His Destiny

The first time Simon’s grandmother sent him to the apothecary, the weatherman said there would be rain and it seemed the sky agreed.

The slate clouds overhead sent down plump droplets upon his head and he shook them free as he approached the quaint little shoppe. It was easy enough to distinguish, being one of the few standing businesses left on the street. Upon entry, Simon first noticed the aroma which was flowery and heady with the faintest metallic tang on the back of his tongue. His curious eyes roved over the numerous shelves where vials and bottles and pots of various powders and elixirs and tinctures were held.

He approached the counter made of warm honey oak, eyeing a jar of colorful sweets which sat upon the countertop and Simon swallowed the pining spit in his mouth.

"Take one." Simon startled, and swiveled his skinny neck to watch as an old man approached, hunched and slow. The man lifted the jar and uncorked the lid before lowering it to Simon who took a sweet without hesitation. A blue one. In return, the boy handed the old man the slip of paper his grandmother had given him.

The man took it and held the paper aloft with unsteady hands and squinted at the tiny print before nodding and turning to the wall of cubbied jars behind him. He retrieved a tiny vial of clear liquid before carefully placing it into a brown paper bag and handing it to the boy. The old man smiled with small crinkly eyes and Simon dropped the silver coins into his hand.

"Come back again," the man said and Simon nodded deftly before departing back into the rain.

Simon did return, every week in fact. Whenever his grandmother called for her tincture. Simon would take a sweet, the old man would give him a renewed vial, and Simon would leave.

On one visit, Simon noticed a silver personal transporter parked outside. It was all smooth lines and LED lights. On its side, the symbol of the V over golden concentric circles marked it as a government vehicle and it made Simon's stomach lurch.

He entered the shoppe tentatively that day to find a city policeman towering over the old man from where he sat very calmly behind the counter. "You know the law," the large man said in his silver suit. "You aren't allowed to sell drugs without an approved city permit."

"I told you, I only sell herbs and tinctures here. I sell no drugs or medicines."

"Right. You Lower Province lot are always trying to find ways to skirt the rules."

"Many people of the Lower Province cannot afford the big price tags of the designer drugs. I merely offer them an alternative."

The officer bristled at the old man's composed tone. "The city is starting to finally crack down on you Low-Lifers. If I catch so much as a whiff of trouble from you…" He pulled out his pistol and Simon stiffened in his spot at the door. The officer held the gun out to the old man's chest, before sliding it to the side, knocking the jar of sweets from the countertop. The glass shattered and the colorful orbs tumbled about the floor. Simon closed his eyes as his heart raced and he soon felt a dark breeze as the shoppe's door opened and closed.

Behind his closed eyes, Simon heard a sigh. "Oh, dear. I always forget how they make a mess."

Simon peeked his eyes open and watched the old man shuffle to retrieve a broom from the corner. He bolted over, careful to avoid the glass. "Let me get that."

The old man looked relieved. "Thank you, young man."

Simon began to sweep the shards and colorful balls into a neat pile. "I hate those stupid silverfish," Simon said, disgust coloring his tone. "They think we're nothing because we're poor. All those elite jackasses do. They’re born in their bubble and they stay in their bubble. My grandmother’s spent her life cleaning after them, fixing their lives, and she can't even afford proper healthcare. Now they wanna take this from us?"

The old man didn't respond. He just sat in contemplative silence.

"I'm sorry, sometimes I talk too much. My name is Simon." More silence and the boy began to fidget. "Without you, sir, my grandmother might not even be here. I respect everything you do."

"How old are you?" the man asked.

"Twelve."

"How would you like to be my apprentice, Simon? I'll teach you everything I know." The old man regarded him with patient eyes.

The boy felt foreign exhilaration in his chest. He'd never wanted to be anything before. He never thought he could. "I would like that very much, sir."

The old man smiled. "Then, it will be your destiny."

The boy was there every day. He refilled the bottles and pots and vials. He measured out the tinctures and powders and elixirs. He mixed potions and counted inventory. He swept and swept and swept.

The old man told the boy to refer to him as "Master" and he would only refer to Simon as "Apprentice".

Simon would listen as his Master tended to customers and learned their ailments before prescribing recommendations. The Apprentice would watch as the Master carefully measured the dosage before passing it to Simon for packaging. The most popular item seemed to be a vial of amber liquid.

Eventually Simon was entrusted with handling the money and he smiled brilliantly when his Master dropped a silver coin into his palm at the end of one workday. "From now on, you will receive a wage," his Master told him.

As Simon cleaned about the shoppe, he discovered a heart-shaped locket made of now-tarnished gold. "That belonged to my wife. It's the only thing I have left of hers." Simon felt pain for his Master. He was his only companion now.

Four years passed and Simon was now sixteen. He now ran the shoppe full time, allowing his Master to rest and focus on his healing potions. He knew every patron by name and predicted their ailments in a way that caused his Master to smile.

His life was perfect, until the day of the shutdowns.

Simon felt rage engulf him as he watched the news. Every business not directly approved by the government was being violently dismantled. He quickly dressed and tore off to the city.

When he reached the apothecary, he was surprised and relieved to find it still intact. He entered carefully and paused when an unnatural soft glow from his Master's personal chambers caused him alarm and he feared there may indeed be fire here.

Bursting through the locked doors after knocking with no response led him to an empty room. His eyes met with the source of the glow and they widened. The room held a single object, a metal contraption at its center. The angles of the machine were all smooth lines and LED lights and there was a familiar V symbol surrounded by gold concentric circles that caused a knowing knot in the boy's stomach.

The door to the contraption suddenly opened and his Master emerged with a crate of vials filled with amber liquid.

"What is all this?" Simon questioned in an incredulous voice.

The Master's brows raised in mild surprise upon realizing he was not alone. "Oh dear. Is it time already? I always forget."

"Time for what? What are you talking about? What is this place?"

The old man removed the protective goggles from his crinkly face. "This is my time machine."

"Your what?"

"I'm a scientist, you see. I come from nearly one-hundred years in the future."

"A what? A scientist?" The boy's chest heaved. "So, you're not a--"

"An herbalist? Not at all. I create all of my 'potions' in my lab back home."

Simon’s mouth felt dry. "I don't understand."

The old man smiled. "Thirty-one years from now. Humankind will be plagued by a virus. A vaccine will be created, but it requires a particular secretion that needs to be extracted from those of us with a particular mutation." He picked up the vial of amber liquid. "A mutation I must administer, I'm afraid."

Simon felt his heart plummet and his chest heaved as he thought of the hundreds of people he had given that vial to. His mind tumbled at the thought of his Master being a complete stranger to him now. All he could think to ask was, "Will it hurt them? The people I gave that to."

The Master smiled sadly. "Unfortunately, many of them will die from various cancers caused by this treatment but not before the vital secretion for the vaccine is extracted."

Simon felt as though he would retch. The room tumbled over itself and he looked upon his Master with hateful eyes. "How could you do that to these people?"

The Master’s pain looked genuine though Simon still believed him to be a monster. "It's the only way to save everyone else. I couldn't save my wife. But, I can save my daughters. You'll understand one day."

"I'll never understand. I could never do what you did."

"But, you will. Because you right now stand before your future choices. As I stand before my past."

Simon felt the walls of his sanity quake. "No." He shook his head.

"Yes. It is your destiny."