Dante: The Road

The air was dry and motionless. Dead, like the air in a tomb. At least, that is what he imagined the air of a tomb would be like. It would certainly not be hot, however, and this air was hot. Tall pine trees stood before him endless rows, the thin points of pine needles offering little shade along the dirt road. The trunks were reddish brown, like the dirt itself, and seemed to radiate its own heat outward.

The only sound around him was that of his own methodical footsteps. Small tendrils of the red dirt plumed with every step, covering his sandalled feet. The dirt clung all the way up his uncovered shins, halting at the trim of his pant legs which ended just above them. The clothing he wore; the pants, and the short sleeved, split front shirt tied shut with an old brown sash he owned, had started out an off white, like the color of desert sand. They were light weight and kept the heat from his body. But the relentless, rust-colored filth he had traversed in for the last six days had dug into all of the garments, including the straw conical hat he wore. He very much doubted that any amount of washing would ever return the clothing to their original color.

The endless silence that had plagued his journey all day was suddenly broken. He could hear the baritone voices of men, singing merrily. They were fast approaching him, traveling along the road. There were three of them, looked so much the same they could be brothers. Each was bald, wearing only a colorful green and purple vest with floral print to cover their torsos, and baggy green pants to match. They were well muscled men, each over six feet tall, and each carried a unique weapon. The one in the middle had a long, single edged sword that swept like a fang. It was beautifully polished and looked almost white in the sunlight, two scarlet scarves hung from the pommel and flagged behind it. The right man held a war spade; a heavy pole arm with a fanning, axe-like blade that protruded form one end. It was a powerful, heavy weapon that took a great deal of strength and training to use. The last held a light spear, its glinting tip winking with the sunlight at the end of the yellow-white shaft.

The three brothers marched and sang continuously until they stopped abruptly in front of them. Their broad shoulders, placed end to end, blocked the road thoroughly. He stopped himself, though he did not raise his gaze to meet theirs, preferring to let the conical hat obscure his face.

"Ho there, stranger." The one in the middle said, raising his sword in his left hand and bowing. "I am Li, the oldest of the brothers Shu. We are travelling along these roads to fight in order to gain honor and experience. We wish to challenge you."

The silence had returned. He kept his gaze averted from the three bravado brothers. Li frowned.

"How impolite! I have challenged you. You could at least speak your name."

"Dante." He replied dryly. Li grinned.

"Well then, good Dante, what do you say to our bout? We will spare your life if you beg for it." Li's voice was filled with boastful excitement, anxious to swing his weapon into Dante's body.

"What makes you think that you have honor to gain in defeating me?" Dante asked, although he already knew the answer. He looked exactly as he was, a weary traveler. He had no possessions on him, only the long-empty water flask that dangled by his hip.

"Your sword, good sir." Li retorted, amused, motioning to it. "A man who carries a sword has honor with that sword."

Tucked in the sash behind him, Dante's sword was not one worthy of the imperial court. The scabbard was wrapped in dried, black leather straps that was beginning to crack and wear around the edges. The hilt was only nominally better, it was wrapped in newer burgundy leather, the two ribbons of leather extending from it to serve as the tassel. By all appearances, it was an old and meager sword.

Dante thought a moment about the situation. There were three options. The one he favored was to beat the men silly; use his superior skill to embarrass them and perhaps give them a few bumps and bruises to remind them of the confrontation over the next few days. He had found in life that killing men needlessly brought unforeseen consequences. The younger siblings or older fathers questing for revenge. Trouble with whatever lord was ruling the region. Perhaps even killing someone that he would need later. Besides, these were young and powerful men, and Dante could tell they had some skill. If they were to lose some of that bravado, they could turn into fine warriors and live long lives. He would be doing them a favor.

But he was tired from a days worth of walking in the dry heat. He had run out of water yesterday morning, and had eaten the last of his food last night. His strength was dwindling. He was confident he could still defeat them, but what if someone else came to challenge him later down the road? And perhaps this new attacker had killing intent? Wasting his precious stamina on beating these brothers might mean the end of his life.

His second option was simply to kill them. The paradox of swordsmanship was that it was far easier to kill a man than to not kill a man. He could already visualize the three clean strokes it would take to end each of their lives, and he would have plenty of energy for any future confrontations. But again, Dante disliked the killing of undeserving men. He would have to take his third option.

"Good sirs, I apologize for the confusion. I know not the art of the blade. I am but a humble servant delivering this weapon for his master. I have placed it in my sash in hopes of scaring away thieves and bandits on the road." Dante lowered himself to his knees, bowing in the manner a servant would to his master. Li laughed aloud.

"No need to bow, servant Dante. I did not realize. But yes, I can see now that you do not have the powerful muscles of a warrior. You are slight build, and we would have easily smashed your bones." Both Li and Dante smiled at this. "I wish you good journey."

The three brothers began their rousing chorus again and continued along the forest. Dante truly wished he could have taught them a lesson, but prudence won out this time. He hoped that somehow they would be taught that lesson before they were met with their early deaths.