The Unnaturalists

CHAPTER 18

The fever had seized Syrus almost as soon as he’d gotten out of the City. Bayne had directed him to make his way to Virulen and offer his services at the kitchen; he’d even written a letter of reference. “Go there and watch over Vespa when she arrives,” he’d said. “Take her to the Manticore as soon as you can. We must keep her safe from Charles.”

But something was in Syrus’s blood—a terrible itching. When the strange and beloved Forest greeted him for the first time in weeks, he fell under its spell as one who has finally found his oasis after wandering in the desert. He very nearly forgot who he was when he heard a distant dryad singing a swaddlesong he remembered from his childhood. He burned to find her, to hear her sing those words to him again. He ambled through the mists and dells, wild as any Elemental. Sometimes, he dreamed that he walked on four feet instead of two.

When at last Truffler found him shivering inside a hollow log, it took days of gentle ministration before the hob could bring the boy back to himself.

Then came the morning that Syrus sat bolt upright in the pile of blankets Truffler had dragged in from Tinkerville, nearly knocking his head against the wooden roof of their makeshift infirmary.

Truffler turned from the makeshift brazier. “Quiet,” he said, making gestures of peace.

“But I have to . . . I need to . . .” Syrus remembered the rogue warlock’s threats and how only the cave sprites’ intervention had saved him and Bayne. He thought of the witch, barely come into her power and mostly defenseless—the perfect target. “I need to go to the Big House!” he said.

Truffler eyed him. “Not now. Quiet.”

Syrus remembered a time when he’d been small, not long after Truffler had first bonded with him. He’d tried to climb up a sheer cliff by himself when all the older boys had left him behind. Truffler had wrestled him to the ground with his hairy arms and held him there until he’d succumbed. Syrus had no doubt Truffler could still do the same if he wished.

“All right,” he said, lying back down. Rain drummed above his head. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but it was the most comforting thing he could think of—outside of hearing his Granny tell her stories, of course—to be safe in the Forest with Truffler caring for him. He only wished it could last forever, instead of just a little while.