God of Gnomes

by Demi Harper

  The other two forrels watched impassively as their packmate scampered a ways down the passage, nose twitching, bushy tail wafting. It stopped a few meters down, glanced around shiftily, then bent to pick up a loose rock from the ground. It turned the rock over and over in its hand-paws before bringing it up to its mouth.

  It gnawed gently on the rock. Then it bit down hard, chomping through the rock and splitting it into a shower of shards.

  It shook its head as though confused, then bounded off again, looking for more rocks.

  ‘Most likely it was expecting there to be a nut inside the stone,’ Ket explained when she sensed my perplexity.

  I mentally shook my head. ‘Dumb animal.’

  ‘Instinct is a powerful thing, Corey.’

  ‘So are squirrel genes, apparently. How do I reverse this?’

  The sprite laughed. ‘You can’t reverse Evolution, Corey.’

  ‘But it’s wasting one of my last Creation slots! I want to get rid of it.’

  ‘Well,’ said Ket more seriously. ‘You could command it to just sit there while you set your other forrels on it, and then re-absorb it once it’s dead. If you really want to get rid of it, that is.’

  I watched it picking up rocks, twitching its whiskers as it examined each one with beady eyes.

  ‘Ugh. Let’s just leave it for now. Dumb creature,’ I grumbled. Ket trilled gently at my merciful decision; it almost sounded like a purr.

  I had just one Creation slot remaining out of thirty, and decided to save it for the time being. Septimus and my skelemanders were doing their jobs just fine. I’d leave them alone for now; I could always come back later.

  ‘If it isn’t broken, don’t mutate it,’ agreed Ket cheerily.

  I thought grumpily of my stupid new forrel.

  Note to self: don’t use squirrel blueprints next time.

  Ever.

  Twenty-Nine

  Bricking It

  The following day saw the completion of the second and third gnomehomes. Despite the prospect of the incoming attack weighing heavily upon me, I couldn’t help but feel some satisfaction; these new homes had taken less than two days to construct, which Ket assured me was due to the workers’ strengthening morale – not to mention the new higher-grade shroomtrees.

  Thanks to the trees’ stronger, wider, mana-infused trunks, each home now required only thirteen trees to be felled – a big improvement on the previous requirement of nineteen.

  With these two dwellings – each housing twelve denizens – I was able to house all my remaining workers, as well as six non-Faithful denizens. The latter fell to their knees in worship upon being assigned their dwelling, giving me a new total of thirty-eight Faithful gnomes and finally pushing me all the way into god tier seven.

  After the initial flush of elation that came with Ascension, I opened my Augmentary eagerly. But to my chagrin, a glance at my list of abilities did not reveal any new additions.

  Good thing I’ve already got plenty to be getting on with.

  I pushed away my disappointment and focused instead on re-assigning the eight builders who’d been working on the gnomehomes. I sent two of them to help with construction of the brickyard, then sat back and considered what to do with the remaining six.

  I switched to the Augmentary’s construction page and looked again at my new options.

  Of those within the new construction tier – aside from the currently-unobtainable barracks – there were very few options that were practical at this particular moment in time. For instance, the stables were useless, as was the armory, at least until I had warriors to arm. The mess hall still required bricks, and the brewery… well, that seemed like an all-round bad idea, not to mention a luxury we certainly couldn’t afford right now.

  Seeking inspiration, I flipped back to the first construction tier, and my eyes alighted on the one building I hadn’t even considered yet.

  Creche

  Construction Tier 1

  Accelerates surrounding denizens’ fertility cycle. Houses up to 40 juveniles (max) and 4 nurses. (1 nurse required for every 10 juveniles.)

  Yield: 1-2 Faithful denizens per breeder.

  Materials required: Boards x 190; Bricks x 730.

