On July 11, 2018, P.T. Wyant posted as her Wednesday Words prompt the statement, "For once it wasn't the gnomes were not the problem..."
To which Garnet shrieked in my imagination, "What?! The gnomes are always the problem!"
Not this time, Garnet. This gnome is trying to warn you and tell you something important...
For once it wasn’t the gnomes that were the problem.
Yes, they often leered at him when no one else was looking, showing their fangs, sneaking up behind the trees and clusters of flowers within the Forest of Tears…Garnet didn’t like taking long walks where there were patches of grass dotted with color.
Such an area was where the crystal coffin was.
This gnome was lunging at him or baring its fangs. It actually crooked its finger at him in a beckoning way.
“Psst, Ginger Shreds!” It attempted to hide its jagged teeth beneath a thick lipped smile. “Can we talk?”
“What do you want?” Garnet backed up a space, putting a little more distance between himself and the gnome. The cottage felt entirely too far away, even if its walls only offered dubious safety.
None of his brothers were around. Gnomes never showed their true faces around Garnet’s brothers. Sometimes Garnet wondered if he was the only one who could see them.
“Look, I’m speaking to you because you’re the only dwarf who can see us.” The gnome tugged at one long earlobe. “I’m not sure if I should be, considering the way you keep stepping on our grass.”
“It’s not your grass!” Garnet snapped, glanced down at the blades under his feet. “Is it?”
In truth, he wasn’t sure whom the grass belonged to. The Forest of Tears belonged to itself in all likelihood. All the seven dwarves owned was the cottage and Garnet wasn’t sure about that either.
Quartz had led his brothers out of the mines in the main mountain range as far from the goblin menace and dwarven infighting as he could. Treasure wasn’t worth all the fuss, especially since the fools were all fighting over the same rocks and metals; gold, diamonds, emeralds, and rubies. Many a handsome stone was overlooked in the squabble over what humans valued. The more fool everyone else had been Quartz’s attitude. There were plenty of rocks to bewitch the eye and commune with in silence, while harvesting just enough to get by.
Living in a cottage had felt odd at first. So human. Over time, Garnet and his brothers had come to enjoy it, even if was amidst a witchy wood filled with who knows what. Most of the time, the creatures of the wood didn’t bother the dwarves within their four walls, although gnomes had taken to stalking Garnet outside.
Outside had always felt less safe. Inside offered a barrier against whatever neighbors they’d acquired which might wish them well. Or did it?
That barrier hadn’t saved Blanche, their Fairest from her enemy.
Whom did the cottage belong to? According to Quartz, it had been part of a trade. He’d been reluctant to discuss the details.
Did the cottage belong to the six surviving brothers? Or were they just the tenants of some overlord…or lady.
“The grass and flowers belong to us as much as you.” The gnome tapped a gnarled finger against his nose. “Like you, we were refugees, fleeing from the mad alcemist who created us from the earth.”
“That’s not like us,” Garnet muttered, feeling pity’s stab in spite of himself. “You mean a human alchemist?”
Human sorcerers were nothing but trouble. They brought misery upon themselves and everyone else around them withn they meddled with the hidden forces of the world.
“I’m surprised you managed to escape.” Garnet considered the one human sorcerer he’d met…Oriana. Although she considered herself to be a witch. Garnet couldn’t really tell the difference. They were all humans poking around with magic.
“Well, we had some help from the same kobold who helped you.” The gnome hunched down into own thick collar, hidden beneath a mane of thick russet hair. “Never trust a kobold. They’re too closely related to goblins.”
“Right,” Garnet echoed his deceased brother’s cynical retort in the face of dubious statements. Sure, he didn’t trust goblins. Once a dwarf dug up a treasure, a goblin often showed up to steal it. This was one of the reasons Garnet and his brothers had left the more densely rich mountains filled potential treasure. Too many goblins, along with other dwarves there.
Kobolds weren’t the same as goblins. Garnet refused to believe this unless he saw more goblinish behavior on the part of kobolds. Garnet wasn’t sure if he’d ever met a kobold or if he’d recognize one if he did. Those sprites were creatures of legend. Sure, they lived in the mountains, near the earth or its fires, but all thee tales how they appeared when someone spoke their true name, kept company with dragons…kobolds seemed a bit far fetched.
