The Crone's Stone

by S E Holmes

bruise. Hugo’s good health made no sense. I’d seen Seth’s messed-up knuckles and damaged cheek. Did he not bother to fight back? Horror welled in my throat: had Seth unleashed his seethers on Hugo?

  I ran over, shaking him gently. “Hugo!”

  His eyes opened and he focused blearily upon me. “No, Dumpling,” he slurred. “You should not be here! You must run. Fly away from this place, while you have a chance.”

  Had Seth’s sorcery done this or was Hugo just dazed? “Not without you. I won’t let him hurt you again.”

  “You are powerless against his charisma and he will have his way. He has not laid a finger on me. I think I am drugged, that is all.”

  I did not dwell on that confusing detail, following the chains to their point of anchorage on the backboard and floor. Steel plates were affixed to each, the links themselves heavy and impossible to break. Hugo’s cuffs were as secure as mine, fitted but not cruel. Given his power, I could not fathom why Seth needed restraints at all. Maybe they were how the psycho got his recreational kicks. Hugo wasn’t going anywhere without keys.

  “Think, Hugo. How can I get you out of here?”

  “You cannot, nor should you,” he croaked.

  There was a jug and cup on the nightstand by the bed. I poured some out and sniffed at the liquid; it seemed to be untainted water. I cradled Hugo’s head in my lap and brought the cup to his lips, holding him as he drank. When he was done, I resettled him on the pillow. His features were slack and clammy.

  “Thank you. You must be very careful outside—”

  “I can’t leave you here, Hugo!”

  He continued, working hard to form his words. “Animals sense the Stone’s evil. It shrouds you and challenges their instinct to survive. They see you as a threat and will do anything to eliminate the hazard, driven to frenzy. And your mind grows increasingly defenceless and susceptible to fear. Water insulates you from the effect. Not dry land, where the Stone’s power is prime. Once off the boat, do not stop for anything.” The speech seemed to have stolen the last of his reserves. “Go, Dumpling! I mean it, leave me. As quick as you can.”

  We both heard soft footfalls. Statue-immobile, I was too scared to breathe as Seth made his way back to my cubicle. Hugo lost the fight against the narcotics coursing through his system, his eyelids slipping shut. I slapped his cheeks as forcefully as I dared. He roused dully and shook his head.

  “Go!” he mouthed, giving my hand a squeeze before succumbing to coma.

  My heart tore as I ran from Hugo, abandoning him to the Crone’s enforcer. I felt small and pathetic, an absolute failure. Nothing I did made an iota of difference. None of my promises were worth the breath I wasted on them. I staggered out into the hallway and up more stairs, tears clouding my progress. I had no energy left for a swim, and if we were too far from shore, defeat was the outcome. Bursting into the aft salon, I soon discovered my mistake.

  The boat was not on the open sea.

  Twenty-Four

  The cruiser we occupied was by far the largest of several flashy sea-craft I could see nearby. It was moored in a strange steel shed the size of two football fields, suspended out over water.

  The industrial olive-green walls dipped below the waterline, a salt-rimed ring marking the tide. A wet-berth of four floating concrete gangplanks jutted at right angles from the shore, facing towards two huge roller doors, which I estimated led out to the ocean. Three vessels were tethered in their own floating rectangular docks – Seth’s cruiser, a Riva speedboat and an enclosed sleek catamaran designed for fast ocean travel.

  The short jetties converged on a wide pier that ran the length of the shore. On my right in a corner L-section of building stood a dry dock where boats could be hauled up a ramp for hull maintenance. Barrels of marine fuel, coils of rope and other supplies were neatly arranged on the landing. And that was where I caught sight of the door embedded in the towering metal wall that led who knew where.

  I hesitated, unwilling to desert Hugo, but aware that if I wasted time finding a way to help him, I’d damn myself. I vacillated in Seth’s lair, blood trickling from my arms onto the zebra-skin rug of the main salon as the guilt-laden seconds ticked by. The hide was already stained by splotches I did not wish to examine.

  “Bear! Quit stalling and get the hell out of there!”

  Smithy bellowed in my mind and whether I’d imagined him or not I clung to his psychic command. I didn’t care where that door went as long as it was away from here. Immediately, I despised myself for such selfishness. Seth was conveniently absent, which only served to make me more fraught. I’d left clear evidence of my escape all over his boat.

