Reflection of Fire

Part I Chapter 1

Her parents would come back. She was sure of it. They had left her here, in this charity school, with only a sealed envelope bearing her name to remember them by. She had been quite young but not so young that she couldn't recall their leaving. The day had been hot, unseasonably so. She could feel the weight of a hand on her arm, anchoring her to this place, calling after the carriage that took her parents away. But they would come back.

What her life was like before was not something she could remember anymore. She couldn't recall her father, or what her mother looked like. Just the feeling of comfort and the sound of her voice that still invaded her dreams on sometimes. She woke from those dreams bereft. Laying in the dark, she would listen to the sound of the girls sleeping in the great room around her and hate how alone she still felt. It was the only time she let herself think that maybe, just maybe, they might not return for her.

It was wrong of her to lose faith. Her mother had promised to return, so she would. It didn't matter how long it had been, or that Rey was no longer a child. It didn't matter that the other girls with whom she'd grown up had gone on to make families of their own. It didn't matter that she'd heard nothing from her parents since the day they had left. They would return. She kept the envelope under her pillow, sometimes tracing the letters that spelled her name, and waited.

She knew all about waiting.

The Jakku School for Girls was sponsored by various wealthy patrons with the intention of keeping poor girls off the street. But the meals were small and the girls were expected to earn their keep. They had lessons in the mornings and evenings, and spent the afternoons doing chores. Rey enjoyed the lessons and endured the chores. The best chore was tending to the garden. Her back always ached at the end of the day, after being bent over weeding and pruning and planting, but it was satisfying to see the fruits (sometimes literally) of her labor.

Days spent in the garden were good days. The worst chore was the laundry. It sweltered in that room as the linens were heated to boiling. Her fingers were often burned by the scalding water or by the iron. She hated those days. But she got through them just the same.

Her favorite time was after dark. After the evening lesson (which she usually enjoyed) and the evening meal (which was usually disappointing), they had an hour of recreation before bedtime. Sometimes she would go for a walk. Sometimes she would draw, using the meager supplies she'd managed to salvage from their art lessons. But, most often, she would read. They were required to read for lessons, of course, but those books were dry and moralizing, intended to teach them how to be proper wives and mothers.

No, what she liked to read were fairy tales. The library was surprisingly well-stocked, and she had found comfort there not long after arriving. She had read every book by now, except for those that seemed too boring to brighten her evenings. There were stories of knights and kings, magic and dragons, true love and curses broken, emperors and rebellions. They brought her somewhere away from her little world and made the whole day worth it.

For many long years, life had its predictable routine. She rose at dawn to attend lessons, break her fast, and return to lessons. The afternoon meal was followed by chores that increased in labor the older she got. It was a relief to complete these and attend lessons again, followed by a small supper. Then she could be transported elsewhere in her books and in her dreams until she started all over again the next day.

Not that things were unchanging. As a child, she'd become friends with several of the other girls. Until, one by one, they'd gone elsewhere: some went home because their parents could no longer afford to have an able-bodied worker out of the house; once, a fever had spread through the school and took several students, including one of her friends; others left because their families had found them husbands. Then she had no one.

The teachers changed as well, though she wasn't privy to their reasons. Some she loved and some she hated, but the learning was always a joy. She knew that here was something at which she could excel and use to better her circumstances. Without connections to find her a place in the world, she would have to make her own way. And she could use what she had learned to teach others. Her parents would return, and wouldn't they be pleased to find that she hadn't wasted their time apart?

When she was fifteen, she was deemed knowledgeable enough to take over a lesson. It was only once a week, but the opportunity was one she intended to make good use of. After a year of proving herself there, she was given more lessons to teach. Other girls were turned away when they reached their majority, but she was allowed to remain. Though she was far from the only student to be given instructional duties, it was clear that her skills were valued.

So, at nearly twenty, she still resided in the school. Her duties included the same chores as always, but she spent more time teaching lessons than learning them. It was a joy to work with the girls, especially of those quick enough to realize the opportunity they were being given here. Some girls cried and longed for home, but there were those who felt they belonged in this place almost as much as she did.

One afternoon, she was called into Master Plutt's office. It was with trepidation that she followed the summons. In all her years here, she had seen him only rarely and the conversation had never been pleasant. When the fever had struck, she had argued for better portions at their meals. He had not appreciated that idea, and she couldn't help but wonder if he was still upset about that, many years ago though it was.

She took a deep breath as she stared at the oak door, then willed herself to rap her knuckles on it.

"Enter."

Hesitantly, she did as commanded. The office was a place she had never seen before, and she glanced around it rather than look at the man seated behind the desk. The walls were dark wood and, though the windows were open to let in the sun, it did little to brighten the overall effect of the place. There were neat piles of papers all around the room, even on the bookshelves, which were otherwise sparse.

"You asked for me, sir," Rey said quietly, finally looking at him.

He was corpulent and didn't look healthy. A bitter thought about how much dinner he probably enjoyed struck her but she pushed it down quickly. It wasn't her place to question such things, she'd been made aware. He leaned back in his chair regarding her, and she swallowed hard.

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen, sir."

"And how long have you been here?"

"Nearly fifteen years, sir."

He nodded to himself, looking away from her at last. Getting to his feet with some difficulty, he went to look out the window. "You've enjoyed our charity for a long time, girl."

She bristled at that. Had she not worked her fingers to the bone? Had she not washed and cooked and sewed, creating some of the things in this very room? She had more than earned her place here. Swallowing her impending outburst, she settled for fixing him with a glare.

"We have other mouths to feed. With parents who can pay. You need to find a new position by the end of the month."

"Yes, sir," she managed to say, hating his suggestion that she worked for him. That she was paid in more than room and board. That she was just another employee with the ability to apply elsewhere, instead of a poor girl who had never gone far from their gates.

"You're dismissed."

Biting her lip, she fairly fled the room. How could he do this to her? She'd worked so hard, proving her worth all these years. Where would she go? How would her parents find her if she left?