“Yes, we were fool ebough to make a deal with this kobold. Now we’re trapped.” The gnome reached up to tug at his whiskers with knobby fingers. “We’re doomed to assume these ruddy cheeked, bearded faces for the world.”
“Stop that!” Garnet reached out to swat at hands engaged in an activity his own were too often involved with. “You’ll ruin a perfectly good beard. Believe me, I know.”
“Perfectly good?” The gnome wrinkled his wide red nose in disgust. “There’s nothing good about this shape. I miss our true beauty.” He sighed. “You’re the only one who’se been able to view it.”
“True beauty?”” Garnet squawked, staring at the drooping earlobes and the sharp teeth. “You mean-“
“Tragic, I know.” The creature dropped its head. “We’re cursed to lurk in gardens, forced to function as human decorations, unable to move half of the time.”
“Err, I’m sorry.” This did sound tragic. Garnet wasn’t so what to say. The true visages of these creatures terrified them.
They weren’t hiding those faces to trick, trap, or terrorize anyone. Gnomes had no choice but to wear them.
“This is why I’m warning you.” The creature bared its jagged yellow teeth. “Don’t trust the kobold.”
“I wasn’t planning on it,” Garnet glanced at the trees, the tear shaped flowers drooping from them. “Not that I’ve met any kobolds to my knowledge.”
“One will come to you, offering to revive your brother.” The gnome pointed a finger at Garnet. “Don’t believe his promises. You’re more than capable of reviving Quartz yourself.”
“I wasn’t about to believe…wait!” The meaning of the creature’s words sank in. “You’re saying Quartz can be revived?”
“Well, of course. Your brother isn’t dead to begin with.” The kobold wagged his finger at the coffin. “He’s just sleeping off the effects of that muffed healing spell he tried to work on the girl.”
“Dwarves can’t really cast healing spells.” All right, this was almost a lie. Dwarves still work with stones, invoking them to help heal other living creatures. They were limited to working with stones, but they were much better with rocks than most other living creatures.
No one had resonated with his name stone quite like Quartz. The crystal coffin he lay in, which had once been Princess Blanche, their Fairest’s resting place had been the result of him coordinating his brothers’s energies with their stones.
Doing so had melded the coffin together which they’d placed their girl within.
“They most certainly can’t.” The gnome wrinkled his nose. “Not judging from what happened to your brother. You should be able to wake him up.” The creature tapped a finger against his temple. “Don’t believe that kobold when he comes up, smiling, offering to fix Quartz for you, since he’s a very important person in his magic book.” The gnome snorted. “If you care for your brother, do it yourselves.”
“My brothers and I aren’t in the habit of accepting help from strangers.” Garnet drew himself up with some dignity. “For that matter, I’m not sure if I should believe you either.”
“Don’t believe me if you’d rather not.” The gnome shrugged and wagged his head. “Just keep an eye on that cuckoo clock in the cottage. All gifts from that kobold come with a price.”
“The cuckoo clock?” Garnet turned to glance up the path leading back to the cottage.
The strange time keeping piece, which had a small wooden bird leap out to chirp the hour, yes, this time Garnet knew what the gnome was talking about. It had been waiting in the cottage from the day the dwarves moved in. It never failed to annoy Quartz.
“Why? What does that clock have to do with this kobold or my brother?” He whirtled to face his tiny tormentor…
…only to face a circle of toadstools surrounded by grass and red flowers.
“Ridiculous!” Garnet huffed, not entirely sure if it was.
Acquiring the cottage had been a curious matter which Quartz never had explained. He’d been leery of the cuckoo clock, too.
Quartz might not be dead. That possibility was worth a few kobolds, cuckoo clocks, or gnomes.
“Thank you for the hope.” Garnet ducked his head, not sure if anyone was still listening. “Although if you’re lying to me, I’ll tear out your beard myself. No matter how fearsome you are.”
Nothing answered.
