Faithful Pebble

Part Seventy-Six

"The pocket was small, meager. It was meager enough that the men left the boy to dig alone, even the other children left him. Tucked so out of reach, they had no choice. He was the only one who'd fit. Besides, they thought, what were a few small diamonds? They had seen more, wanted more. But to the child, those few small diamonds meant everything, were everything. They would save his sister's life.

"The boy wiped his nose and stuck out his tongue. He compressed himself, contracted himself limb by limb forming a little, tiny ball. Slowly, he snuck between the cracks with nothing but a torch in one hand and a pick in the other.

Once free of the tiny entrance, the boy climbed to his feet dusting himself of his sweat and fatigue, the soot and mud. He found the pocket. He harvested some, stole most not thinking of the consequences. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he found another."

"Another what?" the wanderer asked. He watched Pebble wearily. "Another batch of diamonds?"

"Yes," Pebble answered. "He was in a tunnel. One he wasn't interested in following too deeply. It was too long, too curvy with many exits. But this second batch wasn't too far, he thought. He wandered and dug, harvested and pocketed until his little eyes spotted another batch of diamonds. And then he saw another. And then he saw another. This continued for sometime until eventually, the boy looked around and found himself richly lost.

"With his pockets bulging scarce of food or water, with a fire quickly dying, the boy began to panic. He ran down the tunnel frightened screaming for the men, the boys, his mother and sister until finally the flame died completely. It left him alone in the dark and that was when he saw it, a light in that velvet ink, a silver sliver of moonlight told of so eerily in those stories, in those rhymes passed down from generation to generation in the village.

"The light, they say, that is what started it all with the seven many centuries ago and again with this boy generations later.

"Curious and a little desperate, he followed the light to another crevasse. This one was not as deep nor as out of the way. But still he had to squeeze to get through it. One limb at a time, his diamonds falling forgotten from his pockets, once more, the boy contracted himself into a tiny little ball until he was allowed to clamor to his feet. He dusted himself off and then, wiping soot from his cheeks, he looked up. The boy gasped. The boy staggered. He…"

Here, the crowd muttered.

Here, the wanderer perked an eyebrow.

The village's guest filed the information away for later. Deep in his mind, deep into the minds of his fellows with him, he passed it on with a wink and a smile, a nod no one noticed… well, almost.

A hero watched them. His fingers twitched. His lips frowned. He longed for a beer.

- Calla