rights reserved

Copyright 2021

ISBN: 978-1-7923-8143-0

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

Names, characters, places, incidents, and other details have been changed, altered, or fictionalized to protect the privacy of those involved or to ensure the author’s anonymity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places of business, events, or locales is coincidental.

NOTICE OF RIGHTS

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author and publisher. For information permissions for reprints and excerpts, contact [e-mail].

Chapter 1

Nestled between the Voiceless Virid mountains, Grass Hollow Grove produced and delivered food to cities along the lower side of the hill. From the gnomes’ campfire right outside the work field, the malcontents bickered while they watched lights flickering from the villager homes and beyond the mountains, the stars.

Og only had a few weeks of night fire before leaving for Paver’s Place. When he inhaled kudzu, thoughts tumbled through his head in a euphoric rush. Over twenty male workers gathered outside the perimeter of the garden. Josef and Fritz, both younger, were stringy with shorter hair and no beards.

The sticks aren’t the right size, Josef told Og with a jeering grin.

And they need to be drier, Fritz taunted. Josef hit Fritz with a slender limb, and the two went running off into the woods, laughing and threatening to hurt each other. They were delighted to pass on the wood collection to a younger gnome.

Albrecht, the oldest, stood with Georg, helping him stir the soup. Jonas struggled to stand from a crouched position after re-stacking the fire. Drunken Otto was mindlessly knitting hats made from wool and fabric leftovers, sometimes twine. His fingers moved in a blur as he mumbled through a poetic ballad that informed the pattern. His eyes darted around the circle of gnomes around the fire at the end of each refrain.

Should we discuss revolution? Josef asked, grinning.

Awwf, Georg said. Not again.

A few gnomes rolled their eyes and shifted their torsos while seated on their logs, stretching their legs in front of them.

No noise without purpose, please, Lloyd said from the back. No talk of ogres. We never know who might be listening.

A few seconds of quiet passed while they thought of the ogre overseers and the field gnomes placed under their control.

Let’s talk about the weed revolution for a change. Fritz jumped to his feet, gesturing with flailing arms. They come back year after year on a mission to invade. Face red, he stopped to grasp a stick of kudzu, inhaled the woody smoke, and passed it. Like the vines claim it.

The Council doesn’t know it. If we can get word to them— Josef said.

They know, Lloyd said.

You can’t have it both ways. If they’re in charge, they know. Otto’s eyes bulged, and he appeared worried. The interruption caused him to miss a knot, and he pulled out an entire row in frustration.

—The Admiral of Misery lies, Otto muttered. Lies and lies.

Of course, the leader of the ogres would lie. How do you know it isn’t the Council? Og quieted. He had no information other than his father’s whispers.

Oggie, Josef said. Listen and learn.

Warren, Og’s father, glared at Josef.

We have a right to tend our gardens, Fritz said.

"Our own weed-free gardens." Og laughed. Confidence from the kudzu smoke gave him a sharp, sure voice. He warmed toward his companions as the woody inhales soothed his body.

Oh, come on. Jonas waved a grubby hand in dismissal. We have enough problems.

As long as we have kudzu—

What if they take it away? The air sucked out of the wooded clearing, leaving a black vacuum around the fire. The gnomes’ internal gaze drifted into their headspace, isolating them from each other.

Yeah, Georg said. Would we even work without it?

I want to work. I just want to choose my tasks. What Og wanted to do was ensure nobody took advantage of gnomes. He fancied teaching the gnomelings the consequence of compliance and silent consent.

You don’t have any garden magic, Fritz said. You didn’t even go to school.

The words hurt despite his buzz and exhilaration of inclusion in the night activities. Og wasn’t good at gardening, and everyone knew it. Dolph, the leader of the Day Council, finally moved him to the tool shed.

Fritz, yer goin’ get us killed if you don’t keep your yap shut, Albrecht, the oldest gnome, said in a raspy voice.

The group quieted, and even Otto’s knitting needles stopped. They listened to the fire crackle and pop. The hairs on Og’s arms rose in the void, and he felt detached from the others, feeling dense with impenetrable, humid sadness soothed by kudzu.

Yer forgetting about the Unbroken Promises Pact. Ogres agreed not to eat gnomes in trade for their labor, Albrecht said. We exist to work the gardens. It ain’t no labor, and if yee don’t have the magic, you don’t have their protection. Albrecht’s beard reached his waist, and he tucked it into his waistband before stepping up to the pot on the fire to scoop out some fried potatoes into a bowl. He handed it to Og.

Eat yer taters. It’ll calm yer thoughts. We uns must stay together. Get the job done.

But it isn’t our job— Og started. The sneer on Albrecht’s face stopped him cold. Og stomped his foot in anger, but a fear of the vibration coming up his leg made him swing his leg to the inside. He danced a jig as if it were all a joke. Disarm them with silliness. The gnomes clapped to establish a beat. Og sat and ate his potatoes while the others took turns dancing, some solo, some with each other. Tomas fell and burned his arm on a rock near the fire. Pine needles stuck in his hair as they helped him up. He looked silly with bits of green plastered to his hair with sap.

