II. Returning
Gerard felt the wind drag across the back of his travel-stained cloak and pack, seeming to pull at him, not wanting to let him free. Rolling his shoulders, the old man ran a hand through his ragged gray hair as he took another step. The stone road beneath was as worn as his boots - thin, scratched and hard, seamed so deep with dirt that no amount of rain could rinse it clean. It was an old road, built long before his own day or even his revered great-grandfather's – old it seemed even in the day when the first settlers had erected their makeshift shelters on the Forest's fringe, the first men to visit the old pines. You'll not keep me, Friend Sky, Gerard though at the wind continued its relentless tug. I've been a long time coming home, and home I'll stay.
Gerard's travels were etched deep – weatherbeaten skin, toughened by bitter cold and scorching heat – pale scars from barfights and pitched battles – clothes patched once and again until hardly any parts of the originals remained – rough, callused hands – eyes more ancient than the man himself – the road had left its mark. His steps quickened as he sighted the gate, the steel-edged pine set into hard, thick earthen walls familiar to him even after years of absence; he imagined he could smell the stove-fires from where he was, hearty slabs of meat already cooking for the evening. Was it the sound of laughter that wafted to him over the high wall, of children playing their games and craftsmen who labored and joked as they worked? Home, home! Gerard's racing mind cried as he broke into a run against the dragging wind. How I've missed you!
As he ran, his right hand snaked to check the battered sword that hung at his belt – a reflex, one that brought a red flush to Gerard's cheeks. Like a frightened hare! Damn, but these travels have done my thoughts no good! Something was strange, however – by this time of morning the gates should be open, a few late woodsmen still jogging out to catch up with their friends. The old man slowed and stopped his run in front of the still gates, looking up at the short towers on either side – he saw no one. The wind tugged insistently at him, and the dark clouds that quickly gathered above Gerard's head would soon bring rain – yet, just outside the town's gate, the wind blew him nothing but occasional chirps. So close now that there was no room for imagining, ears straining, no sounds of humanity came to him – no hammer-blows, no shouts, no footsteps, no laughter, merely nothing.
Gerard slowly walked to the gate and gave it a solid push, stepping back as it swung open – his hand reached for his sword again but now stayed on the hilt. The sight that greeted his eyes was just as empty as what his ears had heard a few moments ago – streets barren of people, doors and shutters of all the houses and shops closed. What, by the Nine Gods… Even in this weather… The thought drained from his mind as he stepped in, and dread rose up to fill the void – warily, warily, Gerard took another step.
Nothing but silence greeted him.
Step, step – still only silence. With one slow step after another the old traveler headed deeper, his footsteps his only companion.
Step, step – against his control, Gerard's steps sped up as he neared his old home, as he walked up the lone step. Half-formed prayers found his lips; the door stood ahead of him. In a single breath, Gerard stepped to it and pushed.
Senses recoiled. Inside was red, wet – everything soaked. Sheets torn, body ripped – blood pooled inside, under, spattered the walls, painted the ceiling. Bedframe splinters pierced mangled flesh. Hair dripped – carmine – stained forever. Face blinded – would have gargled blood had it breath. Wounds never to scar. Gobbets of flesh across the floor. All red, red, red.
Gerard's sight froze then – blinded by pain, he stumbled back with a cry. Off the stair he fell, landing on his back as the wind suddenly blew through with a howl, carrying the taste of copper through the gates and into the dark trees beyond. Staring upward unseeing, tears incapable of washing away the deep dirt of the road running from his eyes, the old man realized that the wind had not tried to chain him down – it had tried to save him.