The Boy Nature Revered

Juniper's earliest memory was of the glorious canopy that shaded his home in the tree. It was made up of a million leaves a thousand shades of green, fluttering in the whisper of the wind with their rustling song. It was a melody he heard every morning in the green season. In the red season, the canopy fell leaf by leaf, until the trees were bare and the cool sky was exposed overhead. Only in that season could one see the stars and the way they twinkled and shone. Then the green season would reemerge; the canopy was present once more, and the stars were gone.

Once, Ash had told him about the white season, where ice fell from the sky like rain and coated the earth in cold shards. Juniper had often fantasized about such a season, but after careful consideration, decided it was best not to seek it out. Ash had said that a man could die in the cold of the white season. Since their shelter was not designed for low temperatures, Juniper was glad that they never had to bother with the white season. The red season was chilly enough.

Life was good in their little home in the tree. It was all Juniper had known; forty-two seasons of his life had come and gone, and never once had he strayed far from their refuge or encountered another human besides Ash. He knew well the dangers of the outside world, and what could become of him if ever he ventured there. Besides, they had all they needed. There was nothing the outside world could give him.

There was much the outside world could take away.

Ash was usually gone when he awoke in the mornings. She often went for walks to clear her mind and to sing to nature. She'd started singing to the trees many seasons ago, after he'd told her that they adored her voice. Her cheeks had flushed, but her eyes had begun to sparkle.

“What do they say about it?” she'd asked.

“They say nothing,” he'd replied, “but they feel everything.”

From that point on, she'd never taken another branch off any tree or bush again. For many seasons, their shelter had been on the forest floor, made from fallen branches and leaves. However, the day Juniper had discovered his gift, that had changed. The trees, at his bidding, had created a shelter for them high off the ground with their strong arms. That had been during his tenth season, and Ash's thirty-eighth. Since then, they had been living in the trees, feeding off the fruit Juniper beckoned and the wildlife Ash trapped. Life was sweet.

Until that fateful day.

The morning was bright, although chillier than the one before it. Sunbeams danced through the cracks of the shelter, illuminating the room as Juniper set about preparing their breakfast. Ash loved blackberries, and he'd spent weeks searching the forest for a bush to graft into the shelter's wall for easy access. The twin cedars willingly fed the plants he grafted. The blackberry bush was full of ripe, rich berries, as it was every morning at Juniper's bidding. The rest of the wild fruit and berry plants he'd found over the seasons were also ready for picking.

He had just finished gathering the last of the produce when Ash startled him with her sudden entrance, breathless and wide-eyed.

“What is it?” he asked, straightening as he watched her hurry to her bedside and retrieve her little black book from beneath her pillow.

She shushed him, fumbling for her pencil and hurrying across the room to the outside balcony. Juniper set aside the basket of fruit and wandered over, curiously watching as she sat down heavily and began to draw. Her strokes were rushed, quick and dark against the pristine white paper. He wasn't quite sure what she was drawing until she finished, stuck her pencil in her mouth, and gave the paper a flick with her finger.

A small handgun clattered to the floor at her knees.

“Ash,” Juniper said, alarmed. “What are you doing?”

She began to draw again, strokes quick and decisive. “A group of hunters are scouting the forest just east of here. They mean to find us, Juni.”

He crouched beside her, breath catching as another gun clattered to the ground with a flick of her hand. “How can you know?”

“I know,” she stated flatly as she closed her notebook and picked up one of the handguns. “You remember the plan, right?”

He accepted the weapon she offered him, heart pounding. “Ash, we can't be separated.”

“You must do exactly as I tell you.” Ash pushed herself to her feet and hurried back into the shelter. He followed, barely managing to catch the two packs she tossed at him. “Pack up the food, quickly, and split it between us. Do you remember where to go?”

He did as he was told, hands trembling. “Yes, I remember.”

“Good.” When he was finished with the food, she picked up her pack, tucked her notebook and pencil inside, and zipped it up. “I'll head out and see if I can't throw them off. You need to take down the shelter, understood? Then meet me at the rendezvous point.”