  Yeesh. That was a lot of resources. I had no real idea how long something like that would take to build. Judging by the fact that the gnomehomes – requiring just 95 boards – now took around two days, I guessed the creche could take up to five. That said, the first batch of bricks would have to be made during that time, so it could take even longer.

  Still, the creche was definitely a necessary addition to the Grotto. True, I still had forty-six non-Faithful denizens twiddling their thumbs, but still; we desperately needed more gnomes to fulfill the new roles in our ever-growing settlement – and we especially needed warriors.

  I would have built the creche there and then, but just like the barracks, the option to actually select it was grayed out. It required access to bricks—

  Ding.

  In the Augmentary, the ‘Creche’ option before me immediately switched from gray to white.

  I take it that means the brickyard is complete. Great timing! Perhaps the universe doesn’t hate me after all.

  I immediately selected the creche, then dragged it over to my Augmentary map. I hovered over the map, agonizing over the best place to build the creche.

  ‘Children are the heart of any good community,’ offered Ket. ‘Where else to put it but at the heart of the new village?’

  An interesting thought. The three existing gnomehomes were all arranged in a semicircle at the base of the hillock that held my shrine. I carefully placed the creche in the middle of the semicircle of dwellings, on the slope of the hillock itself. It glowed briefly on the map, a circular outline more than twice the size of the surrounding gnomehomes, and I assigned the maximum of four builders to begin construction immediately.

  Next, I located my six newly Faithful gnomes and assigned them all the new brickmaker vocation. Like the lumberyard, it seemed the brickyard could handle up to eight workers. The new brickmakers went marching happily down the hillock toward their new workplace, their new sense of purpose putting more than a little spring in their step.

  Then, finally, it was time to do what I’d been longing to for days. I selected ‘barracks’ and hovered over the map, wondering where best to place it. Given that we were soon to have a creche, I assumed it wouldn’t be ideal to have the cacophony of clashing weapons too close to the village itself. But nor did I want it too far away; having battle-ready troops within easy reach of the non-combatants in case of emergencies seemed sensible, and would put my mind a little more at ease.

  In the end, I decided to place the barracks directly across the stream from the new village, not too far from the lumberyard. I’d have the builders construct a bridge for ease of access later.

  I assigned four of the builders to commence work on the barracks, then sought out the remaining two, only to see that Granny had already taken care of them for me. While I’d been debating where to place my new buildings, she’d commandeered the idle workers into gathering clay from the shores of the stream.

  The pair of builders were obediently hauling the clay over to the new brickyard in makeshift buckets – as were my two former scouts, Swift and Cheer. As Ket had explained previously, Granny’s overseer role enabled her to draft unassigned denizens and put them to work, keeping them busy until I was ready to assign them elsewhere.

  I decided to order the two builders to begin work on a bridge, but there was no ‘bridge’ option in the Augmentary’s construction page. Then I remembered something I’d seen a few days ago.

  I flipped excitedly back to my list of abilities. There!

  Divine Inspiration

  Tier 5 ability

  Inspire a truly Faithful denizen to attempt to perform a specific action (e.g. create an item).

  Just what I needed. But how to use it?

  I stared at the ability’s descriptio
n, but the Augmentary – usually so accommodating – offered no additional information.

  ‘Ket…’ I began.

  ‘Concentrate on the gnome you want to inspire, then focus on an image of what you want him or her to build,’ she responded promptly.

  Good old Ket. I could always count on her to know what I was thinking and anticipate my needs. I’d found it annoying at first – intrusive, even – but at times like this it was invaluable.

  ‘What would I do without you, Ket?’

  ‘Waste a lot more time staring pointlessly at things in an attempt to work out what’s going on around you?’ I sensed her smirking, but despite her teasing, she glowed softly in response to my charitable thoughts about her.

  This was becoming far too friendly for my tastes.

  Enough of that, I thought, focusing once more on the task at hand.

