Somewhat reluctantly, a creeping galdor form made its way into the East Garden. A dark cloak made him hard to distinguish from his shadow. The cloak was mainly to conceal the extra long sheath that held the machete from his belt. It was a human instrument that he had borrowed from one of the workshops. There had been a scythe, but he didn't trust himself to wield such bulky a tool properly. He also carried three small pouches of potassium salts: ingredients to assist with certain spells that might prove necessary. Hunter held his field close until he was in the garden proper.

I suppose it would have been too obvious of me to ask her where, specifically, this garden of hers was located. Streak would have helped in that regard, but his senses might make him susceptible to the contents of the garden in an unpleasant way... No use risking his health.

He made his way to the edge of the maze.

Let's see... if I were an illicit garden brimming over with toxic plants, where would I be?

It had to be there. He'd explored much of the rest of the trees and shrubs in the area.

A light breeze seemed to blow through the overgrown gardens as Fredrick entered them, yet none of the trees seemed to quiver. The air felt thick with magic, and Fred's mouth tasted like dank, damp soil. A slight creak came from the thorn-maze, like the woody vines were resettling themselves. The roses seemed to stand out like blood soaked rags in the moonlight and over to the north, starflies danced over the seemingly endless pond. It felt like something was holding its breath. Waiting. And if Fred was listening hard enough, it almost sounded like someone was crying, very very faintly, easily mistaken for night insects.

The wind was a ghostly wind, chilling and somehow blowing through him. It caused the student's skin to prickle. The taste, the... unsettled feeling of the plants (or perhaps they were too settled?), all spoke caution. Hunter knew his senses were a poor substitute for Streak's company, but they were what he had. He closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated on listening, on sound and scent. The night sounds were a little off somehow – or perhaps that was his imagination. Slowly, the galdori reached out with his field to add it to the mix of sensations guiding him into the garden.

What are you waiting for,he chided himself, permission?

Part of him answered yes as he opened his eyes again, letting all of his senses guide him.

I've just come to clean up a mess, to set things right... help if I can.

The maze of thorns creaked again, and deep within there was a soft rustle. The wind blew a little stronger and over the pond the starflies drifted lazily. The soft sound he heard before seemed to come from the pond, but as the wind touched his skin, it seemed to fade away. The whole garden became eeriely silent. Nothing made a sound. It seemed that he had been allowed access. Over the pond, the starflies had suddenly dissapated.

This was strange, very strange - and very much in keeping with Hunter's suspicions about the garden. He wondered in what manner he might be called upon to give the help he promised. What if Susan's plantings had come to be accepted as part of the garden?

The silence made it likely that he would hear anything else lurking about... but there were people and animals more silent than he. The boy kept his eyes open and tried to sense if there were any olfactory cues – although scent was not likely to warn of immediate danger it could help him keep his bearings and might help guide him to the bitter plants he sought. If there was a sentience guiding things, there might be other, more obvious signs as well.

He cast his eyes once up to the stars with a quick, superstitious prayer asking Vespe to guide his steps. His hand touched briefly at the tattoo meant to represent her wisdom before he stepped into the maze. He walked carefully, a light confident step.

As Fredrick entered the maze, the thorns around him creaked again, and it seemed that out of the corner of his eye he could see them move, but if he turned to look then everything was as it should be. Deep inside the thick spiky tunnel the soft rustle came again. The crying returned. It was coming from ahead of him, very softly.

A maze that rearranges itself. Not too surpising, but it might be a problem later.One, two...

He counted the paces, as if he were creating a map. In a way, he was. Not of the maze, exactly, but of his spatial relation to the start point outside of the maze. If he had to fight his way out, it might be handy to know where the nearest boundary was. Of course, that was assuming the maze did not bend space or affect his perceptions in some way... and it forced him to go slower.

The voice was back, if it was a voice. It might be a signal of some sort. Quietly, Hunter made his way forward listening for any other disturbance as he went.