  I ran out through the covered gallery via white leather benches to the very back of the cruiser, where three stairs dropped to the jetty. Vaulting from the boat, I sprinted along the pathway which joined the broader wharf and headed for the dry dock. I was too panicked to glance behind and see if Seth had come up on deck. There was no cover, nothing to hide behind.

  If that door to the outside was locked, I was done for. Although, I was probably done for anyway. I had no clue as to my location. Seth had looked into my eyes, which meant access to my thoughts at his convenience. And given what Hugo had said about hostile nature, what other things lurked out there ready to pounce? But I could not think about Hugo or I’d turn around and go back for him. At last, I reached the ramp and scrambled up onto solid land. Still, Seth had not made an appearance.

  The cavernous hangar echoed loudly with the thunderous sound of a downpour on the tin roof. Great! I had to flee through a hurricane. Dashing up the gentle slope into the alcove, I was surprised to discover the door barely hanging shut on a loose hinge, the lock ripped from the jamb. I pummelled it ajar and it was whipped away on the gale that blasted me like Thor’s hammer. I did not stop to ponder my good fortune.

  The door led onto a gridded platform. Half a dozen stairs ran down to a lower walkway, which was suspended just above the water’s edge. There was no supportive railing on the exposed side of the staircase. I barrelled downwards, icy sheets of rain instantly drenching my clothes.

  My eyes stung and I could hardly see in the murky afternoon light that better resembled night. The soles of my sneakers slid and I lost my footing, tumbling many stairs to the bottom. I landed hands thrust out, skinning one shin on the toothed edge of the tread. Hitting the slope, I rolled a few haphazard metres, until straggling reeds and a margin of stinking black silt stopped my progress.

  I righted myself with a groan. Foul sludge that reeked of grease and rotting seafood soaked the seat of my shorts, blood from my gouged shin mixing with mud.

  “Eww, gross!” I shuddered.

  In front of me, there was a hole in the wall the size of a tractor tyre, where salt had corroded the cladding. Bending forward slightly, I squinted to peer through at lapping brackish water that stretched under Seth’s wharf. Something scurried in the cave-like black. I had no desire to establish what. Crabbing rearwards, I tried and failed to avoid attracting the creature’s attention.

  A huge brown water rat poked its nose out, a putrid dead fish clamped between blunt, yellowing teeth. Rats were my greatest phobia. They never ceased to remind me of Bea’s simplest, yet most hideous implement of torture – a copper bowl with a depression for hot coals on top. The bowl was overturned on a victim’s stomach, and underneath it went a starved rat. As the embers glowed, the bowl heated downwards, forcing the trapped animal to eat its way through the victim or perish.

  Confronted by the dogged survival instinct of rats, I always felt less somehow: as weak as Seth claimed I was. Everyone had a caving point, despite what we believed about ourselves, how brave and tough and enduring we thought we were. I hoped Seth never found out about mine. Simply seeing that copper bowl would crush any illusion of loyalty I had for my family.

  The horrid rodent paused on its haunches, piercing me with beady pink eyes. Dropping the carcass, it bared fangs and let out a high-pitched squeal that sounded more like the s
cream of a baby. I didn’t need further encouragement to start moving.

  Leaping to my feet, I scrambled desperately up the slippery bank, which graduated from sodden mounds of sand to large dunes dotted by scrubby thickets of beach grass. The storm raged, rain nearly horizontal on the ceaseless wind. I battled to make headway against howling gusts and impossible terrain that was strangely vaguely familiar.

  Ahead loomed the highest ridge. If I reached the top, a wide view of the surroundings might help me decide which route to take. I tucked my head down onto my chest and thrashed upwards. All the while, the creeping sensation I was being followed refused to abate. Seth and his wrigglers had made me paranoid. Phantom tingles awoke in my knee and I stumbled up the steep incline. Reaching for a clump of grass to gain purchase, the blades were razor-sharp. I earned a nasty slash across my palm.

  “Oh, for crying out loud. Cut me some slack!” I shouted at the wrathful sky.

  In response, a faint noise gathered volume over the gale. A volley of rabid squeaks. My skin crawled and I didn’t dare look behind. I must not surrender to fear. Toiling onwards, the summit seemed further away with every plunge of sand-filled shoes. A dull roar behind snapped my head around to search for the source.

  Above, a passenger jet climbed steadily skyward. Suddenly, I knew exactly where