Haladras Read online

  “The cloak is not for me,” said Lasseter.

  The shopkeeper looked up with a questioning expression which he quickly replaced with his obsequious smile. “Yes, of course. You already have a cloak,” he said. “Ah, for whom will the cloak be made?”

  “For my nephew,” said Lasseter, indicating Skylar with his hand.

  This completely took Skylar by surprise. What did he need a cloak for? He didn't want a cloak. There was no way he was going to start dressing like his uncle.

  “Yes, of course. For the boy,” said the shopkeeper, immediately setting to work at taking Skylar’s measurements.

  In a moment when the shopkeeper was looking away, Skylar stole an imploring glance at his uncle. Lasseter only nodded. Skylar bit his lip to keep from saying anything that would disrespect his uncle.

  “The cloak will be made of paqua hair,” instructed Lasseter.

  The shopkeeper paused and looked questioningly at Lasseter. This time the smile did not return. “Paqua hair, you say?”

  “Paqua hair.”

  “Yes, of course, of course,” he said, sounding a bit exhausted. “We are very low on paqua hair as we have little use for it. Usually just for someone journeying to another part of the empire where the climate’s colder. I imagine I can collect enough for this young man’s cloak. Yes, indeed.”

  “There we are,” he added, finishing up the measurements. “I can have the cloak ready in three days’ time. Is there anything else I can assist you with today?”

  Skylar closed his eyes and prayed the answer would be no.

  “An oilskin,” replied his uncle.

  Skylar thought he could hear the shocked expression on the shopkeeper’s face.

  What in the universe does he need an oilskin for?

  “An oilskin, you say?” said the shopkeeper with a halting laugh. “Indeed, an oilskin...” He furrowed his brow and wrung his hands nervously. “For the boy?”

  “Yes,” said Lasseter.

  Skylar’s groaned inside.

  “Of course, of course,” said the shopkeeper. “How very nice—an oilskin for the boy. Of course. Must be prepared. You never know, it could rain on this big dust ball of a planet one day. Good to be prepared.

  “I’m afraid I don’t carry any oilskins. Not very popular around here, you know.” He chuckled briefly. “Yes, well I’m sure I can make one in, shall we say, five days’ time? Two days after the cloak. I’ll need time to treat the cloth, you know. Got to be done right.”

  “I suppose that’ll have to do,” said Lasseter.

  Soon after Skylar and his uncle stepped out of the outfitter’s shop and into the heat of the afternoon. A hundred questions burned on Skylar’s tongue. But he dared not ask until they were out of earshot from the outfitter. Lasseter led Skylar along one of the many paths that ran in switchbacks up the face of the Gorge.

  “Uncle,” Skylar said when he thought it was safe, “why do I need a cloak and an oilskin? It’s too hot for a cloak, and it never rains on Haladras. Meteorologists claim it’s impossible.”

  “Is it now?” replied his uncle. “Science does not control the weather, Skylar.”

  “So you think it’s going to rain?”

  “I did not say that.”

  “Then why would I need an oilskin?”

  His uncle took several more paces before replying.

  “You will understand soon enough. I only hope it will not be too soon.”

  This last comment he only muttered as if speaking to himself.

  Skylar yearned to ask more questions. But he knew from experience that he would get nothing more from his uncle. While these questions and riddles churned in Skylar’s head, his uncle led them on in silence. Shortly after, he turned and entered another shop.

  They found themselves in a dimly lit cave. It was not the sort of shop Skylar had ever seen before. Tight rows of dingy shelves filled most of the limited floor space. The shelves, which looked as though they might crumble into dust at any moment, were cluttered with a strange array of glass phials, flasks, and beakers. The glassware held bubbling liquids of putrid green, or gelatinous substances of crimson red and sulfuric yellow. Some contained dune beetles, orange salamandra, or other creatures unknown to Skylar, all floating lifelessly in sallow liquids. A foul odor permeated the dusty air.

  Skylar plugged his nose and tried to stifle a cough. Reluctantly, he followed his uncle deeper into the gloomy shop, where they found a rickety old counter, covered with bones and jars of live gigapedes. A small stone plaque, leaning against a stuffed desert rat, occupied one corner of the counter. It read, Mansyl Magorik—Apothecary Extraordinaire.

