by Amber Argyle
She blinked again, but the problem wasn’t her focus. Senna looked at him—she thought it was a him—up and down with a mixture of fear and revulsion. His gray-green mottled skin was as smooth and slick as a dolphin’s hide. His triangular teeth sat below a flat nose. He blinked and a thick, oily substance smeared across bulging, fishlike eyes. His hands were shaped like hers, except for a thin membrane that connected his fingers like the skin of a bat’s wing. He wore only a thin, greasy sack with holes cut out for his appendages.
“What are you?” Senna asked.
Something that she hoped was a grin erupted on the creature’s face. He patted his chest. “Pogg, Mettlemot. Frog people.”
She shrank deeper into the bed and looked for a way to escape. But what she saw brought her up short. She was in a home, but not like one she’d ever imagined. Windows that were shaped like a spinning top, with peaked ends and bulbous centers. Walls that were impossibly smooth in some places and yet appeared knotted or even woven together like the branches of a willow tree in others. There were no seams, corners, or angles—only soft curves as the wall melded into the floor or ceiling. Everything was the color of rich cream scraped from a pail of fresh milk. “Where am I?” Before he could answer, she suddenly remembered Joshen and Bruke. “Where are my friends?”
He made a high-pitched trilling sound of displeasure. “Pogg not lets hairy one in house.” He jerked his head toward a bed on the other side of the room. “Other does worses. Takes longer.”
Joshen lay under a mound of blankets with only his disheveled head visible. “Joshen,” Senna cried. She launched herself from the bed to the knotted wooden floor. The world swirled and dimmed. Her feet smarted like a million bee stings. With a groan, she closed her eyes and dropped onto the soft mattress. Gripping the sides to keep herself upright, she waited for the flashing lights to pass. When she could, she stood carefully, her arms splayed for balance. Tottering like a baby calf on new legs, she worked her way to Joshen’s bed and collapsed beside him.
His ashen face and pale lips were nothing in comparison to the jagged rattle in his lungs. Tears stung her eyes. “Will he be alright?”
Pogg waddled to her side. “Sea goes in. Pogg gets somes out and boy breaths, but nows he hot.”
Senna pressed her hand against his forehead. His skin felt like sun-baked rocks. “Very hot.” She tried to remember all the herbs useful for healing. “Pesnit. I need pesnit for his fever. And some garku for strength wouldn’t hurt.”
Pogg started toward the door. “Comes. Pogg shows.”
Reluctantly, Senna stood, but her dizziness was quick to return and slow to pass. Outside the door, she looked down, a long, long set of stairs. She swayed as they seemed to rush toward her. Closing her eyes, she reached out to steady herself.
A gurgling sound of disapproval reached for her from far away. Pogg waited for her at the bottom of the stairs, his cheeks twitching with what she guessed was impatience. She teetered down the stairs.
Pogg opened the door and darted back with a high-pitched yelp.
With a bark, Bruke lunged toward her, knocking her to the floor. Ignoring Pogg’s furious babbling and shoves, the dog licked her furiously, his tail wagging as fast as he could make it.
She pushed him off. “Not now, Bruke.”
With a delighted yap, he jumped up and sprinted out the door. Rolling to her knees, she pushed herself up and looked outside. Below her, more stairs sloped like water frozen over rolling stones. From the open door, the heady smell of flowers, green and damp dirt spilled into the room. A sound like the symphony of colorful birds added an undercurrent to the smell.
Already, she felt stronger, rejuvenated.
She stepped outside. Below her, the woven walls of the building forked to bite into the rich, brown Earth. Leaves sprouted from the roof. “It’s a tree!”
Pogg looked at her as if she’d suddenly sprouted mushrooms from her nose. “What else woulds it be?”
She gaped in awe. She was in the midst of a forest of tree houses—some taller than the tallest buildings she’d ever seen. Between them, plants grew fat and tall, as if stretching to devour the very air. From each tree, a worn path wound through the dense foliage toward a larger, center path—like feeder streams into a river. It seemed overgrown and neglected now.
There was no doubt about it. She’d made it to Haven.