  I drew on what little I remembered of bridges from my memories. In my mind, an image appeared: a gracefully arching construct of spidersilk and bone, spanning a vast fissure. Then I picked out one of the two unassigned builders and concentrated, focusing as much of my willpower as I could muster on imparting the image of the bridge into the builder’s tiny mind.

  He continued hauling clay from the river, humming tunelessly. I groaned. It hadn’t worked.

  I tried again, straining to keep the image clear and simple while also mentally screaming, Bridge! at the oblivious gnome.

  ‘Such delicate technique,’ Ket commented dryly, and I knew for certain she was rolling her eyes. ‘But it won’t work.’

  ‘What? But you said—'

  ‘Read the Augmentary’s wording more carefully,’ she interrupted. ‘Divine Inspiration only works on “truly faithful” denizens.’

  ‘What does that m—’ My gaze drifted over to my gem, and to Gneil and his five acolytes. ‘Oh.’

  Ket hummed approvingly, but I was already zooming over to my high priest. I focused on Gneil, and attempted to impart the image of the bridge into his mind. My technique may have left a lot to be desired, but this time, it worked. Gneil halted abruptly, staring off into the distance. His face lit up in wonder, as though he’d just witnessed something amazing. Then he strode down the hillock toward the builder I’d attempted to inspire.

  After much excited babbling and expansive gesturing, Gneil succeeded where I had failed. The builder dropped his bucket of clay to splatter on the ground. Then he spun on his heel and speed-walked across to the lumberyard, grabbing the other unassigned builder on his way over.

  ‘Ha!’ I exclaimed, delighted.

  ‘Nicely done, Corey!’ Ket sounded genuinely impressed.

  I knew, of course, that whatever the gnome came up with would not remotely resemble what I’d just showed him. More likely it would be little more than a handful of wooden boards, tied together loosely with twine and floating uselessly atop the water – a raft more than a bridge, probably. But still, it felt good to successfully make use of an ability I’d forgotten existed up until now.

  Good job, Divine Inspiration, I thought admiringly, and looked around the Grotto to see what else required my attention.

  Across the stream from the lumberyard, the new brickyard was already a hive of activity, though it took me a few moments to work out exactly what was going on.

  The six brickmakers were marching back and forth from the shrine, and I finally realized they were taking materials from the pile of loot Ris’kin had stashed there from our encounters with the raiders.

  The kobold weapons I’d had my avatar retrieve from the caves were a mixture of daggers and straight-bladed swords, all made of obsidian with hide-wrapped hilts. The new brickmakers had seized on the latter and immediately begun adapting the swords for their own practical use.

  I watched, fascinated, as the gnome workers scurried back to the brickyard in pairs, hefting their prizes between them. Once there, they set to work with their new materials, binding the blades together at right angles to create what were clearly intended to be brick molds, one per brickmaker. When filled with clay, each mold would produce four evenly-sized cuboid bricks, which the builders would then knock free from the mold and leave to dry in stacks in a specially designated part of the brickyard.

  I wasn’t sure what they would have used to shape the bricks had the kobold weapons not been available – their bare hands, probably – but I had no doubt this method was more efficient.

  The fastest-working brickmakers were already putting their new equipment to good use; low stacks of drying bricks were arrayed neatly in a roofed area on one side of the yard.

  Pleased with their progress, I left the brickmakers to it, and took a trip over to the mushroom farm to undertake my daily enhancing of the felled shroomtrees’ regrowth. It was essential that our lumber production was able to match the speed with which the new buildings were being constructed.

  When I was done, I couldn’t help but take a moment to admire my new buildings – and my own construction acumen, evident in the arrangement and productivity of the settlement. So far, every new building had been placed strategically in order to optimize efficiency. The lumberyard was next to the shroomtree farm; the brickyard was close to the stream, which was its source of clay, and was also equidistant from the in-progress creche and barracks; and the gnomehomes were gathered around the base of my hillock, conveniently close to my shrine should the denizens ever feel like a bit of spontaneous worship to express their devotion.

