Rosetta Gnome

By Ashley Parker Owens

In the fight for freedom, a reluctant and unprepared leader faces agonizing choices that will seal the fate of his family-and his heart-in this captivating fantasy adventure.

Simple gnome gardener Wil and his faithful rabbit companion Roddy flee the devastation of the village they once called home as it burns behind them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ashley Parker Owens
• Release date: Jan 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9781792381492

Book preview

1

Wil

After meandering down the river all night, the stolen boat slammed into the bank, jolting the gnome from his nightmare. He startled and focused on the palm of his hand. So many tomatoes dead. His thumb touched the tip of his pinky, then tapped the end of each finger rhythmically, continuing until he reached one hundred. He then clasped his hands together, and with his face upstretched to the sky, he repressed the fear and frustration boiling in his chest.

The explosive gray clouds from the night before had dissipated—coral and blue striped the dawn sky, providing a backdrop to the drifting clouds.

Wil peered over the edge of the boat, causing it to bob in the soggy reeds. Roddy, an obese white rabbit, snored a few feet away on the rowboat’s floor. Turtles stared from a log, half-submerged in water the color of dried Brussels sprouts. A snake slithered in the muck a few feet away, sending a shiver slithering much the same up Wil’s spine.

The scenery appeared peaceful enough, but hairs rising on the back of his neck reminded him to keep moving, even if his legs ached.

Rabbit Lover! a crow caw-cawed loud enough to be heard for miles. Wil jerked his head to search for it at the top of the kudzu-covered tree along the sour-smelling riverbank. The crow disappeared after his slur, probably off to seek reinforcements.

Wil’s breath quickened. He fought the impulse to run and hide. His mother warned him to be wary of spies. She never told him why spies would have any interest in him or how he might recognize them, though. He suspected they reported back to the slave-filled ogre fields. Since it was impossible to hide in a stolen boat in the middle of the river, he nudged Roddy with the tip of his foot. Wake up.

The rabbit stirred, blinked, and cleared his throat. He grabbed the edge of the boat and peeked over the side. We’re here, wherever that is, Roddy said, nose twitching.

Wil’s gaze landed on the rabbit’s ear, an old injury pink and soft, almost shimmering in the early morning light. Under the dirty hair of his stomach, his belly quivered; from cold or fear, Wil couldn’t tell.

Well, I guess that’s it, then. Roddy beamed, and his mouth formed the resemblance of a grin. Our old life is over.

Not exactly. Memories don’t wash away. Wil chilled, and for a moment, he feared he might pass out. A blur of weeds rushed past him, reminding him of their run to the river. An inferno swept across the farm, decimating everything in its fiery path. The two barely escaped.

You’re such a sad sack, Roddy said, a slight bob to his head. Cheating death is exhilarating, don’t you think?

No. Wil took a deep breath and turned away. He fished a thick reed from the water, and a glob of mud plopped off. He watched the ripples with knitted eyebrows. I don’t think we can push off again. No current.

I can’t get out of the boat without getting wet, Roddy said. I hate wet. His rabbit nose twitched as he eyed the water and the distance to the land. But I’m hungry.

You’re always hungry. Nothing new there. Wil’s mind raced, but he suppressed his anxiety by counting deep breaths.

Roddy’s stupid grin irritated him. But thoughts of the peril Roddy faced out there in the open softened his heart. Wil’s shoulders drooped, pondering their situation. He needed to get Roddy tucked safely away, where spies wouldn’t find him. Then he would be free to explore and search out his kin.

Let’s get out of here. Wil forced a breezy voice to cover up his quaking fear.

Wil pulled on a tree root sticking up from the water and pulled the boat to the bank. He climbed over the side, feet sinking into the goopy creek bed. Wil reached for Roddy, gripping under his armpits, and struggled to hoist the massive rabbit off the vessel. The extra weight caused his feet to sink even deeper into the soft mud; his muscles strained with each step. He lifted the rabbit higher to keep his kicking feet out of the water. Splashing could alert potential spies to their presence.

Stop it! Roddy’s back legs pedaled furiously through the air. I’ll do it. Geesh!

