A Promise of Vengeance

Memories My name is Aentarra du Savarra. I don’t know who should tell this story, me or my father. Probably him. He fought the Darkness Wars. He started the Wars of Light. I cringed saying that. Technically it should have been called the War of the Lights. I hated things to be wrong or out of place. Everything should have its proper position in life. But even nature made stupid mistakes—put five legs on a frog or something ridiculous. When I found things like that, I killed them. I couldn’t abide having five-legged frogs hopping around. So anyway, yes, it should be father who tells this story, but father is dead, so I’ll have to tell it after all. Nobody remembers how things got started; in fact, nobody remembers anything before the time when my father and Lukaan were adults—that’s the first memory anyone has of them. Despite that, life was wonderful—until the dorgans came. They appeared out of rifts, tears in the fabric of space. We fought against them in the Darkness Wars, a horrible time when millions of people died and all the worlds seemed in turmoil. We eventually won, and father and Lukaan became heroes. Afterward the people established a new order. Each of the seven worlds designated a person to be their representative—a Light—and the seven of them formed the Council of Lights. My father held the High Seat. He was the Eternal Flame. The Light of Lights. He had many names but after centuries, the name everyone feared the most was “He Who Drank the Darkness.” That name made people remember his power. When they remembered, they grew afraid. The few who weren’t afraid were jealous—especially Lukaan. I shook my head to chase away the memories. I thought that maybe if I shook hard enough they would go away forever. They never did, though. Kept coming back. My father was a visionary, always preparing me for the future. The most important things he taught me were the Rules of Vengeance. As a little girl, I sat on his lap and we practiced the lesson over and over. Rules of Vengeance“When someone strikes you what is your response?” he asked me. I remember sighing when he asked the question. It seemed like the thing to do. “You should laugh. Laugh heartily, then walk away,” I said. “And the next day, when the insult is fresh in your mind?” “Seek them out. Embrace them. Befriend them.” I looked to him to see if it was right. A smile lit his face. “And after your heart cools?” “Disable them. Make them suffer. Destroy them.” He smiled and held me tightly. I remember the warmth of his hug, the pride in his voice. “You have learned well, my daughter.” So now you know how things got started, but the worst though, was when— I looked around, thought I heard something. A rift opening? While I searched, thoughts popped into my head. Perhaps I shouldn’t say so much. Perhaps I should let you find out on your own.