David Gilman - Ice Claw

“What is that pendant?” the nurse asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“It’s nothing,” Max told her.

But he knew that the burning secret he clenched in his fist was probably the answer to the events on the mountain. And the words spoken forged a powerful warning.

“ … allez … abbaye! … le crocodile et le serpent!” Go to the abbey. The crocodile and the snake.

Trust no one-they will kill you .

Lucifer .

They will kill you.

Lucifer .

A monk pursued by a man in black. Shot and wounded. An avalanche. A desperate fight for life. And a message.

A secret message.

Max stood at his room’s window, looking out across the low rooftops of Pau. It was a small city on a bluff above the Gave de Pau, the river that flows beneath the cliffs at the city’s southern edge. The panoramic view of the Pyrenees meant that on clear days the saw-toothed mountains seemed endless. Less than twenty kilometers away, their snow-capped peaks in the background of the Chateau de Pau made the view every tourist’s perfect holiday snap. But tonight was something different. Tonight the mountains held a tight grip on a mighty power that threatened and taunted him. Max slid the window open and felt the rush of wind.

A storm, like a massive battle, had struck the mountains. Thunder and lightning clashed, their percussion slamming across the city. The firelit sky smashed open the darkness and created a whirling exhibition of unparalleled energy. The world shook and trembled. Red- and blue-light lightning unleashed from the cloud-to-ground strikes crinkled the darkness. The light illuminated clouds and mountains, ricocheting around the peaks like a circle of fire. It was more stunning than anything Max had ever seen in any fireworks display.

An almighty crash and flash of light cut across Max’s face. He recoiled, but quickly turned back to face the storm’s anger. He gripped the sill, squinting against the biting wind. The mountains had failed to kill Max, but this enormous power seemed to be telling him that it could still reach out and destroy him.

The Pyrenees reverberated with pounding thunder as nature’s design created an electric lace-wing of shredded light that descended from the clouds. Exactly the same as the camouflage used by Sharkface and the monk’s killer.

Max had been given the responsibility of guarding the pendant, of finding answers in an abbey. He decided not to tell the police. Not yet anyway. But there were two people in his life he could trust. One was his dad; the second was Sayid.

“I can’t believe you were rescued by a helicopter,” Sayid moaned. “It took me two and a half hours in the back of an ambulance to get here.” He was in another room, the lower part of his leg in a cast. “I mean, how cool is that? A rescue chopper!”

Max smiled at him. “Stop moaning or I’ll hide your crutches. Listen, they’re gonna chuck us out of here in the morning and we have to make a plan.”

“Plan is we go home, isn’t it?”

Max nodded. “The flight’s booked for the end of the week, but I reckon they’ll try and pull strings to get us back earlier. But I want to stay.”

“The competition’s over; you can’t do anything about that,” Sayid said. He didn’t need to add how sorry he was that Max had lost the final.

Sayid fingered the misbaha . Max had risked his life to get it and nearly died in the process.

Max second-guessed his thoughts. “Sayid, I was meant to be there. Some things you can’t explain, but if I hadn’t lost the final I would never have been up in the mountains.” He held up the broken crucifix and the brass ring pendant with its opaque stone.

Sayid squinted at the stone. “Where did you get these?”

Max told him everything.

A shudder went through Sayid as he listened. He liked his adventure in small doses: like the time he and Max outran the farmer’s dog in a local orchard as they pinched apples; that had been exciting enough, thanks very much. His friend was proving to be a magnet for bigger trouble.

Max’s story rattled him. He and Max had decided to make the winter holidays a fun thing, so while Max worked to save money for the trip and competition by doing odd jobs, Sayid sorted out local people’s computer problems. What Sayid secretly longed for was the chance to be like Max, even to try and match his attitude. His best friend seemed able to determine a plan of action and act on it. Sayid would do anything to help him, that was chiseled in stone, but he knew in his heart he did not possess the instinct-yes, that was what it was-an animal instinct for survival. Only Max had that.

The avalanche his friend had saved him from clearly wasn’t as huge as the one that had swept Max away. The thought of a massive snowfield and mountainside crashing down filled Sayid with horror. To be buried alive; crushed. What a way to die. Max was right: he owed his life to the single-minded determination of the monk.

“I want to find out more about this monk,” Max said.

“You don’t think we should just hand this problem over to the cops? Blimey, Max, someone tried to murder him.”

“He saved me.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re responsible for him dying,” Sayid said.

“He could have left me buried, Sayid, he could have got himself down the mountain and reached a doctor. I owe him. He was desperate. He was begging me.”

“He was warning you!”

“And that was important as well.”

Sayid knew it was useless trying to dissuade Max once he’d made up his mind. “I’m not going back to England on my own, Max. You’ve got to promise not to let that happen, yeah?”

“I’ll come back and get you. I promise.”

“So you need to buy some time. How long?”

“Another day at least. How are your acting skills?”

“You mean this terrible pain that has suddenly shot up my leg into my back and the terrible headaches I’m getting?”

Max smiled. “Don’t overdo the headaches bit. They might do a brain scan and discover there’s nothing there.”

Bobby Morrell had left messages with the hospital staff when he’d phoned to see how Max was getting along. Max dialed the number of the hostel where he and the other competitors were staying in Mont la Croix. Bobby was on the slopes-where else? Max knew he’d be back once the light faded. He was going to need his help. Making sure the hostel manager repeated everything carefully, he left instructions for Bobby.

Max shed the hospital pajamas and dressing gown, and felt better the moment he pulled on his cargo pants, fleece and boots. He ran his fingers under the tap and mussed his hair. He slipped the brass pendant over his head, tucking it out of sight beneath his sweat rag, but he wasn’t sure what to do with the broken rosary.

The young Basque nurse walked in with a tray of food, fully expecting to see Max in bed. “What are you doing?”

Max thought quickly. “I have to go and sort out my friend’s equipment. Clothes and stuff. We’ll be going back to England. The doctor said it was OK.”

“But only tomorrow, I think. No?”

She put down the tray of food, shook her head impatiently and placed her hand on his forehead, then held two fingers to his wrist.

The nurse seemed satisfied with his pulse, but she was hesitant about something.

“Is everything OK?” Max asked her. “No snow or ice inside me that needs defrosting?” he quipped, but she didn’t understand.

“It is OK.” She nodded. Her fingers touched the crucifix in his hand. “I have seen this before.” She hesitated. “Did you steal it?” she asked very carefully.

“No! Course I didn’t.” He was more shocked that the crucifix had been recognized than at being thought a thief.