Ash tossed his ruined shirt aside and stood unconcerned as a quartet of masked revelers closed in around him until Wren could no longer see the redhead. When the revelers surrounding Ash finally dispersed, the young man had been transformed into an urbane version of some pagan deity. Still clad in only his jeans, Ash’s torso and face were decorated with archaic pagan symbols painted in a chalky blue. The redhead was wearing a wreath of twigs, leaves, and berries out of which protruded two elegant antlers.

He looked like some wild and primal nature god. Wren was reminded of a painting he’d once seen in a book of the Celtic god, Cernunnos. Ash stepped forward and reached to take hold of Wren by his shoulders. Wren shuddered from something other than mere fear, his heartbeat hammering in rhythm with the unrestrained tempo created by the revelers’ primitive percussion instruments.

“You’re going to be given a bit of a head start.” Ash said, his hands rubbing up and down Wren’s arms. The action sent delicious shivers down Wren’s spine, making it difficult for him to concentrate on what the redhead was saying. “I’d suggest you make good use of it.”

With that, the drumming and rattling and the dancing suddenly halted. All of the revelers stood as silent and as still as statues. It was oddly disconcerting and far more frightening in its own way than the noise and the wild dancing had been. Wren’s gaze darted about the masked figures surrounding them. They were watching… waiting…

He looked back to Ash. The redhead released Wren’s arms and then donned his own mask, transforming himself from a handsome young man to an symbolic representation of the leader of the Wild Hunt. Ash tilted his head to the side when Wren remained frozen in place. Amber eyes glowed with a barely restrained excitement as the taller male pointed toward the maze’s entrance.

Wren’s feet moved almost of their own accord. He backed up, not taking his eyes off of Ash, at least not until he nearly collided with one of the revelers. He quickly side-stepped to avoid the masked figure. Turning on his heel, he stared up at the dark-robed being. The man – at least, Wren thought it might be a man – was tall and rail-thin. His formidable figure was garbed in a dark brown cloak. He was made even more imposing by the birdlike mask that reminded Wren of those plague doctor outfits he’d seen in his college history books. The most disconcerting aspect of the figure, however, was the beady, hawklike gaze that zeroed in on Wren and followed his every moment with predatory interest.

Wren swallowed hard and then turned toward the entrance to the maze and began walking toward it. His pace was almost sedate, but with every step he took, more predatory eyes turned to follow his every move and he felt a gnawing need to get inside the maze as fast as his feet could carry him. He sped his pace the closer he got to the maze’s entrance until he’d begun to run.

As Wren passed the arched entrance, he heard the clap of many percussion instruments sounding in unison not long after. The sound started off low and restrained and then steadily increased in intensity until it ended in a ferocious culmination. The crescendo was followed by a chorus of that same particular war cry crossed with the call of a screech owl. Wren instinctively knew what it meant.

The hunt had begun.

                                                             * * * * 

Once inside the maze, Wren noticed the structure was not hedge. In fact, it was only partially made of plant. Stone peeked out beneath the twisted layers of vines he’d initially thought to be hedge. The maze was very old. The stone structure was crumbling in many places, some of which created new makeshift entrances and exits for anyone adventurous enough to climb over the debris of crumbled stone and years of rotten fallen vines and the various weeds that had taken hold. Moss peeked out of cracks in the crumbling stone. Dead vines and leaves littered the pathway. Wren treaded cautiously, dry dead leaves and remnants of vines crackling under his sneakers as he walked.

As Wren ventured further into the maze, he wondered if he’d ever find his way out. The quiet solitude made it easy to forget about the group of masked revelers supposedly chasing him through the structure. The same couldn’t be said about their amber-eyed leader. Wren was fairly certain he’d never forget Ash.

As Wren wandered the maze, he found himself entranced by the beauty of the crumbling structure. Half architectural wonder and half overcome by wild vines and undergrowth, the maze was a sort of metaphor for the world he found himself in. A world both beautiful and untamed. There was a polished veneer of refinement about the place and the beings who inhabited it, but through the cracks, one could see the underlying wildness beneath.

