ASH MISTRY AND THE CITY OF DEATH

by Sarwat Chadda

  Ash lowered his fist. What was he doing? In spite of Gemma, Parvati was the closest friend he had. He owed her his life. “I just wish there was something I could do,” said Ash. “Gemma didn’t deserve to die.”

  “Ash—”

  Of course. It was so obvious. “I came back from the dead. Why not Gemma? There has to be a way.”

  Parvati’s gaze darkened. “Kali brought you back. She reawakened your heart.” Her words came out cold and hard. “What you’re talking about is something only gods can do. And it is a decision best left to them. Who is worthy, who is not.”

  “Are you saying Gemma’s not worthy?”

  “What I’m saying is who are we to choose?”

  “Gemma is worthy. She was a good person.”

  Parvati’s response, a bitter laugh, stabbed him deep. “Oh, I did not realise you could see into people’s souls and know whether they are good or evil. You have become powerful.”

  “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

  “Please, Ash…” It was almost a plea. “The girl you knew is gone.”

  Now the thought was in his head he couldn’t let it go. Was there some way to fix the mistakes of the past? Rishi would have known what was possible and what was not. Get Gemma back. A vain delusion or a real hope? His head told him one thing, his heart another. Ash looked at Parvati as she inspected his bookshelves. Why wouldn’t she want Gemma to return? Was Elaine right? Did Parvati have her own agenda?

  Don’t be stupid. If you can’t trust Parvati, then who can you trust?

  Ash fell back on to his bed. “Parvati, I don’t know what’s going on.”

  Parvati’s fingers paused over a history book, one Ash knew well: The Life of Ashoka, a biography of the first emperor of India. The West might have Alexander the Great, but as far as Ash was concerned, no one came close to Ashoka, a violent brigand who’d ended up ruling one of the largest empires of the ancient world, back in the third century BC. Parvati tapped the book, her brow knotted, then picked another one off the shelf.

  The Ramayana. What else?

  She smirked. “They’ve given him ten heads, as usual.”

  It was an old children’s book. The cover was torn and scribbled on, but standing in the centre was Ravana, the demon king. Parvati’s dad. He was resplendent in golden armour and had, indeed, ten heads, all glaring in red-faced fury. Prince Rama, the hero, stood to the side, his skin blue, arrow nocked in his bow. The arrow had flames surrounding it.

  A magic arrow to destroy the demon king. An aastra.

  Ash remembered the smell of the battlefield, the tension in the bowstring as he drew the arrow back and the fury in Ravana’s gaze. The memories were so fresh and so close he could almost reach out and touch them.

  Parvati had talked about meeting him in previous incarnations. The thought still freaked him out. She said he was an Eternal Warrior, destined to be reborn again and again. How many people had he been? Rama? Ashoka? Who else? He’d visited museums and looked at the ancient armour and the rusting weapons in the glass cabinets, and his hands had curled, remembering how they’d once held axes and swords and spears and shields. The weight of armour, the narrow, restricted view through a helmet. He’d seen cities burn; he’d known little peace. A perpetual state of war. That was his destiny. But it had never been as vivid as the memory of Ashoka last night. He looked at the demon girl. “I need your help.” He rubbed his temples. “I had a dream last night. I was the original Ashoka, the one who became emperor of India. I dreamed I was fighting and I woke up just as I was about to kill my dad.”

  “The past lives are taking control? Rishi warned me this might happen. The Kali-aastra, it’s sustained by violence and death. It wants more power, and your rage, your guilt, will only feed it.”

  “How can I stop it?”

  Parvati smiled softly and sat down beside him. “I wish I knew, Ash, I really do. But that was something Rishi was meant to teach you.”

  “Isn’t there anyone else?”

  Her eyelids lowered and a hiss escaped her. She frowned. “No.”

  She was lying, he knew it. Why? “Are you sure? Elaine said—”

  “I’m sure she did, but Elaine’s no Rishi. There was no one like him.”

  “Then what am I going to do?”

  “It’s my fault. I came back into your life and stirred everything up. That’s why I’m here, Ash. To tell you that I’m going and I won’t be coming back. The further away I am, the better for both of us.”

