Just a Little Justice

 The highways had less and less people on them, and more and more horses, it seemed. It wasn't a complaint, just an observation. Twenty years ago, he'd bump into another traveler every season of the year. Now, people instantly whispered about the man who was traveling through on foot. They called their children back to them, and whispered to their friends when they thought he was out of earshot. He had lived on the road his whole life, and not once had so many people scuttled away from him so eagerly.

A small stand was on the side of the road, mostly abandoned this time of day. The workers were in the fields, and the women and children were preparing supper. The vendor expected to sell no more than a few snacks to the kids before closing down for the day. Instead, he was a little shocked to see a complete stranger. He went over to the counter and leaned his elbows lazily on it. “Gotta see your coin first. No offense, mister.”

The stranger casually pulled his pack off his shoulders, digging into the bottom of it. He tossed the man a single silver coin. “Some noodles, and whatever dry meat that will buy me, please.”

The vendor caught the coin in the air and considered it a moment before nodding. He shuffled off, one of his legs stiff, and his back slightly hunched. The traveler got comfortable, glad to have the weight off his feet. He could see a group of kids, trying to determine if it was safe to come close and buy their snacks. They had to be around twelve or thirteen years old. Old enough to be rebellious, certainly. And yet, they were worried about his presence, too. The traveler barely overheard one of them say that they'd come back later before the small group moved along.

The man came back some moments later with a large bowl of noodles. “Meat is cooking, but I imagine you want it for the road,” he said, passing the bowl to him.

“Perfect, thank you.” The traveler took the bowl eagerly and bowed his head slightly. “Could you explain something to me?” he asked kindly. The older man paused in his quest to walk away, looking back over at his customer expectantly. “It's just that everyone here seems awfully nervous. I just want to buy some food and move on.”

The vendor let out a small breath, turning to face the traveler. Something seemed to unwind in his shoulders a little. “You will have to forgive us. You see, the last outsider that came through...” he trailed off.

“Yes?” the traveler pressed gently.

“Well, he killed a young girl. Drowned her in the river. We aren't sure why. He bought some food, too. We thought he'd move on. But little Yumi didn't come back to her house to eat. And when her mother went to look for her, she saw the man holding her under. By the time she shouted and ran to her, it was too late. The man had run, but we don't know which fork he ran down. The trail is beaten, and made of pebble. There was nothing to track. No hoof prints to go by, since he was on foot.”

The traveler frowned more and more as the story continued. “This man... did he wear black with a rice hat?”

The vendor startled, and his eyes went wide. “Do you know this man?”

“No. I've just been following him a time.” He shoved some noodles into his mouth, as if to avoid elaborating.

“Do you know which way he may have gone? We must bring her to justice-” he was cut off by the man shaking his head, still swallowing his noodles before he could answer.

“I didn't say I was willing to find him or hunt him down for your justice or whatever else you want to call it, I merely wanted to confirm it was the same guy.”

“So you will do nothing?” he demanded.

“I'll continue on my merry way. And if I happen to see him again, I have my own plans for him. Don't you worry.” He took another mouthful of noodles.

The vendor straightened himself as much as his old spine would let him. “Outsiders. Ingrates, all of you.”

The traveler only hummed into his bowl, and continued to eat his meal in silence. He was getting closer, it seemed. Incident after incident, time and time again. It was always the same story, everywhere he went. Only now, people were dying. Not just the occasional farm animal, or small pet. The thought made his stomach turn slightly, but he did not stop eating. He just chased the issue away with some water.

He put his bowl down on the empty bench beside himself and let out a long breath. So the highway was pebble at the fork, and the man wasn't heavy enough to displace it obviously. Unless of course he hadn't gone down the path. When the vendor returned for the bowl and to give the traveler his meat for the road, the traveler paused him once more. “Where was the girl drowned?”

“The bend of the river, just on the northern outskirts of town. The house on the hill is where she lived. But if you go upsetting her parents, we may take our anger out on the wrong person,” the old man warned.

“I just want to pass the area. Nothing more.” He shrugged his bag onto his shoulders once more. “Good day, old man. Thank you for your troubles.”

The town was little more than a small rice village. Crossing it was no large task. He had long strides and practiced movements that covered a lot of ground with very little effort. The river bend was hardly twenty minutes from where he had eaten. The area around the river was a marshland, and his boots sank into the mud. As had the murderer's. It was faint, now. And one more tide, and it would likely be gone. It did in fact head right for the highway. The traveler couldn't blame the people for assuming he'd continued in that direction. And maybe he had. But he had to be sure.

He followed the tracks carefully, lining his own feet up with the footprints that he could barely make out. The very last one he could make the shape out of was still pointed to the highway. And yet, as he put his own boot on top of it, he realized that he'd had to turn his ankle slightly to the left to match the shape. The traveler looked up the hill before him, covered in trees. It was a long shot. But he was getting tired of the main road, anyhow. He was pretty sure that these woods cut through and brought him back to the highway on the other side.

Pretty sure.

He wove his way in and out of the trees, keeping his footsteps as silent as possible, and his eyes glued to the ground before him. He was hoping to see a footprint again. Instead, he saw the hidden end of a rope trap. The traveler knelt down to inspect it. It was empty, and poorly hidden.

“Put your hands where I can see them.”

The traveler perked upright again, slowly raising his hands into the air. “There you are,” he said quietly. “I figured you would stay to admire your work. First human. Well done. Do you regret it, yet?” The traveler slowly turned around so that he was facing the man. He wore all black, and a tattered rice hat sat atop his head.

“You shouldn't have helped me,” the man hissed. “I was going to starve to death in that alleyway, and that girl would still be alive!”

“Oh, this is my fault, because I saved you?” The traveler crossed his arms, still not even caring about the katana being held to his throat. “Take some responsibility!”

The tip of the blade was pressed into his throat, just enough to sting. “Don't talk to me about responsibility! What do you know of it?! A traveler with no home and no family or friends!”

“And what do you know of it? A deranged teenager who goes from town to town, killing small animals until someone calls him a freak. And now a girl is dead. Because of you. Not because I saved you. I had no way of knowing that you'd turn out to be such a shit man.” The katana pressed into his throat slightly more, but the hand of the wielder trembled. “Go on,” the traveler goaded. “You already killed a young defenseless girl. Why stop now?”

For a moment, the murderer's hand just trembled more. He couldn't do it. He couldn't look this traveler in the eyes and kill him. The grip on his sword eased, and carefully lowered. The traveler stepped forward quickly, grabbing the man's the elbow and sweeping his foot at the same time. The murderer toppled, and tumbled, and landed roughly on his back. The sword hit the underbrush some several meters away.

“Will you kill me?” the murderer asked.

The traveler shook his head. “No. I'm better than you.”

The murderer's shoulders eased, and he let out a long breath of relief. The breath ended in a scream as the traveler slammed his foot down on top of his right hand and wrist, grinding and stomping and doing it again, and again, until the murderer managed to hide the limb under himself while screaming in agony. “But not that much better,” the traveler said, not caring if the tortured man heard him at all. As the traveler walked away, he picked up the katana, and tossed it right into the very river that this man had murdered the girl in, not five kilometers away. The traveler took the other fork in the road, and went on his way.