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We had been over this subject at least a hundred times over the past week. But she was nervous, and unlike me, once I’d come to accept a thing, I moved forward. Lucinda fretted and vacillated. I could understand why she was a bundle of apprehension—my father was asking a lot from her.
The decision to stay on with me once we arrived at Goth Mor Helle would be up to her. If she wished to return to Providence, the Servant of the Owl would see her home, first arranging transportation for her to the Basilica, where her sister resided, and from there, back to Providence to seek a new position. Lucinda hadn’t seen her sister since last winter’s solstice, so the option of a short visit was desirable. However, if she wanted to stay with me as my companion… well, I honestly didn’t think she’d choose that option. I couldn’t blame her one bit, either.
Moving the rest of my belongings off the bed, I sat down next to her, my legs tucked under me. “Aside from the fact that it takes over two week’s travel, one that will be a nice break for you—”
She waved her hand in impatience. “Yes, yes. You’ve painted the whole trip as a holiday. Go on.”
I held in my laughter and continued. “Well, for you, it will be! And if you don’t like the Mor, you’ll be visiting your sister once the whole… transaction is through.” I frowned at my word choice. It was true, though. The whole business was a transaction. “Apart from that, we’ll spend most of our time in a covered carriage, bored out of our minds, but with beautiful scenery to take the dullness away.”
“And the Ongahri? They are truly civilized?”
“Yes. They are a tribal people. Mostly honorable, from what I’ve been able to find out. They have a different culture than us, of course, but they are just like everyone else. They marry, have children. Read. Wear clothes.” I butted her with my shoulder.
She took a deep breath, plainly ignoring my teasing. “Very well, miss. I can do two weeks of travel. Work on my needlepoint and such.” She already looked better.
I walked over to the vanity and grabbed my hairbrush. When I started pulling out the pins in Lucinda’s hair, she jumped and reached up, grabbing my hand.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m going to brush your hair while I talk.”
“What, now? You are a strange girl, miss.” She released my hand. “Go ahead, I guess.
Once her hair was down, I carefully gathered the heavy mass and began brushing sections of the thick brown tresses.
“The Ongahri is led by a king, a bit like how Father governs, but on a much grander scale. I’m not sure how many Ongahri there are in the world, but there are a lot that migrate to the mountain, which they do every hundred years or so.”
She hummed. “Where do they live before that? And why do they migrate?”
“Some say they are not from Titus, that they come from the stars, leaving Great Mountain to return to their true home.” I paused in my brushing, my imagination running wild with stories of galaxies and planets.
“And others?”
“Hmm?” I asked, lost in thought.
“You said ‘some say.’ What do most people say? The plausible answer.”
I smiled. “Oh, something not nearly as fascinating as from the stars. No, only that they follow the cycles of Titus. Gods know why they’d choose such a wintry place as the Mor, though.” I finished brushing her hair, then handed her the hair pins. “They probably have several different residences.”
She was quiet. But at least she was more relaxed now.
I walked around the bed and took out a book from my bedside table drawer. It was leather bound, small, and had been my companion for several nights now. Written by a historian, the book was mostly filled with stories about Ongar and his Consort, romantic poems and fables about the Ongahri gods, skillfully told through the eyes of a hermit. As with most stories, the gods were endowed with superhuman traits, accomplishing fantastical deeds.
“Here.” I handed her the book. “You can borrow this tonight. Just make sure you bring it back in the morning. I’m still reading it.”
Lucinda’s eyes were so wide I almost laughed. The poor woman never knew what to think when it came to me. I had to reassure her.
“Lucinda, it’s poetry! Nothing elicit or… whatever it is you’re thinking.” I watched as she turned the book over, examining it warily as if it might bite her. “Just read it. It will put your mind at ease. These people are intelligent and have just the same—”
“Oh, I am sure, miss. It’s just…” She looked down at her lap.
“Just what?”
Lucinda was a very private person. Aside from having a religious sister and a love of classical literature and poetry, I knew nothing about her. She never invited anyone into her inner life. Her role with me always maintained that of Watcher with her charge. So, seeing her drop her everyday mask was like seeing her without any clothes. It was refreshing, raw, and real.
She looked up at me, her brown eyes gazing at me intently. With her hair down, she looked so vulnerable. “It’s just a feeling I have. I… I can’t explain it, and I wish I could. I’m not one to believe such things, but my feelings are so strong on the matter. I just feel like something… wrong will happen.”
I wholly believed in those feelings. The portents of something to come, whether a joyful occurrence or an unhappy event. I wasn’t one to ever dismiss them.