  “You’re going after Savage?”

  Parvati raised her hand to her chest and Ash noticed a lump, a pouch, under her tunic. “He’ll come after the Koh-i-noor.” She laughed. “Like a rat after cheese, my favourite type of prey.”

  “Savage is dangerous, Parvati.”

  “And so am I. Still, I won’t be facing him alone.”

  “You’ve got Khan, right?”

  “Yes, I have Khan. But I am also Ravana’s daughter. All Savage knows ultimately came from my father. Either from the scrolls he stole from me, or from that night he resurrected Ravana. I’ve studied those scrolls and learned a few tricks, and they’d counter most of what Savage can throw at me.”

  “Like that thing you did with your eyes?” Back in Varanasi she’d almost succeeded in hypnotising him. That eerie emerald glow coming from her eyes wasn’t easy to forget.

  “Mesmerism. It’s part of one of the sorceries, and we serpents are especially good at it.”

  “Maybe, but Savage is in another league, Parvati. Let me come.” The thought was in his head and out of his mouth the same instant. But why not? “I can’t stay here.”

  “Ash, they are your family. Your place is with them.”

  “No. Not when I’m like this. Don’t you get it? I was this close to killing my own father. Bloody hell, if I’d used Marma Adi, he’d be dead. I can’t stay around them.”

  “What about things like school?”

  “You think I’ll be missed? I reckon it’ll be a lot easier for everyone if I’m gone for a few weeks. None of my friends talk to me and everyone whispers about me behind my back.” There was even a display about Gemma at the school reception with a photo of her, cards and small gifts other pupils had left for her. She’d been popular. He glanced at his textbooks stacked up on the shelves over his desk. “And how can I concentrate on French verbs knowing Savage is out there? That Jackie’s still around?”

  “And going after Savage will help? No, it’ll only make things worse. Killing Savage will not bring you peace, Ash, it’ll only accelerate your descent into darkness. Don’t give in to the Kali-aastra. Don’t feed it with more death.”

  “There is no peace while Savage is alive.”

  “Let me deal with the Englishman,” said Parvati.

  “You’ve had two hundred years to deal with him and how far have you got? Nowhere.”

  Parvati bristled under the insult, but didn’t rise to it. Maybe it was a bit below the belt, but Ash didn’t care. He couldn’t stay here where he might lose control. He’d been lucky that he’d snapped out of it before he’d done something terrible, and that his dad had come in first; he was big and could take it. What if it had been Lucky? He could have broken her neck. “I can’t stay, Parvati. Not like this.”

  Parvati said nothing. Her lips were fixed in a thin line and her green eyes glistened. She didn’t look very happy, but she nodded. “Fine. Come.”

  Ash stood up. Yes, this was for the best. He’d be safely away from his family and with Parvati; they’d deal with Savage. An electric thrill ran up his spine at the thought of returning to India. He’d never been to the city of Kolkata, on the far eastern side of the subcontinent. He looked around his room. What should he pack? There was hardly anything he wanted to take.

  His gaze fell on a small portrait he’d downloaded off the Web a couple of months ago. Lord Alexander Savage, wearing the uniform of the East India Company, his blue-eyed gaze cold and aloof. In his hand he held a bulbous poppy, symbol of t
he opium trade that had made part of the family fortune, and on a table in the background, in among the shadows, was a set of manacles. As well as trading in drugs, Savage had also been a slaver.

  Drug dealer. Slave trader. Murderer and the most powerful sorcerer in the world. Ash was going to kill him.

  For the first time since Gemma died, Ash smiled.

  “ou’re a stupid idiot,” said Lucky.

  “It’s got to be done, Lucks.” Ash rolled up another pair of jeans and shoved them into his rucksack.

  “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

  “Being dead didn’t stop me the first time.”

  Lucky hurled a pillow at him. “Don’t joke about this, Ash!”

  The pillow bounced off his head, but it was good that things were back to normal between them after the arctic coldness right after Gemma’s death. That was the thing about families: no one could stay mad for long.

