"The hero who can kill any beast on Earth," she continues in a voice so dry that I almost wince in sympathy.
"Was it his ability to slaughter beasts that made him a so-called hero? Or was it something else?" I ask her, turning as I look into her eyes that look aged with time but sharp nevertheless.
"An interesting question. No hero is all good, and no villain is all bad. In fact, to some, even a villain is a hero."
"I suppose that's true," I muse. What is considered good or evil is merely a perspective, whether correct or not is a matter of opinion. "Perhaps the world is too complex for something to be either good or evil, when in fact most things exist in between."
She gives me a wide, toothy grin. With what teeth she has left, anyway. "Precisely."
I run my fingers along the leather-bound notebook once more, feeling the constellation and pattern of the skull once more. "I'll take it," I tell the old woman. Her grin only grows as we walk to the register together. Her smile is so wide, it is almost like she knows something that I don't.
"I'm not even sure what to use it for, to be honest," I murmur.
"Mmm," she ponders. "Try introducing yourself."
I give her a slow blink. "Sure," I say, not really knowing how else to respond. Her eyes light up and she gives a bob of her head, ruffling her already unkempt short light grey hair. Her dangling pearl earrings refract the overhead lighting with the movement as well.
"I love your shop," I tell her honestly. She seems like a very nice woman, albeit a little loony, and it looks like she has put a lot of effort into this place. It's wonderful.
"Thank you, darling," she answers in that raspy tone of hers. She presses a few buttons on the register. Ever so slowly.
"How long have you been in business for?" The register makes a horrid noise, letting her know that she has hit the wrong button. So she starts the process over.
"It has been handed down in the family since it opened in 1916."
"Wow," I say, considering that for a moment. "What was it before it was an antique store?" The items that I would call an antique today would have not even been created yet.
"A general store with an apothecary," she said, and I glance towards the still smoking smudge stick of sage to my left before looking up towards the many old bottles and dried herbs lined along the higher shelves on the walls around us. Many of them are collecting dust but standing strong against the test of time. Hewn with craftsmanship long since disregarded as a practical form of practice in preference of a more conventional way to produce utterly unremarkable pieces. A rare, if not lost, form of art. Noticing where my attention landed, she adds "I have maintained some of the longstanding beliefs of my ancestors and their use of natural remedies."
I purse my lips in thought. I was capable of understanding the concept of healthy living and believed that nature has more potential than we may know - but, until this morning, I wouldn't have even entertained the thought that the smudge stick is cleansing the room of negative spirits. There were limits to what I believe. I followed science over fiction.
"I recently found out that the world holds more secrets than maybe I had once thought," I murmur. If my eyes and experience this morning were reliable, and not lucid imaginings.
"Good," she says, giving me yet another knowing, secretive smile. "Then you will need this." She opens one of her hands, wrinkles marking her aged and thin skin, to reveal a pendant.
It's a silver seven pointed star with a different colored gem at each of the star's points, each one raw and cut into triangular shapes, leaving a hexagon shape in its center made of the same worn silver as its chain. There's an emerald, turquoise, an agate with thick white waves, garnet, onyx, a grey stone, then a final white glimmering opal at the top point of the star. I'm ashamed to admit that my eyes lingered onto the emerald a bit longer than the others as it reminded me of a pair of magnetic green eyes that draw you into their chasm and imprint on your soul.
"That's beautiful," I say, palming it in my hand as I inspect it. I run my thumb over each one of the gems, and each seems to hum with its own warmth. Their own energy. "How much do you want for it?"
She hums to herself, eyes unfocused for a moment before she presses her gaze on me once more. "Just a promise."
"A promise?" I ask while tilting my head in curiosity to the side.
She nods and says, "A promise that you will wear the heptagram and won't take it off. It will give you protection."
Unsure of how to unpack that statement, I simply state "Well, it is pretty, but every day…"
"You must. I require it," she argues.
"Well," I start, considering how to turn away her generous gift that comes with some very odd strings. But the fire in her eyes has me swallowing my refusal. "That sounds great, thank you."
She claps her hands together once, a grin plastered on her face that is much wider than I had seen her give before. I shift from foot to foot as she finally rings up my purchase for the journal. Once done, I express my gratitude for her gift again and aim for the exit with quick steps.
I heard her snicker from behind the counter where I left her. A chill travels down my spine and the feeling stays with me for longer than I would like to admit.
It was later that night, as I was bent over to stoke my campfire and the pendant was hanging from my neck that I could have sworn I heard that same discerning chortle. I stiffen at the noise, my eyes wide and searching through the darkness around me. My attention is drawn to the tickling sensation below my nose. I swipe a finger above my upper lip and when I pull my finger back, I find my fingertips stained with droplets of red blood.
I look down in time to see a droplet of my blood had landed on my pendant before it disappears from the surface of the silver metal. Not just disappears, it was absorbed.
"What the shit," I hiss, shock slicing through my center. I would have taken off the pendant as fear settled in my gut if it wasn't for the feeling of a key sliding into place. If it wasn't for the sigh of pleasure that escaped my lips at the feeling of something unlocking within me. And if it wasn't for the all-consuming feeling of contentedness. Of rightness that settles when a click resounds in my ears.
The glow of the campfire became an indistinct backdrop as my focus pinpoints on the pendant around my neck. A grin slowly builds until I can't contain it for the rest of the night.
I settle into my tent that night without knowing exactly why the pendant bonded to me, but sensing that it had chosen me as much as I did it.