Ash nodded. “The men put on their finest clothes and jewellery and charge the enemy. They fight until every one of them is killed. A ‘death or victory’ sort of thing.”
“You think that heroic?”
He frowned. This sounded like a trap. “Of course.”
“Do you know what happens to the women and children? The old folk left behind?”
Ash shook his head. His eyes fell on the scorch marks and an uneasy dread crept over him.
Savage walked down into the vast pit. “The Rajputs would break up their furniture, their doors, everything and anything that burned. They piled it all in here. Then they poured ghee all over it. Ghee burns hot and fast.”
Ghee. The thick, high-fat butter used in all Indian cooking. And it was also used to accelerate…
“They built a funeral pyre,” said Ash. “This is one giant funeral pyre, isn’t it.”
“The children they drugged, so they wouldn’t know what was happening,” said Savage. “Then, with their babies in their arms, the women leaped into the flames. The old folk followed so the conquerors would find nothing but ash.”
“I… that’s horrific.”
“That is a warrior’s honour. Jackie’s people did this to themselves rather than face the humans’ vengeance.”
Ash stepped back. He didn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it. “But Rama. Rama was a good man. He would never let such a thing happen.”
Savage laughed contemptuously. “Rama, perhaps. But he had hundreds of generals under him. They in turn had thousands of soldiers beneath each of them. Men who had suffered years of war, men who’d seen their own cities and families slaughtered. Men who had nothing left in their hearts but hate and bitterness. Do you think they would be restrained when they conquered Lanka? That they would not take revenge?”
Ash said nothing. What could he say? Savage was right.
Savage continued, “I’ve seen slaughters like you couldn’t imagine. There’s not a war in the last two hundred years I’ve not been a part of. I’ve witnessed what man does to his fellow man, the things he’ll do just because the other fellow’s skin is a bit different in shade or he follows this god and not that one. If there’s one thing we humans have always been good at, it’s genocide.”
Ash looked towards Savage. “Is that what’s kept you going all these years? War?”
“You wound me, boy. Look at us. I am here to uncover the secrets of the Koh-i-noor. Secrets your friend Parvati wanted kept hidden. How is she, by the way?”
“Still desperate to kill you.”
Savage sighed. “Rakshasas know how to hold on to a grudge.”
“You tricked and betrayed her, Savage. You took her father’s scrolls of magic from her. But I think she hates you because you once promised to make her human. She’ll never forgive you for that.”
“Parvati’s pure poison, boy.”
“No, you just don’t get her.” Ash knew that, trapped between two races, Parvati suffered the worst of both – the immortality of her rakshasa heritage and the human desire for companionship, for love, with the loneliness of thousands of years of seeing loved ones and people she cared about die. The world moved on, but she didn’t. “Perhaps you wouldn’t be so keen for immortality if you really knew what it was like. It’s a curse.”
“A curse? Who doesn’t want to live for ever? You and I are the same, Ash. We’ve both cheated death once, and now we know it’s possible, why settle for less? You want your friend back, and I want to see what lies ahead.”
“We’re not the same.” The idea made him sick.
“Perhaps you are right. Once I discover how to fully awaken the Koh-i-noor, I will be able to heal any sickness, cure any disease. I will be able to resurrect the dead. Tell me, is there any parent in the world who has lost a child who would not want me to succeed?
“Now, let us consider you, Ash Mistry. Your touch brings death to the guilty and innocent alike. It is a power you barely control. You worship a goddess who revels in slaughter, and you are here for nothing more than revenge. Not to better the world, not to redress some wrong, just for revenge and to satisfy your own pride. I wield the Koh-i-noor, the bringer of life. You are the Kali-aastra, and bring only death. Am I wrong?”
“That’s not how it is. I’m not the bad guy here,” said Ash.
Savage just smiled. But he was wrong. Wasn’t he?
“he greatest treasures will be in Ravana’s palace,” said Savage.
“And I suppose they’ll be well guarded?” asked Ash.
“Exceedingly well guarded.”
“By who? Or what?”
