The Crone's Stone

by S E Holmes

He put my boots on the rests, making sure my feet were secure.

  “We don’t have much time. I can hear Mickey and friends arriving. Can you reach Seth in your mind?”

  “What?” I could not see properly through the visor’s dark tint and wrenched it open.

  “Everything will be okay.” He reached out and lightly touched my cheek, where not an hour before, Seth’s fingers had rested. His hand slid to his side and he chewed his bottom lip. “You need to trust me.”

  He slapped my visor closed. Horrid squeals reached us on the wind, one minute fading, only to blast closer with another gust the next. They narrowed the gap. And this time, by the sounds of it, the rats hemmed us in. The blazing wall burned lower, finally extinguishing in the rain. Through it, row upon row of deranged eyes.

  Smith squashed his own helmet on and mounted the bike. “We can communicate via intercom.” His voice crackled over the speaker. He reached behind for me and positioned my arms around his waist, squeezing my hands between his. “Hold on with all your might, Bear.”

  I tightened my grip about his hard belly as he bumped the bike from its stand and brought it vertical. My nerves were so taut, I felt they’d sever and unravel my control at any second. “Why aren’t we moving?”

  He toed the gear and revved the engine, holding the bike steady as the wheel spun. The circle of fire burned lower, almost guttering out, a mass of fangs and claws waiting on the threshold. The rats would soon break through and still we weren’t in motion. Smithy fidgeted one-handed with something in front of us, but I could not see properly through the tinted perspex of my visor. It was all I could do not to bawl at him to hurry the hell up!

  “Let’s make sure we get the attention we deserve,” I heard him mutter.

  He tossed an object ahead in the darkness. There was a succession of low whumps and then massive fireballs eclipsed the night, incinerating an opening through the shrieking rats. Smithy launched the bike and we bulleted into the inferno. The motor wailed as he redlined through the gears.

  We crunched over charred remains of dead rats, squishing any living ones that got in the way. The stench of burned fur and flesh almost made me throw up in my helmet. Ash rained from above and putrid soot clung to our clothes. Survivors swarmed in our wake, wildly hurling themselves at us as we sped past. They bounced off the thick leathers, unable to gain a hold with their teeth.

  “Stay. Please.” Seth’s unspoken plea almost unseated me. His regret was plain and my heart swelled with sympathy.

  “Smith! We have to go back. Seth’s all alone.”

  “Make him follow,” Smithy ordered.

  He accelerated, pushing the bike to its blinding maximum down the long, twisting road. The wind whistled around us in the lessening storm and he made no allowances for the greasy conditions.

  “How?”

  “I don’t care how. Just do it!”

  I thoroughly deserved his anger. A confusing whirl of questions and emotion crowded my head. Surely Smithy realised Seth aimed to kill me? We wouldn’t have a hope of outrunning him, even with a head start and Smith’s exceptional riding skill. I fought the drowning need to give in to the death wish and go back to Seth. But not because Smithy asked, because I wanted to. My lack of devotion was inexcusable.

  “Don’t you understand what he can do to me? I should not be anywhere near him!”

  “I heard you in the bathroom, Bear! Every excruciating bit of it. It’s all I can do not to turn around and go and kill him with my bare hands. I don’t care what he can do to me. But I have to stick with the plan. And so do you.”

  I withered with self-loathing, my traitorous heart a worthless, dried-up grape. My behaviour had cut him so deeply; it was plain in his voice.

  The landscape gradually transformed. Rolling dunes were replaced by industrial complexes behind barbed-wire fencing and then huge, contemporary houses fronting Botany Bay. Streetlights became more numerous, highlighting the drizzle in a rapid series of yellow haloes as we blew by. In the distance, I just made out the misty, rainbow lights of the city, getting closer.

  “Bear.” After an interminable absence of words, Smithy’s voice was soft over the speaker. “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes,” I mumbled, too agonised by guilt to say more. I could not stand the thought of hurting him.

  “Please encourage Seth to pursue you.” This obviously cost Smith a great deal, but for some reason it was critically important our enemy chase us.

  So be it – I would find a way, just to please him. “Okay.”

  I adjusted my body to Smithy’s as we leaned low through turns, barely slowing our breakneck pace. He didn’t obey stop signs or traffic lights. I procrastinated, one moment reluctant to call for Seth, the next shockingly eager. Feeling this way was obviously not normal: who in their right mind would voluntarily draw near those awful seethers? Something else nagged at me.

