Haladras by Michael M. Farnsworth

didn’t frighten the boy,” he went on, chuckling
faintly. “Would you like a candy, my boy?”
    The ancient man produced a glass jar from under the counter.
Skylar could not even begin to guess its contents. It looked less edible than
the dead insects on his shelves. Skylar forced a smile.
    “No, thank you,” he said.
    The apothecary chuckled again and returned the glass jar to
its spot under the counter.
    “Well, then,” he said, turning his attention to Lasseter.
“What can I do for you today?”
    The apothecary seemed undisturbed by Lasseter’s unusual
garb. Perhaps because he was used to being surrounded by strange things.
    “I’m looking for limbreath,” said Lasseter.
    The old apothecary’s gleeful manner immediately vanished.
One twiggy eyebrow raised, the slits of gray eyes narrowed, he stared long and
intently at Lasseter. He seemed to be trying to penetrate into Lasseter’s soul.
After a considerable silence, he said, “few have ever heard of limbreath. Even
fewer understand its virtues.”
    He nodded his head slowly. “Yes, I have limbreath.”
    The apothecary shuffled out from behind the counter, and
around Skylar and his uncle. Just behind them the old man mounted an old stool
and began delicately parting a cluster of bottles on the top shelf. The
resulting aperture was just large enough for his hand to pass through. The old
man reached in a trembling hand. Slowly, he withdrew his hand, which now
gripped a small wooden coffer.
    Closing the aperture in the bottles, the apothecary
dismounted the stool, and returned to his place behind the counter, all the
while coddling the coffer as though it held a priceless treasure.
    “Here it is,” said the little man, placing the old coffer
upon the counter. “Limbreath.”
    With perfect solemnity, he produced a key from around his
neck and unlocked the coffer. From within the box he delicately withdrew a
single dried flower, diminutive in size and gray with age. It bore little
resemblance to the few flowers which somehow defied the harsh climate on
Haladras. The apothecary plucked a few lifeless petals and returned the
remainder of the flower to the coffer. The petals he gently placed into a small
capeskin pouch. Then, with evident reluctance the apothecary handed the pouch
to Lasseter.
    “There is no charge,” said the old man. “It is a gift. I
cannot see your eyes to read them, but I believe you will use it wisely. That
is payment enough for me.”
    Lasseter thanked the apothecary, and assured him he would
use it wisely.
    Then Skylar and Lasseter left the shop.
    “What is it?” asked Skylar, once they had walked a few
paces. “What do you need it for? What are its virtues, which seemed such a
secret?”
    “It is a medicine—of sorts,” said Lasseter.
    “Medicine? Are you sick?”
    “No. And I pray we shall not have need of it.”
    The limbreath was not the last of the strange provisions
Skylar and his uncle procured that afternoon. Skylar kept expecting his uncle
to purchase his usual goods, but he never did. They bought a few lengths of
cord, some paqua hair blankets, a few waterskin flasks, dried biscuits, cured
cheese, and a few other miscellaneous items. The last purchase was the only
typical one.
    Skylar and his uncle stopped to purchase some teryleum. This
did not at first surprise Skylar. His uncle would buy several barrels of
teryleum about once a year. Why his uncle always needed so much, he did not
know. It was more than enough to power his sand rover for a whole year. Skylar
had never cared much to ask about it. And after all the strange items his uncle
had just purchased, this one was least on his mind.
    The trip back to Skylar’s home seemed to pass quickly.
Skylar’s curiosity had only increased since they set out on their strange
outing. What was his uncle planning to do with all these supplies? Why was he
being so secretive? Why did he want Skylar to have a cloak and oilskin?
    Skylar tried to make sense of it all, but he