A/N: Please remember we're in the middle of a tale being told.
Chapter Five: The Perfect Stone
My brother had a bruise on his arm that looked exceedingly painful. But, when I pointed it out, he just went silent and avoided my eye. No matter how I encouraged him to talk, he wouldn't mention a word about it. Finally, he just left the room I was in and closed the door to his bedroom.
Then, I heard a sound I'd never heard before:
He locked his door to me.
Not just any valuable gemstone would do for such a splendid charm, and Azerjan summoned all the bravest young men of his tribe to him one day, promising glories and rewards if they would set out on his quest to find the perfect stone for his dragon's eyes. One of their common legends told of a fantastic stone that would change in the light to a different color. That, the one that took such skill to find and retrieve, was the one he required.
"Go forth and fetch for me the Stone of Tallyba and a reward such as you have never had will be yours! Bards will sing of your journey for years on after this; all the money I possess will become yours; the gift of my daughter's hand in marriage will also be yours, as will all the utensils and tools of my craft making. You need but to return with the sleek Tallyba Stone!"
The men stirred about themselves, casting each other curious and emblazoned looks. So much glory and honor…but it would have to be certain death. Such a price wasn't worth it.
For most of them.
Some of those who heard the reward and invigorated speech gathered their belongings, bid their families farewell, and set out on a journey that would test the limits of everything they had.
Fourteen men set out from the tribe across the desert in their separate routes. Fourteen each determined to be the one to win and gain the elderly craftsman the stone he desired, the stone that had been a part of their lore for so long. And of those fourteen, but one returned.
The journey of each was lost and forgotten except maybe by some strangers encountered on the way…of the last, he never spoke of what happened and only had nightmares to relive them; nightmares worse than that foreigner who had since gone on his way.
But the tribe of the desert knew the legends of the Stone of Tallyba and could imagine the horrors this young man faced before he came back wrinkly and grayed over like an old man, shoulders slumped and eyes dull, without spirit.
It was said he encountered the Tallyba Horror, the beast that wore the stone upon its body. To get the Stone, the beast would have had to have been killed…but the man never told what exactly had transpired.
The victory feast for his return and even the craftsman's rewards heaped upon him never relit the spark in his eye, and the young man wandered off one morning not too long after returning, not taking any of his rewards.
No one ever heard or saw him again.
The second ominous strike to Azerjan's heart occurred, but he knew it was not enough to stop him. His daughter was worth far more than two dark feelings.
All his energy went into forging the dragon and then, crafting the eyes from the remarkable, tiny Stone of Tallyba. Though he had an apprentice, Azerjan was the one who did all the work for this piece.
The castoffs, the slivers that he didn't use from the Stone, he placed in a pouch for his daughter as well, sleeping with a poker near him at night for how much he feared someone would try to take the invaluable stone away from him.
Two rounded, immaculately small beads had been sculpted from the Stone of Tallyba. And these, Azerjan thought as he looked on them, were perfect for the dragon's eyes. This was where the soul of the object would be. Where his soul would be.
And then, one day, Azerjan let the fire of his forge cool down, the raging tongues meekly remaining in the pit instead of thrashing to free themselves. His tools were set down with a clink, and yet, as common a sound as it had been before, this time, there was a simple finality to it all.
"Are you done?" Desarqiz asked him plaintively.
Smiling down at her upturned face with a grin that crinkled all his looks, Azerjan nodded. "Yes, daughter, I've finished."
She reached up eagerly to see the finished product, and slowly, hesitantly, Azerjan let her gape. For some reason, he was loath to let his young daughter clutch it, even though it was for her he had made it. What if she didn't understand how important this craft was, all of what it held?
But Azerjan had been on the world many moons, no longer having too many remaining to him, and he had attempted to make Desarqiz into someone who would understand things. So, the father trusted his daughter and left the amulet in her hand as he vacated his tent to wash himself and his utensils.
As he was gratefully cleansing himself utterly from his old style of life and his former tasks, from his work and his feeling of unfinished work, an odd thump behind him made the man pause and remain in indecision for a moment.
Just a moment.
Confused and paranoid leaving his craft so unprotected, Azerjan stood. Then, going as fast as his spindly old legs would allow him, he made for his tent.
What sight awaited him at his tent never would leave his eyes, and even if he viewed something else, the mind's eye replayed this over and over again…
Someone's heavy body on the floor, bloodstained. His apprentice. The wounds the young man had suffered must have caused him to want to yell out had he had time to do so, and his hand holding the poker showed how he had tried to protect…
Frantic, Azerjan sought out his daughter. She was alive. Alive and well.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he took a step forward, growing so much older as he bent over the young boy's body that was still warm.