  Skylar wondered what was so extraordinary about him. Whoever he was, there was certainly no sign of him anywhere.

  “Does anyone even run the shop anymore?” said Skylar.

  Suddenly a figure popped up from behind the counter. Skylar started and took an involuntary step backwards.

  “Oh, yes. Someone does,” exclaimed the wizened old man. “Mansyl Magorik, at your service.”

  “I hope I 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 Sk
ylar 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 simply couldn’t—unless his uncle really was going mad. But that didn’t make sense to him either. That his uncle was eccentric he had no doubt. But crazy? Impossible. He was far too intelligent for that.

  Lasseter brought the sand rover to a halt at the base of the Gorge’s wall, just below Skylar’s cave.

  “Do you remember my warning?” Lasseter suddenly asked, interrupting Skylar’s thought.

  Skylar hesitated. “Be cautious?”

  “Yes. But about the insects…you must stay clear of them.”

  “But Uncle, they haven’t been spotted on Haladras...”

  “I told you, they will come. You must avoid them.”

  His tone was grave, filled with the same foreboding as the first night he spoke of them.

  “I will,” promised Skylar. He began to get out of the sand rover when Lasseter stopped him.

  “Should you happen upon any, this might help you to get away,” said Lasseter as he reached for something from under his seat. What he pulled out made Skylar gape in astonishment.

  “My jetwing!” he shouted, as he took the coveted flying device from Lasseter and examined it. Except for a few new scratches, it looked in perfect condition. “How did you...did you fix this?”

  “I know a mechanic in Duhavi. He owed me a favor.”

  Skylar didn’t know what to say; he never expected to see his jetwing in one piece again.

  “Thank you,” he finally stammered.

  His uncle nodded. “I trust you’ll be more careful from now on.”

  Saying goodbye, Skylar hopped out of the sand rover and ran up the sloped pathway toward his home, thinking nothing of his uncle’s warnings.

  SIX

  THE NEXT DAY brought yet more unanswered questions for Skylar. The previous evening, after his mother had returned from work, he told her about the strange outing with his uncle. He described the peculiar supplies they purchased and the bizarre encounter with the apothecary.

  “Lasseter even ordered a cloak and oilskin for me. What would I need those for? Do you know what he’s up to?”

  His mother only answered that his uncle likes to be prepared.

  “Prepared for what?” asked Skylar.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it, Sky. Your uncle has his own ways,” she had said with a smile. But Skylar noted a touch of sadness in her eyes. There was something she wasn’t telling him.

  The next day at the Academy, his thoughts were still distracted by the previous day’s events. He sat brooding over everything, waiting for professor Valenkr’s lecture to begin, when Rolander hurried over to him, his red face beaming with excitement.

  “Did you hear the news?” said Rolander, as he stumbled into his seat next to Skylar.

  “About what?”

  “The insects—the ones Arturo reported to the Council about. Remember, I told you they were really machines and not insects at all?”

  How could I forget them? thought Skylar. His uncle certainly didn’t want him to forget.

  “What about them?”

  “Well, yesterday my father was at Sansaya—the mining unit a few kilometers from here. He said the whole community was talking about the insects. Some of people there claimed to have seen them. Some even claim they were stung. You know what that means, don’t you?” he said, his eyes as wide as craters. “The insects are on Haladras. And they are likely to show up here before too long.”

  The news struck Skylar like a blow from Drake to his gut. He did not share his friend’s excitement. It only made his uncle’s warning all too real, and eerie. How had his uncle known they would come? And why did he want Skylar to avoid them?

  “Was anyone hurt?” said Skylar. “I mean, the people who were stung…did anything happen to them?”

  Rolander shook his head. “Except for a bit of hysteria, everyone was fine.”

  Skylar frowned. Things just didn’t make sense.

  “What do you think they are, Roland?”

  Rolander leaned in a little closer, quickly glanced to either side, then whispered, “I think they are looking for someone.”

  The idea sent a chill down Skylar’s spine. The things were creepy enough without also being on a mission to find someone. He didn’t want to think about what they would do once they found whoever it was.

