sparrow and lion

Interim 2: a game of tag

A sudden blow to the back of the head followed by an equally unexpected knife pressed to the throat. That was all it really took to gain the upper hand.

That, at least, was probably not a secret to most.

The bandit had certainly known this even before he was a bandit. Back when he was a noble. But that was a long time ago.

He tied his victim's arms tightly behind their back and stood up.

It was obvious that this person did not have anything worth stealing. But that didn't bother the bandit. He did this for the same reason he did everything: Because it was fun. Because it was easy. Because fear made him smile. Truly, he did it for no real reason at all.

He just really liked to hurt people.

The bandit kicked the stranger. The stranger rolled over from the force of the blow. Their eyes met.

The bandit was hit with a sudden flash of recognition.

The stranger was not surprised or afraid.

The bandit was not happy anymore.

"You!" he said.

The road over the mountain and into the valley had been an easy journey. The occupant of that squat house in that nowhere town had been quite helpful in that regard. Far more helpful than most of the stranger's informants. But the bandit had been the most helpful of all.

It helped, of course, that news of the stranger's travels did not spread. Not that this was a great feat, of course. No one knew where the stranger was to begin with. But it was still nice.

The smart thing for the bandit to do was, of course, to kill the stranger immediately. But the stranger knew that the bandit would not do that. It had been many years, but neither of them had ever forgotten the other.

Not that the bandit could remember the stranger's name. No, it wasn't that. It was the eyes. He would never forget those dead eyes. Like fish eyes. There had never been fear in them. All the bandit had ever wanted was to cause fear and pain. But this person had never felt it.

Such a thing was unforgivable. As the stranger had known it would be.

The bandit forced the stranger to their feet. He shoved them into the woods, towards his camp. He would make this person fear him. He clamped a hand on the stranger's neck. He would make this person scream. He propelled them forward. By the time he was done, they would be begging for death.

The bandit had used army knots to secure the stranger's arms. Such knots were easily untied.

The stranger, of course, was pleased to have been recognized. As always, they had been prepared to reintroduce themselves, but this was easier. There were questions they could ask themselves about the meaning behind that, of course. But the stranger was used to ignoring unnecessary questions. It was all about pertinence. It was very important to know whether a question even needed to be answered. Otherwise, you might waste time mucking about in an irrelevant moral quandary.

And wasn't it a bit late to worry about the morality of this?

They were at the edge of a slight hill.

The time had come, and it was far too late.

The stranger's feet tangled in the tall grass. The resultant fall was only to be expected. The bandit was also knocked off balance. He let go of the stranger's neck as he fell to his knees. He caught himself on his hands. The stranger, whose arms were tied, naturally could not do the same and somersaulted down the embankment.

The stranger lay still.

The bandit came down the hill. Kicked the stranger. The stranger did not react. Did not even seem to be breathing. The bandit nudged the stranger again and then bent down to check for a pulse. It was very disappointing to kill someone before you'd had your fun with them. That was all the bandit could think about.

As the stranger had known he would.

Things were always simpler, you see, when others are at a disadvantage. And the greatest disadvantage was, of course, falsely believing one had the advantage.

It had been quite easy to loosen the knots. It had been even easier to remove the ropes entirely during the fall. But it was easiest of all to slice upward and sever the tendon in the bandit's left arm. The bandit jerked backward in shock. The stranger sliced the tendon in his right arm. The bandit ran.

The stranger simply followed. Running was a waste of valuable breath. Exertion was unnecessary.

The bandit fell at the side of the road. The stranger was only a few steps behind. It was a simple move to slice through the bandit's hamstrings. And then the game was over.

The stranger, not wanting to be rude, kicked the bandit onto his back. Only cowards refused to make eye contact. The stranger was no coward. It was time for openness and honesty.

The bandit was rightfully shocked. He had simply intended to capture a hapless stranger, but it had come to this. "You planned this," he said. It made perfect sense and no sense at all. He had not seen the stranger in years. Who knew a grudge could be held for so long?

The stranger squatted down and nodded. "Yes."

The bandit blinked as bright sunlight blinded him. "Why?" he asked.

The stranger helpfully extended one hand to block the light. "I always keep my word."

"What does that mean?" The bandit could not recall what promises this person had made so many years ago. Had they ever even spoken? Maybe once.

"Do you remember what I said to you that night?" the stranger asked.

The bandit could not. But it was clear that the stranger could. He shook his head.

The stranger leaned down and whispered the words into his ear. They were familiar, but not at all what the bandit had expected. Now he remembered.

"Do you understand now?" the stranger asked.

The bandit shook his head. "No," he said. "I don't understand. You don't have do this. Please."

The stranger sighed. It sounded sad. "You are lying. I hate to hear lies." The blade of the knife pressed against the bandit's throat. "I have always had to do this," they said. "Honesty is important."

The stranger met the bandit's eyes until it was over. There was no point in moving the body away from the road. The stranger had nothing to hide, after all.

But something didn't seem right. The stranger walked for some time before realizing what had gone wrong. It had all been a ploy and ploys were dishonest. The stranger should not have pretended to be at the bandit's mercy. Pretending was a lie.

When the time came, this lie would be confessed. Until then, the only thing to do was pay penance. The stranger drew up the side of their shirt. The last penance had only just ended its festering and started to heal. But penance wasn't meant to be easy. The stranger dug the tip of the knife into the puckered flesh and cut the skin apart anew.

Pain. Pain was honesty.

The large X carved into flesh dripped blood.

It was only a matter of time before the stranger was intercepted. But that was how it went. Crimes deserved punishment. Punishment deserved punishment. There was only one who would never, ever, ever deserve punishment. And that person was not the stranger.

Three down. Time to go.