The Reborn Forest

by Renee Bradshaw

“Yes, or other uses.” Regret seeped through his voice and lay over the old woman like a blanket; as if he could tell what her fate would be just by the color of her eyes.

  “How long do these trees live?” another woman asked, her voice persistent and impatient compared to the old woman’s. The spell of truth wavering in the air snapped away.

  “Till they fall or get cut down. Come on. We’re taking too long.”

  They continued their trudge along the path, dumping each team without fanfare.

  “Tango and Sierra.” While the rest of the names had been foreign, but sturdy in a way, Tango and Sierra sounded silly to Mara’s ears. Like the name of a dance long forgotten. Girls with short silver hair and butterflies in their stomachs, as hands touched and feet waited to spin under a spotlight.

  Mara stepped over the threshold into her quadrant and glanced at Tango. He looked so solemn, focused ahead as the group walked away. Mara considered it might be good that he was scared. Perhaps the fear would berate him into taking their job just seriously enough.

  Mara took her duties of the day seriously as well. But Tango looked like he would never turn his back on a single decree. In his fear, he would probably never bend, nor break, nor forget a single rule.

  Mara, however, was there to turn her back on many rules.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Two Weeks Earlier

  Mara’s apartment was stale and uniform. One would never be able to tell at a glance that her whole life had changed that morning. Everything was the same in her little room with its tan bed, lonely stuffed chair, sparse closet and tiny kitchenette.

  “A lottery winner,” Mara said, hanging the garment bag, fresh from the cleaners, on the back of her closet door.

  Mara had lived in the same apartment for fifteen years and she had only added two things to make the space unique; a rotating photograph screen on the wall, and a welcome mat just inside the front door.

  The room looked the same every morning when Mara emptied her wastebasket in the hallway garbage shoot, then left for work.

  The wastebasket was not empty that evening.

  In the bottom of the wastebasket lay a piece of paper, something thin and brown extending from the edge. Someone had been inside her apartment.

  Mara glared. “Options?”

  Mara picked the safe choice. The easy way. Pretend like nothing was out of the ordinary. She sped by the wastebasket, eyes trained on her bathroom door.

  “Mara.”

  She stopped. A whisper.

  It’s all in my head. I’m too exhausted. I need to go to sleep earlier tonight.

  The sides of the wastebasket pulsed in time with her quickening heartbeat.

  If Mara ignored the paper and threw it out in the morning with the rest of her trash, there would be no inquiry. Not that she had anything to hide from investigators, but the paperwork alone was maddening. Not to mention the paperwork she would have to make up after missing days of work for an investigation. It would be an inconvenience; and one she did not want to fall prisoner to.

  Only two obvious options presented themselves:

  Ignore.

  Read.

  She would pretend as though the message was not there.

  The sides of the wastebasket pulsated again.

  Look at it. Just once. See what it means. It could have been a piece of trash stuck in the bottom of the basket this morning.

  People lie to themselves in the beginning. When a hot shower and a glass of cold water sound inviting. When people would rather pull out their e-readers and see what stories are available that evening, instead of involving themselves in an actual story. It is nothing. Always nothing, until they made it something.

  At that moment, Mara wanted to believe she had been careless in her morning routine. She had not been left a message by Questioners. Winning the lottery and finding a message all in one day? Too much to believe.

  A test perhaps? The best option was to walk out of the room, take the elevator down to the front office, report a break in and submit to the government run investigation.

  Be a good citizen.

  Or, and Mara’s head filled with her mother’s voice, read it.

  If Mara were to touch the paper she would accept that there may be more to life than being a good citizen. She could not unread a letter. She could not undo her action.

  The age old mantra on the tip of her tongue. “If you peek, it is too late.”

  She grabbed her jacket from the back of the door. An investigation would be better than being taken away. Snuffed out.

  She would not leave her father without family. At least Mara’s mother had been reborn in her death. They might see her again in the afterlife. Mara, however, would be tossed away if she gave into the temptation of reading the message.

  Mulched.

  She turned the doorknob, and froze. A noise.

  Quiet. Barely there. A whisper. Not in her head at all.

  Someone behind her.

  She looked over her shoulder in time to see a sliver of light appear. Then as if it had only been a fleeting trick of the eye, the light disappeared under her bed.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Mara leaned against the cool steel gate, watching the others disappear around the bend.

  Across from her, Tango pushed away from his gate and knelt to open his case. Mara watched, intent on finding out if he was her contact. He seemed unlikely. The agitation and fear playing on his face did not remind Mara of anyone who had been in the forest before.

  “I guess we’d better get to it,” she said, clapping her hands. Tango only stared at his box. “Do you want to meet for lunch out here?” Mara’s heart thudded hard against her ribcage as she asked the question. It all seemed so silly back in her apartment - learning secret codes. But out there the words lost all humor.

  Tango did not acknowledge her as he pulled a sheet of laminated paper out of his box. She quieted the nerves in her stomach. No need for alarm, just one lonely person asking another to join them for lunch, that was why the code was so natural. She cleared her throat.

