Ash Mistry and the World of Darkness

by Sarwat Chadda

  And behind him, around him, the mountain shook. Boulders crashed down and thunder boomed as vast chasms splintered the rock. The yells and screams of the Carnival turned to cries of fear and terror. Feet and hands and slithering meat slapped the ground behind him as bits of the Carnival tore off and gave chase. But even as the stone rained down on to him, Ash didn’t pause or look back. His heart pounded and he was gasping, but the air was cold and sharp and clean.

  A dazzling line lit the passageway.

  I’m almost there.

  A hand grabbed his heel and he tripped. A legless creature hauled itself over him, red eyes as wide as its mouth. It wrapped its arms around Ash’s waist, trying to hold him down as others came up behind it to feast. They were bony, slick with blood and purple with bruises and built out of different parts so that some ran on mismatched arms and their legs waved out of their shoulders.

  “No!” cried Ash.

  Not when he was almost there …

  But they were upon him, and Ash roared as they trapped his arms and snapped at his body and nails raked his face and—

  The tunnel collapsed. It fell away, tilting down towards the widening opening. The light erupted as the mountain face broke, and Ash and Savage’s mutants rolled and slid down. Ash heaved one off him and twisted another so that it slammed the wall as they tumbled past.

  The tunnel continued to tip and Ash slid faster and there was sunlight ahead. A distant ridge of mountains, pink with dawn, lined up on the far horizon, and Ash yelled as he fell out of the cave mouth. He rolled in the air and his stomach jumped to his mouth as he went into freefall. A second of air time and then he crunched down into snow.

  Down and down he tumbled. Snow was shoved into his mouth and ears and blinded him and went down his neck and he couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to. As the world turned, sky, snow and mountain, he saw the entire mountainside collapse in on itself. Thousands of tons of rock fell and bounced down the slope, any piece of which could totally splat him.

  “Ash!”

  The slope shallowed and Ash’s fall turned into a surfing slide.

  Rishi stood upon a large, settled boulder, waving. “I’m here, boy!”

  They’d made it!

  Ash spat snow out and managed to get up; not easy as it was like lying in a sea of feathers.

  He’d come to a stop on a short ledge. To the left and right the slope continued down for a good two hundred metres, maybe more. Behind him was the black wall of the mountain, continuing up to the clouds. A few last boulders rolled past them, but the worst seemed to be over. Of the creatures that had attacked him, there was no sign. They must have fallen all the way down, thought Ash. The joy of victory rose within him.

  “Come, we must be quick,” said Rishi.

  “Why? I totally and utterly kicked its butt!”

  As if in answer, a deep, long moan rumbled from within the mountain. Dust and pebbles blew from the cracks and holes, a vast exhale.

  “No, Ash,” said Rishi. “You just made it angry.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Fingers tore open the mountain. Fingers ten metres long and each built from a dozen people. The thing did not care that limbs broke and bodies were ripped apart as it beat its way free. Blood sprinkled the rock and snow above them as another pair of hands, ten-fingered, eleven, pushed its way out of the mountain prison.

  “Go, Ash. Quickly.”

  Ash stared in horrified awe. How big was it? Five arms now were ripping their way through the jagged cave mouth. The stone crumbled as massive fists pounded the walls from the inside, and the thunder was deafening. Ash took Rishi’s arm. “Come on then.”

  The old man didn’t move. He smiled and shook his dreadlocks, savouring the elements around him. “It is good to feel the wind and sun upon my face. To bury my toes within fresh snow. To be free at last. Thank you, Ash.”

  “Thank me later. Come on.”

  “Listen to me, Ash, this is important.”

  Ash took Rishi’s hand and tried to pull him along. “If it’s more philosophy, it can wait. A long time.”

  “No. It’s about the Kali-aastra.”

  “What?”

  The wind rose, whipping Rishi’s dreadlocks all around him. “Savage found it in Rajasthan. He used it to kill Ravana.”

  “Yeah, I know that. Come on.”

