Curse

The child looked at the wanderer's face, searching in the lines etched by a chisel that could either belong to the sun, or the years spent on road. Or both.

His keen eyes kept searching, his small mouth slightly open, his lips shinning with the freshness of his age, his eyes sparkling with the innocence of his heart.

The wanderer looked annoyed. Dressed in rags and dirt, he appeared aged beyond his years. He had been on road long and he had searched hard. He had known the perils in the quest of truth, and he knew what it takes to be the victor at the end. He was aware that his years, though left him drained physically, had left him a triumph that he held dear like a prized possession. He had discovered the Tabula Smaragdina!

He knew though dressed in rags, deserted by all, he had the riches of the entire world. He had the Emerald Tablet. He knew the alchemy of souls. He was the alchemist. He was the victor. The realization made him smile. Victoriously.

The child kept looking unfazed at the wanderer's changing face. He noticed the tiredness yielding to annoyance and then that bent in those dark, thin lips. With that smile and the shine taking life in the wanderer's eyes, the child suddenly seemed to jolt out of his inspection of him.

Without uttering a word he turned and started to walk away.

The wanderer looked at him in surprise and called after him, "Hey, I had asked  you to take me to your village".

"I can't", the boy replied as he kept walking.

The wanderer looked at that young lad with disbelief. He knew he had the power that could win over hearts, conquer the souls. He had the tablet. 

"But why"? he called out again.

The boy stopped walking , and after a deliberate pause turned and facing him with his eyes hooded by a shade of his small palm under the blinding sun of the desert, replied,

"Because I don't want you to bring the curse to my village".

"Curse"? the wanderer yelled aghast.

"Those who have just the self to love, are cursed". 
The child replied and walked away.