Wren wandered the maze for what felt like hours. He strode along twisting labyrinthine paths and listened for the sound of the hunting assembly in the distance. He didn’t know how far he’d ventured into the maze or how far away from the hunting party he currently was, but he felt as if he were walking about in circles. As the din from the hunting party grew louder, signaling that they were drawing closer to him, Wren began to fret.

The steady beating of the percussion instruments and the frenetic hunting cries grew ever closer and Wren couldn’t help but feel the beating of his heart increase its tempo until it reached the same frantic pace of the drums in the distance.

Suddenly, Wren heard some rustling in the vines ahead of him. He immediately halted. He stood in the middle of the path and waited. His heartbeat hammered rapidly in his chest, a sound that echoed steadily in Wren’s ears.

He breathed a sigh of relief when no masked being stepped out into the path before him. Still, someone was hiding in the vines not ten strides ahead of him. He considered turning back, but the steady beat of the drums in the distance persuaded him otherwise. He released a long, steadying breath to fortify his nerves, then cautiously stepped over a large fallen root and edged closer to the cluster of vines and the person possibly hiding within them. He paused for a brief moment, his gaze still trained on the vines. Then, he glanced down at the long twisting root. It was about the length and width of a baseball bat, give or take a few inches. It might even withstand hitting someone without splintering. He considered for a moment and then picked up the root and held it as if he were getting ready to strike at someone or something. Then, he started to edge slowly toward the cluster of vines on the path before him.

The vines rustled again and Wren halted dead still in his tracks. He was mere seconds from changing his mind about turning back when a small, lithe figure stepped out from the vines and into the path ahead. Wren felt his breath catch in his throat and he slowly lowered the root in his hands. He knew without being told that he was staring at one of the moss people Ash had told him about. Feeling no sense of threat from the being, he dropped the root in his hand, more from mesmerization at the sight before him than anything else.

He wasn’t entirely sure, but he was somewhat certain it was a “he,” though it was effeminate and almost feminine in appearance. There was something ethereal about the being. Hearing Ash’s description of the moss people, Wren had visualized them as being green-skinned and with leafy hair, not unlike some artistic renderings of tree spirits like dryads or hamadryads. However, this particular being had pale skin with only a slight tinge of green to it. “His” hair was black in color, though it did appear green in places that the light hit. It was sort of like looking at a male black bird and how its feathers would change color depending on how the light caught them. The figure wore clothing that looked to be made from moss and leaves and Wren wondered if this was how they’d gotten their name.

The moss person lifted a hand, and with a demure smile, he gestured for Wren to follow him. Wren knew he only had two choices and he figured going forward – the way the moss person was directing him – was better than going backwards, which would almost certainly lead him in the direction of the hunting party. He began to follow the moss person, but forward wasn’t the way the figure intended for him to go. Instead, the moss person pushed aside the clump of vines from which it had emerged to reveal a hidden passage.

Wren looked inside and turned to thank the figure, only to find the moss person had vanished. He looked first one way and then the other, but there was no sigh of the moss person either on the path ahead of him or from which Wren had come. Hearing the drums sounding in the distance, he decided not to linger any longer.

Wren pushed the vines aside and stepped through the passage. Almost immediately, the sounds of the hunting party seemed further away. Apparently, the moss person had helped buy him a bit more time. He didn’t know if it meant postponing the inevitable, but he was thankful just the same.

As Wren wandered further along the stone path, he couldn’t help but wonder how much time had passed since he’d gone into the maze. The sun overhead beamed down brightly and gave no indication of having changed since he’d became the quarry of this mad chase. He was convinced it should be close to evening-time by now, but he couldn’t be sure. Was it possible that time worked differently in this maze?

He turned this way and that, ventured down one path until he came to a dead end, turned back and onto another path only to be led to another dead end. Several times, he encountered crumbled walls that created makeshift pathways in the maze and he took the time to climb over a couple of them. He checked each and every clump of vines he came to and even found another hidden passage, which also seemed to carry him further away from the sound of the hunting party. Nevertheless, after what seemed like hours of repeating this, he grew weary of wandering the maze. Thirsty as well. He was terribly thirsty.