Savage looked up towards the buildings on the hills overlooking them. “By the most powerful spells. The most deadly traps and terrifying guards.”
“What a surprise. Another suicide mission. And this is going to work because…?”
“Because this time you and I are working together.”
“Yeah, I’m not quite clear how that happened.” Ash still couldn’t pinpoint the moment he and Savage had gone from being mortal enemies to Best Friends For ever. “You’d better be right about this,” he said.
“If I’m wrong, then I’m dead,” said Savage. “But I’m not wrong.” The streets and buildings changed. The paths were wider, the buildings grander and the atmosphere more… anxious.
The dull grey sky returned and spread a gloomy shadow over the city. The wind whispered sad and cruel things just at the edge of hearing. It whirled down the streets and moaned through broken windows and empty doorways. Shadows continued to move of their own accord, not driven by any light Ash could see. No one spoke, and Ash’s nerves were as tight as violin strings. He almost wanted some attack, some action. The waiting and the searching was exhausting, never knowing if a trap or some threat might be in the next doorway or round the next corner.
Ash touched the pale, shimmering marble wall and traced his fingers over the softly undulating curves. He winced at a sudden sting and drew his hand away sharply. Four red fingerprints remained on the surface before they were sucked into the depths of the marble.
“My fingers,” said Ash, holding them up. “They’re bleeding. I think the wall just bit me.”
“We’re in Lanka, boy,” replied Savage. “An impossible realm.”
Jackie halted. She held her breath and stared.
Savage joined her. “At last.”
A wide avenue stretched out before them. The air rippled and parted. Ash peered at it closely, but it was as if he was trying to see something on the other side of a waterfall. The air was transparent, but fractured and disruptive.
“Ravana’s palace,” said Savage.
With those words, the view ahead crystallised into reality. The fragmented patterns of light, a view through a broken mirror, assembled into a single whole. Needle-like towers protected by a curtain of spikes. Walls of glass with passages of nails and spears. Long ribbons of shell along the paths, their edges as keen as razors. The stones bore tormented faces, for ever frozen in the ecstasy of torture. All Indian temples were decorated with apsaras, divine maidens of extraordinary beauty, heavenly houris. Here the apsaras were cruel and harpy-like, with talons and mouths filled with broken and jagged teeth, eyes glaring with fierce hatred. They clung to the columns and stalked along the upper balconies, immobile yet alert.
Icy fear stroked Ash’s heart and shivered in his soul. The others clearly felt it too, and Jackie swallowed loudly.
A cloud of despair drifted from the tallest towers and spread across the city, shutting them off from any warmth or sunlight. This was a realm separate from the world of life and colour, the gloomy, dead kingdom of a race that abhorred nature: demonkind. Standing at its very heart, Ash sensed how the world recoiled from it. Every element of his body wanted to retreat.
Steps, cracked and tumbled, led up to a smashed, open gate. The rubble was oily from thousands of years of being submerged, encrusted with barnacles and littered with the flotsam of the deep ocean, with bo
nes of ancient creatures and weapons rusted to almost nothing.
Jackie touched the ground reverently. “This is where we made our last stand.” She gazed out across the city. “We’d heard rumours that Ravana was dead, but we’d sworn to defend his palace no matter what. You could see the banners of Rama’s armies all the way to the city’s edge. Mayar led Ravana’s royal guard and I was there, by the outer courtyard. We’d all prepared for a glorious death.”
“But that never happened, did it?” said Ash.
Jackie spat on the step. “No. Our new king surrendered. Vibheeshana, Ravana’s own brother. He was as mighty as Ravana, but a coward. He knelt before Rama and handed over his sceptre. A rakshasa, kneeling before a mortal. Even now I feel the bile in my throat. So instead of honourable death, we became exiles. Vagabonds. Thus ended the reign of Ravana.”
Ash looked about him, at this ancient battlefield where a whole race was wiped out. He almost, almost felt pity for the rakshasas. Here in this immense plaza, they had become a near-extinct species. In one day they had been toppled from their golden thrones to become refugees, hated and hunted by their conquerors.
