Forest Child

By Sharon L Reddy

The last forest child wants to be human. He ventures from his forest to explore and makes good friends, but the forest isn't quite done with him yet. His best friend seeks him there, after tragedy strikes. They hadn't planned on a five-century course of study. When they left the forest, it was possible to make the dream of being space traders possible, but what they'd learned carried a responsibility. The time wasn't as peaceful as it seemed.

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Sharon L Reddy
• Release date: Jun 6, 2011
• ISBN: 9781583385036

Sharon L Reddy

I write science fiction romance, but it's the literary definition of romance. Swashbuckle, Baby, in "white tie and tails." High romantic fantasies, million word mysteries, family sagas, statesmen, gurus and wise immortals. Loving dads, sons and brothers, and of course, the women who understand and appreciate them. High fashion and landscape design. Materials and art, the books are built to be read very fast, specifically for the way women visualize. Research on the soap operas of the fifties, trends in international populist (fan) fiction, technological development, and above all, long-term entertainment value. It has to be good in reruns. The intent is create a body of work that's just fun to read, in spurts or bursts over decades. Ethics, responsibility, nobless oblige, the power of money, the use of prestige. I write good guys win. Period. They're fantasies for women. Men with lots of muscle say, "I love you," a lot.Most of what is currently published was written in the first decade, 1991-1999, before Mother Nature changed my personal definition of "mature audience." I hope you'll remain with me as I and my work mature and enjoy the second decade of my work now being published, as well.I've lived many places and visited far more. My current residence is on a high mesa in New Mexico, in the United States, where I am engaged in a habitat restoration project.Explanation of the Pilots Group:Some of these works have been sitting on my hard drive close to twenty years and they're no fun for anyone just sitting there. They're exactly what they've been titled, pilots, like for a TV series. It is my intent and hope that other writers will choose to continue the adventures of the characters. There are only three restrictions. Don't kill off my heroes, don't make good guys bad guys and give my story credit if you publish. Yes, you may publish and make money on your stories. I loved reading and writing fan fiction, but the limitations on it could be frustrating, so... Have fun with these works that specifically don't have them.

Book preview

Sharon L Reddy

Forest Child

©1993, 2000, 2011

Target Yonder

Millennium Works Collection

Smashwords Edition

ISBN 978-1-58338-503-6

Chapter One

Carline looked at the small man and wondered what he'd used to make his skin seem sort of silvery. Not silver, it was creamy white with a slight blush of rose that said he was just plain healthy. The silver was a sheen that was just... silvery in the lights. She decided bold was becoming and sat down across from the redhead with gorgeous green eyes.

Hi, I'm Carline.

Hello.

I've never seen you before, so you've probably never come to Sparks before. Like the band?

I think so. My ears haven't decided if the music is good or they're being assaulted. It's very loud.

Won't seem so when the place gets packed with bodies in about an hour. You've got an accent I can't even begin to place and I'm pretty good.

This language was learned from another who had also learned it from another. The accent probably carries several within it.

Probably explains it. You're not going to tell me your name and where you're from?

I'm called Mand. My full name is difficult for a speaker of this language to pronounce. Mand is enough. I will know you call me if you say it.

How did you get your skin to shine sort of silvery?

I slept in the branches of a tree with silvered leaves.

Uh-huh. All right, you don't seem to want company. Sorry to bother you.

Wait. Please, I did not mean to make you feel unwelcome. The answer I gave was without thought. It's a question I didn't expect any would ask and I should have. The silver sheen does come from a tree. It's not exactly a secret, but I can't really explain the process and it's not something one can purchase. It also wasn't for this place. I came here after.

Some kind of religious ceremony? Sorry, that just popped out and I'm not sure where it came from.

By very broad definition, the answer to the question is yes. There is music and an open place, but no one dances.

They will. Somebody will start and a bunch more will decide they're ready. A lot of people are shy about being first on the dance floor. You?

I want to see how people in this place dance before I attempt it. Why is this place far from others and nearly in the forest?

It used to be a park recreation hall, but they built a new one. It had everything from parking to a stage, I guess, so some people bought it to give kids a place to dance.

Children?

Not exactly, young people not old enough to drink alcohol. It's not far from a couple big housing developments and the parking lot is watched, so the kids don't sneak out to drink in the cars and then come back in. Bill, the tall guy behind the bar, has proved he has one eye on the windows behind it often enough very few try it, or drinking before they come. He notices that too.

You like him.