Feeling exhausted, Wren finally took the time to sit down and rest. He plopped down onto a piece of crumbled stone large enough to form a seat and leaned against the stone wall of the maze. He sat there for a while until he was certain the sounds of the hunting party were drawing nearer, then he stood up, brushed his jeans off and continued on with his aimless amble.

After wandering a while further, he became convinced his luck had run out. The sound of the hunting party was disquietingly close and it seemed as if the dead ends were coming more frequently. Wren turned a corner and felt his heart drop at the sight of a couple of revelers. He quickly retreated back the way he’d come. Pressing his back up against the wall, he waited and tried to control his breathing as the duo walked past him. He didn’t move until their shrill hunting cries faded into the distance.

He couldn’t help but wonder where Ash was. Had the redhead split from the main hunting party as those two revelers had? Or was he still with the main group of revelers? Was he even in the maze anymore? Ash didn’t really want Wren around. Maybe this was the perfect opportunity to get rid of him?

Wren suddenly felt terrified. Well, even more terrified than he’d been earlier. Pushing away from the wall, he continued down the path he was now on, the one that led away from the duo of revelers. However, as he came to the end of the path, he began to suspect he’d managed to come onto a dead end. It wasn’t long before his suspicions were proven correct. With a frustrated sigh, he turned on his heel to head back the way he’d come, but the sound of drumming halted him in his tracks.

The hunting party was coming this way. It sounded as if it was right on him. He was trapped!

Wren turned where he stood, frantically searching for an escape, and feeling his panic rise when none presented itself. He spun around to face the direction from which he’d come, waiting for the hunting party to turn the corner and find him. He was about to be caught by some of the assembly. Would they tar him apart like one of the moss people?

Suddenly, Wren heard a loud scraping, like stone dragging against stone. Two arms suddenly wrapped about his middle and he cried out in alarm. He’d barely had time to put up a struggle before whoever had hold of him dragged him into the darkness of a secret passage. Wren watched as the stone door scrapped shut, leaving him in total darkness with the stranger who’d pulled him inside. There was a flicking sound like when someone struck a cigarette lighter and then a small flame flared to life. Wren was able to see Ash standing near him thanks to the meager light from the lighter the redhead was holding. A dry crackling sound followed. Wren’s nose was assaulted by the smell of something burning and then the entire passage suddenly filled with the warm glow of firelight. Wren realized Ash was holding a torch.

“This way.” The redhead said as he took hold of Wren’s hand and began to lead him along the passageway. Neither spoke a word as the two is them traversed the short journey along the small dark passage. When they came to a dead end, Ash pulled a lever on the wall and a stone doorway scraped open to reveal bright sunlight. Wren shielded his eyes from the bright light as he stepped out into yet another path in the maze. He opened his mouth to ask Ash where in the maze they were, but before he could address the other male, there was a loud scraping of stone against stone and then it was as if the redhead had never been there.

Wren realized Ash was simultaneously helping and toying with him. With a sigh, he threw his hands up in frustration. He considered refusing to go further. Contemplated sitting down and waiting for the assembly to just come get him.

His attention was suddenly drawn by the sound of trickling water. He waited, listening. His excitement grew when he realized his ears weren’t playing tricks on him. Wren followed the sound until he came to a fountain. Carved of stone into the side of the maze, water flowed seemingly from nowhere. Wren hurried over to the fountain and cupped his hands to catch the water. He drank greedily, savoring the taste of the cool water before he leaned against the nearest stone wall to catch his breath.

As he sat there, something white and flowing caught his eye. It danced to and fro on the breeze and Wren couldn’t help but wonder what sort of oddity it might be. Curious, Wren followed the path until he arrived at an open courtyard in what appeared to be the middle of the maze. The white material that had caught his notice was sheer white cloth placed over stone pillars. A light breeze wafted through the courtyard, catching the sheer material and causing the cloth to billow.

The scene, while a bit eerie, would have been beautiful. Only, Wren wasn’t the only one in the courtyard.