  “I stole it from him,” said Rishi. “There was a lot of confusion when Ravana died. Some of the rakshasas wanted Savage dead, others accepted his rule as long as Rani was there. I was being held in the catacombs below the Savage Fortress, but in the chaos I managed to get out, and get the Kali-aastra. I got as far as the old city before Savage caught me.”

  “What about the Kali-aastra?” asked Ash. “Did Savage get it back?”

  “No. I gave it to someone for safekeeping. Someone who knew all about Kali.”

  “Who?”

  “Who do you think? Ujba.” Rishi twisted his hand free. “Now go.”

  A thousand throats screamed in unison. The Carnival of Flesh, the thing he’d fought, had been the merest fraction of the creature. Up and up it rose, climbing out of the tears in the mountain, spewing from half a dozen different orifices, melding together like wax and assembling itself in an entity of hundreds of arms and legs, all different, all misjoined, all as long as trains and built of so many villagers, victims of Savage’s alchemy. Bodies tumbled free like sweat drops and fell screaming to be smashed upon rocks. Vast patches were bruised, purple fields of injured flesh that bled from a hundred wounds as the monster squeezed itself out of the holes and crevasses covering the mountain face, a lava flow of meat and bone.

  “Go, Ash,” urged Rishi. “Hurry.”

  Rishi was insane. There was no way he could beat that thing. Ash grabbed hold of his arm.

  Sparks burst from the old man and Ash cried out, instantly letting go.

  Steam rose from his stinging fingertips.

  Lightning crackled across Rishi. Sparks and bolts jumped over the blue-glowing flesh. The air stank of ozone and Rishi pulled his lips back into a fierce snarl. His hair rose and tiny bursts of light shone within the strands. “Free at last …”

  Ash wanted to say so much. He wanted to hug the old man. How many times he’d saved him, ever since he’d whacked that cow on the nose in Varanasi in a different world. Rishi was the same. Here and in the past and, no doubt, in the future. Ash fought back the tears. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

  “It’s only death.” Rishi smiled. “Now run. Look to the living. They will need you.”

  Ash swallowed a large, painful lump and nodded. “Until next time.”

  Halos of light radiated from the sadhu. Freed from the iron-bound rock, all the magic he’d stored for a decade filled the frail flesh and even his pores sparkled. Every part of him hummed with energy – the power of the gods.

  Blind and crippled, Rishi began to chant. Mantras to his god, Shiva. Lines glowed over his skin, the marks of his patron, and the sky shook. The clouds flashed with lightning, disturbed and angry. The Carnival of Flesh raised its many Hydra heads out of the mountain and cried out against the sky.

  Ash ran as fast as he dared, wary of the uneven path and the sheer drop on either side. The snow clumped at his feet and he slipped on ice and had to brace himself, but he didn’t stop.

  But he did look up.

  Rishi stood on the ledge, a shimmering outline in a blinding haze of electric-blue light. Looming over him, covering the slope in shadow, came the Carnival, freed from the stone and hundreds of metres high. It swept a fist down upon the sadhu and Ash cried out. But the blow didn’t land. The fist exploded, sending bodies and limbs and burning flesh in all directions. The Carnival recoiled, then waved its appendage as it reformed. Ash stared as people seemed to flow into the burning stump, regrowing it out of themselves.

  Rishi’s staff began to disintegrate, unable to contain any more power. It crumbled to dust and Rishi himself, bright as an exploding star, became a being of light.
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  Lightning burst down from the black clouds. Huge chunks of the Carnival were instantly incinerated. Even down where Ash stood, the stench of burning flesh filled his nostrils. Bolts struck the mountain and the peaks trembled.

  Rishi was just a faint outline within a sphere of searing white light.

  Then, silently, the sphere expanded. It grew outwards, slowly to begin with, then faster and faster, till it was ten metres wide, twenty, fifty. A hundred.

  Rishi went supernova.

  Ash covered his face with his arms as the light became unbearable. It seemed to shine straight through him, lighting his very heart. The heat didn’t come from the outside, but from within. Ash gasped and fell in the snow. He curled up and tried to hide from the blistering heat. He felt as if he was about to disintegrate, as if every atom was shaking apart.

  Then it winked out.

  Light spots danced and burst in his eyes as he opened them.

