Peacekeeper

"Stop!" Rab called into the fray, brandishing his knife. "Stop, fools!" he cried again, this time wading into the midst of the brawl. He was a big man, the peacekeeper of the area, and walked straight through the fighting men as if they weren't there. Each combatant backed off as he passed, ceasing their fight. When he reached the other side, two ragged lines had formed. He spun on his heel, the knife still gripped in his hand.

"Well now," he spoke into the silence. "Isn't that better?"

The men just stood, looking sheepish.

"Alright gentlemen, you know the law. Who has been injured?"

A few stepped forward on their own, some had to be called out-- and others, Rab knew, would not step forward at all, keeping their injuries hidden. Any injuries he was not certain of, he left alone. No need for more bloodshed than is already scheduled, he thought. The accused were singled out one by one, and the punishment dealt. A few cried out. Some begged for mercy. But most were surprisingly stoic in the receiving of their punishments. A few broken bones, a handful of lost teeth-- not as bad as it could have been. Finally, only one injured remained. Rab saw a fresh bandage over his right eye, and Rab's fist clenched.

"Who is responsible for the loss of your eye?" he asked, careful to keep his voice expressionless.

The man's voice trembled. "You, Rab. It was you."

Rab started, and, after an eternal pause, all eyes turned to the knife now hanging from his belt. Red blood, almost dry in the afternoon heat, tipped the blade. Interminable silence covered the crowd like a thick blanket.

With a sudden movement, Rab drew the dagger from his belt and handed it to the man whose blood now stained it. Rab knelt before him.

"Do it quickly, and be careful not to drive it too deep." His voice betrayed no emotion. The man's eyes widened, then grew serious, emotionless. He raised the knife.

An eye for an eye, Rab thought, and closed his eyes.