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Dante, the last bowman – first episode

Dante, the last bowman – first episode

Inspired by the diorama made by F. Costrini, we present the fantasy short story of Dante, the last Bowman of Àdeio

Bosco di BresOf the four he was the only one without a gun. Of course, it would take considerable effort of imagination to define those pieces of rust “guns”: those of Adasaio and Beno, for example, they were both double-barreled superimposed, with charge back and no viewfinder. Two specimens shattered survivors of one of the many and continuous wars between guilds erupted over the last thirty years. But that of Curzio was much worse: a kind of short musket-loading front, ending in a large fire mouth and definitely belonged to his father or even grandfather. By imperial symbols on the handle, faded, it must have been the weapon of order for some troops during the Great Seven Years’ War.

Dante, however, had pulled out, from the old trunk under the bed, his green jacket, the cover-neck in studded leather and dented helmet worn in many campaigns. As a weapon had brought the faithful bow in yew wood, for years relegated to adorn the fireplace, and a dozen arrows, as well as something very special, carefully wrapped in a white cloth. Of course she had to struggle hard to recover all that equipment without that her daughter would notice. To avoid making any noise, in fact, he had worn the night before in secret, lying down already dressed.

So combined, however, was certainly the most anachronistic of the quartet: it seemed straight out of a history book or a few printed image, the kind that the auctioneer was circulated on holidays with imprinted on one or two beautiful figures of people important. Others had at least had the good sense to cover with heavy coats and overcoats, carrying their fire-breathing, instead Dante had presented rendezvous behind the tavern as if he had forty years of less and was still one of the Intrepid, the stainless army explorers Flakyfortress

Always behind enemy lines, invisible and silent, all his paraphernalia was made by his knife steel and arc. This had been his life until he was sent to train militants to Deepingvalley. There, he endured two years, then had abandoned everything, tired of having to be at the mercy of the suburbs, and you went to camp, indefinitely, at the home of his daughter.

Although age claimed the agility of a time, the determination, however, did not come within a single palm. Stubbornly in the head, the arrow already nocked half, moved poking his eyes every shadow.

– You are crazy Dante –

– Shut up and move –

– Shut up Beno; Beno move; Beno silence … what do you think you became our guardian? –

Dante turned angry and looked him straight in the eye. Beno was low and quite fat. Bundled up in coat color green apple, his ruddy head was crowned by a few and sparse reddish hair.

– I have fought many times more than the three of you put together and are the only one who always came back whole from every battle –

He spat a clot of phlegm

– So now you will do as I say, or else go to hell –

Adasaio stepped in between the two. Group was higher: his figure stood out even more, however, because of the wide cylindrical hat she wore. He had definitely over fifty, but he still had his eye lively and loud voice of a time. He was master of Musichiere village church and, for each holiday, never let go sing some songs with the children’s choir.

– Calm Dante, it’s just that this story puts us upside the stomach, and in the case of Beno also something else –

– Hey! I have already said that the fault lies with my wife always puts too much pepper in the beans –

– Who cares beans of your wife! Listen Dante: dozens of types tougher and younger than us have tried to flush out the devil and all that’s left of their teeth were left in plain view inside a bloody bag. Damn, it’s stuff that squeezes the bowels –

Beno wiped the sweat from his neck with a handkerchief and shooting

– Yeah … and who knows what happened to that well bell’imbusto by armor all golden and shiny .. do you remember? He boasted of being blessed by this and that, that he had kissed a fairy and making us of crap … –

Curzo snorted and called out with pedantic tone from the friend. It had been for years scribe the mayor and did not lack opportunity to emphasize. Even now, who spent his days lounging with others sitting next to the old fountain, she did not give to embellish themselves with glossy black coat and wearing his gloves deer, as if to still go to the common room to draft official acts or fill in the weekly report.

– Poems, idiot, said of them dedicated poems –

– Poems, crap … is equal. The crux here is that this has disappeared into thin air –

– There has disappeared into thin air –

– What do you mean Dante? It is by chance he came to hide in your house? –

– Just try to appoint Minia and you’ll rip the little that still dangles between his legs Beno, understand? But no. I mean exactly what I said, he did not disappear into thin air –

With his hand pointed to a clearing in the trees where the light could filter out most. Abandoned among the stones and dry branches of the bushes, they lay several pieces of armor ivory, covered with gold engraving.

– God’s light! It is the armor of that type … but where is he? –

– Maybe around doing other poems with the fairies … –

Dante approached cautiously, ignoring the comments of friends. He put the arrow in the quiver and with the right took out a long knife, rummaging through the dead leaves.

– Gone …. The footprints end in this point –

– Dante … –

– Not now Adasaio –

– Dante … –

– Ohh short Adasaio, can you know what you want? –

– I know it was an excellent soldier and all that fried flies, but I would recommend you take a look at the top –

Adasaio, Beno Curzo and stared at the turn of the trees from which hung, about 30 palms from the ground, a big wrap. A withered hand sticking out from a sort of cocoon milky, still holding tight the hilt of a sword from the broken blade

– Spiders necrophiliacer? –

– The spiders live twenty miles from here Curzo, and never cross the Rottosasso. That crap is not their work … –

Slowly they retreated back to the shelter of the trees. All the exuberance that had shown in the previous days, when they discussed in detail the company, sitting warm and holding half a pint of stout, seemed vanished like snow in the sun.

– We ended up, I knew that it was madness to give you a straight –

– Shut up Beno –

– And the most crazy is that Dante decided to go around with that thing ridiculous: What did you think? Of having to hunt rabbits? –

– Another word on my bow and arrow you shove it up your ass, so at least you stop poisoning the air around us –

Adasaio grabbed them both by the arm and snarled

– Now Shut up both. We try to stay calm and to reason –

– I agree with Adasaio. As always said the mayor Liege, no use arguing. What we need is a plan –

– Ohhh and I bet you’ve got a plan, right Curzo? A brilliant plan as to not tell anyone what the hell we were going to do, so we even try –

– Beno, stop! We all agreed not? No one had said the guy had these habits. Marcello had told him that it was a man possessed, perhaps possessed. Nothing else –

– Marcello always tells a lot of nonsense, and this proves it. I possessed not envelop their victims in that stuff, waiting for … God only knows what the hell –

Silence fell on the group. Somewhere there was a dry sound, like a broken branch

– Have you heard? –

– … yes … –

– It’s him … –

– Oh my God we’re dead –

– We’re not dead and we will not be if you do as I tell you: Adasaio, Beno crouch behind that bush, head down and no noise. Curzo, instead you hide there, on the right, in that sort of ditch between the roots and eyes open. I’ll stay here, I’ll be trapped. Just shows his ugly mug, fill it with lead –

– You’re not crazy, you’re completely out of your mind. You think you’re a goddamn hero or something? –

– I’m your only hope of success, and now move! –

to be continued …

G.G.Vinciguerra, Translated by Francesco Costrini (Copyright Monasterium Album)

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Francesco Costrini

Pilot, globetrotter, photographer, graphic, in search of a music or a piano to play

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