THE END OF BEGINNINGS

NINETEEN

The sun was only a little higher in the sky by the time Geras and Gerania descended the hill from their hut and entered the rest of the village.  The shadows on the land stretched away from the bright bands of the morning light.  Curling tales of smoke rolled over the ground as it climbed into the sky.  The sour vapor was the only movement Geras could detect as they hurriedly crossed the length of the plaza.  He allowed himself only the briefest of glances at the spot where the eight, covered bodies were lying.
The hut of the elders was set slightly back from the edge of the holy place in the village.  A crowd of Aganni were gathered around its entrance.  Every head turned at once when the father and daughter appeared around a nearby corner.  Geras felt his anxious gait suddenly lose momentum, his feet hesitating underneath himself.  Gerania was just as surprised by the dense assortment of villagers standing between them and the large hut.  She came to a complete stop, forcing her father to bounce against her.
"Keep going," Geras said quietly to Gerania.  He urged her forward until she was walking hesitantly into the crowd.
One by one, the assembled Aganni moved aside for the approaching pair.  Geras tried to read the expressions on their faces and the emotions in their eyes.  He recognized anger on many and tremendous sadness on others.  Everyone there seemed to be radiating a level fear.  For some, they were frightened beyond comprehension.  For others, it was a softer fear, like that of a pilgrim facing the unknown.  A very few were looking back at Geras with a profound sense of awe.
Not one villager laid a hand upon Geras or his daughter as they made their way past and into the hut.  No one really wanted to touch them.  Gerania glanced back over her shoulder once they were inside.  The crowd outside surrounded the open doorway once more, closing off the only path away from the place.
"Stay here," Geras said, making Gerania look away from the crowd and up at him.  He was watching her carefully, waiting for her eyes.  He smiled confidently at her.  "All will be well.  I'll be right back with your brother."
Geras stood up straight and turned away when Gerania nodded up at him.  His nostrils were teased by the sweet scent of incense hovering in the warm air of the large hut.  It grew stronger as he approached a curtain of thick, coarse linen partitioning off the elders' gathering chamber.  Geras wasn't sure what his plan for the situation was going to be.  He had to hope Moros hadn't said too much, that he hadn't put himself into a situation Geras wasn't going to be able to get him out from.  He had to hope their standing with the tribe had not been as severely damaged as things seemed.  Not that any of that mattered, Geras reminded himself.  Moros was all that mattered, whatever the cost to their lives amongst the Aganni.
The curtain swished loudly as Geras pulled it aside.  The noise drew the attention of everyone in the dimly lit room beyond it.  The smoky, sweetly-scented chamber was slightly oval in shape.  The oblong walls curved steeply upwards to an open, thatch chimney above a smoldering fire.  The five elders of the ruling council sat upon thin cushions in a crescent around the ashy pit.  At the end of the line to Geras' right was the high priest of the Aganni.  Geras noticed one of his wife's bandages fixed high upon the older man's brow.
His attention didn't stay on the holy man for very long.  He lifted his gaze to the figure directly in front of him.  Standing before the semi-circle of village leaders was Moros, nervous and brave.
"Father," he said, half relieved and half frustrated.  Moros was glad Geras was there.  But, Moros also didn't want to be rescued.
"Geras, lord of the far lands," said the oldest member of the council seated in front of Moros.  He spoke slowly in their native Aganni.  His voice was raspy, each word an effort.  "Welcome."
Geras bowed respectfully to the chief of the small group.
"You have not been summoned," spoke another of the elders.
"Neither was the boy summoned," another elder commented.  "He came here of his own will."
"He cannot be here," shouted a man near the doorway.  Geras looked back at him.  The man was much younger than himself, but older than Moros.  He recognized the long, pink spot on the left side of his face and the high bones of his rigid cheeks.  "This is about the boy, alone!"
The chief of the council held up a wrinkled hand.  His eyes were fixed on Geras as he asked, "Do you wish to speak on the boy's behalf?"
"I'd like to know the nature of this matter," Geras responded in Aganni.  "Does my son stand accused of a crime for which he is now being judged?"
"You were here in the village last night," replied one of the other elders.  "You saw the wrath of the demons unleashed."
"Agan was being punished," added another elder.  "A crime was committed against the balance of the spirits.  Everyone bore witness to it.  And some suffered because of it, because the spirits were so angry."
"And he is the one," shouted the man near the door.  "He is the one guilty of the bloodshed!  He was just now ready to confess.  Enough of this!  Make him speak his guilt!"
"Tagara!  Enough," said the high priest, raising his own voice above the younger man's.
"I didn't mean for anyone to be hurt!  I didn't want anyone to die," exclaimed Moros.  "I never wanted any of this."
"There, you see, my elders," the man named Tagara said.  "The boy admits it."
"My son admits nothing," Geras said sternly.  "He only expresses his grief and sympathy, as all of my family does.  We share it together with all the families of Agan."
"NO," Tagara shouted.
"Tagara, you will be silent," hissed the high priest.
"I share in my son's profound sense of mourning," said Geras.  "Yet, it is not the guilt of a crime that he bears upon his shoulders, but the guilt of feeling that his efforts to protect Agan and its good people were inadequate against such powerful foes."
"But it was he who brought the dea'esh into Agan," said one of the elders.