Og dipped into his vast dreamscape while still listening to the others. Warren mumbled about peace and killing ogres while Og watched stars fly downward in the dark. Og was too young to hold his smoke and fell over in the woods. The strident arguments continued into the night but did not record in his consciousness. After a few hours, Warren carried him home. His father loved him in his own way.

∞

A piercing ray of harsh sunlight flickered along the tent seam attached to the shed. Og was useless in the gardens and was assigned to fix motorized tools. He had dismantled a lawn mower and laid the parts in a line. Later, he would reconnect everything in reverse order. He had been deep in thought, his ideas like intertwining gears when the shouting started.

Og recognized the voices. He moved to the edge of the shed so they wouldn’t notice him. His heart raced, even though he had heard it before, the voices becoming louder and more insistent until angry shouts pierced the day. Why did his father argue? As the leader of the Day Council, Dolph had no choice but to find a place for Og. The ogres were free to eat him if he didn’t know gardening magic.

Spittle flew between their red faces.

What is wrong with garden work? Warren expanded his arms as if to encompass the entire scope of the garden, his fists clenched. Unblinking black eyes held accusations; his jaw was tight.

As a malcontent, you have no standing to ask that question. Dolph offered a grimace that looked strange with the deep laugh lines on his face.

Warren tightened one fist, then the other.

Dolph offered a neutral smile while he waited for the screeching of a nearby grinder to stop.

I’d rather he labor with the old shrews dripping spells between the rows, Warren said.

Og can care for himself, Dolph said. You should let him go.

You’re a fool if you think the ogres will always honor that pact. Let the females do the incantations for the worm magic. Og’s strong, and there are plenty of tasks he can do, Warren said.

Don’t be ridiculous, Dolph said. Be happy he can do other things. Og’s clumsy and lacks agility. Soon the machines will take over all our chores.

What happens then? Have you thought about it? Will we hide in bushes and shadows forever, trying to avoid being barbecued? Warren asked.

We’ll do other things, Dolph said.

They’re liars about that Unbroken Promises Pact. If they don’t need us, they will eat us, Warren said.

Og sighed and returned to his task. He had heard all the arguments during night fire. The evening shadows had spread: the workday was almost complete. He did his best to ignore the fracas in the yard.

∞

Once dinner was over, Og’s father didn’t come for him to smoke with the malcontents—didn’t seek him out and didn’t explain. Dolph asked to speak with him. They sat at a table in a kitchen tent, far from any other gnomes. Og’s stomach twisted with anxiety as the sun set.

I’ve made you a placement, Dolph said.

Og nodded, waiting for the explanation.

You’ve been helpful around the gardens, but you’re better fixing tools. We wasted your abilities. I arranged a placement at Paver’s Place.

What do they do there? Make sidewalks? Og’s stomach was flip-flopping now. Did this mean Dolph didn’t want him to work for him anymore?

No, they have all kinds of activities. Moving and packing food. Canning, storing seeds, and making building materials. Dolph steepled his fingertips and looked pensive. But you won’t do that. You’ll work with tools and engines. They use machines to help with gardening. They call them doctors.

Og’s mind flashed on one of Warren’s lectures. Gnomes have to work near the earth and worms. Nothing else is real, his father had said. Og’s shoulders dropped, and he sighed.

You’ve been told your abilities differ from the others. You were never a gardener. You never understood the worm magic, Dolph said.

My father wouldn’t let me go to school.

Right. Warren wasn’t wrong. The other gnomelings bullied you. You didn’t fit in. You had no talent for working the earth. Dolph grabbed his hand and squeezed hard. You understand metal. You’re a mechanical adept.

When do I go? Og asked.

First thing tomorrow.

Can Katchen come?

‘Fraid not, Dolph said, shaking his head. No pets.

Og thought about saying no, but Dolph wouldn’t help him if he refused. He would be forced to return to working the rows, where he was useless.

I want to say goodbye to my father. Og’s stomach rumbled with unease.

Of course. You’ll have the morning.

A quiet morning with no words. Are you sure I can’t bring Katchen? Most gnomes tolerated cats and appreciated their cooperative labor, eliminating field mice and snakes from the garden.

No. The warehouse cats wouldn’t allow it. You know how territorial cats can be, Dolph said.

Maybe we could keep her in my room? Og asked.

A room is no place for a cat. And they are strict on the hill. Dolph turned away to wipe clean some tools and returned them to a shelf in a cabinet.

The old garden hags gossiped that ogres claimed cats spread Stone Disease, but Og never believed it.

Dolph turned back to him and sighed. They won’t allow you to keep one in your room. Petra will care for Katchen, and when you return, you can marry her. It will all happen as it should.

Og wasn’t sure anything happened as it should. His mother left for an orchard and never returned. Katchen would hate him. As for Petra, Dolph’s daughter, he didn’t mind her much. They had been friends forever, and if marrying her meant he joined a clan family, he wouldn’t object. At least Petra didn’t call him defective. She accepted his quirks.

Dolph’s family was pleasant enough, but Og had a father. Dolph acted more like an older brother than a dad, giving him food and teaching him how to work on primitive motors and gears. At least his dad considered him a gnome in his own right, not just a laborer and prospective husband.

