Friday Snippets #2: PoB, the mysterious stranger
It’s #FridaySnippets time again! Come join the fun! :D
Sadly I missed out on promoting this game properly this week, as I’m in the middle of a move, but I’m ready to play once more! Here’s my snippet for this week: part of the scene where a mysterious stranger from Erthel’s mother’s forgotten past confronts the two women. This is one of my favourite moments in the whole novel.
To better appreciate this, keep in mind that Erthel’s mother is sick and can suffer from fits and hallucinations.
The Crimson world mentioned in the snippet is a supernatural element of the planet, kept in check by arcane means but potentially dangerous (more about it here).
Usual language-related disclaimer: I’m not a native English speaker. This is translated from Italian so might be far from perfect.
***
When later in the day Erthel and her mother left the library, fierce gusts of wind swept the streets of the city, whipping up whirls of dry leaves, and the sun had disappeared behind ribbons of reddish clouds between the mountains, leaving behind a rough coat of cold. Huddling in their coats, the two women followed the winding roads of the city centre, almost deserted because of the cold, up over the hills the city lied on, towards the gardens surrounding the High Bloodline’s estate. There they followed an uneven path through the grass, until they reached the place the High Bloodline had allowed them for Erthel’s training, a small clearing surrounded by evergreens and covered with noisy gravel, where the large squared stones of an ancient well in ruins glistened with dew in the red twilight of sunset. The thick coat of trees screened the clearing from the wind blowing over the city, yet the bite of cold sank even deeper into their bones.
Erthel sneezed, rubbing her arms, and her electrified hair caressed her cheeks, while beside her her mother massaged her temples, her mouth curled in a suffering grimace.
“You’re not feeling well?” Erthel furrowed her brow, trying to pull her hair away from her face without accomplishing much.
Her mother winced and took a breath to speak, but she broke in a gasp when high above their heads, from the tower of the High Bloodline’s estate, a long, deep roll rumbled.
The bell of warning. The sign that the Bloodline used to announce an unforeseen increase in the Crimson intensity. Not necessarily a sign of danger for the population… but two Nomads like them could never be too careful. Erthel shook her head.
“I don’t like this. Perhaps we should…” she said, but her words died in her throat as beside her her mother dropped to the ground with a moan. Erthel bit her lip and knelt to help her, the annoying gravel crunching under them. No, this wasn’t good at all. Another fit, and now they were far from home, with the Crimson rising all around them making everything harder. If her mother couldn’t recover quickly she’d have to carry her home or to the nearest shelter by herself, just like last winter. At least her mother was shorter and lighter than her.
“Mother, can you hear me?” she called her, grabbing her by the shoulders. Her mother shook and panted, but she was still aware, as she nodded in reply and her large eyes of gold and rust looked more puzzled than suffering. Erthel let out a relieved sigh that drew a puff of steam in front of her. “Thank goodness… we’d better go back home now. Can you walk?”
Her mother, still shaking, nodded, and Erthel held her firmly by her arms, helping her back on her feet. This time her mother did not complain when Erthel offered her arm to help her walk, but after just a few steps, both women froze, gasping at a sudden gust of cold wind that swept them from behind their backs.
“Finally.”
A man’s voice, an unfamiliar, rough voice rumbled behind them, a new gust of cold blowing past them. Still holding on to each other, the two women turned around, and Erthel’s breath was taken away. Her own movement failed her, because cold now sank its teeth in her muscles, freezing them. Her heart still beat, but every pulse sounded like a painful toll in her chest. Beside her, her mother gasped and started shaking again.
A man was standing near the well.
Just a moment before there was nothing, and now there was him: a middle aged man, his face covered in scars, but with a proud posture and a nimble build, wrapped in a rich cobalt-coloured robe. A man looking at her with a smile, and two large eyes that seemed to be shining with liquid gold. Something about that smile froze the sweat on her brow.
“This can’t be,” her mother whispered.
Erthel turned to face her, and saw her mother’s widened eyes shifting from the man to her and back again several times, her quivering lip opening and closing, as if she were unable to understand what she was seeing and how she could even convey that shock in words. Eventually her glance stopped on Erthel, her eyes narrowed to two thin slits of gold and rust. And her mother asked her a question that pierced her chest like a shock.
“You can see him too?”