Geras looked at the old woman.  Broad, pink freckles dotted her deep, brown face and neck while her eyes glistened faintly from the glowing embers in the fire pit.  "Was it," Geras asked.  It was a question he already knew the answer to.  "Were there not twelve Aganni in the hunting party?  Was it not twelve Aganni who placed the dea'esh on the cart and brought it through the hills?"
The elder to Geras and Moros' left leaned forward on their cushion.  "But he did give chase to the beast.  They boy did lead it to the others.  Did he not tempt the spirits out of the forest by doing so?"
"Did he not prove that, together, Aganni are capable of taking on even the mightiest of beasts," asked Geras.
"But a dea'esh.  They are no ordinary creatures that roam about the land.  Are they not beasts of the gods?  Are they not gods themselves?"
"Yes," argued Tagara.  "The boy is treacherous.  He deceived Aganni to tease and attack the spirits!"
"No," said Moros.  "I only-"
"High priest," shouted Geras above the din of voices that began to fill the room all at once.  "High priest, do you believe the dea'esh are gods?"
The old man touched the bandage on his temple.  "I believe," he said slowly, "that they are...very powerful beings.  In the history of Aganni, only now have we ever had such an encounter with them.  In the generations before us, some have bore witness to the power of the dea'esh, but always from afar.  It is possible that they are embodiments of the spirits.  And bringing them here may have been a great crime against them."
"Then he is guilty," said Tagara.
The high priest hesitated then shook his head.  "He is only guilty if all Aganni are guilty."
"How?!"
"The boy, alone, did not bring them here.  Agan is no longer so pure in its way and traditions.  Gone are the days of our once proud adherence to the laws of the spirits.  And, while the boy participated in trapping the dea'esh, it was the dea'esh that had chosen to follow him."
Tagara stared at the high priest.  "He was given the feathers and scent of the beast's favored prey.  He fooled the dea'esh!"
"As a god," said Geras, "could the dea'esh truly be fooled?"
Tagara started to argue.  The chief elder cut him off before he could even begin.  "This man is right, Tagara.  How can we fool a spirit?"
The high priest looked up at Geras.  "And I cannot testify that all of the spirits were against us.  I must now wonder if some of the spirits brought our guests from the far lands which we have not been for this very time.  Several Aganni saw the hands of Geras and his family become possessed by the ancestors.  They brought forth their sacred energy to heal those hurt by the rage of the dea'esh."
"I, too, have seen the power of the ancestors touch the broken bone and flesh," said the elder next to the high priest.  "Just this morning in the hut of my sister.  Many of the wounded were taken there.  Lord Geras' wife was there.  I saw the energy coming through her hands.  I saw how it tired her, and yet she did not resist the ancestors' call."
Tagara fumed.  "This is outrageous!  Where were the ancestors for my kin?!  My brother is dead!  My cousin, dead!  No one healed them!  No one was called to come to their side, to mend their torn flesh and save them from the wrath of the dea'esh.  Not one of you!"
Tagara turned his back on the elders as he stomped across the chamber floor.  He pulled the curtain aside and took a single step into the foyer.  With fire in his eyes, the younger man turned to face the council one last time.  "If this so-called great body lacks the strength to deal with the evil wrought upon Agan by these heathens from the far lands which we have not been, then I will deal with it myself!  You have been as blinded and deceived as the dea'esh!  For even a demon can offer kisses as sweet as honey.  But I will not be tempted!  I will not let these crimes against our spirits and our village go unpunished!"
The high priest shook his head, his face overcome by the disappointment of the young man's ferocious stubbornness and newfound bloodlust.  He sighed as Tagara stormed away, shouting into the crowd gathered outside.
"Grief," the chief elder said slowly, "can be a powerful and corrupting force.  It floods the soul like a raging river, sweeping away all that is good.  Perhaps it is the ultimate weapon of the spirits against those of us blinded by our folly and sin."
"I cannot speak to the nature or will of the spirits," said Geras.  "Nor would I dare attempt to."
"It is obvious that your son was not solely at fault for what occurred during the night," said the elder seated beside the high priest.  "It is entirely possible the ceremony itself was judged a sinful act by the spirits."
"Something must be done, however," spoke an elder across the crescent.  "We must show the others that we recognize a sin had been committed and must, therefore, be accounted."
"I agree," said the elder seated beside the chief.  "Tagara will be...persuasive to many in the village.  Something must be done to demonstrate we are not oblivious to their fears."
The high priest shook his head again.  "Without knowing why the spirits were vengeful we cannot act purely.  Our judgement may lead to even more punishment.  The ground of Agan may once more run red with the blood of our families."
"We will leave," Geras said, speaking up suddenly.  "You will tell the Aganni that my son and I will travel far away, to the place where we once came from.  We will find the voice of the ancestors.  We will pray to them until they reveal the sins of the Aganni to us.  We will find out about the demons and their plan and do all that is possible to persuade the spirits to banish them forever."
"Why would you do this," the chief elder asked.
"Because we care deeply for the Aganni," answered Moros.  "You have become our people.  And we wish to become yours."
Geras smiled proudly at his son while the elders whispered amongst themselves.  Finally, the chief looked at the father and son once more.  "When would you leave?"
Geras looked around the crescent of faces and then at his son.  "Right away."