THE END OF BEGINNINGS

TWENTY

By the time the sun was high in the midday sky, and the heavy clouds of the afternoon storms were gathering on the horizon, father and son were setting off.  The faint percussion of far away thunder followed the pair as they left the village of Agan behind.  They walked in silence and with heavy hearts through the hills and then into the forest.  So much was weighing on their minds, especially on that of Geras.
He was never very good at goodbyes.  This day had proven to be no exception.  Geras was already missing Sidonia and Gerania before he and Moros had even left.  Ending the embrace he shared with each of them had taken so much effort.  And why was he having to leave his wife and daughter?  It had nothing to do with ancient spirits.  No, this journey was the fault of a foolish man who had grown older and, apparently, even more foolish than ever.
Geras hadn't liked lying to the Aganni elders.  But their need for some kind of spiritual salvation and an exiling-however temporary-of whatever had seemingly doomed them was an opportunity Geras couldn't pass on.  There was no complicated tale to weave and little to no suspicion for his absence.  As for Moros, Geras hadn't planned on taking the boy with him.  From the moment he had first watched the message from the Lantean United Council, Geras hadn't been able to shake the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach.  His intuition was telling him something ominous was on the horizon.  Involving his teenaged son had not been a best case scenario and didn't make Geras feel any better.  Yet, despite the looming guilt of putting him in potential danger, Geras was happy to have the time with him.
Moros' thoughts were plagued by just as much guilt and frustration as his father's.  However, Moros was only frustrated with himself.  He felt personally responsible for the exile they were now embarking upon.  It was his actions, not his father's nor his family's, that had caused them to leave the village behind.  Moros was convinced the sullen and distant disposition of Geras was the result of his own actions.  He had helped bring those creatures into the village.  He, ultimately, had the responsibility for every home destroyed, every bone broken, every inch of flesh burned, and every one of the eight lives lost.
So heavy was the guilt in Moros' heart that his chest was physically hurting.  He lagged behind his father as the hills disappeared behind them and the landscape was consumed by the forest.  Away in the distance, Moros could hear the rush of the rapids in the narrow, flooded stream.  He dared not look in that direction, though.
Hours passed without any words spoken.  Day soon became night and the pair made camp at the base of a rocky outcrop deep in the forest.  The air between the towering trees was damp and sticky.  A passing storm had bathed the woods in a cool but brief deluge of rain.  It hadn't lasted long enough to turn the tepid afternoon into a comfortable evening.  Moros wiped a layer of sweat off his brow as he dropped an armful kindling and a small rodent he had been able to snare.
Geras was surprised at his son's catch.  He watched as Moros quickly set to work cleaning the small game.  He was impressed at how deftly his son had hunted their food and was now preparing to cook it.  "You've gotten good at those kinds of things," Geras said.
Moros shrugged his shoulders, skewering the meat from the little animal.  "I'm okay, I guess.  Hasha is better.  I've been learning a lot from him and his family."
"That's good."
Moros held the stick with their dinner over the short, flickering flames.  "How did you get the fire to light so easily?  Everything is still very wet from the storm."
Geras grinned slightly and held up his left hand.  The firelight glinted off a short, slender cylinder he was holding.  Its surface was sleek and still mostly polished.  "I might have cheated a little," he said.
Moros blinked at the sight of the small device.  "Wow," he said.  "I haven't seen one of those in a long time.  I thought you and Sidonia had gotten rid of all our technology.  Gerania and I even thought you had buried it all somewhere."
Geras chuckled lightly and shook his head.  "Not exactly.  It was securely stored, but not buried.  I actually tried to light the wood we first gathered here without it.  But, after you went off to get some more and get food, I grew...frustrated."
"Oh," Moros said simply.  "I never thought it would seem strange to see a simple beam emitter.  But...it is."
"I don't believe that is necessarily a bad thing.  Do you?"
Moros considered the question for a moment.  "No.  I mean, why would it be?"
Geras shrugged his own shoulders slightly then asked, "Do you need the fire to be hotter?"
"I think it's okay.  Unless you're really hungry."
"I am," said Geras, leaning closer to the burning pile of sticks.  With the top of the small cylinder pointed toward the smoldering wood, he pressed his thumb firmly against a grooved indentation near the device's base.  A crystal inside began to glow.  The air just in front of it grew hotter.  Bits of dust and ash in the path of the emitter vaporized in tiny, rapid flashes of light, creating a faint beam that reached down into the shallow fire pit.  A second later, the dancing flames on the crackling kindling began to reach into the night air.
"How's that," Geras asked, looking up at Moros.
"Good.  Though, you probably could have just done that to the meat itself."
Geras let himself chuckle.  "True.  But getting dinner cooked is your job."
"Can I borrow that, then?"
Geras shook his head, grinning.  "No, Moros of the Aganni, you may not."
If the comment had meant to be a joke, Moros had missed it.  Whatever humor Geras had intended failed to reach his son.  Not much else was said that night.  When the meat was cooked enough to eat, Moros silently offered a share to his father.  As they ate and the fire slowly dimmed, the clouds hanging in the sky began to thin away.
It was dawn again by the time the sky was clear.  Geras was up first, followed shortly after by Moros.  Their morning meal was quick, a few bites each from a ration of grainy bread Sidonia had packed in their supplies.  By the time the first bands of golden sunlight were reaching between the trees, the father and son were on the move once more.
They didn't stop often.  It was early in the afternoon when Geras first halted their progress.  He stood at the muddy shore of a river winding its way through the dense forestland.  He looked around carefully.  He had gotten a little ahead of Moros who caught up a few minutes later.
"We need to stay close together," Geras said after they had both rested for a few minutes.  "I can't help feeling like we are being followed."
"I can go alone from here," Moros said.
"No, son.  We go together."  He stood up before Moros could say anything more.  "Come on.  We'll follow the river northward and make a few turns before night."
"Where are we going?"
"Exactly as I told the elders...the place where we once came from."
They walked on in silence after that, each left to his own thoughts.  They took turns leading the other, though it was Geras who spent most of the time in front of Moros.  They stopped for only one other break before making camp after nightfall.  Geras sat away from Moros for the hour they had rested in the late afternoon.  He was troubled by what lay ahead of them at the city in the sea.  But more than that, he was troubled by his inability to ease the guilt plaguing Moros.
He has to know it was all just an accident, Geras thought to himself as they sat on a low ridge above a bend in the wide river.  He couldn't have known any of it was going to happen.  None of them could have.  But what can I say that he will actually listen to?  As Geras struggled for answers in his mind, he stared across the gap between them, watching Moros seemingly master a skill he had forgotten.  Moros was meditating.