The noise became louder as he got closer to the center of the maze. It was now easily identifiable as crying now. A soft, sad sobbing of someone young. A girls sob it seemed. As he moved forwards, the thorns creaked and cracked behind him and it seemed that his clothes seemed to be catching on them more than before. Like they were reaching out to snag him.

Ahead, the center of the maze could begin to be seen. There was a stone bench and a birdbath and the ground was clear of thorns, but littered with dead leaves. The wind blew against him a little harder than before, and a faint scent of damp came with it. A figure sat on the stone bench, head down. She had long reddish hair and small delicate hands. The crying was eminating from her.

Is that another student, lost in the maze perhaps? Or it could be Susan.

The cloak kept snagging on thorns, making the boy regret his decision to wear it. He had been too careful in trying to conceal himself perhaps. Or was it the thorns of the bush? Almost, they seemed to be pushing him forward, to the lure at the center of the maze. It put Hunter in mind of a trap, like some sort of giant mancatcher plant or something.

As he neared the scene, he invoked the mona and quietly recited his favorite version of Lumination. With the last syllable he bent down to touch the ground to direct a warm green glow to illuminate the path ahead of him. Unlike Athrym's bright burst, Hunter favored a soft, warm, gently spreading manifestation.

He would be less likely to fall victim to deception if he could better see what he was dealing with.

It didn't occur to him that the mona here in the garden might respond differently... or not at all.

The mona was different here. It was an ancient place, from a time long since past, and the air reeked of pain and un-noble acts. As the young galdor spoke, it stirred warily, unsure of whether it should trust an act of magic in here again. All around, the garden seemed to wait, even the thorns stopped creaking. The figure on the bench continued her soft sobbing. Finally, it acted and a soft, sickly green glow lit up the palm of his hand, washing out over the ground like moonlight.

A vine crept out from the wall of thorns and slowly began to inch its way towards Fredrick. The garden seemed to shudder. It did not approve of the casting. The woody maze appeared to press closer to him, cracking and screeching as the thick thorns pressed against each other. The wind had swirled around him, but the leaves were left untouched on the ground, and the figure on the bench sat perfectly still, her crying unaffected by it all.

Strangeness upon strangeness upon strange, events had gone beyond the bounds of what Hunter had imagined. The sluggishness of the mona and the bizarrely active response of the thorns and vines and wind. His field felt... mossy, not quite in focus.

"I'm sorry."

He immediately spoke the phrases to disperse the light and dismiss the spell, all the while moving closer to the crying figure.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, miss. Are you lost?"

The green light extinguished like a blown out flame and around Fredrick, leaving him momentarily blind whilst the mona hummed. It was like a nervous child, on the verge of running. The garden seemed to relax slightly, the thorns withdrawing a little and the wind easing back. On the bench, the girl sat crying still. Even as he spoke, she did not react. As he got closer, he could see she was wet - soaked - all over. Her hair and dark purple dress dripped onto the bench and down onto the ground. A puddle had formed all round her. In the moonlight, her skin appeared to be very pale and she looked cold.

Hunter along with the garden: not completely, but enough to realize that he'd read the signs correctly. He hoped.

Girl. Crying. Soaked dress. Cold. Pale. Unresponsive.

It was not uncommon for a girl to completely ignore a boy. But girls in distress usually wanted attention. They would either respond to a kind word or ramp up their crying. This... person did neither. The student felt as if a cold hand had gripped his intestines. Sentient plant life he could deal with, and crying - even screaming - girls, yes. But a ghost? There were too many stories of ghosts taking over the bodies of the living. Maybe he was wrong, but what else could it be. Some embodiment of the garden? Or something else.

He looked around for a possible route of escape, not really expecting to find one. By his calculations, it was unlikely he would be able to hack his way through these thorns. Cautiously he circled to stand in front of the crying girl. His muscles were tensed, ready to jump away if need be.