“Ash.” He caught her arm, fear pooling in his gut. “We should stay. Defend ourselves. You know we can.”

“And more men will come,” she replied. “You know this. They've always sought us out, wanted us for our gifts and only that. We mustn't fight, only evade. If they knew the strength of our gifts...” Her eyes softened as she gazed at him. “You have such a powerful gift, Juni. Never let them corrupt it.”

He swallowed hard, thinking of hers – her ability to create things with the mere stroke of her pen. His gift was powerful, but hers? It was coveted. What dangerous things could corrupt men do with such an ability? “Stay safe,” he said, knowing she wouldn't be swayed to change her plan.

“Juni,” she said before she left. “If I don't arrive—”

“Don't say that.”

“If I don't,” she repeated firmly, “tell the rendezvous tree to reveal its secrets. We buried something there long ago, you may remember, and you will need it if I am caught.”

“Don't get caught.”

She smiled briefly. “I'll do my best.” With that, she was gone, hurrying down out of the shelter and bounding off into the forest with the grace of a gazelle. He watched her go, heart pounding, remembering only after several moments his part of the plan.

Closing his eyes, he stretched out his hands and commanded the trees to move. With groans and creaks of protest, the cedars shuddered and split, their branches twisting and warping into a natural form. The shelter was torn apart as the trees heeded his order. When Juniper opened his eyes again, he was standing on a thick branch suspended thirty feet high above the barren forest floor. Their shelter was gone, as was any evidence of their living there.

Off in the distance, there was a shout. Juniper's heart skipped at the sound of an echoing gunshot, and he nearly lost his balance on the branch. Had the hunters spotted Ash? Had she been shot? Another bang echoed through the forest, and the trees around him shuddered. He could feel the good spirits of nature waning, infected by the evil intruding their peaceful home. How dare these foul men march in here, hunting them like wild animals? Were they not also human?

Reminding himself of their plan, Juniper fled, leaping from one branch to another as echoing yells sounded behind him. From branch to branch Juniper jumped, swung, and scurried, the trees responding dutifully to catch him in his escape. It was only when the yelling and the gunshots faded that he dropped to the ground and ran.

It took him many long minutes to reach the rendezvous spot he and Ash had appointed for such a time as this. The sun was already high in the sky, and he was breathless and sticky with sweat. Thankful for the cool breeze slipping through the trees, he sat down at the base of the rendezvous tree and waited for Ash's arrival.

The hours bled on restlessly. Juniper paced and waited and paced some more. There was not a sound beyond that which the forest itself created, and Juniper resisted the urge to backtrack and find Ash. He knew, deep down, that she wasn't coming, and yet still he waited, hoping beyond hope that she would show.

She never came.

At last, at dusk, he knew the truth. His life as he had known it was over, gone forever, and he had a terrible choice to make: escape and evade, as Ash had always taught him, or, for once, fight back.

Holding the tears that burned his eyes at bay, Juniper stood back from the rendezvous tree and ordered it to reveal its secrets. It creaked and groaned, roots snaking out from beneath the ground and pulling an old metal chest with them. Juniper remembered burying it with Ash many seasons ago, never knowing what it held but knowing it was important.

“For your future,” she'd told him, “if ever you need to face the outside world.”

He sank to his knees and pried open the box, letting out a breath through his lips as he beheld its contents.

Money. Stacks and stacks of money. The bane of evil, power-hungry men. Ash had always warned him about such a prize. People fought over it, killed for it. The love of money and power was what had driven Juniper and his kind into hiding in the first place. It was what had killed Ash's sister. His mother.

He slammed the chest shut and shoved it into his pack, a burning in his chest he'd never felt before. Rising to his feet, he turned back to the place he'd run from, hands in fists at his sides. Around him, the trees shuddered, bending beneath the strength of his anger. They would willingly aid him in his newfound quest.

At last, the outside world would understand power. True, raw power.

They would terribly regret interfering with the boy nature revered.