Roots on the riverbank provided convenient steps for the two travelers. Wil, despite the difficult short trek from the boat, scaled them with ease. Roddy hopped ahead, higher and higher up the shoreline, stopping to shake creek water off his paws several times. Once past the mud, they tore through thick vines and walked across the fallen foliage until they reached an opening on the rise. Wil collapsed on a light green mound of grass to dry in the sun. Sprawled on his back, squinting at the sky, the lost feeling from their trip down the river still knotted his stomach. Roddy simply ate.

Wil propped himself up on his elbows and checked the top of an oak tree for spies. The trees had limbs with withered leaves, like the ones that flourished in their meadow. He tried to swallow down the pang of nostalgia. In a shadow, a hawk materialized, and a tangle of vines transformed into winding snakes. His muscles tensed; his gaze sharpened, and the predators disappeared.

No other odd sounds or smells stood out, and after a minute, he relaxed. A family of sparrows chirped without care. How dangerous could it be? If the wood creatures didn’t feel threatened, why should he worry?

Wil noted the lush grass on the hill, the moss on the riverbank’s rocks, and limbs hypnotically swaying above, casting lazily dancing shadows. All the trees appeared the same. If they didn’t keep on paths and pay attention to the sun’s location, they might find themselves where they started at the day’s end. Wil wiggled his toes in response to the tingling sensation along the bottom of his feet. The worms below the earth were active here, encouraging. Wil smiled, confidence inflating his chest. They would guide him to new gardens, follow his every step, and help him grow vegetables.

This place is like home, Wil whispered. Brief haunting images filled his mind like the year insects reduced the squash leaves to the consistency of a paper doily. Worse, when flames consumed the garden. Or at least the way it was... He swallowed hard to hold back tears.

Wil felt something inside him break loose as if a weight had fallen away. They had to be cautious. His parent’s fate remained a mystery. Ogres might have enslaved or killed them, or the Gnome Council might have imprisoned them. Maybe they wandered off and got lost in the woods. He calmed his breath. The fear of the unknown could not distract him, not now. He shook his head quickly before the feelings from that day, the day they disappeared, could take over. There is no time for fear, worry, and self-doubt. I must stay focused.

Wil glanced in Roddy’s direction. The rabbit pranced about nibbling grass, seemingly unaware of the potential danger surrounding them. He needed to search for his family unhindered. Once he found a safe place for Roddy, they could go their separate ways. Reuniting his family provided a structure, however weak, for his future. He might not find his parents. However, any clan focused on garden renewal, growth, and offerings to the Sorcerer worms would do.

Want to poke around? Wil asked. They needed to find safety first—wherever that was.

My paws hurt. Roddy’s facial features drew taut. Red skin peeked out from beneath his fur.

Okay. Wil’s feet ached. He yearned to sit and rub them, but they had to keep moving. We can’t stay here. We’d freeze come winter. Wolves might be out there. He swung his arm towards a clump of trees and delighted when Roddy’s backside tensed.

Do you think we’ll be alive to see the next frost? Roddy asked.

Yes. If we stick together. Wil comforted Roddy by offering a familiar platitude. Two heads are better than one.

What about the Gnome Council? Roddy asked.

What about hawks? Wil responded with an eyebrow cocked.

One of Roddy’s ears perked, and Wil’s head tilted. The travelers held their breath, listening—just a faint scrabbling from a nesting robin.

Wil delivered a gruff laugh. Just kidding.

Roddy opened his mouth, sucked in a quick breath, then cinched it shut.

Say it! Wil shouted. I’m an asshole.

No. None of this is your fault, Roddy said through clenched teeth.

Blood pumped to the surface of Wil’s cheeks. Why wouldn’t Roddy just spit it out? Call him out, say what was really on his mind. Was he afraid to argue?

Wil closed his eyes and sighed. Let’s go.

They hurried from the river, glancing over their shoulders, and cut through a field of scraggly weeds. The remains of wheat snapped and cracked beneath their feet. Wil winced. If any predators or spies were on their trail, the two of them would be easy to track.

Wil scanned the sky and caught a far-off V formation of migrating geese. Any fliers could report seeing him with a rabbit. Off in the distance, Wil glimpsed a barren strip of pavement.

Let’s go that way. Roddy pointed with a tip of his head.

Wil glanced at a golden hill shimmering at dusk.

The goldenrod on that hill looks tasty, Roddy said. And the road leads to it.