Warren offered him holistic mirth and smoking with the other male gnomes. It was Og’s birthright. Dolph might have a higher standing than his father, but Warren wasn’t wrong. Malcontents had a right to complain. Many were already in the throes of Stone Disease. His father’s sickness would be part of Og’s legacy, even if he joined Dolph’s family. Dolph might teach him skills and model the perfect father, but his destiny would never transcend his birth parents. Pretending to be Dolph’s son would be a lie.

∞

Og rubbed his eyes and tried to wake. He reached for Katchen and discovered her gone, touching the slight warmth on the blanket where she had been a moment before. She squalled in the other room as if Og had forgotten to feed her. She acted as if the food was worth more than Og’s love, and his chest puffed, proud of her independence. He jumped up, dressed, and fed her. He didn’t see his dad.

Og poked his head out of the tent, and Dolph was waiting for him. Og scanned beyond Dolph to see if his dad was nearby.

The Grass Hollow Grove fields are the roots of Greenhouse, Dolph said as he hugged Og goodbye. Your feet touched this grove, and your magic at Paver’s Place will enable us.

Og nodded, feeling like he might cry.

Follow the rules and learn all you can! Don’t become a malcontent. That won’t help the clan. You’re better than that.

Og looked at the ground, a stone in his throat.

Be careful. Don’t trust the others. They listen and watch. You will find rewards for your magic with the machines. Be careful, Og! Don’t mention every thought going through your head! I know you love your dad, as you should. But think of the future, too. Someday you’ll support your dad, and he will watch your little ones.

Will I come back some day? For Petra?

Yes. And you’ll need your dad. Petra will need me, and we will be a family together, even though it seems impossible now.

∞

As Og ate breakfast, he scanned the crowd for his dad, then returned to the nest to wait. Og wanted to explain his departure, hoping the words would come and Og himself would understand. Katchen came and slept. Og didn’t explain it to her. He would miss her and wanted to tuck her inside his bag and sneak her into Paver’s Place.

In the fuzziness of Katchen, Og experienced ethereal love. He would put his arm around the kitten and pull her close. When he nuzzled her belly, he detected smoke from the campfire. The kitten alternated with grabbing his fingertips with her claws and feigned disgust at cuddling. Og’s cat-like brain understood their language. Sometimes he would detect the faint aroma of wet leaves from the woods, other times the musk of a dead mouse. She chose him from all the gnomes.

Feed me, Katchen said. You forgot to feed me. She jumped up on his leg and meowed. Og checked she had food and a bowl of fresh water. She snuggled and rubbed against his leg. The gnomes pretended the cats needed them, while the cats spouted wisdom from ancient philosophers. School taught him cats didn’t talk to gnomelings. Most cats refused to tolerate young gnomes except to teach them empathy with a sound smack. Og never chased or teased them and listened to their rumblings while combing out fleas. Cats possessed information about ogres, refined hunting techniques, and understood social etiquette and mind control. Felines fascinated him. While other boys flirted with forbidden magic, poisoning rodents, and blowing up garden rows, Og let his imagination wander within the teachings of the ancients. It wasn’t until a year ago he realized the other boys communed with the worm philosophers and couldn’t hear cats.

∞

Once Katchen understood Og was leaving, she turned her back to him. He needed someone to watch and feed her: his father wouldn’t help.

Og found Katchen up in a tree.

Come and visit with Petra. She’ll feed you when I’m gone. Og cajoled and sweet-talked her in dulcet tones.

Petra? Og found her in the kitchen. Petra’s balanced features had hundreds of freckles dotting her cheeks, and her curly hair stuck out in all directions. She had a wild heart with a sullen personality. Dolph planned to marry them, but neither Og nor Petra paid him any mind since they were childhood friends and more like siblings.

Yes?

Can you watch Katchen while I am reassigned to Paver’s Place?

Yeah. Petra paused. Are you coming back?

I don’t know. I suppose on resting days. Volatile emotional memories flitted through his mind. His knees wobbled as his emotions bubbled up. His mother had left him full of empty promises. Og’s eyes watered, blinding him. He darted away from Petra and hoped no one noticed.

If he ever returned to Grass Hollow Grove, he would not visit Warren, who would remain infuriated Og had left. If he pretended to visit his dad, it would be an unnecessary lie no one would believe.

∞

Og stepped outside the tent and swatted away a bug. He smelled the remains of onion and eggs from breakfast. The fog dissipated in the sun, but it still hung in the valley. Fresh air filled his lungs, and he felt refreshed and exhilarated. Where was Warren? Would he really let him leave without a goodbye?

Gnomes didn’t have many options if they weren’t decent garden workers. The Council had decided he would work on the hill. He didn’t pretend to understand and hoped it was the worms that had decided and not a petty argument between Dolph and his father. His father wanted him to be a philosopher and a malcontent. Dolph wanted a son. The ones in charge, the ogres, wished for an obedient field hand. The Day Council probably didn’t care if he left and was glad another malcontent wouldn’t join the night fires.

Warren never came to say goodbye and see him off. Og searched for his father