The Cost of Power

The cost of power has never been an easy one to pay. As a young boy, Severus had always dreamt of powers and what he would be able to do. There would be no sadness, no tears. But the realm was poor, and power was not only scarce but cruel. Town elders warned that mages’ deals rarely had enough reward to warrant the endangerment.

Yet as Severus grew from a tearful young boy, to a jaded adolescent, he could not quell the hatred he had for those who had power when he had naught. For a young man who lacked a protector of any sort, hatred of royal guards and of mages came effortlessly.

Food had always been a struggle. Even as a boy, Severus struggled to gather scraps to feed the two of them. The only person he had ever had was her. So when she took to fever, fear was fast to cut through any semblance of joy that they had left. There was no money to summon a healer. The best Severus could hope to do was help her alone. Help from others would cost money anyhow, money they lacked. Severus’ mother would be dead soon.

But young boys were loath to abandon hope. Severus placed cold towels on her forehead and went far to the Southern woods to hunt for meat and gather pears. Perhaps better food would break the fever. When that was not the case, he begged for scraps at the market and pleaded for a remedy for her malady. But even what he managed to scrape together offered no major help. Her breaths grew weaker and hoarser.

He needed a healer, but the town healer had already told Severus that the best he could do was make her comfortable and pray to the mender goddess for her favor. He was young, but he was no fool. He knew that the healer thought he should really pray to The Collector. The Collector of Souls.

But Severus refused to abandon her. Even as her breath grew even more shallow. The healer had not wanted to waste herbs on a woman so close to death, he knew that. But enough money could persuade better than a young boy’s weepy pleas could.

So he sold whatever he could. The last of the heavy coats. Any leftover pears and meat. The scarfs that mother had made for the cold late autumn breeze. The merchants had looked at Severus and offered looks of sympathy. The sympathy made Severus’ stomach clench. Had they truly cared, they would have helped before he had to sell the last of the warm clothes he owned.

Eventually, he gathered enough copper to take to the healer, but before he could, the royal guards grabbed the back of Severus’ coat. Unbeknownst to Severus, who was barely ten, there were unresolved debts, ones that Mother had been unable to pay. The guards had no sympathy as they snatched the coppers from Severus’ bony grasp, nor had they any care when he began to weep. He sobbed as he lay on the cold ground only several paces from the healer’s shop.

The passersby overlooked the boy on the ground. Not a soul spoke to Severus even as the sun fell from the sky, and darkness shrouded the town. Hours passed before he felt a presence. As he looked up, a shudder ran across Severus’ back. Although a heavy cloak covered her features, the raw power that emanated from her flesh was beyond doubt.

Severus had always thought that mages would be scary because they were known to be uncommonly ugly, but he could not even see the mage properly, and he was full of terror.

“Come, boy.” The mage ordered. The sound of her words was low but rattled Severus’ ears, comparable to a drum beat too hard and too close.

He followed, though Severus’ body shook and knees knocked together. Even as a boy, he was not so senseless as to defy a mage. Severus slowed as they neared the edge of the woods, unsure. But the mage only turned, and the hateful darkness where her face should be was enough for Severus to resume.

They walked long enough for Severus to lose sense of where they were. There, where the moon’s glow could not reach, Severus heard the offer. The scene was so surreal that he could almost pretend he was asleep. Power for sense, for reason. As a boy of ten, he could barely grasp at the consequences of the arrangement. Sense had no real value to Severus, not when power could save Mother.

As he nodded, the mage moved, and he was swallowed up by darkness. When he awoke, he was alone, and the sun peeked through the tops of the trees. He ran back to the town as fast as he could. People watched, unnerved by the sudden burst of energy from the boy whose mother was at death’s door. But Severus could not care less about the strange looks from the townsfolk.

As he ran to kneel by Mother’s bed, he noted that he felt rather normal. Perhaps the cost that the mage had wanted for power would not be so bad. He put a hand on her forehead and compelled the dream he had for Mother’s recovery to become true.

He watched as color returned to her face, and he was so elated that he could not feel the dull ache around the backs of the eyes. None of that mattered anyhow. Severus’ mother would recover.

Only the recovery could not prevent what happened next. A boy of ten of course would only grow careless after he was granted powers. And at such a young age, he would scarcely note a small headache after every use of the new talents. To create new sources of food and new clothes was a busy task. Mother got better and better and left the house more often to sell whatever Severus made. They had created a lovely new pattern.

Perhaps because he was so overjoyed at the new pattern, he neglected to see the anomaly. He neglected to see that when Mother returned, she was not her usual self. She was constantly happy, always laughed and never frowned. He could not see that he was now leaner and that the healthy meals had been replaced by sweetmeats and treats he had never dreamt of.

He could not see any of that, not before a royal guard came to the door to collect the deed to the house. Severus asked Mother what could be the problem, but she just laughed. The guard never looked at her. Then the world altered. Colors dulled. The dull ache around Severus’ eyes went away.

And he was alone.