The girl cried softly as he stood in front of her, as though she was oblivious. The rustling came from deep within the maze again, and this time, it had an unexpected effect. The redhead stopped crying, and lightning fast her wet cold hand shot out to grab Fredrick by the wrist. The girls head snapped up and she stared at him with milky wide eyes, her face a mask of terror.

"He's coming!" She said, voice full of more fear than he'd ever heard in his life. It lasted but a moment, then with a blink, Fredrick would find she was gone, only a cold wet print on his wrist evidence she wasn't in his head.

The rustling had gotten much louder, it was more of a crashing. And there was a heavy breathing accompanying it. If Fred turned, he would see the thorns were opening up behind him, offering an escape.

The rustling of wind had distracted him. Or at least that's what he told himself to explain how the girl had caught him. The wet handprint on his sleeve was cold. And wet with what must be real water.

"Who's com-"

The crashing and heavy breathing spoke of something large. Certainly larger than Hunter. Even the thorns seemed to agree. But the boy was curious, he had to see what it was.

Dze. Not much of a survivor's instinct that.

Ignoring the urge to wait, Hunter backed into the new path. Looking back, hopefully he could at least catch a glimpse of whatever "He" was.

The woody wall of thorns on the far side of the clearing moved, they were being broken down and also pulling away of their own accord. A figure pushed through the spiny vines, standing in the darkness, breathing heavily. It loomed at least six feet tall, muscular and hunched. It's arms and legs were like tree trunks, arms hanging by its sides. By the outline, it was male. Something hung from its hand. Huffing, it took two steps foward and was caught in the moonlight.

It was a man, he looked to be about twenty. He had once had green eyes and brown hair, but now his long hair was matted and stringy and his green eyes were gone. All that remained were two bloody holes. His body was filthy and covered in deep gouges and burns. Where his heart should be, a gaping black hole smoked. One arm seemed to be holding holding a pickaxe, but on closer inspection, Fredrick would see it was fused to him. The creature seemed to be looking at him. It took another step forward.

"Killed her. You killed her." It said in a hoarse, wretched whisper. Lifting its pickaxe, the ghost opened its mouth wide and made a gutdropping screach, beginning to advance on Fredrick.

Hunter's breath caught in his throat as the behemoth cleared the wall of thorns. It wasn't an animal. And it wasn't a person – not quite. For an instant the boy doubted his eyesight as there seemed to be two images taking up the space. One was a young human, muscular, with green eyes flashing anger. The other a monster. Fred blinked and only the monster remained. It had to be another ghost – or a magical construct of some unholy sort. No living thing could survive that kind of damage.

Eyes met eyeless holes. The creature stepped forward and there was a slashing sound. Reflexively, Hunter had let fly a dagger at the beast. It had to be reflex because he couldn't possibly have thought it would slow the thing.


Great balls of flaming dung!

The galdor turned and ran.

The dagger bounced against the monstrosity as it screached. It lurched after the galdor as he fled, crashing along behind him. Fredrick was a fast runner, but the creature was still gaining, it was closing the distance between them. He could hear its breath behind him and its hand was reaching out for him. The exit to the maze lay just ahead of him, clear and open as though the thorns wanted him to escape. Fingertips brushed his collar as he burst through, and if he was to turn around, he would see the ghost had evaporated into nothing as they exited.

There!

The break in the hedge was so close. So was the monstrosity. Even if the thorns were protecting him, they couldn't form a barrier quickly enough to make a difference when it was so close.

Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease let me make it out.

For some reason he expected it wouldn't follow him out of the maze. Just at the edge he leaped into the air, flung was actually a more accurate description of the desperate motion. It was quite acrobatic if one ignored the landing. He hadn't really planned it, but reflex took over and he tried to roll. He was looking back at where the thing had been when his shoulder hit something hard.

Oh, that's gonna bruise.

He pulled himself to some nearby bushes for cover and covered himself in the now-shredded cloak. Anyone walking past might very well wonder why the shrubs were breathing so heavily. Hunter didn't care. He took all the time he needed to recover.