  “The atmosphere, what with all the foliage, I’d imagine is quite lovely while you eat.” Conversation away from work was hard to come by, and her words sounded awkward to her ears.

  He slid everything back into his box and stood, his expression changing, hardening, as he turned to her. “I’m going to work fast, so I can watch my shows before we go back.”

  Tango patted the front pocket of his overalls, exposing the familiar outline of a tablet. Then he walked into the forest with purpose in his stride. The frightened man had been replaced with a confident one. The land thick with trees; it was only seconds before he was out of sight.

  Mara had never been one to rush into anything. Meticulous Mara. She weighed all sides of a situation before acting. Her father always said she thought too much. Too many gears needed to click into place before she could act.

  Her father’s voice was around her now. “Some people are born with strong instincts, and others have to see a problem from every angle before they can act.”

  She had tried many times to simply make a decision without collecting data and processing said data to death. In the moment she panicked. Every time. She was not sorry for it. Her thoroughness was one of the reasons for her yearly promotions.

  She sat down to study the contents of her box, instead of walking into the forest in any old direction. She ignored the emotional side of her, the exploring part of her mind. Even if Mara shimmered with both sides of a coin, for a moment she could only think about what it meant to be a lottery winner. The souls she was charged with planting sat in her lap, waiting to start their journey as a reborn. Her responsibilities.

  The dignity and honor in a soul’s rebirth did not take away from the pain their family and friends suffered in their absence. But rebirth held a promise.

  She looked at that promise now, in the great trees reaching heavenward, wondering which one held her mother’s soul. No placards hung from
the bark. No faces.

  The trees surrounding Mara stood tall and slender. White with black knots. Like auras visible to everyone, prisms sparkled around their bodies from the mid-morning sunlight. The black knots across their bark and the red berries that clung to the high branches watched over her.

  “Watching all of us.” Her voice like a knife slicing through the quiet sounds of the forest. As if she had snapped a rule of silence, a small brown bird dove through the treetops, screeching and startling Mara. She turned her attention back to her task.

  First she counted the urns inside the case. Thirteen palm-sized biodegradable circular urns, filled with the dehydrated crushed remains of the human brain – the cage of the human soul.

  Next, she flipped through plastic coated pages of the instruction book. Many detailed pictures, the written instructions – short and to the point. Numbers everywhere, swimming on and off the page. Meters to mark between the trees. Centimeters down to dig. How to time the twisting of the urns. Ounces of water to pour. She placed it all back in the case and set out along the fence to the back of the paddock. The forest grew sparser as she walked, letting the sun cut through the tree coverage and warm her body.

  Mara squatted in the corner and started her work, digging and burying. The lack of ceremony in the planting was depressing. There was no mention of names, no last questions, no thanking the souls for their gift of life. The whole act was different from anything Mara had ever imagined.

  Mara worked mechanically in the same manner generations of planters had in the hundreds of years before her human life. When rebirth was simply an option. And she worked with her emotions flowing openly from her soul, as those in her own generation did when they came to the forest. Those who realized creating a reborn was the only path for soul survival.

  “If only I’m allowed a rebirth after today.” She ran her hand over an urn, thinking of moving onward, then covered it with dirt. Her nails were already crusted with earth from just a few hours of work.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Two Weeks Earlier

  “Is someone there?” Mara asked, surely the bravest and stupidest person in existence. Of course someone was there. Lights do not flicker under beds for no reason. She cursed herself for not filling the space with boxes of trinkets.

  Open the door. Her hand did not so much as twitch. Run, idiot.

  “Mara. Please, don’t be afraid.” A quiet woman’s voice. Mara might have a fighting chance against someone docile.

  “Do you have a weapon?” Mara forced her tone to remain calm and even.

  “No. And it wasn’t my plan to hide under your bed.” A soft chuckle. “I didn’t expect you home so soon. I panicked when you opened the door.”

  Mara nodded. “It’s okay.”

  Years of politeness training shining through, even in the brevity of the situation. Even if her body told her to fear the unknown.

  Ever since she found a Questioners comic hidden in her mother’s nightstand when she was eight, she had wanted to be heroic. She imagined if they ever came for her, she would bravely accept her role in the fight. But now, faced with a choice, she might choose her humdrum life. Everything the same, day in and day out. She did not read secret messages stowed in trashcans. There were no Questioners hiding under her bed.

  She was getting ahead of herself. She did not know what the woman wanted. The stranger might just be a thief. Much better.

  “Are you a Questioner?” Mara asked, useless hand still grasping the doorknob. Which answer would cause her to throw the door open and sprint to the elevator?

  “Can I come out? Then we can talk?” the woman asked. Her voice was pleasant, followed by a gentle laugh, just as an old friend would.

  Mara considered her options again. “You can come out.”

  First came white sneakers. Then, small brown hands, attached to delicate wrists. Next, appearing from under the bed was the girl. She was much younger than Mara, at least ten years her junior. Her short silver dyed hair was not the only indication of her age, but the smoothness of her skin and her agility as she hopped to her feet also showed her youth. She possessed confidence that was beaten out of people the first years of work by long hours and demanding bosses.