  “If this works out, we’ll be rid of Savage once and for all. I need to do this.” He squeezed in a few of his T-shirts. “Gemma deserves revenge.”

  “Gemma’s dead, Ash,” Lucky said quietly. “I was at her funeral.”

  He hadn’t been invited. Even though the police confirmed he had nothing to do with Gemma’s death, he had her blood on his hands, literally. So Ash stayed away. Gemma’s family had enough to deal with without him being there. “How was it?”

  “How do you think? Sad.”

  Ash shoved some more clothes into his bag.

  “Why don’t you tell them the truth? Mum and Dad should know about the rakshasas.”

  “The truth?” said Ash. “Has knowing what’s out there made it any easier for you?”

  As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn’t. Lucky’s face drained of all colour and suddenly she looked very small, very frail and very frightened. She knew the truth better than most. Lucky had been captured by Lord Savage and held hostage by the rakshasas for days, knowing that any one of them would be happy to tear her to pieces. Lord Savage had promised her to them, and Ash remembered how Lucky had woken up screaming every night for weeks. Their mum and dad couldn’t help. They said there were no such things as monsters, but they were so terribly wrong.

  Ash took Lucky’s hand. “I didn’t know you still had those nightmares. You know I’d never let anyone hurt you.”

  Lucky bit her lip. “It’s not the demons that frighten me.”

  “Oh? What then?”

  She looked away from him, dropping her gaze. “It’s not important.”

  “Tell me.”

  There was a deep, bone-weary sigh and then, looking anxiously at him, Lucky told him the truth. “It’s you. You are in my nightmares.”

  “But I saved you.”

  “Ash, you came back from the dead. I saw what you were, how you looked. You punched straight through Mayar. You charged straight through his body. I saw you standing there, drenched in his blood, only it was your eyes…”

  Ash stared at his sister. “You never said anything. Why didn’t you—”

  “They were so full of rage, I couldn’t believe it was you. The blood was so black and slimy on you. You looked so gaunt, I could count the ribs and the bones through your skin. Ash, you have no idea what you were when you came back. Really, you don’t.”

  More terrible than the monsters. He’d been warned that was what he might become as the Kali-aastra, but it broke something inside him to see the fear in Lucky’s eyes. That horrific night had changed them both. He’d lost more than his life. Ash held his sister’s hand. “I’m sorry, Lucks. I’ll make it up to you.”

  “Then stay, Ash. Let Parvati deal with Savage.”

  “Parvati’s my friend. I have to help her.”

  Lucky shook her head. “I don’t like her, Ash. And I don’t know if she’s your friend at all.”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “She let Gemma die. Can’t you see that?”

  He went to his drawer, half pulling it out before remembering his punch dagger had been confiscated by the police. He’d get a replacement as soon as he landed in India. Suddenly he didn’t want to be talking about any of this. “She explained. She couldn’t risk Jackie getting the diamond.”

  “Would you have done the same? No, not in a million years.” Lucky pulled him round so they were face to face. “When Savage wanted the Kali-aastra in exchange for me, you didn’t hesitate.”

  “That was different.” But Lucky’s comment made him uncomfortable. Parvati had been willing to leave Lucky, to abandon her in Savage’s fortress. Her lives had been lonely and surrounded by bloodshed. Did she have any real feelings towards anyone? How much of her was human and how much of her was demon? How could anyone be remotely normal having Ravana for a dad?

  “What about Mum and Dad?” Lucky added. “They won’t let you go. You’re only fourteen. You can’t just leave school and everything.”

  Ash frowned. “Parvati’s taking care of that too.”

  “How?” Lucky’s voice had more than fear in it.

  He made a spiralling motion in front of his eyes. “One of her Jedi mind tricks.”

  “She’s hypnotising them? To think what?”

  “Do you remember Robert and Susan, Dad’s old university friends?” Ash said. “The story is I’m too traumatised by Gemma’s death to go to school, so I’m staying with them in Manchester. Just for a week or two. Until everything’s sorted.”

  Lucky began to cry. Her little chin wrinkled up and she sat there, tears rolling down her face. “Don’t go, Ash.”

