Deathsport

by William Hughes

  He felt a sudden infinite tiredness as the hatred was drained away from him. Slowly he moved over to Ankar Moor’s fallen cloak and wiped his blade clean on it before returning it to its scabbard.

  Then he sat on the sand by the dead body of his enemy and, with all his concentration, he went into a trance of thankfulness of his own deliverance and for the soul of Ankar Moor, who had once been of the Guides and had come back to them again to die with honour.

  High in the tower of Triton, Deneer stared out into the plain. She had been rigid with fear as she had watched the contest progress, trying to will her strength into Kaz Oshay, the Guide with whom her Union was joined and had become as one. Now, in his moment of triumph, she almost fainted away with the effort of it.

  She only moved at the sound of a new arrival on the balcony. It was Marcus, still on the trolley, but sitting up now and taking notice. Truly, the medicine of Triton was powerful against the poison of the Mutants.

  Marcus said, “I have come to say farewell.”

  “Farewell.”

  It was the President of Triton who replied.

  “We know your ways are not the ways of Statemen, though you will always be welcome at this City. But now, you would rejoin your fellow Guide, would you not?”

  Dumbly she nodded and Karissa ran across to hug her, to show her oneness as a daughter of the Guides.

  The Triton President went on: “I have given orders for horses to be provided for you. Go in peace until we should meet again.”

  Deneer returned his gesture, then she and Karissa, accompanied by the President, and Marcus on his trolley, went down in the lift, back to the entrance of the City. Here they were joined by the girl for whom Marcus had gone through so much danger, and he, together with her and the President, watched as Deneer mounted her horse, Karissa the new pony which had been thoughtfully provided, and a man handed the reins of a spare horse, a tall grey stallion, for Deneer to lead the little party out of the City.

  Kaz Oshay did not look up from his trance until the horses were nearly on top of him.

  Deneer did not dismount, but said, “They thanked us and gave us these horses.”

  Kaz rose and nodded. “Good. I’d rather have a horse than a machine.”

  Apparently with his strength renewed by his trance, he went swiftly to the great grey stallion and mounted the beast with a practised ease. He then turned casually and asked:

  “Where will you go now?”

  Deneer frowned. “With you.”

  Though he was not surprised, was even pleased, by this response, he made his voice questioning.

  “With me?”

  “Yes. Don’t you want me?”

  He was silent for a moment, then his answer was honest in its very simplicity. “Yes, I do.”

  Deneer smiled, relieved and happy. “Then our Union is complete.”

  He answered as a formality of the code. “I agree.”

  They rode together, the child Karissa following close behind; man, woman and child, back into the mountainous wastelands and into the starting point of their legend.

  That was many centuries before our present age. All that has come about is due to them and their heirs. There were many more battles and challenges before the souls of Kaz Oshay and Deneer of the Guides returned to the consciousness, but they are not central to this tale. We must just honour their memory if we are to hold on to what we have learnt and have prospered by, in this new Golden Age for Earth and Moon.