Hello, hello! I am very excited to be posting the second chapter, but first I want to thank those who gave this story a follow/favorite: you're awesome, and I do hope you continue to enjoy. In particular, I owe a tremendous thanks to Wren66 for your review: I can't begin to tell you how much it meant to have your feedback. I agree that it's so fun to imagine characters' possible origins, and what their younger selves were like before they became, well, jaded adults. Again, thank you so much for reviewing!
This chapter takes us a 'Verse apart from the last one, and into Inara's world...
Soundtrack - House Madrassa: "Inside The Tam House" by Greg Edmondson, from Firefly: Original Soundtrack
CHAPTER TWO
SIHNON
02 - 29 - 2506
Silence padded the room, woven into the brocaded fabric which covered the walls. Within the quiet, Inara picked out threads of noise. Some were distant, like the wind brushing over the mountainside beyond the window. Others close, like the sound of peaceful breathing from the cushion beside her.
The breathing began to deepen, into a snore.
Inara broke full-lotus pose to poke her neighbor in the thigh. "Riz," she hissed.
Riz sprang up straight, choking on air. A blush sprang to her milky cheeks. Inara raised her eyebrows at her, then risked a glance at the House Priestess.
The woman wove between the cushions spread over the room, one for each meditating trainee. Min Song had a dancer's tread; her slippers seemed to barely touch the ground. The woman's fawn-colored skin shone in the sunlight, its glow reflected in her dark, angular eyes.
She turned to walk toward Inara, twisting the flat wooden stick in her hands. Inara shut her eyes, a moment too late. Her heartbeat picked up pace.
A breathy sound sliced the air above Inara's head. She flinched, as the wood slat struck her upper arm. Her hands twitched with the urge to rub away the sting, but she kept still. Min's robes shaped a lock of wind out of the air, as she swept past.
Silence settled once again. The pain reduced to static, and Inara's focus returned to her breath. Priestess Song had perfected the art of using the kyosaku to encourage discipline, and never left a lasting mark. The minutes passed, as always, in a timeless flow, until the gong called the session to an end. Inara opened her eyes.
Min stood at the head of the room, and led the bow which finished each group meditation. Eighteen heads bent toward their Priestess. Then they rose, and filed out of the room.
In the corridor, they fell into step alongside the younger half of the Training House, who poured out of the adjacent meditation room at the same time. The air warmed, buzzing with the chatter of almost two dozen twelve to sixteen-year-old trainees. Those of Inara's set, aged seventeen to twenty, were far more reserved.
Most of them, anyway.
Riz linked arms with Inara, and leaned close. "I swear on Buddha's bald head that one day I'm going to stand up, rip that stick out of Priestess Song's hands, and break it in half over my knee. Right in the middle of meditation. I swear I will."
Inara shot her a sidelong glance. "Riz…"
"And the only reason you talked was to keep me from getting smacked, for snoring again," she went on, as the two neared the courtyard, where the first meal of the day was taken in the warmer months. "It's not fair."
"I'm alright." Inara smiled. "Truly. You've suffered the swift rebuke of the kyosaku far more often than I."
Riz shook her copper head. "Still."
They found cushions next to each other, around one of the boards laid out on the white stone paving of the courtyard, spread with the steamed buns, eggs and porridge of their morning meal.
"So, study session in my room today? I'll trade you archery tips for your notes on The Art of Healing Touch." Riz winked, shoving half a steamed bun into her mouth.
Inara shook her head, pouring a cup of green tea. "I can't. I have the tea ceremony exam."
Riz almost choked. She swallowed, with some difficulty, and turned to Inara, eyes wide.
"I'm not worried," Inara went on. "I've practiced so many times, I could pour tea for the Prime Minister, in my sleep."
"Aiya, you're brave." Riz picked up another bun. "When I have to take the exam next year, I won't make it five minutes before disaster. I'll probably trip over my own dress, and spill boiling water on the evaluator's lap, leaving them no choice but to declare me a dishonor on the House, and send me out into the wilds, with nothing but a scrap of fabric for a beggar's cloak."
Inara had to laugh. "Kàn zài lǎotiānyé de miàn shàng. You're not helping."
Lucinda, one of Riz's peers in the year below Inara, leaned across the meal board. "They really do expel you, if you fail any exam in your final year. It happened to Edwige Brixley, remember?"
Of course they did. Expulsion from House Madrassa was rare enough that it was rarely forgotten. Inara took a gulp of tea, and swallowed hard. The possibility of being thrown out, and denied her chance at a Companion license, made her dizzy. The House was the only home she'd ever known.