I know you’re hungry, but that isn’t good enough reason to choose that direction. Let’s use common sense. Wil stood, hand over his eyes to block the sun, studying the landscape and counting out loud.

Roddy stood silent for a moment, glaring at Wil. Please don’t count our steps.

Just something to do, like a chant or a song. Don’t listen if you don’t like it.

Or you could count in your head, Roddy grumbled.

Wil rubbed his chin and searched the horizon. Along the base of the hill, angles and straight lines suggested a small village. The other direction was flat fields devoid of trees, with no signs of four-sided fencing or patches of color suggesting gardens.

Nothing of interest either way, except for your banquet on the yellow hill, Wil said.

Great, let’s go that way. Roddy gave a little hop toward his coveted meal.

Alright, Wil said, shrugging. Roads at least go somewhere. On pavement, the dried-up weeds couldn’t cut their legs, and no one could track their movements except birds flying in sweeping arcs through the sky. It wasn’t ideal, and soon they would need to hide in the trees or a house somewhere.

What? You’re letting me decide? Roddy’s eyes widened.

For now, yes. We need to find somewhere to live. Then I must find work. Wil swatted a bug away.

Roddy groaned. You’ve done enough work. Why don’t you give it a rest and live a little?

Gnomes tend gardens. It isn’t always fun, but we do it without complaint. Wil needed little except a simple unoccupied garden.

"Humph. Says you. Roddy laughed. I plan on having lots of bunnies."

Stupid rabbit. Like Wil would allow a colony of rabbits to feast off his labor. If he could find an unoccupied garden, he could stash Roddy away and explore surrounding towns without the rabbit and the unwanted attention that might attract.

Wil could even start a garden for Roddy. Now that he didn’t have to make food for Big Ones.

∞

Wil’s stomach growled after a few hours of silent walking. That hill is farther than it looks. And it’s dusk.

Either direction is far. Roddy stopped, panting. I’m thirsty.

No water around here, Wil said.

They continued trudging down the dusty road towards the yellow hill. Wil rubbed a layer of grime from his sweaty arms and tried to swallow, his throat raw and scratchy, coated in a layer of dirt. Roddy’s toes were full of dried mud.

That isn’t goldenrod, Roddy said. It’s mustard. I hate mustard.

We were hasty in our choice of direction. Wil took care to prevent sarcasm in the tone of his voice. Too late to turn back now.

Wil pinched the bridge of his nose. Earlier, the landscape’s sameness calmed him. But with no landmarks to measure space, the world loomed hopelessly immense. Miles of flatness with patches of trees lay between them and the village. As the day dragged on without food and water, he grew weary and worn.

Wil and Roddy met each other a few years ago. Even though Roddy had lived a long time for a rabbit, he had nowhere near the experience of Wil. Their old farm shimmered like paradise compared to the desolate landscape now surrounding them.

Wil’s feet carried him forward, one foot in front of the other, but his thoughts were back at the farmhouse, in his treasured attic. He’d spent nineteen years there, with its garden, barn, and fenced-in yard. He could smell the rich scent of dinner wafting through the home, hear the music from the radio or the chatter from the TV, feel the warmth of attic air that would engulf him like a hug, and taste the fresh water carried through the home through pipes. He longed to burrow into his toasty attic bed and hibernate, only waking when spring arrived.

The season for this current misadventure was wrong. Leaves were falling, and cold would come soon. Wil felt uneasy. He squinted toward the hill. His rubbery legs almost collapsed, and his right knee cracked with each step. He winced. Wil was no stranger to hard work and long days. Every summer, he would tend to the gardens, sunrise until sundown. Yet his body had never felt so sore, so ready to give up.

Roddy chomped papery grass on the side of the pavement. His eyelids drooped, complementing a blank expression. Did any ideas drift through his head? Prey weren’t big thinkers. But Roddy? Wil didn’t know.

They walked toward the mustard hill, now painted copper from the setting sun. The small town at the base twinkled at dusk. In the distance, a tiny stream of smoke billowed toward the stars. The smell traveled on the light breeze. Wil inhaled deeply, enjoying the memories the musky scent evoked. Frogs croaked, and the air cooled.

Maybe we should find the fire, Wil said, energized. Big Ones start fires and have food and comfy beds—

And dogs, Roddy said with a shiver. You go ahead; I’ll follow behind. He crouched on the road, stubby tail twitching.

