Sage’s Gift

SPOILER WARNING: YOU MUST HAVE READ THE FALSE PRINCE FIRSRT BEFORE READING THIS.

This story takes place during Sage’s time at Mrs. Turbeldy’s Orphanage for Disadvantaged Boys. Happy Holidays, my friends.

SAGE’S GIFT

Carthya’s annual Gift Festival has three rules. First, the gift must be made by the giver. I tended to be generous with myself when interpreting the rule. For example, the candle I was giving tonight hadn’t been made by me in the sense that I did any of its preparation, or molding, or scent. However, I did play a major role in stealing it. I saw little difference between “making it” and “making off with it.”

The second, and most important rule, is when the gift is given, the giver must offer a wish for the receiver. I learned years ago that a properly phrased wish could make all the difference.

For example, I might say, “I wish you to be generous enough to give that candle back to me.”

Which is exactly what I did say twenty minutes later when I gave the candle to Mrs. Turbeldy.

There is a third rule for the Gift Festival, which is that the giver can choose who receives their gift.  Mrs. Turbeldy made it clear every year that if we wanted to avoid a long stay locked in her cellar, we had better ignore that rule. All gifts from the boys who lived here were for her. 

Including my candle, which wasn’t exactly getting the highest praise from her.

“A candle? It’s the same gift from you every year. You think I want to see this place any better than I do now?” Her eyes narrowed. “Where’d you get it, Sage?”

“I think what’s important is that I got it for you.” I offered a smile, hoping to sweeten her opinion of the gift. “And I wish you to be generous enough to—”

“Go away,” she grumbled. “Maybe the other boys have gifts I’ll actually like.”

I nodded and stepped out of the way for an entire line of orphans waiting with their wrapped boxes of hope. Nobody wanted a stay in the cellar.

“A comb?” Mrs. Turbeldy yelled at the next boy in line. “Look at my thick lustrous hair! What good is a comb?” She threw it across the room and watched the boy sulk away, his fate sealed.

While she dared the next boy to come forward, I crouched low and picked up the comb, then slid it into my pocket. Halfway upstairs, one of the younger boys, a kid named Meeks or something, grabbed my arm. 

“Hey, Sage. I know all the gifts are supposed to be for Mrs. Turbeldy, but I got one for you too. I made it myself.”

“Is it any good?” I asked, holding back a grin. “Don’t give me something I’ll just throw away when you’re not looking.”

His eyes brightened. “You won’t. look!” He held out for me a ship carved from an old block of wood. I stared at it, longer than I should have, until he added, “My wish for you is that one day you can travel the seas. I know you want to.”

“One day, perhaps.” I pulled the comb from my pocket. “Now don’t ask if I made this. Just accept it.” I leaned in closer. “But you have to keep quiet about this gift, or the other boys will feel bad.”

Meeks-or-something grinned. “Thanks Sage! What’s your wish for me?”

“Um…that one day you will grow thick and lustrous hair like Mrs. Turbeldy.”

He laughed. “I’d better not.”

I left him there and continued up the stairs. At the top I found Blotch. That wasn’t his real name but it’s what I’d called him ever since we agreed to a truce over who was going dump who out the upstairs window. 

I gave him the carved ship. “My wish is for you to take this and give me the gift in your other hand.”

He stared down at it. “This looks like one of the eight-year-olds made it.”

“That sounds about right.” I stepped closer, daring him to refuse me. “But what do you care? It’s just going to Mrs. Turbeldy anyway.”

He frowned. “I actually spent time on mine.”

“Trade me, Blotch or our truce is off.”

He sighed and put his gift in my hand, a pretty ring made of imitator’s gold. I turned it over in my hands. “You must’ve worked hard on this one.”

“I did.”

I rolled it over my knuckles then let it land back in my pocket. “Enjoy your Gift Festival.”

I gave the ring to a sort-of friend of mine named Ethan who was sweet on a girl in town, and accepted his gift of a new straw hat. The hat was ridiculous and wide and had a white ribbon around it, making me wonder if we were actually friends at all, so it went to a boy named Grover who was sitting on the floor staring down at what had once been a clay pot with a flower inside it. Now it was a loose flower sitting over a pile of dirt and clay pieces.

Grover was trying his hardest not to cry, and doing a poor job at it. “Mrs. Turbeldy is gonna kill me.” 

In any other place, his fears might have been an exaggeration, but here, there was a decent chance he was correct. We’d all heard rumors of boys who’d disappeared after failing to give gifts. They were probably just stories, but nobody wanted to be the first to find out for sure.

Behind us, Blotch began laughing. “That’s what you get for being so clumsy, kid.”

No, that’s what Blotch would get for tripping Grover. Later tonight, our truce would be over.

But for now, there was the matter of Mrs. Turbeldy not killing Grover. I knelt beside him and said, “I think this will make a perfect gift.” I pulled the ribbon off my ridiculous hat and threaded it over the top so that it could tie beneath the chin, then used the flower to decorate the side of the hat.

“Come with me,” I said.

Grover sniffed. “She won’t kill me now?”

“Who knows? But she won’t kill you for not having a gift. C’mon, I’ll go with you.”

We walked back downstairs together, reaching the bottom of the stairs just in time to duck when Mrs. Turbeldy threw a package of strawberries against the wall. “I’m allergic to these, boy! For that, I’ll give you double duty on chores this week!”

Wisely, the other boys had backed away, putting Grover and I straight ahead in her gaze.

“Well?” she asked.

I nudged Grover to walk forward. His hands were shaking, and when he got in front of her, he said, “I thought…I wanted…I was going to…”

I snatched the hat from his hands and gave it to her. “It’s for the most beautiful orphanage keeper in this part of town.”

Mrs. Turbeldy blushed, though with her already reddish cheeks, it wasn’t her best look. All the more reason for her to need this wide-brimmed hat.

She tried it on immediately, though she had trouble tying the ribbon beneath her chin.

“Help me with this, Groberg.”

“Grover,” he said.

He stared up at me, silently begging to be rescued from this task. But I couldn’t help him this time. I had other business for being back down here.

While he tied the ribbon, I swiped the candle back from her table of acceptable gifts and held it behind my back.

“How do I look?” she asked when Grover had finished.

“Just like before, only with a hat on,” I replied. “We’ll go now, let you enjoy your other gifts.”

Grover followed me upstairs. “Thanks, Sage. Next year, I’ll have a gift for you too.”

“I won’t be here next year,” I said.

“Then I’ll get you a gift now. Anything you want.”

I turned to him. “What I want now is to be alone. Make sure nobody comes out to out to the ledge, all right?”

He nodded and left me there to climb out the window beside my bed. The ledge here wasn’t wide, and it was crumbling in several places, but I had built up this area myself so I trusted it.

After a moment to settle my emotions, I climbed out and stared off in the direction of Drylliad. There, in a castle on the hill of that great city, the Gift Festival would be celebrated with much finer offerings than anything we might exchange here. It would be followed by a grand feast and celebrations extending late into the evening.

On my first year away from home, I’d passed by and seen a single homemade candle being lit from a familiar window inside the castle. My brother’s room.

Every year since, I did the same. So I withdrew the candle from my pocket, set it on the ledge, and lit it.

Because there was a fourth rule of the Gift Festival, an unspoken rule that was only honored by a very small number of people in all of Carthya.

Rule Four: The gift should represent love.

I sat on the ledge beside the candle and continued to look toward Drylliad, finally closing my eyes and hoping a candle there was being lit once again for me. Maybe by a family who wondered about me as much as I did them. 

Maybe next year…