A ginger-freckled hand covered hers. Inara looked up, into Riz's eyes. They were more green than usual in the daylight, striking and keen.
"There's no way that could ever happen to you, Inara."
"Of course not." Lucinda shook her head, with a quiver of blonde curls. "You're utterly luminescent. The instructors always point you out as an example, for the rest of us."
Inara summoned a smile, looking down at her uneaten breakfast. "You're both very sweet."
"Just think. Seven more months." Riz's smile crinkled at the edges. "Seven months before you turn 21, and become a Companion."
"Oh, Inara, it's so exciting," Lucinda's friend Bo joined in. "You'll surely be offered a position in one of the luxury resorts, and you'll have so many proposals, you'll have to hire someone to help you sort through them."
"Maybe you'll work somewhere close to Nandi," Riz put in. "The two of you can visit Madrassa all the time, and tell us your client stories."
Inara's smile faltered.
Nandi had graduated the year before, and worked in the Luguan establishment, on the other side of the planet. She had promised Inara she would come back often. But Companion life was busier than anticipated, or so Inara sensed, from the handful of brief waves they'd exchanged at first. Shortly after, Nandi had stopped responding. Weeks had turned into months, without a word from her.
Inara took a breath, and recomposed her smile. "Of course I'll visit, mèi mèi," she said to Riz. "But I have to pass my exams, first."
She forced herself to eat at least a few spoonfuls of porridge, as the voices around her bubbled on. It was normal, surely: the uncertainty, the tightness in her chest. Inara had no reason to be unhappy.
Surely, that was enough.
/*/*\*\
Steam suffused the room. The air pressed close, warming Inara's cheeks. She looked down at the table spread with her materials. She lifted her chin, and checked her posture in the silhouette cast onto the canvas screen in front of her.
At the sound of footsteps in the room beyond, Inara picked up the first tray. It shook in her hands, its contents knocking together.
The trill of a bell called her forward. She stepped out from behind the screen.
Deep scarlet fabric covered the walls, casting a sunrise glow over the low cushioned seat and wooden table. Inara tried not to look for any mistakes. She had arranged the room beforehand, and couldn't move anything now. She set the tray onto the table, and rose, wiping her palms on the slick satin fabric of her dress.
Two women sat in the corner of the room. Inara felt their eyes on her, but she was forbidden from acknowledging their presence. Out of the corner of her eye, Inara recognized the form, and intricate hairstyle, of Priestess Song.
Inara forced a steady breath, and faced the door.
Her 'client' entered the room. A young woman, no doubt a Companion herself, enlisted by the House for the purpose of proctoring exams. Inara almost smiled in welcome, and to help soothe her own nerves, but stopped just in time. Solemnity, she reminded herself, and schooled her expression.
Inara and her client bowed to one another, deeply and silently. Inara moved her arm, as if painting a broad stroke, to indicate the chair, where the woman took her seat. Inara knelt on the mat, opposite the table from her client, and set to work.
From the clay pot, Inara poured warm water over a cloth, folded inside a dish. She presented the cloth to her client, who used it to wipe her face. It left a sheen of moisture on her skin.
The client held out her hands, and Inara took the cloth, to moisten and cleanse the woman's palms and fingers. It was her favorite part of the ceremony, and Inara took her time. She paused, holding the woman's fingers in hers, and smiled up at her.
"You have the loveliest hands."
Her client said nothing, but smiled in return, ducking her eyes.
Inara replaced the cloth in the bowl and stood up, taking the tray with her behind the screen. A larger, more ceremonial clay pot had to be filled with water, and heated over coals in the grate set into the wall, while the second tray was prepared.
Inara bit her lip, and re-adjusted the sash around her waist. She was unused to the elaborate dress, which Companions-in-training didn't start wearing until their examination period. At last, the water was ready. Inara settled the pot into place, and picked up the tray.
The weight of the water and ceremonial stoneware tugged at her arms. Inara kept her back straight, but not tensed. In no way could she show any sign of exertion or effort. She set the tray down, with a slight rattle.
Inara liked to think of the tea-making, or chanoyu, as a dance. It could be adequately carried out as a series of steps, but what made it beautiful was the rhythm. An internal flow, held within her own muscles, that turned mere movement into melody. Her hands moved between the dish of matcha powder, to the brewing vessel, then to the heavy pot of water. She lifted it as if it weighed nothing, a trick requiring balance and care. The water trickled through the air, like music, to fill the pot.
She swirled the pot, and used a small whisk to mix the tea. Once it had turned a vibrant, opaque spring green, she poured the tea into the serving bowl.