Jackie looked out from a broken lump of rock. “The sky was on fire and you could hear the cries of the gods themselves. The universe trembled when Ravana died.”
“I know. I was the one who killed him, twice.”
“You have no idea what you did.” The bitterness was still acid sharp, yet tempered with weary acceptance. The story of Ravana had finally ended in Rajasthan, and it had been Ash who’d written the last line.
Savage snapped his fingers and pointed at two of the hyena rakshasas. “Sniff it out.”
They nodded and swept up the steps to the vast entrance of the palace. They nuzzled along the stones and snarled at the dark, open mouth of the doorway, and then both went in.
Savage looked back at the loha-mukhas. “Come on then.”
The statues remained stationary. The Shiva statue was still and the monkeys frozen with their tails high loops in the air. The gargoyles both had a foot in the air, midstep.
Savage glared and raised his cane. “I gave you an order.”
They remained as still – well, as still as statues, he thought.
“Your spell’s worn off,” he said.
“No, it’s been nullified,” said Savage. He peered into the doorway, twisting the cane in his hands. If Ash didn’t know better, he’d have thought Savage was looking a bit anxious. Maybe a little afraid.
What was in there? Something more powerful than Savage?
Ash was halfway up the steps already. Despite the dread radiating from the palace, he couldn’t help himself. His curiosity was too great. How could he not want to look? Being in Ravana’s palace was like being at the heart of time, at the greatest moment in humankind’s existence. It was here that humanity had inherited the earth. All that had followed, the thousands of years of human civilisation, its domination, was decided on this spot. What was inside?
Ash paused, still fifteen metres from the doors. He couldn’t penetrate the gloom beyond the palace opening, but he felt—
From within, one of the hyena rakshasas howled. Then there was a hiss and sudden silence.
A moment later the rakshasa’s head rolled out. It tripped down the steps, slowly at first, then tumbling faster as it built up speed, splashing wild patterns of blood over the marble with each bounce, until Savage stopped it with his boot.
“What a shame,” he said, looking down at the dead eyes. “I rather liked him.” He kicked it down the last few steps.
Ash breathed in the vanishing spirit of the rakshasa. This was death, and it was sweet. Power surged along his limbs and his heart swelled. He grinned hungrily at the perfume of spilled blood and drew the katar.
So, treading through the puddle of blood, Ash crept into Ravana’s palace.
“ello?” said Ash.
Hello. Hello. Hello.
“Anyone home?”
Home. Home. Home.
His voice echoed down and down into the palace. He sensed a yawning vastness before him. Cold air drifted around him and moaned in the space above him. Who knew how high the ceiling was? Columns wound their way upward, each one unique, disappearing into the infinite darkness. Some were stout, others slim, some carved with delicate designs and images, others faceless, but threaded with veins of colour in the marble.
Ash stepped further in, a chill wrapping itself over him like a cloak of ice. Goose bumps rose up over his bare skin and clouds of frosty breath spread out as if he was exhaling his soul.
Savage and Jackie came in a few paces behind. The remaining two hyena rakshasas entered last, sniffing at the bloody trail left by their dead fellow. Savage had his pistol in his left hand, his cane in his right. Jackie prowled in semi-beast form, still lumbering along on two legs, but hunched over with a huge muscular torso and thick, fur-covered arms. The click of her long toenails on the marble floor echoed through the palace.
Long spears of hazy, pearly light fell from hidden windows high in the walls. Glittering dust motes drifted in the cool wind and the slanting darkness, stirred as the trio passed by. Savage paused by Ash and silently handed him a torch. They stopped at the headless body of one of the hyenas. Blood soaked its fur and flesh, and the spine had been neatly, almost surgically, severed.
“Where’s the other one?” asked Ash.
“Look,” said Jackie.
Claw marks ran across the floor into a dark doorway. It looked as though something had been dragged away… something like a hyena rakshasa. The two left whined pitifully, and their tails hung low between their legs.