Joshen, her mind was quick to remind her. “The garden?” Dropping from two legs to four, Pogg scurried past the network of roots beside the tree faster than she’d have thought possible.
Singing quickly to clear the plants, she followed. At the back of the tree house, she stopped suddenly. An enormous garden was filled with every kind of medicinal plant she could imagine and many others. It had the look of long neglect, but neglect someone had recently tried to remedy.
The plants called hungrily to her. She answered.
Take in light, Take in air,
Stretch thy roots, thy leaves grow fair.
The garden practically sighed in relief as she repeated the song.
Snatching herbs for Joshen, she rushed back, singing the whole while. With groans of relief, the plants and trees around her stretched their limbs and shook out their leaves.
She hurried up the stairs to the house, Bruke glued to her side.
“Hairy one not goes in house,” Pogg cried.
Senna stopped abruptly. He resented her presence on the island. That much was obvious. But she didn’t have time to find out why. Joshen didn’t have time. “I need him. Where’s the kitchen?”
Pogg let out a gurgle of disapproval, but pointed. Searching through cupboards for a pot, she quickly boiled tea and hurried back up the seamless stairs. Sitting next to Joshen, she felt his forehead. He was still so hot. If she didn’t get the fever down and soon, it might be too late. “Pogg, I need a bucket of water.”
Standing again, Pogg padded out the door, but not before shooting a warning glare at Bruke.
Using a perfectly shaped wooden spoon, she parted Joshen’s lips and ever so slowly dribbled the tea into his mouth as he swallowed reflexively. Hoping for even the slightest improvement, she felt his forehead. She pulled back in shock.
His fever was worse.
What if he doesn’t make it? she wondered. Her arms began to tremble. She forced them to still. Tears slipped down her face. It was too much. Her sister and father before her birth. Then her mother. And now Joshen. “Joshen, please don’t. Please. Everyone I love leaves me. Please.”
Bruke whined and nudged her hand. She patted his head. “I know, everyone except you.”
His ears alert, the dog faced the door. Beneath her palms, his body vibrated with a low growl.
Pogg stumbled into the room, a bucket of water tipping and sloshing with each step. With a grunt, he set it down beside her.
Seemingly unable to control himself, Bruke barked.
Pogg arched his back and trilled sharply.
Senna covered her ears. “Stop it!”
His face twitching, Pogg straightened his back and shot her a piercing look. Without another word, he scrambled to the opposite bed and climbed up.
Senna glared at Bruke. “Sit.”
Bruke plopped on the floor.
She nodded to Pogg—after all, he’d saved their lives. “Thank you, for the water and … well, thank you.” Turning quickly back to Joshen, she peeled off his stiff shirt. She dipped a cloth into the cool water and traced it across his skin. Gooseflesh bubbled beneath her touch. She studied the muscles that had begun to fill out his lanky arms. “He will be as muscular as his father, if he lives long enough,” she whispered to herself.
“Forbiddens for any males to comes unbidden to Haven! Forbiddens!” Pogg practically shouted.
Senna jumped. “Why is it forbidden?”
His strange fishy eyes peered at her. “Only Witches.”
Senna shifted, unconsciously putting herself between Joshen and Pogg. “Well, you aren’t a Witch!”
He trilled again, but softer this time. “Last of Mettlemots, Pogg is. Last. Last. Last. Witches takes pities on Pogg. Lets him stays if he fishes for them.” He unwrapped himself and ambled over. Bruke growled. Pogg ignored it. “Pogg takes pities on boy. Lets boy stays.”
“Thank you,” she managed. She wondered what she’d have done if Pogg had said otherwise?
“Keepers,” he continued. “Dark Witch comes. Catches them. Takes them alls way. Only Pogg lefts.”
Mechanically, Senna bathed Joshen’s arms and chest. “If you help me—teach me what you know, I’ll fight her. I promise you.”
Pogg eyed her dubiously. “Dark Witch, Head Witch once. She calls meeting. Tells all Witches theys rulers of world. Man bows to them or they kills plants and stops rains ’til man listens.