  Her appearance calmed Mara. Only a girl. Mara dropped her hand to her side, but did not move otherwise.

  “Who are you?” Mara asked, holding her breath.

  “I’m Tayla,” the girl said, sticking her arm out to shake Mara’s hand. Nothing about this situation was normal, but Mara found comfort in the fact that Tayla’s skin was as soft as her own. The Questioners in the comics were people of the earth, people of labor. They would have calloused hands.

  “Are you a Questioner?” Tayla was too young. She would be in the building visiting a boyfriend, and wandered into Mara’s apartment somehow, then panicked when the door opened and hid under the bed. She was not there for Mara. This was not a conversion.

  “Yes.”

  Mara dropped the girl’s hand and backed into the wall, hitting her head on the jacket hook. Stars flooding her vision, she rubbed the back of her head and then yanked the door open. Mara could not stand up for the people. She would not fight back against a tyrannical and religious government. She had not been born with Questioner blood, but born Mara Strongholder, the copy assistant. The coward. The worker beaver whose crown achievement would always be her yearly promotion.

  “You took too long to open that door.” She sounded older than she looked. “Your investigation will not go well.”

  Mara froze, one foot in the hallway, the other planted firmly on her ‘Welcome Family’ doormat. Her father had given her the doormat, adorned with the forest symbol, last year for her thirty-second birthday.

  “You know I’m right.” Tayla moved next to Mara and nudged the door shut. Tayla slid the deadbolt into place before walking to the folding table attached to the wall. She propped the tabletop on its center leg. After she set up the folding chairs, she patted one. “Sit.”

  Mara did not move. Tayla opened cabinets, pushed the few food tins around and pulled out two short glasses, filled them with water, and sat down.

  “Aren’t you remotely interested why I’m here?” Tayla asked when she had drained her glass.

  Mara doubted Tayla would give her time to run through her mental checklist and determine the correct answer.

  “You… you must have me mixed up with someone else.” The words tumbled out of her mouth at a hurried pace. “I don’t have any skills that you would find useful. I just… I just make copies all day long. Shred stuff. Nothing useful to the cause.”

  Mara sat across from Tayla, her fingertip tracing the top of the glass in short jerking motions. Her mother used to say, “busy hands chase away the nerves.” The trick rarely worked, but she always tried it.

  “You’re mistaken. In two weeks, you will be the most useful person in this city.”

  “How do you figure?” Mara asked, curiosity teetering, threatening to become real.

  “In two weeks, you will be in The Reborn Forest.”

  Mara’s eyes widened, and she dropped her hand in her lap. “I only found out this morning. How do you know I’m a winner?”

  “Who do you think chose your name?” Tayla winked, and for the first time Mara noticed Tayla’s skin was thick with makeup. Concealer dislodged by the corner of her eye, like a crack in a painting. A small wrinkle peeked out at Mara.

  “You?”

  “Not me, but us. And we have an important task for you.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Mara worked in silence, speed and determination her guides. There had never been a doubt when she agreed to follow the Questioners’ instructions that she would complete her task for the citizenry first. She told Tayla as much. She would not let these souls down.

  Goosebumps solidified the belief when the foreman told them, “There is no greater honor than burying our dead; planting the seed of rebirth and eternal rest.”

  She believed in the honor b
efore the foreman spoke of it. She believed before she had been drawn for the lottery. She believed, when as a little girl her mother told her only a few years passed before all remains in an urn were absorbed into the tree’s roots.

  As a child, Mara was curious with the typical questions children ask too often. Why is the sky blue? The grass green? Where do babies come from? How is lightning formed? But instead of outgrowing that curiosity, it only grew with age until her mother’s death.

  Her mother answered the questions with ease as a lifelong scientist and herbalist. A man of faith rather than science, her father did not approve of so many questions.

  She was especially chastised when she asked how a tree held a person’s soul. Her father insisted she believe because that was the correct thing to do. Her mother never told her to believe, but she explained the process of brain grinding, urns, and planting. The process hardened Mara’s belief in rebirth, or at least the belief that it was the acceptable thing to believe.

  Mara’s father said the church used to teach a fable that showed souls escaping their bodies after death and floating toward the clouds. Gone from earth.

  “They thought that?” she asked. “Souls can’t fly, Daddy. They don’t have wings.”

  “Humans were very young once.”

  He told her humans did not always understand that they must grow within the trees to become useful. Into the ground, into the air, into the ocean, into the grass, into the fruit, into the beetle, into the lizard, into the beast, and into man. Instead, they placed bodies in boxes, trapping the soul inside, forever to rot.

  Souls were not personal property; they were for everyone. In death they needed to seek new purpose. In rebirth in the forest, they became the reborn: great giants reaching for the heavens, watching all from their home beside the great mountain.

  These were the things her father used to say to her before he lost his patience. Her mother would stand behind him and roll her eyes.

  “Humans are still young. Rebirth is still new.” When Mara’s father walked in on her mother saying this, he stopped offering explanations and stories to his daughter. Instead, he simply called her “too curious”.