  “But who would they be looking for, and who would send them?”

  “Who knows,” replied Rolander. “But I intend to catch one and find out.”

  “How—”

  Skylar cutoff. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed some movement nearby. He turned to look.

  It was Kendyl, smiling, and walking in their direction.

  “Hi Skylar,” she said, stopping in front of his desk.

  She smiled at him and tucked a loose strand of hair behind one ear.

  “Can I sit here?” she asked, leaning toward the seat next to him, her dazzling blue eyes looking at him expectantly.

  A sense of elation coursed through Skylar’s entire body. His fingers and toes tingled with it.

  Of course. I’ve been saving it for you, he thought about saying. Or, wherever you want, as long as it’s next to me.

  All that came out of his mouth was a stammered, “uh, yes…yes.”

  He cringed inside at how pathetic he sounded. Why couldn’t he say something smooth or clever?

  As Kendyl took her seat next to him, he taxed his brain for some comment that would redeem him. Nothing came.

  He was vaguely aware that Professor Valenkr was calling the class to order.

  Later. He would talk to her later.

  He had forgotten entirely about his conversation with Rolander. All his thoughts now swirled around the pretty little red-head seated next to him, and how he could impress her.

  After school Skylar and Kendyl walked together. Now that Skylar had his jetwing again, he could fly home. Ordinarily he would have. Today, he happily walked.

  The searing heat of the midday sun bore down on them as they went along. They wound their way down the southern face of the Gorge, Skylar taking furtive glances at Kendyl as often as he dared.

  She wore a simple white tunic, with a sharp v-shaped neck line, loosely laced together near her slender neck. The hem of the tunic was midway down her thighs. Beige leggings, tall boots, and a broad leather belt around her waist completed the outfit.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything from Rasbus, have you?” she asked.

  “No,” said Skylar. “And I don’t expect I will. Rasbus is not one to change his mind. When he said two weeks, I’m sure he meant it.”

  “That’s too bad. You must be getting bored. I know I would be.”

  Skylar shrugged. “I do miss it. But I’m glad to at least be back at the Academy.”

  “I'm glad you're back, too,” she said, smiling at him and blushing noticeably.

  Skylar swallowed and laughed awkwardly.

  “So,” he said, not knowing how to respond to Kendyl’s flirtatious comment, “what do you do for your apprenticeship?
”

  Kendyl’s expression immediately changed, and she let out a little grunt of annoyance.

  “Uh, did I say something wrong?”

  A faint trace of Kendyl’s smile returned. “No…no. It’s just a sore topic for me. I’ve always wanted to work in the mines. I love the idea of exploring immense caverns hidden deep underground, digging deeper and deeper into the heart of our planet. It seems so exciting.”

  Skylar was taken aback. Kendyl looked too delicate, too feminine to do a job as grimy and labor-intensive as mining.

  “But,” she continued, “females aren’t allowed in the mines. We’re not allowed to apprentice as dockhands—for that matter. It’s so unfair. All that a girl can do on this miserable planet is learn to weave, sew, bake, wash, or grow food. Which is fine enough. But I’d like a little excitement, too—some adventure.”

  She sighed heavily. “I suppose there is not much I can do about it, though.”

  “I didn’t realize you weren’t allowed to do those things,” said Skylar. “I just thought girls weren’t interested in things like mining.”

  “Hmm! Well, not all of us are the same, Skylar Lancewright,” she said. “You probably think I couldn’t handle being a miner, don’t you? Too weak.”

  She turned her head away from him with a jerk, her hair lashing out like a whip, and halted in her tracks.

  “You’re as bad as my father. He won’t let me do anything.”

  Skylar stopped and turned to look at her, baffled at how the conversation had suddenly turned him into the enemy. So much for trying to impress her.

  “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that you’re so…” He wanted to say beautiful.

  She cast a glare at him while he fumbled with his words.

  “…well,” he stammered on, “I mean...I don’t think it’s right. You ought to be allowed. I would let you.”

  Kendyl eyed him suspiciously, one brow raised slightly. Then the tight line of her lips slowly twitched into a playful smile.

  “Well, that’s very sweet of you to say. I’m afraid you can’t do anything about it, either.”