The Gardener’s Gift

By Morgan J. Manns

“How old are you, boy?” the elderly gardener asked, leaning on his pitchfork.

Heat rushed to my cheeks, making me feel redder than the orchard’s ripe apples surrounding us. “S-seven and ten.”

He grunted, eyeing me up and down before extending the implement. “So, nobody else wanted you at the orphanage?”

Pain jabbed my chest as I accepted the handle. “The nuns said I wasn’t s-suited for fieldwork near the castle.” I’d inherited my father’s lanky frame and his stutter—burdens that had plagued me my entire life. I couldn’t keep up with the hard labor or the insults.

The gardener coughed roughly into a handkerchief before clearing his throat. He gestured toward the leafy green trees framed by the castle’s impressive stone wall. “You have any experience in a place like this?”

I followed his gaze. The trees glowed with a gentle golden light, their leaves rustling like whispers of secrets. I’d never seen a place with so much wild magic. “No, m-my family were bards. We didn’t stick around anywhere long enough to even plant a g-garden.”

He grunted, scratching his stubbled chin as if reconsidering his decision to train me.

“I’ve never b-been inside. The c-castle walls, that is.” I stared down at my boots, trying to ignore the glowing auras of the apples. “The closest I ever g-got was when my parents took me to the harvest f-festival so they could p-perform for the princesses’ third and tenth birthday.”

My eyes flooded with hot tears at the memory of my mother singing and my father fiddling. I quickly turned my head to inspect the pitchfork. They’d died two years ago, lost to a sudden illness—leaving me to fend for myself. “My mother would have loved a place like this.”

He regarded me as the crisp autumn breeze swept past us. The orchard’s trees swayed in a crescendo, and a series of thuds sounded as overly ripe apples hit the ground. The grass became spotted with red.

The gardener sighed. “Well, the task today ain’t too hard.” He pointed to the pitchfork in my hands. “Just scoop the fallen apples and place ‘em over there.”

I turned, noticing the barrels lined along the path.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he added. “Sort them into silvers and golds.”

I sucked in a breath, spinning toward him. He could see the apples’ glowing auras too!

He smacked his knee, laughing. “I know a Seer as soon as I lay eyes on ‘em. It’s why I selected you from the orphanage, boy. Don’t worry, the queen will protect you, as she does me.” He smiled before erupting into another coughing fit.

I thought of my mother. The rare gift of sensing nature’s wild magic with just a glance was something we kept hidden, fearing the wrath of the monarchy. Seers like us were outlawed, our abilities rivaling the queen’s own magical abilities. The revelation that the queen secretly employed Seers in her castle was unexpected.

The gardener leaned forward, his tone becoming serious. “But be careful, boy. The queen only tolerates our abilities as long as it serves her.”

With that uneasy thought, he left me to my work.

The task wasn’t difficult. Scoop and dump was as technical as it got. Soon I found a rhythm, and then a tune. When I began to whistle, an ethereal voice from a tower high above began to hum along with me.

Squinting against the sun, I spotted her radiant smile. With her porcelain complexion and raven hair, she had grown since I last saw her—though I suppose I had, too.

The princess waved, and my heart soared. I returned to my work, a joyful skip in my step.

***

“You understand the power this orchard possesses?” the queen asked, clasping her hands in front of her ruby-red gown.

I kept my eyes downcast. “Yes, my queen. Every tree and every magical property they hold.”

“Good.”

The elderly gardener had trained me swiftly, his cough worsening with each passing day. Yet, I absorbed his teachings with confidence. He had even found an apple to cure my stutter, a gift for which I was eternally grateful.

Sadly, he died a fortnight ago. Now, the responsibility of tending to this enchanted orchard rested on my shoulders.

“I require an apple that will send someone into a deep sleep,” she declared, a menacing smile curling on her lips. “Select one for me.”

I shivered.

Only one tree provided apples like that.

The queen allowed me to lead her deeper into the orchard. After walking past a dozen trees, I stopped in front of a gnarled one, its branches jagged and misshapen.

Feeling a surge of unease, I warned, “This tree can be… unpredictable. There’s no telling how long the person will sleep for.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Are you questioning my needs?”

I bowed low. “No, my queen. Never.”

Not wanting to anger the queen further, I hurried toward the misshapen tree. The breeze didn’t grace this side of the orchard; I didn’t blame it. Something sinister lurked here.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and examined the tree’s aura.

Most of the apples had a silver glow around them, a sign they weren’t ready. Consuming an unripe fruit from these branches would cause a person to spill their darkest secrets. My gaze shifted to the ones rimmed in gold. These ripened apples would bestow health. However, their golden gifts came with a price—never-ending sleep.

Palms sweaty, I picked a golden apple and offered it to the queen. She grinned, brushing my cheek with an icy finger before plucking the apple from my hands. “Thank you, Seer.”

“F-For a deep sleep, my q-queen.” My eyes widened, unnerved that my stutter had unexpectedly returned.

Unconcerned, she slipped the apple into the folds of her dress and returned to the castle.

I rubbed my throat and watched her walk away.

Who was the apple for, and would they end up sleeping forever?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Morgan J. Manns is a speculative fiction writer who firmly believes that the world needs more stories filled with magic and wonder. Captivated by the realm of intricate world-building since composing her first fantasy tale at the age of ten, she now ventures beneath the endless Canadian prairie sky with her supportive husband and two hobbit children, all while eagerly contemplating her next literary creation. While her current occupation is that of an elementary school teacher, her dream job will always be dragon rider, soaring through the skies of her imaginings.

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