A low chuckle made the craftsman slowly raise his head again. Unseen from the angle Azerjan had entered the tent, another man stood, grinning and looking extremely pleased. In his hand, he held the dragon necklace bearing the twin Stones of Tallyba.
"I'm quite pleased to have gotten this trinket from you, old man. Too bad your boy had to be silenced. Permanently. But I'll be taking this charm now. What a price it'll fetch…"
The dark man's eyes misted over as he gazed at the dragon's eyes winking at him.
Firmly, Azerjan grasped a nearby hammer and readied it to use in his defense. He moved in front of his daughter, so startled she had not moved or made a sound. Inching closer, the craftsman thought to not be noticed so quickly by the murderer, but the man looked over at him, returning to the present.
"I'm afraid I'll just have to dispose of you, old man. Can't have you aware of this theft or murder. Then I'll just go off and make my way in the world. With the money you made for me." He grinned, whitish teeth flashing in the darkness.
Azerjan was silent, just running his fingers more tightly around the hammer's handle. His dragon had been the most important part of him for more than the last year, and now, he was prepared to let it go. Just so his daughter was safe. After all, it was for Desarqiz he had made it.
The stranger's eyes passed by the craftsman and landed on the girl with a slight widening of his eyes and inclination of his head that left Azerjan befuddled. But not for long. And far better would it have been for him to remain completely ignorant than to be aware of what was to transpire.
A hollow whack sounded on his head, and as Azerjan tottered to the side, trying to make the world stop spinning, his surprised glance landed on his daughter holding a flat coal scoop. The glint in her young eyes was more than he could bear, and with a twitch, the man stumbled, collapsing to the ground.
She had betrayed him. She had killed him. His own daughter.
Gasping in a breath into quivering, fading lungs, Azerjan weakly pointed a finger at his daughter and the man both, now that they were together and looking at him.
"I…curse…" Gasping and wheezing, breath rattling in his throat, Azerjan coughed. With one more inhale, he continued to spit out, "The charm…will always…hold…my righteous vengeance…"
The man kicked Azerjan once more in the head to silence him, and as Desarqiz looked up at him, he smiled again. "We can go now; you aren't tied to the old man any longer. You're free."
And that night, the two of them slipped out of the tent with two bodies and escaped into the desert to try their luck on their own.
Free.
But for the curse that followed them everywhere…
(end story)
"And they say, that from that then moment on, ev'ry single person who has ever owned the amulet has suffered strife. The one closest ta the person who owned it would be the one ta fail, fer the old craftsman wanted the relationships ta fail; he wanted everyone ta feel the treach'ry he had fer givin' his ole bein' and life ta one and then bein' shunned aside like a bag too tattered ta use."
His voice slowed and softened, going to silence in the old shop.
"So…will ye be gettin' it?"
Mokuba's eyes snapped from where they were mesmerized on the old clerk's wrinkled face. The story had lasted for such a long time, and yet, neither Kaiba could have said just how long. The words had flowed over them, captivating their attention as thoroughly as a squirrel would sit still and silent once she had scented a potential predator, attention completely devoted to the task, for a life was at stake.
"Oh, yeah! I want it more than ever now! Please, Seto?"
Kaiba smirked, putting his hands into his pockets. "I promised, didn't I? I don't believe in this idiotic nonsense anyway. In fact, I'm getting it for you now just to prove to this old geezer that his hocus pocus curse doesn't exist!"
"Thanks, Seto!" Mokuba eagerly grabbed the pendant when the old man reluctantly handed it over. The necklace seemed unnaturally warm for having only been in the old man's hand a brief moment, but the heat lasted only for a second. Abruptly, the lights flickered and went off as a roll of thunder boomed in the distance.
"Why, isn't this classic?" Kaiba gave a laugh, utterly amused. "Want me to fix your electrical problem for you?"
The lights came back on as suddenly as they had gone off, Mokuba staring at the dragon charm in his hand, positive the eyes had flashed yellow in the sweltering darkness.
"It's a sign, a sign I tell ye! That necklace ain't fer ye!" A shaking finger pointed directly at Mokuba. "It'll be the death of ye!"
Kaiba stepped forward, no trace of mirth on his cold, hard features. "No one threatens my brother." He grabbed the finger that still was aimed at Mokuba like a wand about to explode some curse. About to snap it for the clerk, he ceased as Mokuba intervened.
"Seto, don't! I'm fine, see? Let's just go."
Kaiba didn't move for a long while, then slowly, stiffly, he released the finger and slammed down a written check, one written before the flickering of the lights.
"Keep the change…use it to fix the lights." Coldly casting back one glance, Kaiba strode over to the door, going through when a man in a black suit opened it.
The clerk stared after the two wealthy Kaibas and their two guards as they left the rundown shop for a limousine.
"Those boys'll be regrettin' that purchase. 'O course, by then, I'll be long gone." He smirked.