“Other Witches says no. Some join Dark Witch—Servants. Some join Witches—Keepers. Witch fight! Horrible!” Pogg swayed to the rhythm of his words. “Keepers loses Witch fight. Banishes selves! But Dark Witch not finished. No! Not finished!
“Sacra has little Brusenna then. Sacra hides; not wants Brusenna dead like father and sister.”
“But Dark Witch takes Keepers from Haven. Moons forgettings to change the tides. Fogs rollings in, but not rollings out. Rain comes when not supposed to. Soon winter comes in summer and all dies. Then men bows to Dark Witch. She bes queen then! No Witch stops her then!”
Pogg shook his head. “Pogg shows you. Then you frees Witches. This time, Keepers kills Dark Witch!”
12. SECRETS
Senna pulled at the collar of her shirt. Sea salt had settled into the fabric, making her itch like she’d rolled in hay. And worse than the itch, she smelled of vomit. She longed to change her clothes, but if she left and something happened … With a sigh, she worked the rag down Joshen’s long arms, across his chest, down his stomach, neck and forehead. She wrung water into his hair. Smoothing it back from his face, she fanned him.
How many times had she repeated this process over the long night? Fifty? A hundred? She’d gone through all her scales and practiced the Witch songs in her mother’s journal until her voice went hoarse. But at least she still had the journal. She had Mcbedee and his watertight drum to thank for that.
Pressing her ear to his chest, she listened for any sign of the rattle. She closed her eyes in relief. Still gone. With a moan, Joshen tossed beneath her. Her face wet and hot, she watched him squirm, like he was trying to twist away from the fever and pain. He groaned again, the whites of his eyes showing, before finally settling back to his unnaturally deep, harsh breathing.
If he didn’t start getting better and soon, he’d die. A tremor shook her to her bones. Tears slipped from her eyes faster than she could wipe them.
At the sound of Pogg’s floppy feet on the steps, she turned toward the door. The Mettlemot had a limp fish clamped between his jaws. The fish fell to the floor with a dull thud. “Senna eats.”
She shook her head. “I can’t leave him ’til he’s a little better.”
Pogg made a disapproving gurgle as he jerked a sheet from the bed and dunked it in the bucket of water. He draped it over Joshen, crouched on the end of the bed and started awkwardly fanning.
Senna blinked in surprise. “Wish I’d have thought of that.” Pogg didn’t answer, but she hadn’t really expected him to.
All of a sudden, she couldn’t bear to be here another moment. At the door, Bruke’s head swung between Senna and Joshen. Finally, he let out a frustrated whine and hurried after her. After finding some wood and lighting a small fire in the stove carefully surrounded by bricks, she cooked the fish quickly, practically burning it in her hurry. Bruke was still working on the head and tail when she hustled upstairs to check on Joshen.
Pogg hadn’t moved from his crouch. His eyes shifted her way. “Senna takes bath. Smells like fish. Witches not likes that.”
She was too tired to be offended. Besides, she knew she smelled worse than fish. Rubbing her eyes, she nodded. “Where?”
“Fresh water.” He pointed, the webs between his fingers crumpling like wet laundry. “Senna finds it?”
She nodded.
She raided the house for soap and found some relatively clean yet slightly musty clothes and headed off in the direction Pogg had indicated. As she walked, she studied her surroundings. Unimaginable lushness surrounded the barren houses with windows as black and lifeless as the eyes of a corpse. She shivered. So beautiful … and so empty.
Near one of the cliffs, she found a shallow pool filled with emerald water that felt luxuriously warm—probably heated by the volcano. After she’d bathed, she started back, shivering as her wet shift clung to her and the scrubbed laundry dripped from her arm. She arranged the clothes over the plants outside and hurried upstairs to find Joshen tossing again.
Pogg studied her with an unreadable expression.
With her arms crossed self-consciously over her breasts, she took a deep breath. “Thank you.”
He handed her the fan and waddled out the door.
She worked over Joshen, her arms heavy with fatigue and her back sore, long into the night. The entire time, she sang, as if some part of her hoped the songs she sang to strengthen plants might do the same for Joshen. At some point, she noticed sweat beading on his upper lip and hair line. Tossing the rag into the nearly empty bucket, she touched his forehead.