Voices moaned. The walls splintered like cracked ice and Ash saw swirling images forming within. The stone began to bulge and grow as faces pushed themselves against the surface. Fingers, crooked and hooked, reached out desperately; mouths widened and long, eager tongues lashed out. Ash backed away, but Savage wasn’t quick enough. One bony claw locked round his arm and pulled.
Savage put the pistol against the stony limb, and the hall thundered with bullets. They sparked as they ricocheted off the marble, and Ash ducked as one nearly clipped his ear. Savage struggled frantically, the sleeve of his jacket tearing free and the pistol clicked on empty. But he was dragged closer, more hands and talons rising from the wall, embracing him.
Ash shoved the tip of his katar into a crack and twisted it sharply. The hand holding Savage shattered as if made of ice. Ash swept his blade into a pair of long claws, focused on the minute points of weakness he could see shining upon them, and they erupted into a thousand pieces. Jackie hauled Savage away as the limbs, snarling faces and clutching fingers vanished back into the stone, denied their prize.
Savage wiped his forehead. He inspected his jacket with the sleeve dangling loose and pulled it off. “I must have words with my tailor. Such poor stitching.” His voice shook, unable to hide the fear beneath the pithy remark. He shook Ash’s hand. “Thank you.”
I saved Savage’s life, Ash realised. I’m such an idiot.
They descended a series of disjointed stairs. Some were wide with handrails of silver, studded with precious gems; others were of creaking rotten wood, and one was made of pale bone. Savage paused at each of them, inspecting faded symbols and writings that had been carved at various points and junctions. More than once he stopped to let the others get a few steps ahead before catching up. Eventually the party reached a narrow corridor. Unlike the rest of the palace, this one was mathematically square, the walls, floor and ceiling each of identical length. Ash pointed his torch down it and saw that each surface was covered with tiles.
Savage wiped the slime off the nearest tile. “Interesting,” he said. “Harappan pictograms.”
Ash’s blood went cold. Uncle Vik had been an expert on the ancient language of Harappa. It was the reason Savage had employed him. “Can you read it?” he asked.
“They’re too badly worn away. This entire building has been submerged for thousands of years, so it�
��s not surprising so much is damaged.” He nodded to one of the hyena rakshasas. “Off you go.”
The rakshasa sniffed the floor, then took a few steps. His paws brushed the algae covering the tiles.
A low, grinding noise shivered down the corridor. The long, rectangular path began to rotate. Sections twisted as if the corridor had been made up of five open boxes connected together. One box turned clockwise, the other anticlockwise, the walls becoming the floor and the ceiling becoming the walls. The hyena rakshasa tumbled sideways, around and around as the corridor turned, not fast, but unevenly. He scrambled to the second section, but failed to find his balance as the box turned in the opposite direction at a different speed. He left a trail of smeared green slime where he’d fallen and slid.
The grinding stopped and the corridor settled back into place. The floor on which the rakshasa had first stood was now the ceiling. His paw prints were up there, but then he’d slid down the side, across, back up to the ceiling, and down the floor and wall of the second section. He was covered in green, snot-like filth, but, shaking himself, otherwise unharmed.
“That doesn’t seem too bad,” Ash said. Sure, they’d get knocked about a bit, but as death traps went, he’d faced worse at the local summer fair. He took a step and—
Savage stopped him. The Englishman was staring at the hyena.
The rakshasa barked as tufts of hair shed from him. He tried to get back to the group, but after a few wobbly steps, he slumped to the ground. His fur turned grey and his body began to decay. The fur sank away until his pelt hung on mere bones, before the skin likewise thinned and crumbled. Within seconds there was just a skeleton, and then even that cracked, eroded to dust and blew away.
“We need to get from here to the far end without touching the wrong tiles,” said Savage. “Remarkably simple, if you know the right sequence of tiles.”
“Do you?”
“Haven’t a clue.” He looked at the floor. “Fifty tiles on each face, four faces, five sections. A thousand tiles exactly, and probably only a handful safe to stand upon. And the corridor will start turning once you enter, so you must time your steps perfectly, otherwise you’ll be tilted off, hit the wrong tile and disintegrate.”
ASH MISTRY AND THE CITY OF DEATH Page 21