Read: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15

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Jaz sat nervously in the opulent waiting room. The high priestess of House Madrassa was legendary even within the sheltered halls of the academy. It was said that she had slain countless Reavers, that she had single-handedly destroyed an Alliance cruiser, that even The Directors themselves feared to directly confront her.

She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to convince herself the shivering was a residual effect of the cryo. Something about the room seemed familiar. She brushed lightly against the memories of warm dreams that had offered her an occasional escape from the cold terrors of her waking hours, then abruptly withdrew. She knew better than to linger, knew well the punishment for improper thought, the pain of – someone was coming!

She crouched in the corner, waiting. The gilded doors creaked open. A gray-haired shepherd stepped through, winking affectionately at her as he passed. She looked down at her clenched fingers. They were shaking. She closed her eyes in shame – for nearly killing the only person who had ever showed her any kindness, she told herself. Not for hesitating. She almost believed herself.

“Jasmine Winifred Lea. The high priestess will see you now.” Unlike Shepherd Book, the stern-faced administrator made Jaz uneasy. She felt watched and judged just following the woman through the doorway. A vast chamber opened up before her, but the administrator led her down a side corridor into a small indoor garden. “Your visitor, priestess.”

“Thank you, Badyn. You may go now.” The high priestess sat alongside an ancient amphora fountain, holding back a long golden sleeve as she ran her fingers gracefully across the surface of the water. A slender young woman sat beside her, staring into the fountain. Neither spoke. Impatient, Jaz tried probing the women’s thoughts, but could sense nothing.

“I hope you don’t expect me to curtsy, your highness.”

The high priestess rose, laughing without a trace of pretense. “Of course not. And please, call me Inara.”

“Why have you brought me here?”

“I’m probably not the best person to explain that,” she replied, nodding toward her companion.

As the young woman stood and turned toward her, Jasmine’s breath caught in her throat. It was her. She closed her eyes, surprised that she could now embrace the memory without fear. It was the girl from her dreams. The one who had kept her strong, kept her sane. The one who had stolen away her pain and reinforced her shattered will. Trembling, Jasmine re-opened her eyes. A small group of children had gathered around the fountain. She thought she recognized some of the faces from the academy.

The young woman approached her, tracing long fingers along the polished stethoscope that hung from her neck. She could not tear her gaze away from the girl’s achingly beautiful face. Jasmine wondered how she managed to maintain that carefree smile despite the familiar shadows that haunted the depths of her eyes.

“Hi, my name’s River. Welcome home.”

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This concludes the short fiction, Orphaned Soul, inspired by the wonderfully nuanced performance of Summer Glau as River Tam in the short-lived but long-loved television show, Firefly. Thank you for taking the time to read it.

Rob Cheng (shiny@browncoats.com)