He was cooler!
Over the next hour, she watched as Joshen sweated out the last of his fever. His body relaxed. Finally, he let out a long, deep sigh.
“Thank the Creators,” she said with relief. Too tired to feel anything but a numb joy, she collapsed beside him.
Senna awoke to find sunlight drenching the room in gold. As though pulled by some unnatural force, she rolled over and her gaze met Joshen’s. She swam in the sea of his gray-blue eyes. “Joshen?”
His brows wrinkled and he sounded battered, as if he had been dragged behind a horse. “Senna?”
She threw herself onto his chest. “You’re okay,” she sobbed.
He weakly embraced her, his arms patting her bare shoulder. “Well, of course I am. Hungry as a half-starved horse, but other than that …” he trailed off as Senna’s sobs increased. Gently, he pulled her back. “Senna, what’s the matter? And why are we in the same bed?”
She shook her head, wiping her tears. “You’ve been sick.”
His brow creased. “For how long?”
“This is the third day.”
His eyes widened.
She smiled and pressed her palm to his cheek. She felt giddy, like she could dance and sing and cry all at once. “You said you were hungry. I’ll go make you something.”
Outside, she threw on one of the borrowed dresses before hurrying to the kitchen to prepare an herb stew.
Pogg came in dripping wet, a fish wriggling between his clamped jaws and a starfish tucked under his arm. The Mettlemot grinned broadly at her. She winced. It wasn’t like a human smile. Pogg must have known people widened their mouths to show they were happy. So he did too. But it didn’t have the same effect.
Feeling guilty for her reaction, she smiled weakly back. Even still, he seemed genuinely happy as he handed her the fish. “Other does better. Fish makes strong.” He tossed the starfish to Bruke, who immediately tore into the chewy treat.
Senna figured Mettlemots must be like a seal or walrus, hunting in the seas but living on the land. She felt a surge of fondness for the creature. “I’m not sure Joshen should have meat yet,” she said gently.
Pogg looked at her oddly. “Fish makes boy strongs. Gives him strengths.”
She debated. Joshen hadn’t had solid food for days. Better to start small. But perhaps some fish broth would help. She cut the meat into chunks and dumped it in a pot with the herbs.
“Fish,” she mumbled as she set the entrails on a plate for Bruke. “I’m so sick of fish I could eat a whole steer.” But as far as she could tell, the island had nothing else. Not even chickens.
She strained meat
from Joshen’s bowl but left hers alone. Joshen slid eagerly back on the bed as she came into the room. She handed him the bowl and sat beside him. One look at her soup and he traded his for hers. Before she could argue, he gulped down half of it. With a sigh he leaned back against the wall. “Senna, I’m sorry.”
Examining his broth with distaste, she set it down on a side table. “For what?”
“For using my knife on the kelp. I didn’t understand, I—”
She pressed her fingers to his lips. Her skin tingled at the contact. “Shh. You didn’t know. No real harm done.”
Joshen nodded and gulped a few more swallows of soup. Already, his eyelids drooped heavily.
Senna stood. “Rest for a while. By tomorrow, you should be able to move around.”
Finishing the rest of the bowl in one gulp, Joshen nodded and scooted down in the soft covers.
Senna made her way quietly toward the door. When Bruke started to follow her, she shook her head. “No, stay.”
His tail hanging between his legs, Bruke trudged over to Joshen’s bed.
Downstairs, Senna dumped the broth back in with the rest of the stew and made herself another bowl. As she ate, she fidgeted under Pogg’s watchful eye. “Would you like me to get you a bowl?”
“Pogg eats them in water,” he informed her.
Imagining him swallowing fish whole, she shuddered. But he continued to stare at her. “What?”
“Senna comes with Pogg.”
Casting a nervous glance upstairs, she finished her soup and followed Pogg out of the tree house and deeper into the island. The bleak windows seemed to stare back at her. She imagined the Dark Witch watching from the shadows. “Will the Dark Witch find me here?”
Pogg shook his head. “Only Keepers can find Haven. When Dark Witch imprisoned, Witches took Dawn Song from her.”