Wil listened beyond the frogs and insects, searching for night animals or spies tucked in trees or under bushes, but could hear nothing over his steps.

Statistically, it’s not likely a wolf would eat you one day after a horrible experience. Wil stopped and turned toward Roddy. But it could happen.

Roddy tucked his feet beneath the soft fold of his stomach. He wasn’t budging.

Come on, just a few more hops.

Roddy sighed, then scooted forward. They crept closer to the village, Wil in front and Roddy following with small, tentative hops.

Concrete cooled their feet when they reached the periphery of the settlement. Civilization. They ducked between two buildings, noses lifted, trying to guess which direction would lead to the source of the fire. The plethora of buildings and streets confused Wil. Houses lined one side of the main road, facing a sprawling structure filled with small businesses on the other side. Wil glanced over his shoulder and jerked back, startled by their reflection in the glass. The thought of some dark creature watching him from behind the reflective surface quickened his pace. Worse were the crows overhead, spying and reporting back to the Council. They should seek cover in a shielded alley or under a storefront’s overhang.

Bright-colored cars with exaggerated fins and other decorative elements sat parked along the curbs. Wil shuddered. The shadows cast by the ornate vehicles provided predators with the perfect hiding spot. It was hard not to stare slack-jawed; the contrast between this settlement and his quaint farmhouse became more apparent with each step. The farm car was rusty and loud and stirred up dust when they traveled the winding road. The farm also had a truck and tractor, but nothing was shiny except the boy’s new bike.

The magnitude of the town overwhelmed Wil. Unlike the wooden farmhouse—where time and weather had left the exterior paint chipped and peeling—most houses they walked past were brick, adorned with freshly painted trim, the roofs black and spotless. Peering through the windows, he noted the interiors were fancier than the farm’s dull colors and worn fabrics as well. For all he knew, ogres lived in the houses, not the transparent, plodding Big Ones.

∞

Saliva filled his mouth, and his stomach felt queasy. A metal drum contained a flickering orange light in the middle of an alley. Shadows danced on the brick. Sparks caught cracks and pops in the air and swirled upward. Paper hovered above the flames before it twisted into carbon tissue and disappeared into the night.

Wil stared in horrified astonishment. Two gnomes stood behind the drum. What would they do to Roddy? Should we turn back?

As they neared, a vile stench of uneaten food rotting in garbage cans tightened Wil’s jaw and made his stomach unsettled. That should rot in a compost pile, not a metal can!

All the day’s petty bickering dissolved like burned paper. His muscles clenched. I must protect Roddy. Stepping closer, Wil fought every impulse to flee. It would be worse to appear guilty. I’ll convince these strangers I’ve never heard of the edict barring the association of gnomes and rabbits. They would probably hold them for decontamination, but there were much worse fates the two could endure.

Roddy hung back, his body still. Wil noticed Roddy’s terror-filled eyes.

Wil turned back to the gnomes. One of them pointed. The other mumbled something, and they erupted in laughter.

Wil and Roddy stepped closer; the two male gnomes were both unkempt and pale. The older of the two had deep wrinkles lining his face, and one hand rested on his paunch. A cat solidified from murky shadows and rubbed against the younger gnome’s legs. Its tail beat side to side. Wil remembered little about his father other than his constant pacing and smoking, but he recalled he disliked cats.

Icy fear rushed through Wil as they drew closer to the barrel and gnomes. The light from the fire danced across their faces, distorting their features in grotesque ways. The rabbit’s musky sweat filled his nostrils. Wil reached a hand to Roddy’s back to reassure him and calm his twitching.

Condemnation from the Gnome Council flitted through his thoughts, tensing his stomach. Why did I travel with a forbidden companion? Would they let Roddy go free or kill him? Worse yet, what would they do to me? Mother warned him other gnomes weren’t friendly. He struggled to remember what she’d said, whether the concern was a specific threat or something less sinister concerning their general demeanor.

The gnomes stopped talking, frowned, and stared, still as stone.

2

Wil

Wil returned their stares, his fists clenched by his sides, flesh alive with the force of the wind. Fear sharpened his vision, and he used his new ability to search the shadows.

Roddy hunkered down on his massive haunches and squinted his eyelids for a better view. That cat looks ornery, he mumbled.

