Memory

From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe

by Bruisefairy
excerpt of personal logs: Nethari Rivers aka Bruisefairy

The earliest memory I can recall is watching my father being taken away by soldiers.

I struggled in my mother’s arms, trying to get free so I could cling to my father and keep him with us. I was too young to really understand what was happening, why he was handcuffed and pulled along like an animal behind the men with the guns. Or why my mother would not let go of me, even when I kicked and clawed at her, leaving angry red lines on her face and neck. As he was being pulled out the door, my father stopped and looked back. He told us that he loved us, which earned him a gun in the back and a shove out the door. My mother whispered his name as he stepped into the sunlight. That was the last time we ever saw him.

According to the archives I was given access to, The Council Empire descended upon my homeworld from somewhere else. They saw Neyrithven as ripe for the taking, so they came to our world with enough forces to overthrow our government in a matter of weeks. Neyrithven’s native people were all meta-humans, with regenerative powers being common among the populace. The Council Empire wanted to find that one third of the planet’s population whose abilities were stronger, more developed than the rest. They did not want the gifted people to rise against them and drive them off Neyrithven. So they instigated purges shortly after placing the planet under martial law. There is a parallel here on Earth, to that situation. The Nazis in Germany during World War II were much the same as the Council Empire on my homeworld.

My father was one of the first of the gifted to be identified and arrested. He was a doctor. He could lay his hands on a person and heal almost any injury, get rid of diseases and infections. Both sides of my family have heavy instances of gifted people being born every generation. My mother was a healer also, but to a lesser degree. She managed to avoid detection for a long time because she did not practice her healing craft after I was born. After my father was arrested, my mother’s family urged her to take me and go into hiding. She followed their advice, but ultimately it didn’t matter because there were traitors among our people who turned in those harboring the gifted members of the populace. We stayed in hiding for most of a year before the soldiers came for us. They came in the night, under cover of darkness, when everyone was sleeping. My mother and I were taken away by one group of soldiers and another group arrested the family who had been our refuge.

We were taken to a facility that looked to my child’s eyes to be a hospital. I know from the reports that it was actually a research facility and prison. The Council Empire was trying to figure out how to gain the abilities inherent in the gifted people of Neyrithven, to improve their soldier’s performance. Many of my people died in that place and the psychic stain left behind by so many deaths drove many of our fellow prisoners insane. Those that were driven over the edge by this were quickly deemed useless and put to death, which perpetuated the ugly cycle. Of course, I was just a toddler and didn't know any of this. All I knew was that my mother was always sad, and people could disappear at any time and never come back.

The only really clear memory I have of our escape is my mother trying to run as fast as she could with me clutched against her chest. It’s all a blur of noise and light; screams and sirens and weapons fire in the dark. I can still feel her hair brushing against my face as she cradled me to her body, her heart beating harder than I’d ever felt before. I wasn’t afraid… my mother had me and I was safe in her arms.

I’ve seen the security footage of the gate room that night, my arrival on this world. My mother fell over as she came through, but she never let go of me. She rolled so that she landed on her back with me sprawled on top of her. She kissed me on the forehead as she lost consciousness. It was the last time she ever kissed me. I don’t recall the feel of her lips on my face. She had been shot in the back four times as she was stepping into the portal, but she never stopped moving forward. According to the records, the slim scar in the inside of my left calf is from one of those bullets passing through her and grazing my leg. She shielded me as best she could and used the last of her energy to carry me to safety. Balura Rivers died of her injuries within 48 hours of achieving her freedom.

Some days her face is as clear in my mind as my reflection in a mirror. Other days I can barely recall her features. My father’s face has never been sharp in my mind; he was simply gone out of my life too quickly.

This is the reason I do what I do. Why I put myself in danger every day. Why I will never stop fighting, why I will die on my feet as a warrior. My people are all but destroyed, my family torn apart. I will not let it stand. I cannot forget. I will not forgive.