If you listen closely you will hear the spirits sigh
a lesson lost on humans; an enchanting lullaby:
Mercy lies in nature’s hands and bound to it we grow.
Of the earth we came to be and of the earth we’ll go.
Hall of Mosses
By
Nicoline Evans
Hall of Mosses copyright © 2016
Author: Nicoline Evans – www.nicolineevans.com
Editor: Andrew Wetzel – www.stumptowneditorial.com
Cover Design: Dan Elijah Fajardo – www.behance.net/dandingeroz
And a big thank you to everyone who has offered me support (in all ways, shapes, and sizes) during this entire process.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system (excluding initial purchase), or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, institutions, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
An ode to the trees
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 1
Juniper Tiernan stepped off her cottage’s creaky porch and into the mist. Hazy, post-rain fog sprawled across the yard, making it impossible to see. She only had a few days off before working five straight night shifts and it was important she spent that time in the forest.
The fog never lasted long after a Washington rainstorm, but since the forecast predicted rain all week, the poor driving conditions would endure. This momentary break from the storm was welcome and she needed to use this time to make her temporary getaway.
Her bag was packed: tent, food, sleeping bag, and music. She threw the compact luggage onto her back and wheeled her custom-painted mint green dual-sport bike out of the shed. The Yamaha WR250R motorbike was heavy for someone as light as her, but the height was perfect. Smaller bikes built for women were too short for her long legs, so she worked on her arm strength over the years and now had no trouble handling it. Appropriately nicknamed the Jaden Jaunt by locals, she rolled her bike to the end of her driveway.
Loose rocks slid beneath her boot heels, so she didn’t start her bike until she reached the paved road; she’d have enough undesirable terrain to tackle once she was deep into the forest. She clipped the Olympic National Park walkie-talkie to her belt—Ranger Clark insisted she wear it—and fastened her helmet.
The sky began to drizzle again. Not wanting to waste another second she mounted the bike, activated the electric start, and revved into first gear. In a blink she was off, racing down Lake Dawn Road toward Hurricane Ridge. The scenery was astonishing on clear days, but today she could barely see the road through the fog and there was no way she’d get to absorb nature’s splendor in these conditions. The staggered mountain ranges and forest tops were hidden from sight. All she could focus on was the yellow line leading her in the right direction.
She hugged the winding road into the park. The concrete trail continued for 27 miles and took nearly an hour, but it was the fastest route and led her directly toward the open woods. There were dirt trails she’d take once the road ended, but she still had miles to go.
The rain was starting to pool, so she eased off the gas. In the woods, the trees would give her shelter, making the ride less dangerous. Wet pavement was lethal; mud was fun.
Her hip buzzed as Clark called her on the walkie. She found a tall evergreen and parked beneath.
“What’s up, Clark?” She released the TALK button and waited for his reply. His world-weary voice crackled shortly after.
“Hey there, Juni. Saw the Jaden Jaunt making the trek down Hurricane Ridge and wanted to know where you were headed in this rain.”
“The Hall of Mosses.”
“You camping out?”
“Yeah, till Friday morning. I have to head into Port Angeles for work Friday night.”
“That’s five days in the woods. You got enough food and water?”
“Yes, dad,” she teased. The old ranger got to know her well since she moved to Washington two years ago; he quickly took on the role of her over-protective father.
“Alright, well, Roscoe and I will be in and out to check on you.”
“Don’t bother me too much.”
Ranger Clark grunted. “You’re too comfortable alone in these woods. Sometimes I think you forget how dangerous they are.”
“Only if I panic. I know how to forage, how to find potable water without an obvious source. I don’t get spooked by animals. Even if I got lost one day, which is highly unlikely considering I’ve grown to know these woods better than Port Angeles, I’d be just fine. I’m better in the forest. I’m at ease with the trees. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Well I do, and always will. I’ll be by to check in. Make sure you don’t go crazy out there. The trees can’t be your only friends.”
“They can’t?” she teased.
“It’s not appropriate companionship. Neither is an old man like me, but it’s better than the alternative. At least I can talk.”
“The trees speak if you listen. It’s a small whisper, but you can hear them if you’re paying attention.” She paused, realizing she was proving his point about her wavering sanity. “Maybe it’s just a feeling I get, but it’s more substantial than anything a human has ever offered me.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You are an exception, of course.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just be safe. I’ll be around.”
“Okay, pops. See you when I see you.”
The radio call ended and she fastened the walkie-talkie back to her belt. She shifted into first gear and reentered the rain.
