Witch Song (Witch Song #1)

Chapter 12

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. Senna's 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.