The Source of Infection

“Mold.” The Physician crouched, preparing for any escalation from Fritz. When no more tendrils came, he continued. “That is the rot. Not beast-like, not plant-like. Something that happened within one month of human time.”

The last two words stung Fritz. He looked below, to what was now something that had run out of time. It made sense to him now.

“That’s what Tarry told me. No, not about your diagnosis. The fact that plants can die because of tiny mushrooms.”

Fritz’s sounded resigned, like he was about to do something he would definitely regret. The Physician opened his mouth, but Fritz continued.

“Tarry was a satyr.” His roots turned back to toes. Fritz teetered on the ground delicately. “He travelled a lot. We met around six years ago. In your time—”

“That equals one year ago,” the Physician spared Fritz the time adjustment. “We have been working the timeline discrepancy. Milica wondered why you could separate the two temporal senses, though, and I haven’t been able to answer it. Sorry—professional curiosity. Go on.”

Fritz must have made a face so dumb that even in darkness, he could see the Physician’s mercy.

“Tarry said he was sorry for not coming sooner. He had heard about my mother's death long ago, but his work kept him away. Then one year ago—human time—he appeared, asking around about the iron flower dryad that was my mother.”

Fritz sat down, his body leaning against the grave.

“Tarry was my father.”

The Physician, no longer sensing any hostility, mimicked Fritz’s gesture. His hand felt the shape of the brownstone rubble. They suddenly got heavier. A mark of someone’s soul.

“This is his tombstone,” the Physician guessed.

Fritz looked at him blankly. “That was what you humans called it, right? Tombstone. For dryads and satyrs, death is something… easy. Our souls can die, but they can be replaced with other plants. The earth eventually raises newer versions of us. But when Tarry died… the earth did not recycle him. Dryads and satyrs began to talk. They said something about a punishment for courting my mother. For—for letting someone like me exist.”

“It does not matter so long as you cherish him.” The Physician inched closer. “I can’t say what he’s done to your mother was right. But you were never wrong for being alive.”

Fritz barked a bitter laugh. “Yet Tarry was deemed wrong to die. The entire forest—they despised him. The stuff he brought from the outside world tempted other dryads. The satyrs found him aggravating—a rival for seducing the other dryads. In life and in death, he found value nowhere.”

The last two sentences made the Physician sigh. “Human life is not for other humans to set value on.”

“We are not humans,” Fritz countered.

The Physician scratched his head with his tentacle. “Err, you were right. But you get my point.”

The male dryad stood up. The crescent moonlight in its last sprint for the night shone on Fritz’s outline. His hair was shaped like bell-shaped fritillaria petals—sunset orange in a bob cut with ends that began to grey. Fritz turned around, his soft green complexion towering above Tarry’s grave.

“You said it was about mold,” Fritz began. “The truth is, I don’t care what caused the rot.”

A flicker. Fritz’s face lit up, beating the moonlight.

“Even if you could cure the rot, the accusation would hold. It does not matter who cherishes who. The world deemed him a mistake.” Fritz held a fire. No—he immolated himself. “No matter how hard you can convince yourself what caused the disease, it is still easier to pin the blame on the outcasts. What sickens this forest was never simply mold. It was the fear of the unknown.”

The Physician bit his lip. That story sounded too familiar. He moved—but two vines had sneakily appeared on his leg and his mouth.

“That boastful vampiress was nearby,” Fritz deduced. “I can’t let you call for her. I meant no harm to you, Physician. After Tarry and I become dust, you will be released.”

Fritz used the remaining tendrils to unearth the mound beneath him. A foul stench erupted. The Physician could make out the shape of a corpse—with a tattered shirt, damp skin, and a face that was covered with grey-brown clouds. A head, gory in detail, ending in twin broken horns of a mouflon. His diagnosis was right, and Fritz’s epidemiological exclusion was also right. Tarry’s decayed body was the source.

Desperately, the Physician yanked Fritz’s root. He shook Milica’s warning inside his head. With his remaining tentacles-as-sideburns loose, he touched Fritz’s roots, finding his nerve and exchanging venom with the male dryad.

Waves of emotion and memory washed over the Physician. He saw Tarry—a human with goat horns. Tarry taught Fritz to read, gently. They discovered Fritz’s ability to absorb metals. The ability to allow—the Physician felt a pang of envy—Fritz absorbed knowledge from the iron ink. The Physician saw Tarry returning one day and felt feverish to Fritz’s touch. Fritz removed Tarry’s jacket. A bow wound was wrapped carelessly, surrounded by pustules. Fritz had tried to take care of Tarry, along with several dryads, one particular white dryad helping the most. Fritz muttered, tears golden beneath the dusklight, ‘You will return as a plant, Tarry.’

Tarry’s corpse remained lifeless, never recycled; the rain did not dissolve him. On the third day, the smell assaulted the forest. The Physician felt Fritz’s confusion. Many of the dryads had voted to haul Tarry’s body away from the forest. Fritz vetoed. His proponents were only what the Physician heard as ‘peripheral dryads.’ The Physician felt the phantom pain of being rammed in the gut.