After he emerged he stood for a moment in training stance, making sure nothing was broken. He flexed his field once, twice. It seemed to be back to normal. He walked over to the pond's edge. The original source of the crying sound, if he sequenced it correctly...

The starflies had scattered again as he came over to the waters edge, and a feeling washed over Fred. Sadness, fear and anguish. A faint white shadow could be seen in the depths of the water. It was slowly rising, hard to make out in the murky water. But as it came up, it got clearer, until reddish hair and a pale face floated just below the surface. The sad girl looked up at Fredrick with those milky dead eyes, and her delicate pale hand reached out, breaking through the water to reach for him. No danger seemed to come from the pond or the ghost. Behind him in the entrance to the thorn maze, a tall ominous shadow stood watching, hot embers glowing red deep in the creatures torso.

Frederick couldn't figure out how, but it seemed like the ghost was communicating with emotions, or had some sort of emotional field equivalent of his monic field.

She could have taken me in the maze, if she were like the hungry ghosts in the stories.

He did what came naturally and reached out for the hand, as if helping a friend out of the water. If he'd been looking towards the maze, he might have been more hesitant. As it was, he though this time the ghost might communicate with him enough to explain what it was doing here.

Images instantly flashed into the young mans head at the touch of her clammy hand...

...A pretty young woman, a handsome green eyed man. It looked as though she was a student. The man, a gardener. Kissing. Then another face, a well dressed, black haired young man, confronting the young woman. Fighting between the gardener and the young man. Then Fredrick saw the gardens, and a group of young men holding down the gardener, punching him. The young woman is screaming and pulling on the black haired youth. Rising up, the boy shoves her and she trips backwards, falling into the pond. She is struggling, but she goes under and sinks, unable to swim and weighted down by her dress. The gardener sees, he throws the boys off to save her. The black haired boy panics and casts Magma. It hits the man in the stomach, burning into him, splashing over his body and cooling hard instantly...

As the scenes came to Fredrick the drowned girl had pulled herself up on his arm, eyes wide, mouth a large gaping hole. Water flowed from it, and she reached up to hold his arm with the other hand, pulling her face close to his. She made a gurgling, wretched noise, looking into his eyes. The weight on his arm suddenly became very heavy. She was pulling him into the water.

"Help usss." The red haired woman gasped, as though she wanted his help, but her hunger was taking over her. Fred needed to do something drastic before he was pulled down into the bottomless pond.

"I promise. I'll help you. But you must let me go!"

Survival instinct kicked in calling forth a rather violent invocation of Push. At the same time, Hunter dug his right heal into the ground and dropped backwards – away from the water- onto his left knee. Hopefully the combination of Push and leverage would be enough to dislodge him from her grip.

The mona responded fervently, and with a strong taste of bitter citrus the Push spell spewed forth from him. The pale ghost wailed and her eyes rolled in her head, throwing herself away from the spell violently and disappearing into the pond. From the thorns a loud, deep, hideous roar resounded and the very earth reverberated. The wind picked up and whipped around the black haired youth. Everything in the garden was screaming at him, infuriated by the spell. It was enough though, Fredrick was free of her grasp and flew backwards onto the dirt with a heavy thump. The spell began to dissipate, and if the galdor was to glance at the pond, he would see a red matted head slowly breaking the surface and two milky eyes watching him.

The spell was wrenching in a variety of ways. The pain in his rump was the least of them. Clearly his rapport with the garden was in jeopardy. And the ghosts... the images made him shudder. The male ghost must have mistaken Hunter for the dark-haired boy from the past. No wonder the maze had resisted even as harmless a spell as Lumination.

"I'm sorry. It's just – you frightened me. I want to help. Both of you."
His eyes went from the ghost girl to the massive presence in the maze.

The ghosts, they made sense in a way. But the Maze? Was it a defense created by the Garden? Or by someone else? What was keeping them from passing on? Revenge, or was there some magic at work preventing it?

"I'll have to find out more details, research a way to free you. I'll come back when I know more."