I like everyone who works here and the people who got together to buy it. They don't charge more than it takes to keep the place open and pay the band and the help. They could probably all make more working other places, but they all believe kids need a place like this. They get a lot more people who are over twenty-one than they expected when they opened it. There are lots of bars where you can buy drinks in the area, but they don't have terrific bands and big dance floors. That's what I want and I don't need a drink to enjoy it. This is about five minutes from my place and I'd have to drive a half-hour or more to go someplace where I could get band, dance floor and a cocktail. I don't like alcohol that much.

I've never had it.

Under age or religious reasons?

Neither. I just haven't. Your expression tells me you find that odd. I like water and fruit juices. I also like herb teas. I usually choose something I know I like.

His explanation seemed to satisfy the young woman. Mand was surprised by how pleased he was she had just sat down and begun talking to him. He resisted the impulse to touch her silky-looking light brown hair. Then he resisted the impulse to arrange himself in the tight pants. He wondered how the young men around him arranged themselves. The 'jeans' they wore were as tight. He'd found his. They evidently chose theirs that way. He smiled and looked into Carline's pretty green-brown eyes.

Mand learned many things that night. He learned to dance like the young people. He learned some young women were uncomfortable dancing with a man not as tall as them and others weren't bothered by it at all. He learned to use money, and that what he'd found in the pocket of the very dirty jeans wasn't a great deal. He learned the 'cover charge' the waitress collected the first time she came to the table was pretty low for a place for a good band and drinks were cheap, and that those who could tipped. He learned he liked orange juice, and why many bought water in bottles even though glasses of it were free. He learned the room the men went into contained things designed for urination. When he left the place that night, he slipped quickly into the forest.

Carline kept thinking about the gorgeous man she'd met. He was only about five-four, but he was all man. The faded T-shirt and jeans had shown a lot of muscle. She went to Sparks three nights in a row. He wasn't there the second or third, but she didn't stop thinking about him. The third night she dreamed about him and murmured the name he'd told her. It would have surprised her a great deal to know he heard.

Mand carefully cleaned the jeans and shirt again and hung them on high branches for the sun and breeze to dry. The jeans were of sturdy weave, but the shirt was thin and he doubted it would remain whole much longer. He began to think about getting money. He wondered if he had any skills people would pay him to use. That evening he put on the jeans, shirt and the sandals he had woven of dried grasses and journeyed farther from the forest than he had ever gone before.

Mand followed the rough map and stood on the step in front of the door with the symbols, numbers, that matched the ones on the bit of paper Carline had given him. He was there, but he had no idea what to do next. An elderly man showed him. He walked to a door in the building facing the one Mand stood before. The man rapped sharply on it and it was opened. Mand smiled and knocked just as he had. Carline looked quite surprised when she answered.

Have I done wrong in coming here?

No, not at all. You just surprised me. Come in.

Carline told him she'd looked for him at Sparks. He explained he didn't have much money and didn't know if he had a skill that someone would pay him to use. When she pulled out a newspaper to help him check the want ads, she learned he couldn't read English.

Mand got his first ride in a car. Carline took him to a video store. She picked up three videos to help children learn to read. She'd begun to realize there was some type of deep mystery about him. She wasn't quite sure what had gotten into her when she made up her mind to help and not question. The help was just how she was. Not asking questions was very unusual.

Mand left at the time Sparks closed. Carline had given him three T-shirts she didn't wear and his mind danced with letters and words and with all the wonders he'd seen. She'd told him to come back when she got home from work the next evening. He was on her doorstep when she got there. He'd brought her a gift. She'd liked his sandals. He'd made her some.

Carline really looked at the sandals. They were woven of grass, braided very tightly and then the braids were woven together. The straps were the same. She wasn't really surprised they fit perfectly. She'd begun to just not be surprised. It had started when he'd been amazed by the VCR, then she'd been amazed by the speed with which he'd learned what was on the tapes. That evening she gave him a dictionary and a book.

Mand went to Carline's the next evening too. He had the small pack in which he'd found the blue jeans and shirt. It was filled with the foods of the forest. He told her they were salad. She learned he didn't eat meat. He wasn't bothered that she did, but he didn't. She was delighted with the wild foods he'd brought. He cautiously told her he lived in the forest. She cautiously asked if he had identification. The answer was no.

Mand sat down at the base of a big tree and leaned against it. He couldn't get the work he wanted because he couldn't prove he had a right to it. Too many came to the United States seeking its opportunities and the work must be given to those who had been born there, or who had asked to come and been granted permission. How could he prove he belonged in the land? Even Carline had been upset that he was an illegal alien. He wasn't. At least not as she'd explained it, but he couldn't tell her why. He knew she wouldn't be able to accept it. He calmed himself and wrapped himself in patience. He was disturbing the forest with his aggravation and frustration.