The hour passed and she found herself at the end of the paved road. There were no hikers or tourists out today so the parking spots were plenty. She stretched, preparing for the long trail ride. The rain clouds were lifting, allowing her a glimpse of the majesty beneath. The sun peeked through and she could see the massive verdant mountaintops coming back to life. She closed her eyes and soaked in the quiet energy.
She was alive, despite years of thinking she’d never make it to thirty. One year to go and that old demon would be put to rest. The depression, self-abuse, destructive behavior, and acceptance of toxic relationships derailed her as a young woman, but here she stood now, past it all, breathing freely. Uninhibited by the life that used to haunt her. Some claim she ran away and never faced th
e issues, never gave them proper closure, but it didn’t matter what they said. She got away, she escaped a devastating fate plagued daily by her old habits and proximity to venomous people. Maybe the demons weren’t dead, maybe they still lived inside her head, but she was safe here. She escaped the worst of it and was left with what she could handle; small doses of the painful memories and long engraved patterns of self-harm. With herself she had control, too much at times, and she could manage the darkness still lingering inside. It was other people who caused her greatest heartache. It was in others she lost herself, lost her way, lost sight of hope. They stole her light, even those who did not realize they were robbing her. She felt them too much and carried their damaged pasts too close to her own. And when those she let in inevitably left, they often departed without retrieving the weight they let her carry, leaving her to hold onto the pain for them, knowing she’d keep it safe alongside her own. This pattern echoed with each new friend, each new boyfriend, back and forth with her family. But no matter how much she carried for them, or how hard she tried to hold on to the bonds, everyone eventually left, and she was always left holding the pieces, wondering why.
She sometimes wondered if it was her own fault, aware that she was stubborn and extreme in her behavior. She declared old connections dead the moment a person walked away too many times and was unaccepting of the apologies that took years to surface, or which arrived after prolonged abuse. For a while she wasn’t sure if this was a mistake on her end, but now that she was older she realized this was the smartest mode of action. Cutting harmful ties was for her health and her well-being, which were finally given priority after too many years. Whenever she felt lonely she was tempted to reignite toxic friendships or reconnect with ungrateful lovers, but she never did. It was easier to be alone. She’d been through the drama of enough fallouts to know a little bout of loneliness wasn’t worth another round of heartbreak.
The mountains kept her safe. They would never betray her, never take her for granted. They welcomed her and offered an unwavering sense of security. If she hadn’t found herself in the forest, she would have lost herself to the city. The brutal and ruthless nature of mankind was suffocating; she could not survive amongst them. She could not continue ripping herself into pieces to keep the ones she loved whole. They broke her down to tears, smashing her identity with their groupthink customs and beliefs, with their selfish means of existence. She always ended up the casualty when she no longer served their purpose.
Now, she was looking out for herself. She left the pain behind and began anew. Ironically, many called to let her know how selfish her abandonment was, but Juniper saw through the accusations and realized their true anger stemmed from losing their whipping girl. Though her decision to leave the Bronx was not selfish, her behavior when meeting new people in Washington was. Her closed-off nature was an act of self-preservation, an attempt to guard her restored spirit. The cycle was sickening, and she was very aware that she had transformed into a self-serving person like those that hurt her most, but it was the only way to ensure her survival. She wanted to live past thirty, wanted to be happy and enjoy her life on this wondrous planet. Stopping ordinary thieves from stealing that joy was a hard lesson, but worth every second of pain.
The forest was her home, the only place she felt safe as she continued to heal. She was stronger now, but the wounds were still sensitive to the touch. There was no doubt she’d grow whole again, she just needed time.
She got back on her motorbike and headed down Whiskey Bend Trailhead toward Goblin Gates. The path was dirt but easy to traverse; there was no rough terrain to tackle on this hiking path. When she reached Goblin Gates, she walked her bike through a shallow section of the Elwha River, then continued riding on trails she made over the years. Having park rangers as friends was helpful. Once they realized she was well educated on basic survival and trustworthy to be alone in the woods, they established a bond and let her blaze new paths. Armed with a machete and thick gardening gloves, she hacked her way over the mountains, through the thick trees and into the Hoh Rainforest. Tourists and hikers had to travel the perimeter of Olympic National Park to get from Mt. Olympus to the Hoh Rainforest Visitor Center, but she cut right through the middle. Now that the path was complete, an excursion that took two days to complete for most people only took her half-a-day.