Inara held up the bowl to her client, without meeting the woman's eyes, a show of deference. The client drank a mouthful, without betraying any appreciation, and returned the bowl to Inara. She wiped its edge clean with the designated cloth, and drank from it herself.
Another bow concluded the ceremony. Behind her, one of the exam proctors rang the bell again, signaling the end of the exam. Every ounce of tension drained from Inara's limbs, leaving her limp and exhausted.
She stood up, to face her evaluators. The chanoyu instructor, Madam Tao, beamed at Inara, clutching her evaluation board to her chest. Priestess Song didn't look up from her own, still writing. When she did lift her gaze to Inara's, she remained cool and unreadable.
Madam Tao's smile opened. "Well done, Inara," she burst. "Beautiful. Your technique was crisp at the edges, yet fluid. It was a joy to watch."
"Thank you, Madam," said Inara, and looked to Priestess Song.
She arched a slender brow. "I must agree with Madam Tao. Your chanoyu was the best I've seen in quite a while. Clearly, your disciplined practice has served you well."
Inara held back a smile. She started to thank her, then shut her mouth, as the Priestess went on, "Unfortunately, I did not see that discipline reflected in what is perhaps the most crucial piece of this ritual: your interactions with your client."
Inara blinked. Her hands tightened at her sides, nails biting into her palms. She held her breath.
"You broke the silence required for this ceremony, in order to compliment your client's hands. I must say, I did not expect such an immature mistake from you." Her eyes were sharp, locked on Inara's. "Do you know why silence is a part of our ritual?"
Inara nodded. "It is to honor the initial distance between Client and Companion. The distance is not closed until we drink from the same bowl."
"Exactly," said Priestess Song. "Furthermore, it helps to establish an atmosphere of formality and respect. When you cleanse your client's hands, you must not treat her as you would a close friend. She is a guest of honor in a hallowed space."
Inara's throat filled with stones. "Yes, Priestess."
Priestess Song took the evaluation board from Madam Tao, holding it next to her own. Mouth pinched, she hesitated, and made several more marks.
A long silence sank into the air. It seemed to warp the floor beneath them, making it difficult for Inara to stay upright. She braced herself for the worst.
"Inara Serra, prospective Companion of the House Madrassa, your performance in this examination has earned a grade of 'fair.'" The Priestess looked up to Inara. "Your next examination will take place in one month's time."
Inara exhaled. She could have melted with relief. She had to shut her eyes a moment, with the reverence of prayer, before she opened them again.
There was something else, small yet persistent, itching in her throat. She swallowed it away. She bowed to Madam Tao, her 'client,' then Priestess Song. It's over, she thought. I passed.
But passing could not be enough, not for the daughter of Kalindi Serra. Inara knew that her performance in the seven exams to come must be perfect.
/*/*\*\
"Hello, darling. So sorry I'm late."
Inara felt a kiss on the top of her head. She looked up from the light-paper news bulletin she'd been reading, to watch her father move around the couch, where she'd curled up to await his arrival.
His smile pressed wrinkles around his eyes. "Ah, Inara. You are a tender ray of light in this bottomless pit of a week."
"Hello, Bàba." Inara stood, and pressed a kiss to his cheek, the same way she did every Sunday afternoon, on every weekly visit for the past five years. Before that, Inara had visited her father for an hour every day, but training and study at the House Madrassa demanded to come first. Her father understood, of course.
She glanced down at his grey suit, creased around the elbows and knees, and deduced that he'd spent the morning in meetings in Sihnon's capital. She lifted an eyebrow at him.
"Are you working seven days a week again?"
His eyes dimmed, though he didn't stop smiling. "Don't you worry about me."
"Of course I worry." Inara pursed her lips. "I know you're running for Chancellor this Session, but you must let yourself rest at least one day a week."
"Yes, yes. Wise words." Her father removed his jacket, taking it over to the rack by the door. "I'll ring for tea, then I want to hear all about your first exam."
Inara chewed her lower lip, watching him move to the service panel on the wall, where he pushed the button for the maid. The light-paper began to crumple in Inara's grip. She tapped the corner, to halt the scrolling text, and set it aside.
"Now, then." Her father settled into his reclining chair, across from her, and rested his elbows on his knees.
"Well, I passed," Inara said lightly.
Her father chuckled. "Of course you passed, I'm sure you did better than that. Don't be modest, now. What was your grade?"
Inara swallowed. "It was 'fair.'"
His chin jerked back in surprise. "Only 'fair? What happened?"