It was Saturday and Carline didn't have to work. Mand arrived before she quite got moving and she supervised while he made pancakes and coffee for them. He provided the berries to go in the pancakes. He'd decided he liked coffee by then. Carline was sure that was an understatement. He'd gone from making a face to hunting a cup as soon as he walked in the door in a two-day span.

This is my day off and I've decided we're going to just play today.

Play?

Yes. We're going to my boss's place. The family is out of town on vacation, but I've got the keys to the boathouse. There will be swim trunks you can use in it. I think we'll just stay there until tomorrow. The pontoon boat has comfortable mats and a sort of kitchen my boss put on it, including a coffee pot. We'll take food with us. We'll sleep out on the lake. I'll teach you to sail today and water ski tomorrow. You can swim?

Oh, yes, that I can do. Is the lake in the forest?

Not exactly. It's too well-developed to be called natural anymore. The property owners did do something nice though. Part of their association dues go to buying land that isn't developed and preserving it as wilderness. They've added quite a few acres to the state park. Well, preserved the land adjoining it as forest, anyway.

I like these people I haven't met.

My boss is pretty special. He grumbles about how high the home owner's association dues are, then gives his annual Christmas bonus to the forest preservation fund. His wife says he's sweet and their three kids put on backpacks and go hiking in 'the forest Daddy bought for everybody.' They take other kids, younger, sometimes and teach them how not to damage the forest. The oldest girl is going to Colorado State this fall to study environmental engineering. She says she plans on helping people find ways to live in harmony with the natural world around them instead of pushing it out of their way.

They don't just push. They destroy it.

We've begun to understand we must stop that and are working to help the forest recover. For thousands of years, humans had to carve their homes out of the wilderness and battle to hold the land that fed them. Now our numbers and tools have increased to the point the battle has become one to save it. We have learned it must exist or we too will die. The forests are the lungs of the world.

This is... why I am.

Why you are?

I am a child of the forest. I'm not an illegal alien, Carline. My home has always been the forest. I can't tell you of those who have always lived within it. It is they who taught me and carefully learned the language you speak to teach me. My accent is strange because the people who spoke my first language are gone from the world now.

A native tribe?! Indians?! You're too fair, Mand.

I am not... born of the ones who once lived with this land, but I am still the last of them. I thought of going to the government and trying to explain, but I envisioned a hundred archeologists digging in the forest for the remains of its people. I also envisioned not being believed, or being followed and badgered by those who seek the shy and few you call sasquatch. They do exist, but they have never been many and they too are going from the world. My forest is now empty of them. They have gone north. The cold suits them and there are still places man has not set his foot upon in the northern forests.

Yeah, you'd be followed, and the vision of archeologists is about too true. If... If you were found in the forest, maybe we can find out who you are.

What?

Mand, if you were lost as a small child, there will be a record of it.

I was called gift, not foundling.

Oh, boy, if you were just deserted, that's more difficult. Well, we can do a look-see and maybe come up with something. Mike Frank might help. He was a park ranger for twenty years. He'd remember if a little boy was lost about... twenty years ago.

Carline, I'd still have to tell of the many years and those who taught. It would still bring the diggers and the followers.

Not necessarily. Why don't you turn on the TV for a bit while I make some very careful phone calls?

Mand was very nervous. He'd told no untruth, but Carline had gotten a very mistaken idea from what he'd said. He couldn't show where and how he'd lived. He couldn't explain himself. If believed, he would be feared and so would the forest. More likely he would not be believed and placed in treatment for mental disorder, and carefully watched to see if he was dangerous. Carline's wide smile when she walked in and sat down beside him surprised him.

Mike remembered a lost child. The boy was not quite three years old. He had red hair. His mother was one of a group who went into the forest to 'commune with nature.' The boy was never found, but she didn't seem very worried. She told people she'd had a vision that he had been adopted by the forest. Mike also remembers seeing a very old man he was sure was an Indian a few times. There are reports of him and the belief he was a hermit who lived in the forest. One of them includes the story of a woman pulled out of a river by a 'not dressed man' who spoke to her in a language she didn't understand then ran into the forest. That was over fifty years ago. The boy's name was Mandrake. He was just beginning to talk.

This is... coincidence, Carline. I don't believe I'm that child. Mand is part of a many syllable name you would have much difficulty saying. I believe the lost child died peacefully in the forest, and as all life does, became part of the great cycle of death and rebirth.

Mand, it doesn't really matter, does it?

I don't understand.