She zig-zagged between grand firs and western red cedars that stood thirty stories tall, rode over branches that fell from their most recent storm, and splashed through mud puddles. The closer she got to Hoh, the brighter the surroundings became. North of Bailey Range the forest was a dark shade of evergreen, filled with trees taller than most buildings in the state. To the south it became fluorescent and vibrant. Hoh was an ocean-born forest, home to Sitka spruces, bigleaf maples, and vine maples. The trees here were huddled closer to one another, covered in cat-tail moss and licorice fern. Branches with long spikemoss curtains draped the forest. The air smelt fresh as dew. Juniper found her usual clearing in the Hall of Mosses and parked her bike. She set up her tent and unpacked her knapsack. Once her set-up was complete, she looked around.
The nearby trees made a tight circle around her temporary home. There were paths to get in, but they were complicated. She’d enjoy watching Ranger Clark or Ranger Roscoe navigate this maze.
Branches from the trees surrounding her weaved together overhead creating a canopy protecting her from the elements. Rain still dripped through, but the worst of the storm was over. The sun peeked through the small gaps overhead and cast ripples of brilliant color onto the glade.
Juniper rested on a bed of ferns outside the opening to her tent and stared up at the earth-made kaleidoscope. Its green light danced over her as clouds came and went and the colors shifted with the setting sun. Her eyes grew heavy from the day’s long journey, so she crawled into her tent and surrendered to sleep.
Dawn came carrying the melodies of the local American dippers. The high-pitch whistle of the aquatic songbirds rang overhead as they soared toward the Hoh River for breakfast.
Their hungry cries made her stomach grumble. After a quick stretch, she opened her cooler, grabbed a large bag of granola, and drank straight from her jug of pineapple mango juice.
The day flew by, as did the next, in peaceful solitude.
On Wednesday, Roscoe paid her a visit, as he always did. He was thirty-two, only three years older than her, and he loved nature just as much as she did.
“Juni, are you in there?” he shouted from outside the thick brush encircling her. His quad could not fit through so he parked it in the closest spot possible.
“I’m here. There’s a walkable path to your left.”
He found it but flailed about in the process, tripping over huckleberry shrubs and thickets of fern.
“Jeez, how’d you get you and the Jaden Jaunt in here? This is a tight little maze.”
“I came around the other side. Been here before so I’ve already tried your route. It’s doable, but only on foot.”
“Clearly.” Roscoe finally made it into the clearing and brushed the debris from his clumsy trip off his uniform. He was tall, sturdy, and athletic. Despite his age, his face was still boyish. If he didn’t sport bearded stubble, he’d look much younger. His bright, hazel eyes were kind as they scanned over her current adventure.
“How long have you been out here?”
“Since Monday.”
He nodded. “What have you been doing to keep yourself entertained?”
“I brought books and music.” Her iPod sat next to her, still playing from when she fell asleep with it on. “I don’t really need much entertainment out here. Nature provides me with plenty.”
“Can I stay a while? I’m on break and Clark is in a rotten mood. Don’t really want to head back anytime soon.”
“Sure,” she answered. To anyone other than Roscoe or Clark she would have declined, but she grew to love them both. They didn’t know much about her except that she was an adrenaline chasing biker gi
rl with a deep love of the woods, and they accepted her for that. Despite her guarded friendships with them, they seemed to understand her. Roscoe most of all. She’d known him for two years, and though she hadn’t told him a word about her past he still managed to bond with her on a deeper level. They didn’t need to force a connection because what they had was inherent, raw, natural. She often wished to let him in further, but the fears from her past always got in the way.
“Did you see the Wolfe brothers on your ride out here? They were bathing in Hoh Lake on my way to see you.”
“No, but next time you run into them tell them it’d be nice if they helped me clear the trails we ride once in a while. I understand that they are young, but if they’re gonna use the paths then they need to help with the upkeep.”
“Message will be relayed. How’s the job going?” he asked.
“Eh, alright. It pays the rent and gives me the freedom to live here. The flexible schedule lets me take multiple days off at a time, but the job itself is rotten. The locals are okay, but the unpredictability of the tourists keeps me on edge. Never know who I’ll get walking into that bar.”
“Luckily this is a little town, barely on anyone’s radar. Can’t imagine you’d run into anyone you left behind.”
Juniper scanned him over carefully.
“That’s presumptuous.”
“Am I wrong?”
“Yes and no.” He stared back at her with caring eyes. He loved her, she could feel it, and it felt silly to keep hiding from him. His was the most stable relationship she’d found in a long time and it was time to let him in. “I did leave a lot of people behind, but I’m not worried about seeing them. I don’t like serving people who remind me of them. I get nervous that the feelings I left behind might resurface. It’s been two years. I feel stronger, but I’ve never been put to the test. Any real-life reminder might send me backwards.”
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