Inara ducked her eyes, playing with the hem of her tunic. It had been such a relief to take off the ceremonial dress, and change back into the plain linen shirt and pants worn by all Companions-in-training. But it took only an instant for the humiliation of the exam to flood back to her, warming her cheeks.
She told him what had happened.
"Oh, it was so stupid of me." She shook her head. "Even the Priestess called it an immature mistake. I only wanted to break the tension of the room, make my client feel more at ease. It felt like the right thing to do."
Her father moved to sit on the couch beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders. The maid, Yawen, came in with the tea. He gestured for her to set it on the table, and go back the way she'd come. Inara managed to give the woman a smile in greeting, which Yawen returned, before she slipped out of the room.
"My dear, you possess a marvelous instinct for making people feel at ease. You always have." Inara's father smiled down at her. "I remember one occasion, just before my first Elections cycle. Let's see… you must have been eight." He chuckled under his breath. "I was a nervous wreck, of course. And you put your little hand around mine, and you told me I was already everything I needed to be. Because I was smart, and loving, and I was your father."
Inara had to laugh a little, imagining her younger self, who no doubt had a very dim understanding of all that was at stake in Alliance Parliament Elections.
"You are not stupid, nor are you immature." Her father picked up a cup of tea, handing it to Inara, and took one for himself. "That said, I have to agree with Priestess Song about the importance of respecting the ritual." He smirked. "And you know how rare it is that I should agree with that woman on anything."
Inara looked down, into her cup. "Yes, but…"
Her father raised his eyebrows.
"I'm not sure if I agree." She let out a heavy breath. "Not entirely."
He tilted his head, waiting.
"I know that the tea ceremony comes from thousands of years of tradition, from the art of the Geisha on Earth-that-Was. I agree it's important to make the client feel honored." Inara barely realized what she wanted to say, before it was spilling out of her mouth. "But it's intimidating," she blurted. "The silence, the straight faces. It feels so unnatural, and stiff." She looked to her father. "It would be much better if Companions could tailor the ceremony to each client. Make comments and compliments as we see fit. It would be more intimate, and spontaneous, and real."
"Intimacy and spontaneity have their place in each session," said her father, thoughtful. "Just as formality and silence do, as well."
"But what if formality and silence make the client uncomfortable?"
Her father took a sip of tea. "I'm not trained in this art, nor am I an expert on Companions. Only a man who has contracted with them for many years." He smiled. "I think it's safe to say that none of your clients will be made uncomfortable by the tea ceremony, Inara. They'll be expecting it."
"How can you know that?"
"Because, darling, they will all be trained just as you have been. They've grown up in the same world. They appreciate formality, and silence, and having the discipline to take things slowly, because these are what separate us from the vast majority of uncultured people. Our rituals and traditions make us who we are."
Inara frowned, swirling her tea.
Her father rubbed her back, just below her shoulders, the way he'd soothed her since she was small. "Your talents, coupled with my connections, guarantee a position in any one of the Alliance-protected Companion establishments. You will never come across a client who hasn't seen a tea ceremony before, I can promise you that."
"Alright, but let's suppose I decide to contract independently instead. I might find myself in a more… disconnected area of the Universe, and-"
She stopped. Her father had gone rigid. His hand fell from her shoulder, the other tightening around his teacup.
"What did you say?"
Inara hesitated, watching the line of his mouth. His jaw was clenched.
"I said, if I decide to contract independently-"
"You can't possibly be considering that." His voice could have pierced steel.
"Bàba," Inara breathed out, faintly. "It's a hypothetical situation. I was making a point."
He turned his eyes on hers. They glowed, a brighter, more golden brown than her own. "You must promise me you aren't thinking about contracting independently."
She furrowed her brow. "Why shouldn't I?"
"Because, it-" Her father stood up. "It simply isn't done. Not by Companions with your potential. You wouldn't take a talent like yours, and- just throw it into the void." He gestured with his cup. Tea sloshed out, splattering the white carpet.
Inara tensed. "My mother contracted independently." The words were razor-lined. "And she was one of the most talented Companions to ever graduate House Madrassa."
Her father glared at the spilled tea, nostrils flared. Inara could hear his breath. "Yes," he said at last. "Kalindi decided to contract on her own after we- after our arrangement dissolved." His voice grew tenuous. "That decision was her last."
Inara's eyes filled with heat. "It was a rare disease. For all we know she caught it here on Sihnon-"
"No, Inara," he snapped. "She didn't. Your mother chose to leave the Core and fly off God-knows-where, and that's the reason she..." He choked on the words.