There's no way to prove or disprove the possibility. There aren't even footprints on file. The birth was in a commune and registered by a midwife. The woman whose child wandered into the forest is only listed as Flower Heart. There's no father listed and the birth certificate names the boy Mandrake Heart. Mike remembers it well because the authorities were so frustrated that they couldn't get a 'solid' identity on the mother and she just left the second day of the search. Mike says she went from tears and worry to smile and statement the forest had adopted her baby in a five-minute span.

You think I should... accept the name and the past.

Mand, existing in this society without them is not impossible, but it's a limited existence and puts you outside the law. I've got Mike thinking about how to do this without a big stir. Nothing more can actually be done until Monday anyway, so he, me and you all have some time to think about it. Let's get some groceries and head for the lake. My boss would be disappointed if I didn't accept the special treat he gave me when he handed me his boathouse keys. I just know better than to go alone and you're the first I've wanted to take with me.

Mand didn't know Mike lived in the condo two north from Carline. He met them at her car. Mand was very nervous and shy. The strong-looking man with silver hair told him they would find a way to keep his reappearance from becoming a media event. He warmed to him when he realized he had tears in his eyes. He believed the child he'd helped search for so long ago in his life had been found. His tears were the reason Mand decided to accept the identity of Mandrake Heart. He would not take the deep joy of belief from the man who had spent a third of his life protecting the forest he so obviously loved.

Mand did learn to sail, but he and Carline spent a great deal of time in the water. The little two-person sailboat was, thankfully, quite easy to turn right side up. Carline told Mand he swam like an otter and he said yes. She taught him the crawl and side stroke. He liked them and sailing. That night, on the pontoon boat in the middle of the lake, beneath a full moon, she taught him to make love. It was a wonderful surprise to him.

Sunday, Carline taught him to water ski. He needed about three minutes of instruction on how to get the skis on and two minutes of it were probably unnecessary. He needed a bit more instruction on how to drive the boat so she could ski. That evening he asked her to stop near the forest and let him out. It surprised and disappointed her a bit. He kissed her gently and told her he had a need for its shelter and peace because he had so many new things to think about and the day would bring more changes. He smiled and told her she knew she'd see him very soon because she knew he'd liked one thing he'd learned very much.

Mand carefully folded his jeans and shirt and laid down in a moonlit clearing. The forest welcomed him home, but there was a sadness to it. The last child of the forest had chosen to become a man. It was inevitable, but so was the sadness. In the morning, Mand ran through the forest, bathed in a cold stream, breakfasted on the plenty around him, chattered with the squirrels and birds, then went to the condo complex. He knocked on Mike's door.

Hello, I hope you have time to talk to me and have a pot of coffee on.

Both and you're most welcome. Come on in. My wife is playing golf, lunching with the girls and shopping afterward. This is a good time to really talk.

Mike, I can't say much. I don't remember anything but the forest. I just can't talk about the people who are now gone from it. They didn't want to be known. They were of an ancient race and the forest was home to them before great tribes followed the buffalo across the plains. At one time people sought them out for their knowledge of plants and animals, then came those who followed legend and hunted them for their knowledge of where gold and silver could be found. It was then that they retreated to places where no person would find them, but they knew some of what transpired in the world. I was taught English because I am the last and... too curious to always remain away from people. Now I am the only child of the forests of my kind.

A tribe we didn't know about. It's even reasonable.

The tribe isn't unknown, Mike. It's spoken of in stories and legends. It's just that the speakers are quite sure they're just stories and legends, myths people created to explain things they didn't understand.

There's a grain of truth in every legend, like the grain of sand around which the oyster makes a pearl.

The oyster isn't nearly as pleased about the process as humans are. It works hard to stop the grain of sand from rubbing it raw, and just when it's gotten the irritating thing nicely wrapped, someone cracks it open to get it.

You don't want this cracked open.

You believe I'm a lost child and was raised by one who lived in the forest. You don't have a need to find out who, where, who came before, how they lived, how many there once were, what they ate, how long they were there, why they died out and where, or if, they buried their dead to believe. Some would not believe without that proof and some would hunt for it to convince them.

How did they bury their dead?

They didn't. They became part of the forest in hidden groves in its heart. There are no bodies or remains to be found, Mike. There are no tools or utensils and no ancient campfires. They didn't use fire, hunt animals, or build structures. Those were choices they made. They knew how, but they didn't. No remains of a wintering were left in caves. No evidence of their presence was left behind. No track was left in soft soil. I scatter the shells of nuts. I don't step in soft soil. It can be avoided.

Not easily.

"It does require learning. The mark of the people is in the places of rich life in the forest. You can feel the peace of them there. It's the only mark they chose to make. Look at my sandals and understand how it is possible. When they become worn, I will scatter