David Gilman - Ice Claw

Sophie moved slightly. Uncertain what to do about the sleeping girl, he decided to leave her undisturbed.

As the sun threw its light across the landscape, the richness and beauty of the mountains and valleys surprised him. In the distance, to the west and south, a rugged, stone-flecked desert leveled out across the horizon-a shimmering warning that a harsher terrain was not far away. The Land Cruiser gripped the dirt track that led through the mountains and their snow-capped peaks that sucked in the orange warmth.

The 4?4 hit a deep rut, jolted and righted itself. Sophie was wide awake in an instant. She looked at Max, gazed through the windshield, then licked the dryness from her lips. Max gave her the bottle of water. She drank thirstily and handed it back.

“Are you all right?” she asked Max.

He nodded. “Thanks for doing my arm.”

She shrugged. “It needs attention. My father will look at you. He knows about these things.”

“If it lives on the face of the earth it has probably bitten Laurent Fauvre,” Abdullah said.

They could see from his eyes in the rearview mirror that he was smiling.

“And probably died from blood poisoning as a result,” Sophie said as she pulled her fingers through her hair.

“Sophie, go easy on your father. Show some respect, yes? He lives a hard life,” Abdullah said gently.

“And it takes a hard man to live it,” she said to no one in particular.

Abdullah shrugged. He knew about the friction between father and child. Max felt the tension. Sophie and her dad clearly had problems. What was he getting into?

“Is it much farther?” he asked.

Sophie nodded towards the front of the vehicle. “It’s there.”

Max squinted through the dust-smeared windshield. The low morning light gave a distorted reflection on the dirty glass. Across the distant, bare valley were what looked to be rows of hewn sandstone boulders, standing rigidly together like dominoes. They were almost indistinguishable from the mountains rising behind them, whose torn skirts of rock diffused the land’s harshness with light and shadow.

Once Max focused more clearly he could see the tips of date palms, and for a brief moment the glint of reflection as the low sun caught a slick of water tumbling down the mountainside.

“It looks like a town,” Max said.

“You’re right. It’s called Les Larmes des Anges,” Abdullah said. “It was once the toughest Berber stronghold in these mountains. Then, when we fought the French, they held it for years-I’m talking back between the world wars, 1920s. There was vicious fighting here. Neither side would think of surrender. It’s the only walled town around here. During the final battle a rainstorm swept across the mountain between the sun and desert. The raindrops were lit by the sun’s rays. Les Larmes des Anges-‘the Tears of the Angels.’ They blinded the defenders. The French garrison died where they stood. Now, when the wind comes down from the mountains, it is said you can hear the cries of the dying.”

The Land Cruiser left a wisp of dust behind it as Abdullah accelerated towards the ancient town. Sophie fell silent, gazing straight ahead at the crumbling walls and the place where her father waited.

Once they were closer the size of the walled town became more apparent. The walls had to be thirty, forty meters high. Two huge, iron-studded doors began to swing open as the Land Cruiser approached. Max wondered what was waiting for him as they drove beneath the entrance arch into the town the French had named the Angels’ Tears.

There was in fact very little left of the town; it was mostly perimeter walls and a few other buildings that remained. The whole inside area was like a massive zoo. Huge, scooped-out troughs of earth, some filled with water, served as drinking holes for the animals. Others were natural enclosures for the assorted creatures. The thick walls stretched for as far as he could see, until they buttressed the mountain’s skeleton fingers that stretched down to touch the fortress town.

Towards one side of the wall Max could see cavelike openings, beneath which some craters dropped away. Twisting in his seat, he looked back as he caught a glimpse of deep orange and dark stripes. A tiger was climbing an old tree trunk conveniently laid against the face of the rock, allowing access to its lair. Fur and muscle glistened, rippling like oil on water as the huge cat, carrying a dead goat in its jaws, sprang and disappeared into the darkness of its lair. But more awesome was the tiger that watched it. A big male reclined on a rock ledge, indifferent to the female’s activities. The massive head turned its attention towards Max. Amber eyes, impassive but watchful, followed him.

“Did you see the tiger?” Max blurted out. “It was huge. What is this place? It’s like a safari park.”

Abdullah swung the Land Cruiser around the edge of another crater. Manmade obstacles, like an assault course, mixed with boulders and dead trees created a perfect haven for monkeys.

“That’s the best way to describe it, Master Gordon,” Abdullah said, easing the big 4?4 towards a more open area where a gantry of iron platforms broke the skyline. “Those big holes? They’re bomb craters. They’re perfect for a lot of the animals here. Don’t forget, many of these are protected and endangered species. By good fortune, war and destruction gave these animals the chance to survive. The town was flattened, but they could not breach the walls. Sophie’s father redirected the water from the mountains and created natural watering holes. The animals are as safe as they can be. Ah! There’s Laurent.”

It was already getting hot in the shelter of the walls as Max stepped out of the Land Cruiser. They had stopped in front of the gantry, which Max could now see was scaffolding built as a trapeze platform straddling another crater. The steel bars reached up twenty-five meters or more and Max’s eye was drawn to the figure swinging across space, gripping a trapeze bar.

Max shielded his eyes. He could see it was not a young man on the trapeze-his gray hair caught the sunlight; but despite the man’s age, Max could see his upper body was bulked with muscle stretching through the gymnast’s cutaway vest. An Arab boy, dressed in white cotton shorts and T-shirt, stood on the opposite gantry-and swung another trapeze bar into the void. Max saw the man’s biceps bulge with exertion as he hoisted himself into position, torsioned his body and let go in midair.

There was a moment, like a plane stalling, when he was motionless in the air. If he did not turn in time he would miss the approaching trapeze. He twisted, his hands slapping the approaching bar at just the right moment. With practiced ease he swung across to the boy, who caught the trapeze. Laurent Fauvre sat on the support platform, dusted his hands with talcum powder, gripped a rope and slid down to the base of the tower.

Abdullah nudged Max, flicking his head towards the base of the trapeze, a scooped-out crater like the others, but this hole was full of jagged rocks.

“No safety net,” Abdullah whispered. “He falls, he dies.”

Max followed Abdullah as he strode towards the scaffolding. Bad enough that Laurent Fauvre took his life into his hands every time he went up onto the trapeze, but now Max saw that he had lowered himself down the rope and placed himself into a wheelchair.

Fauvre dabbed his face and draped the towel around his neck. Abdullah bent down, kissed his friend’s cheeks, shook his hand and held it for a moment in the warmth of friendship.

“Allah the Merciful keeps you safe, my friend,” Abdullah said.

“You’ve obviously put in a good word for me.” The Frenchman grinned.

Laurent Fauvre looked towards Sophie. Max hung back. Fauvre had already cast a glance in his direction and seemed to dismiss him immediately.