  He hugged her. “You look after Mum and Dad.” Ash grabbed his rucksack. “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

  “You can’t promise those things,” said Lucky.

  Ash’s mum squeezed him hard. “You say hello to Rob and Sue from us.”

  “You sure you want to take the train up, son? I could drive you.” His dad checked the display on the station. The train was due in about three minutes.

  Ash shook his head. “No, it’ll be quicker by train. I’ll be all right.”

  Lucky hadn’t wanted to come. She said her goodbyes at home before running upstairs and crying.

  Ash looked at his parents. Should he tell them the truth? Didn’t they deserve to know? But then what? Even if he could persuade them to let him go, they’d spend every minute worrying.

  There were only a few people at West Dulwich train station. Ash wore his winter coat and had his rucksack on. He wanted them to leave, but wanted them to stay too. When he said goodbye to them last summer, it had been different. Then, he and Lucky were staying with Uncle Vik and Aunt Anita, swapping one set of parents for another, almost. What was he getting himself into now? Hunting down demons, sorcerers and who knew what other weirdness?

  The rails rattled as the train came into view. This was it.

  Ash hugged his dad. “I’m going to miss you.” That was all that he needed to say.

  “Call us when you get there, all right?” His mum wiped her face and gave him a smile. “All right?”

  “I’ll text. As often as possible.”

  Ash got on the train and waved to his mum and dad. He waved even when the doors closed and the train rolled off. He waved until he couldn’t see the platform.

  Then, five minutes later, he got off at the next stop, Herne Hill. The taxi was waiting. He nodded at Parvati and Khan, both in the back, then threw his rucksack in the boot. He pushed all thoughts of his parents and his sister and his home deep down and away. There would be no room for any of that from now on. From now on he was the Kali-aastra and nothing more.

  It was time to kill.

  Heathrow Airport was an hour’s drive away. Parvati and Khan whispered to one another at the beginning, then fell into silence. Khan actually slept. Ash watched Parvati via the side mirror. She didn’t look good. Her movements were sluggish and uncoordinated. Something was off – she’d looked ill in his room, but this was way worse. “What’s wrong?”

  She ran her tongue over her dry, cracked li
ps. “Just tired. It’ll pass.”

  Ash gazed at her. What wasn’t she telling him?

  The taxi drove to the cargo terminal off the South Perimeter Road. Parvati handed some papers over to the guard, and a few minutes later they were in, rolling slowly along the road that ran towards the cargo bays. Sharp aircraft fumes soaked the air and washed the evening sky with bright reds and golds and oranges. The ground trembled as a British Airways jumbo jet landed on a distant runway, the engine noise, even from here, shaking the minicab.

  “This is our lift,” said Khan, pointing to a plane out on the tarmac. The taxi rolled up to it and they got out.

  An old, four-propeller Dakota stood in front of one of the smaller hangars. A crown had been freshly painted on the side and underneath it were the words Maharajah Air. The passenger door opened and an Indian man stepped out. Plump and wearing a pair of aviator Ray-Bans, he adjusted his two-sizes-too-small captain’s jacket as he gazed out across the tarmac. He stroked his moustache, softly twisting the tips.

  “Jimmy?” said Ash.

  The man smiled broadly as he jumped down the steps and wrapped his arms round Ash, lifting him off his feet. “My English friend! Such a pleasure to be seeing you again. How is your good self?”

  “Been better. And you?”

  Jimmy took off his Ray-Bans and looked back at the plane. “We are a three-plane company now, sahib.”

  “Yes, but only this one has wings,” added Parvati as she walked past.

  Jimmy had flown Ash and Parvati out to Ravana’s tomb, and had been paid handsomely for it with a bag of diamonds. It seemed he’d invested well. This new plane looked in far better nick than the rattling antique they’d last been in. Ash brushed his hand against the underside of the wing. “Rivets instead of sellotape. Which is nice.”

  The interior was basic, but comfortable. A small chandelier jangled above Ash and the cabin smelled of incense and warmed-up curry. Instead of standard aeroplane seats, there were a couple of sofas, an armchair and even a chaise longue, all bolted to the floor.