It does. Vicious looking thing, isn’t it? Wil hoped it didn’t spook Roddy. But, while similar in size, the cat could defeat Roddy in a fight. Wil’s stomach tightened when the hair on top of the cat’s spine rose into a mohawk. He considered their options. They could run until they hit a place of no exit, trapped and tortured, until bloody and screaming. Wil hoped they would kill him first if things turned sour. He shuddered, remembering the afternoons of death on the farm. The previously tranquil animals were howling in terror. His eyes flitted in Roddy’s direction.

Despite the brutal images racing through his mind, the gnomes and cat in the alley might be a friendly bunch. However, given the group may have more nefarious intentions and sensing Roddy’s fear, Wil stepped in front of the quivering rabbit, using his larger frame to protect him.

A guttural growl rose from the cat’s throat. The thinner gnome rubbed the back of its neck and its hair deflated. Her tiny triangular head slanted upward, revealing splotches of black on her ears and chin resembling a beard. Every rippling muscle on her scrawny frame was visible through her short hair. Flickering light shone in her pumpkinseed-shaped eyes. A few more steps, and they were close enough to watch her claws extend from her paws onto the pavement, glistening in the fire’s light.

If its hair rises again, we’ll turn back, Wil said.

Wil counted his breaths until he calmed. The gnomes hadn’t moved from their position behind the dancing fire in the barrel. Wil hoped the menacing glares were an act. Perhaps these gnomes were just as frightened by their presence.

I’m eager to talk to those gnomes. Why are they awake at night? Wil whispered.

Don’t know. They look like they’re up to no good. Roddy sniffed at the sour air, textured with the smells of cooking, garbage in the alley, smoke, and some other unidentifiable odors.

Wil continued to inspect the shadows and study the gnomes. The lack of weapons gave him the courage to proceed the last few steps and meet them on the other side of the barrel. The two groups continued their silent dance, neither willing to reveal their intentions, not yet. The gnome’s faces remained impassive. They broke their statue-like stance to shift their weight between each foot; heads cocked in curiosity.

Hey, the younger gnome said. Black, wiry hair topped his head. A tight t-shirt stretched across his ample biceps. He stuck out his hand, and Wil shook it. Despite the firmness of the gnome’s grip, his skin felt unnaturally soft on Wil’s callused hand.

Name’s Hagley. The gnome gestured to his companions with a flick of a cigarette, and a tendril of smoke spiraled upward. This is Og. The cat is Meer.

I’m Wil. He pointed his thumb behind him. This is Roddy.

A deep moan rumbled from Meer, but she stayed put. Hagley cleared his throat and spat an inch in front of Roddy’s right paw. You got a clan? he asked.

Roddy turned his head to the side, nose twitching. Wil felt his cheeks go red.

Hagley narrowed his eyes.

No... Maybe a long time ago. Wil’s voice trailed off.

We’re a work crew. Hagley inhaled two sharp puffs of his cigarette. The smoke curled from his lips, creating looping patterns with each word.

The pungent smell of the nicotine-filled smoke blended with the woodsy notes from the barrel fire. How could anyone smoke? Wil thought only the Big Ones had tobacco habits. Hagley paced the alley, bringing the cigarette to his mouth in jerky, unbalanced draws.

Stopped to warm up while we wait for the next package. Hagley’s voice was rough and gravelly, delivered from a throat raw and damaged by the filthy habit. Two missing front teeth softened his s’s and th’s. It was enough to make Wil grateful he never touched the dreadful things.

Are you alone? Wil asked, feeling bolder.

No. We have our clans, pockets here and there connected by train. Hagley stretched his arms over his head and slowly returned them to his sides with a loud exhale. Plenty of gnomes in fields, too.

I’d be careful who you make friends with around here. Og’s eyes sparkled mischievously. We ain’t exactly friendly, but you’re lucky you found us first.

A dark, hungry swirl of fear dampened Wil’s growing courage. Hit by a wave of dizziness and nausea, he dragged a crate towards him and collapsed on top of it, dropping his head in his hands. A network of gnomes? Did the connections extend to the Council?

You okay? Og asked. Meer’s ears perked, and Og rested his hand on the cat’s shoulder as if to hold her back.

We’re hungry, Wil answered. I’m not feeling well, to be honest. He rubbed his cheeks to stop the spinning in his head.

We can fix that, Og said, the right side of his