  Why wasn’t Seth already hot on our tail? It would have been piteously easy for him to recapture me back at his boatshed or at any point since our escape, yet there was no sign of him, as if he’d lost interest. I supposed this should be a good thing and ignored the stab of angst brought on by his indifference. How often did people who’d successfully fled from a captor turn around and rashly taunt them? Surely, he’d be suspicious of such an absurd bargain. I spoke in my mind anyway, feeling like some swindler psychic.

  “Seth?” I waited. “Seth!”

  “Keeper,” he mentally drawled. I shrieked in shock.

  “You owe me a hearing aid,” Smith grouched. “I presume that means the arsehole is in the vicinity?”

  “Oh, he’s not very friendly, is he?”

  “Y-you …” I stuttered. “Don’t you want to kill me anymore?”

  “As we’re in the mood for negotiation. How about I kill the whole lot of you? Starting with him.” The stakes were too high. “I’ll even throw in a bonus. That treacherous backstabber Hugo’s head delivered on a platter for you.”

  Hadn’t Hugo all but tied me up in a bow and delivered me to Seth? Shouldn’t he have earned a pat on the back for a job well done? My confusion deepened. The thought of Seth anywhere near Smithy, should we fail in whatever mad strategy this was, threatened to shatter me to pieces.

  I whispered through the intercom to Smith. “Please tell me we will not get caught.”

  “I swear on my life,” he answered fervently. “I will not let you get taken.”

  I noticed the subtle distinction in Smithy’s response. If he was so unsure of success, why were we baiting Seth? How could I decide what to do when I did not understand why I was haggling in the first place!

  “You have five seconds,” Seth barked.

  “Promise,” I murmured. “But don’t swear on your life.”

  “I promise,” Smithy said.

  “Fine!”

  Seth’s triumphant laughter echoed in my awareness. “See you soon,” he said cheerfully, voice thick with implication.

  “He’s coming!” I whimpered. “Go faster!”

  Go slower, begged my deceitful inner voice. Arghh! I was going mad. It was like being torn in two! Euphoria competed with fear. We streaked through the streets, a virtual torpedo. The Sunday evening traffic became denser too, as we approached the city. And somewhere behind, Seth travelled in his vaporous state like silk on the breeze, unimpeded by such obstacles as buildings.

  Smithy easily nipped and dodged through the flow of cars, to the alarmed blares of other drivers. No matter the velocity, as he bled every ounce of speed from his high performance machine, I was positive it wasn’t sufficient. Ordinarily, I would have found the trip exhilarating. Every time I’d asked to ride with Smith, Bea vigorously denied permission. If only she could see me now.

  The feeling of unease refused to dissipate, worsening with every metre we took towards home. What would happen if we actually made it to the warehouse? Seth seemed supremely confident he would win and didn’t appear to be the type to lose too often. I scanned behind most of the
trip, my body contorted to the rear.

  “You know, we’d be far more aerodynamic if you would relax a bit and hug me closer, instead of impersonating a scarecrow. We’ve only got two blocks to go.”

  Smith’s complacency worried me. Usually about this point in the movie, the hero got shot.

  “Shhh, you’ll jinx us!” I smacked his helmet.

  “Well, well, look who it is. I can see you, Keeper!”

  “He’s behind us, he’s behind us!”

  Smith swerved impossibly across four lanes of traffic to descend in the wrong direction down an on-ramp. The big motor whined in protest as we shot through one red-lit intersection after another, violently weaving, and missing oncoming cars by the barest of margins. Low-rise semi-industrial complexes gave way to skyscrapers that crowded midtown like giant trees as we headed towards Circular Quay and The Rocks.

  “Bit of a daredevil, isn’t he? I can see why you like him so much.”

  Oh no! Seth was clearly keeping pace, no matter Smithy’s efforts. Where was he? I looked behind again but couldn’t see him.

  “He’s speaking to me again. I can tell he’s caught up!” I groaned.

  “Have a little faith, Bear. We’re not done yet.” I couldn’t trust my ears; I thought Smithy actually sniggered. “Excellent! Get snug against me. Head down. Hang on!”

  I whipped my head out to the side to check what excited him. Up ahead, a semitrailer had ponderously entered the crossroads we hurtled towards. Smithy didn’t falter. He also didn’t decelerate. The truck blocked