“What did you do to me!?”

Fritz had dropped to his knees. The bind on the Physician’s mouth loosened.

“I had no choice. Stop this at once, Fritz,” he said, finally breathing easily. “I can concoct a cure. You don’t need to burn your father.”

“Even if you can, there is no point convincing them. Any future ailment in this forest will be pointed to him. To us!” Sparks had jumped from Fritz’s hand, trailing to the nearest lavender patch. The top note of singed flowers stung the Physician’s nostril with inappropriate sweetness. “You never know what it is like to be a plaything of your own people, constantly wishing they’d never known you!?”

The Physician met Fritz’s eyes. Should he use his story to calm Fritz down? “Well…”

“Oh, shut up,” said someone suddenly. “What do you know about Fratello?”

A blade cut through the air. With extreme precision, the self-immolated arm was cut from the male dryad’s body. Fritz flinched not from pain, but from surprise.

“Vampiress,” Fritz yelped. The flame that had devoured the lavender returned to catch his roots. “I thought you were afraid of fire.”

“Of course I am!” When Milica approached them, she closed her eyes. He thought she was having epistaxis, but it turned out she was using her clotted blood to clog her nose. “I also hate lavenders and oranges! It reeks here! Ugh! I don’t wanna be here! But I have to come!”

Contrary to Milica’s complaint, she stayed close to the Physician. With another blade, she cut the Physician’s entrapment. All the while looking (with closed eyes) toward Tarry’s remains.

“That was the satyr, huh.” Milica knotted her eyebrows. “He emitted the freshest scent so far tonight.”

The Physician freed himself from the remaining root. “I know I haven’t taken a bath since we arrived here, Milica, but that still kinda hurts to hear.”

Milica kicked the Physician’s shin. The Physician took it as a wrong signal and walked closer to Fritz, ignoring the fire.

“Brownstone,” he began, offering the rubble that was still in his hand. “You used this as a tombstone. Tarry gave this to you, right? This is the first component of the mold’s cure. The stone contained rare ores. I think—well, I kinda read your memory—Tarry already knew that one day, someone would hunt him.”

Fritz looked at the Physician, flabbergasted. “How do you—”

“I am just that kind of mad physician.” Two tentacles as the Physician’s sideburns wiggled. “Enough of me. There is still one more component to complete the cure, but it’d require an intact forest, not a charred one.”

Fritz looked back to Tarry’s corpse.

“He’s all I have.” The male dryad breathed hard. “If the forest will burn him anyway, at least I have to accompany him.”

“He will always be there for you,” the Physician continued, walking even though the ground was on fire, “so long as you remember him.”

“I know!” Fritz trembled. His stump began to pulse grey once again, now that he was so close to the source of infection. “You can take Tarry away from this forest. Bury him elsewhere. It’s enough, right?”

“You said it yourself—your cohort will eventually push you to this stage. I can’t leave here until I am sure my patient won’t burn himself once I leave.”

“Of course they will!” Against his fear, Fritz extended his healthy hand to the fire. A brighter spark erupted. “It’s just as you said, Physician, other people can’t decide one’s value. Well, I am now choosing. I have no—”

Because of the fire, the Physician had thought the sparkling movement on the lake was the spark’s reflection. Then the first volley of cloves happened. White husks carrying the lake’s water flew at them. Garlics that functioned as aquatic fire-safety, as humongous as dragon’s eggs, doused the fire.

That white figure, despite the ground still seared and Fritz’s hand still on fire, jumped on him. One of the cloves finally landed on Fritz’s hand. The Physician had a clear way. He approached the three figures. Two alive, with one dead.

“Resia?” Fritz tapped the white figure with his stump. “How?”

Resia didn’t answer. At least half a dozen heads resurfaced on the lake. They flung more cloves. The Physician remembered their faces. They were the ‘outcasts’ in Fritz’s memory.

“Everybody…” Resia choked on a sob. “Everybody came here… I am late… Because… When Milica said you’ll burn the forest… Everybody…”

The Physician was as confused as Fritz. They both looked at Milica. She was just as befuddled, so she shrugged. Very helpful.

“Resia, I am okay now.” Fritz tried to sit up, and the Physician lent him a hand because Fritz had lost one. “It’s the only thing I thought I could do to end the rot. I just wanted to burn myself.”

Milica made a face.

“It will be painful…” The girl called Resia stuttered. She glared at Fritz with red eyes. “Even if it’s just temporary, you will not be here anymore…”

“It’s just temporary.” Fritz managed a weak smile. “Before you know it, I will become another plant after I die.”

“No, you will die and remain dead.”

Even Milica flinched hearing the Physician interrupt the tender suicidal moment. The Physician ignored the triple questioning looks.

“Tarry was not a satyr,” the Physician continued slowly. “He was a hybrid of human and goat monster. Which means his progeny will be exempt from the recycling process. You are not simply a male dryad, Fritz. You are half-human, half-dryad.”