The reason she's dead. Inara kept silent. Her fists bunched in her lap, fingernails biting little crescents into her palms. She shouldn't have brought her mother into it. Not when she knew so well the wound that was Kalindi's name, re-opened every time it was spoken aloud.
Her father swallowed, and pulled his shoulders back. "The Universe is a dangerous place. Far more now than it was then." He ran a hand through his silver-streaked hair. "I wish disease were the worst of it."
Inara looked up at him. "What do you mean?"
The silence thickened a moment. At last, he met Inara's eyes. "Do you know why I'm running for Chancellor?" he asked, quiet.
Inara shook her head.
"Heading the Military Affairs Council is an immense responsibility." He paced a few steps away to set down his cup, with a rattle. "At the end of the day, it would be up to me to stop those who would let chaos rule the Universe." Heat licked the edges of his voice. "You have no idea what kind of people are out there, Inara, the people I have to think about every day. They would love nothing better than to destroy you, simply because of your birthright."
His shoulders slumped, as the anger went out of him. He finished, soft, "Because of the symbol you wear on your ear."
Inara's hand went to her left earlobe. She touched the golden earring her father had given her for her twelfth birthday, the day her Companion training had begun. It was simple yet elegant, a small disc adorned with six tiny stars, arranged in the same pattern as on the Union of Allied Planets' flag.
She dropped her hand to her lap. "Who are these people?"
Inara's father sat down again, and lifted a hand to rub his temple. "They call themselves Independents. You've heard the name, I'm sure."
Inara nodded. "We discuss current events in our lectures. They're a group of political dissidents, aren't they?"
Her father chuckled, wry and weary. "That's one way of putting it."
Inara leaned closer, quieting her breath, to listen. Her father rarely talked about his work. He preferred to focus on her, when she visited.
He stared into the middle distance. "First, they refused to pay taxes. Now, they've grown openly hostile towards peacekeeping forces." The words seemed to wear down his voice. "There were over thirty bomb attacks on Alliance compounds in this past week alone."
Inara lifted a hand to his shoulder. "Oh, Bàba…"
He turned to her, lines etched around his eyes. "I just want to keep you safe," he murmured. "If you're employed by an Alliance establishment, here on Sihnon, you'll be protected."
"Of course." Inara swallowed. "You're right. I don't know anything of the Universe, outside the Core." And it seems I never will.
Her father smiled. "My bǎo wù." He traced her cheek with his hand."You are so precious to me. You know that, don't you?"
Inara returned his smile, as best she could. "I know." She set her tea aside, and took his hand in both of hers. "And you are my loving, smart father. Who works too much, and needs to relax."
"I can't argue with you there."
Inara patted his hand. "Why don't we take a walk around the grounds, before I have to go back to the House? It's so beautiful and green outside, this time of year."
The door to the parlor swung open. Her father's assistant appeared, a small, grey-haired man with a nervous mouth.
"Councilor, there is a wave for you. From Mr. Claybrook."
"I'll take it in here." Her father stood. "Thank you, Meng."
The man bowed, and ducked out of sight.
"I'm sorry, darling." Her father grimaced. "New campaign advisor. There's so much to be done…"
"It's fine." Inara waved a hand, as she stood up. "I'll walk by myself today, and next week we'll go together."
"I'll be looking forward to it." He gave her a kiss on the forehead. She could sense him drifting, already half-absorbed in thoughts above her head, back to his work.
Just before the door closed behind her, Inara heard her father log into his home computer by voice recognition.
The computer prompted him, "Name?"
"Solomon Zhi," he answered.
translations:
Aiya - interjection to express shock, regret, or distress
Kàn zài lǎotiānyé de miàn shàng - For heaven's sake
mèi mèi - little sister
Bàba - Papa, Daddy
bǎo wù - treasure, treasured one
*Dun dun dun!* Hah, who am I kidding, no doubt you saw that coming a mile off. You've probably also guessed that the next chapter will include a very... memorable first meeting between two certain characters. Not naming any names. I can't wait to post it, but first I must implore you - if you've read this far, please tell me your impressions in that beautiful little box down below! Whatever you have to say, I want to hear it, be it good, bad, ugly or grotesque. There are surprisingly few specifics about Companion training on the wikia, so I did what research I could, and pulled bits from geisha and Zen Buddhist traditions, but I'd love to hear how you think I did with House Madrassa.
The chapters will be shorter from here on out (promise!) and looks like I'll be posting on Wednesdays. Kind of a random update day, but "day" is a vestigial mode of time measurement based on solar cycles, so... Anyway. ;) We shall meet again in Chapter 3! *salutes*