  ‘You’ve done a great job so far, Corey,’ said Ket, also admiring the busy village. ‘You’re right to be proud. I always knew you had it in you, but I never thought you’d manage to do this good a job.’

  ‘I suppose you could say that erections are my new specialty.’

  Now it was my turn to smirk. The sprite huffed, then flitted away, pretending to examine one of Granny’s new mushroomeries in order to hide her embarrassment. I had to admit that although vulgar body humor was nowhere near as amusing without an actual body, it still felt good to joke in the face of adversity.

  I shifted my attention from the shrine to the hole in the ceiling, where I gazed thoughtfully up at Binky. To evolve, or not to evolve? That was the question.

  I watched him for a while with affection. He was innocently cleaning his fang-like mouthparts, removing bits of fur and small animal bones from his chelicerae.

  What a cutie. And so clean and fastidious!

  I looked back and forth between the spider and the single remaining Creation slot in my Augmentary, agonizing over my decision. I liked Binky exactly how he was. But, I also needed him to be the strongest version of himself for the upcoming battle.

  In the end, the latter need won out over my own personal preference, and so I selected Evolution and poured mana into my pet spider. Then I immediately looked away, not wanting to see him morph into something appalling, like the forrel had.

  When I finally got up the courage to peek at Binky, I was delighted to see that he’d remained more or less the same. His exoskeleton was slightly thicker, it seemed, and his hairy legs had something of a greenish tinge to them, but he was still undeniably the same Binky.

  A close examination of his new blueprint revealed that he’d gained some sort of elemental resistance, which was interesting – presumably to protect him from natural conditions such as rain and lightning, making him a hardier specimen than most.

  According to the Augmentary, Binky could also now shoot webs, which would come in very handy during a fight… provided his aim was good enough to not accidentally catch allies as well as enemies.

  A bit more offensive capability would have been nice, but all in all, I was pleased with my decision. All thirty of my Creation slots were now filled, and there was nothing more I could possibly do to make my god-born any stronger than they already were.

  Now all that remained to do here in the Grotto was find a way to win over the remaining non-Faithful denizens. Granny had already press-ganged four of them – including Swift and Cheer – into bringing clay t
o the brickyard, but they’d be much more productive if only they were part of my flock of Faithful – not to mention I’d progress further toward tier eight, which my hourglass showed I was already a third of the way toward attaining.

  While I was considering this, I felt the telltale tug of intruders at the back of my mind – then another tug, and another. I called Ket back to me, trying to remain calm even as I endured tug after tug indicating multiple simultaneous invasions of my Sphere of Influence.

  ‘What’s wrong, Corey?’ asked Ket. ‘Did you think of more crude jokes to inflict upon me?’

  ‘It’s time,’ I told her. ‘They’re here.’

  Thirty

  Good Luck, Little God

  My workers continued going about their business, blissfully unaware of the battle for their fate that was about to take place.

  Unlike the gnomes, Ris’kin stopped work immediately. She stood upright on her hind legs and sniffed the air intently, her tufted ears pricked and black eyes shining with alertness. Her fox-like face was turned toward the tunnel leading from the Grotto. She cocked her head to one side, as though asking permission.

  A large part of me didn’t want my avatar anywhere near the upcoming combat; she was too valuable. My gnomes’ Faith was higher whenever she was around, as was their work output. Ris’kin was much more suited to being an icon for my gnomes to admire than she was as a soldier.

  Then I remembered the day I’d created her. She’d seemed such a delicate thing, but she’d brought down that kobold straggler like a true hunter and saved Gneil from being sacrificed with the others.

  In fact, she’d done more than just save Gneil; my new high priest had been crucial to the increase of Faith within the tribe. Without Gneil, there would have been no altar, no worshipers, no Ascendancy. And without Ris’kin, there would have been no Gneil. She had more than proved herself able to fight.