The Divine Entity Lives in My Shadow

“Mother, I’m home,” Henry said, closing the damp cottage door. “I brought the wild lavender you wanted from the valley. It took me hours to find it.”

Mary clutched a chipped wooden sparrow. “Who are you? What are you doing in my home, boy? How did you get past the gate?”

“It’s Henry, Mother,” Henry whispered, his chest tightening with panic. “Your son. I carved that sparrow for you when I was only seven. Look at the notch on the wing where the knife slipped. Do you remember?”

“No,” she said. “My Henry is just a little boy. He has soft, warm hands and a sweet smile. Yours are rough, covered in dirt and gravesoil and scars. Go away, stranger, or I will scream for the local watchmen.”

“Please, Mother, look at me,” Henry stepped closer, reaching out a trembling hand. “Look into my eyes. You know me. I am the one who brings you soup, the one who sings you to sleep when the cold winds blow down. You cannot have forgotten my face.”

“I don’t know you!” Mary shrieked, pressing against the stone wall. “Get out of my house! Why are you playing these cruel tricks on an old woman?”

“But you must. You must remember me. I am all you have left. If you forget me, then who do I have in this dark world?”

“I have a son! But he is not you! My boy is still asleep in his bedroom upstairs. You are an intruder, a thief trying to steal my memories!”

“Mother, please, just listen to my voice. Please, look at the way I hold myself. I am your Henry.”

The wooden door splintered inward. Enforcer Vance sneered, stepping inside. “Well, well. The grave-keeper’s cottage. Always smelling of rot, decay, and cheap lavender.”

“My Lord Vance,” Henry said, shielding his mother. “The monthly tithe is ready in the shed. I have harvested the memory-wells of the lower tiers as ordered by the ministry.”

“Is that so?” Vance tapped his whip. “The ledger says you’re short by three ounces of essence. The capital’s engine requires fresh, potent memories, not the faded scraps of dead peasants and rotting beggars. Who is this old woman?”

“She is my mother. She is very unwell. Her mind is fragile. Please, leave her out of this.”

“Is she registered under the Royal Debt Act?” Vance squinted down at Mary. “She doesn’t have the copper collar. Unregistered souls are parasites, taking up valuable space in the King's graveyard without contributing to the machine.”

“She has lived here fifty years! She is no parasite!”

“Watch your tongue, boy,” Vance gestured to his guards. “If she cannot pay her tax in memories, her life is forfeit to the crown. Guard, seize her. We will drain her mind right here. The extraction needle will find something useful in that old brain.”

“No, don't touch her! Who are these men? Young man, help me! Don't let them take me!”

“Don't worry, Mother, I won't let them,” A guard pinned Henry’s arms back. “Take me instead! Take my memories! Take everything I have!”

“Yours are worthless, grave-digger,” Vance laughed. “Drag her outside. Let the earth watch her empty out.”

They shoved Henry onto a fresh grave. “Help me! Please, stranger, save me! They are going to kill me!”

“Hold her down,” Vance commanded, drawing a glowing, needle-tipped syringe. “We will take every drop of her mind. If she dies, she dies.”

“No, stop! Don't touch her! I swear I will kill you!” Henry’s fingers clawed desperate into the soil.

“Or what, peasant?” Vance mocked, leveling his sword. “You will dig our graves? You have no power here.”

“I will. I will bury you all in the deepest pits of this graveyard.” Henry’s eyes flashed with stolen blue magic. He absorbed the mage's violent memories.

“What did you say? Do you want to die first?” Vance lunged forward.

“I said, get away from my mother!” Henry thrust his hands forward. A kinetic shockwave blasted the guards.

“Unsanctioned magic! A rogue mage! Retreat! We must report this to the capital!” Vance gasped, coughing blood in the dirt.

“Go! And never come back to this sacred ground!” The surviving enforcers fled.

“Mother! Are you alright? Did they hurt you? Tell me where it hurts,” Henry rushed to her side. Mary collapsed, shaking violently.

“My... my head... it burns... The light... it’s taking everything...” She clawed at her temples.

“Hold on, I'm here,” Henry cradled her head in his lap. “I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have used it. The spell... it has a cost.”

Mary's eyes glazed over. “I can't... I can't think... Everything is blank. Who am I?”

“Mother? Look at me! Please! Do you know who I am? I am Henry! Your son!”

“Who... who are you? Why are you holding me?”

“No, no, no. What did that spell do to you? Why did it take your mind instead of mine? Speak to me!” A glowing blue thread seeped from her temple.

“What is that glowing thread?” Henry stared in absolute horror. The thread stretched toward the dark horizon.

“The central tower. The royal debt engine... it's draining her soul. It's pulling her away from me. I will get you back.”