The Tale of Aegacorithe

A journey is when the trip is more important than the destination and you may find that the end of a journey is just the beginning of an adventure.

-E.C. Beach

The place smelled of old cigarettes and burning sage. The smoke of both, visible through the air like a heavy mist, reflecting the orange and gold of the sun shining through the two cracked windows. Despite the afternoon sun, the small shop was dim, with little light to read the titles of the various books among the shelves.

The walls stood as though they were here for decades; the stained green wallpaper falling off in more than a couple of places, the small wooden fan in the center of the ceiling with two blades bent to a right angle, the posters of ancient bands peeling off the walls, and the mold growing in every corner.

The door chimed as it opened and a man walked in. He was on the taller side with fiery red hair that fell just past his shoulders, but it was tied up with a small band in the back. He wore dark jeans and a white undershirt with a forest green overshirt that was unbuttoned and a worn brown leather jacket. He had a traveler’s backpack. One that was used for hiking and camping in the mountains and hills of the countryside of Great Britain.

He nodded at the old woman who emerged from a back room from behind the dark wooden counter. She appeared as ancient as the shop itself with her stark white hair and wrinkles. He glanced around the small shop, like he did the hundreds before this one, and took note of the missing security cameras as he sauntered towards one of the bookshelves.

His calloused fingers grazed over the spines of the many rotting books on an otherwise moldy shelf as he wandered down one of the small aisles; his eyes scanning through each and everyone one of the titles. As he was walking down the aisle, a flicker of light caught his eye. He snapped his head in the direction of the light, his heart pounding with anticipation. He needed to confirm that that was indeed the book.

“All books are 10 euros.” The old woman spoke from behind the counter, pulling his attention away from the book.

“What about that one?” The traveler nodded his head to the book hidden beneath a stack of papers on a tall wooden stool in between the wall and the counter. The old woman moved in front of the book on the stool, trying to keep it hidden from the traveler’s eyes.

“These papers are not for sale.” She stuck her nose up at him, now wary of the traveler’s curiosity.

“Alright then.” The traveler clasped his hands behind his back while he walked up to the counter and glanced down at the other end. “How about that lovely jewel over there?” The traveler smiled at the clearly fake diamond resting on a velvet cushion in a glass box at the other end of the counter.

“Let me get that for you, dear,” Her previous wariness floating away at the excitement of a sale and making some money, “That’ll be 18 euros.” She shuffled her way over to the diamond as the traveler walked back to one of the shelves. “Where did you travel from, my dear?” The woman kept a conversation going as she fiddled with the keys at her side and unlocked the glass box.

“I came from the states.” The traveler plucked a book from the nearby shelf and made his way over to the counter next to the stool.

“Oh, really?" She sounded surprised, but said, "That’s quite the journey.”

“Indeed it is.” He swapped the book from the shelf in place of the book under the stack of papers. The thrum of just holding the book sent shivers down his spine. It indeed was the book he had been searching for. “Have you lived here long?” He carried on the conversation, slipping the stolen book into his backpack.

“This shop has been here for many centuries. Handed down from generation to generation, dating all the way back to the early 13th century.”

“That’s a very long time.” The traveler now understood the mold crawling on everything and the cracked windows. “Have you ever thought of . . . fixing the place up a bit?”

“Oh no, I like it just the way it is.” The woman made her way back to the register, grinning from ear to ear with happiness of making some money. “Will that be all, dear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He handed her the 18 euros he owed for the fake diamond. The woman stared at him for a moment. Then two. “Thank you.” The traveler said, breaking the awkward silence and slid the diamond next to the book in his backpack. He threw his backpack over his shoulder ready to finally head home.

“Have a nice evening!” The old woman suddenly smiled and waved at the traveler, her grin seemingly more like a smug smirk, as she looked at him like she recognized him from a time long ago. As though she knew where he came from.

Where he truly came from.

“You as well.” He smiled uncomfortably at the old lady’s grin. He shook his head, brushing off the eerie feeling as he left the little shop. The door chimed as he opened it to the streets. “What a strange old lady.” He shook his head and body as a shiver ran up his spine. Deciding to forget about the old lady, he smirked at the memory of the stolen book in his pack.

Once he was a safe distance from the ancient shop, he pulled out the book.

The Tale of Aegacorithe

“I’m so glad I finally found you.” He held the book gently. “I know exactly who’s going to love you.” The traveler grinned to himself putting the book back in its place and began his way home.