  The clouds had gone. Sun, harsh and clean, shone down over the snow-blanketed plateau and lifted the mountain out of shadow.

  The ledge was still there and so were the huge rents in the mountainside. But there was no Rishi, no Carnival of Flesh. There was no aftermath of carnage. No bodies or lingering smells. No marks at all. All had just ceased to exist.

  Ash sank into the snow. Whatever had kept him going until now had finally run out. He was hungry, tired, bruised and bleeding, and a million miles from anywhere. He was not the Kali-aastra. He was just Ash.

  Where could he go? As far as he knew, Parvati and Ashoka were still in London. Back home.

  Home. He could never go back home, and that hurt more than the bruises and the cuts. He shook. His body, pushed beyond all human endurance, rebelled and didn’t want to move. It wanted to give up and just collapse. Ash knelt in the snow.

  Where could he go?

  Chase after Savage? What was the point? He’d just get his backside kicked all over again.

  But the alternative was to curl up and die here. No thanks. Ash gritted his teeth and got up, even though his legs wobbled and burned with fatigue.

  Snow and mountains all around. A vast desolation surrounded him. His coat was torn and he’d freeze to death tonight if he didn’t find shelter.

  A faint smudge stained the otherwise clear blue sky. Ash shaded his eyes and peered into the brilliant glare of sunlight on pristine snow.

  He blinked, not sure if the specks were signs of habitation or his own concussion. Could it be a cluster of houses and smoke rising from a chimney? Only one way to find out.

  Ash looked back to where Rishi had stood, a hollowness deep in his chest. He wished the sadhu was still here to help him sort it all out, but it was down to him now. No Rishi, no Parvati, no Kali-aastra. Just him.

  And Ujba.

  Of all the people, in all the timelines, in all the universes, it had to be Ujba.

  Ujba was a master of Kalari-payit, the ancient martial art. Ash had been sent to train with him and had spent weeks of misery getting beaten black and blue, morning, afternoon and night. That had been bad enough.

  But the man was one of the Thuggee, the cult of killers who worshipped Kali. And Ujba had tried to recruit Ash. Ash had hoped he’d never, ever see the man ever again.

  And now he was the only person who could help him.

  Ash straightened his ragged coat and headed down the mountain.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Ti Fun made sure they were left undisturbed once they got back to the Mandarin. His cars took Ashoka and his family quickly from the docks to a suite set aside for them. Parvati had one of the rooms too. Lucky and Ashoka’s mum and dad, while polite, watched the girl warily.

  It was well into the afternoon when Ashoka got up. There were people milling around in the main reception room, and he heard Parvati talking with Ti Fun. Ti Fun was not taking Savage’s double-cross well. That suited him fine. Let the big boys sort out Savage; that was their job.

  He was going home.

  Hong Kong shone in the daytime. The endless landscape of glass turned the city into a vast hall of mirrors, each reflecting one another over and over again. In the distance he saw the black Bank of China building, said to have been designed as a hatchet plunged into the heart of the city. The sea beyond glistened green and he wondered if the dragons were lurking in the harbour, perhaps snoozing as ferries and ships passed overhead.

  Clothes were laid out for him. A black suit and stark white shirt. He slipped them on. They fitted perfectly. He even found a pair of black shades on the table. He adjusted his sleeves, checked the silver dragon cufflinks were in place, then came out from his room.

  Ti Fun and Parvati looked up. Ti Fun smiled. “I see my tailor got your measurements exactly.”

  “How are you feeling?” Parvati asked.

  “Ready to go home.”

  Ti Fun stood and snapped his fingers. Two of his goons sprang to their feet. “My private jet will take you all to Birmingham. I have people there who’ll keep you safe.”

  “For how long?” asked Ashoka.

  “For as long as it takes,” said Parvati. “Until I’ve dealt with Savage.”

  “And how will we know you’ve succeeded?”

  Parvati poured out the tea. “You’ll certainly know if I’ve failed.”

  Ashoka peered at the papers on the table. Dock manifestos from ports all over the Far East. “Any luck finding the Lazarus?”

  “Not yet,” said Ti Fun. “There’s plenty of ocean in which to lose one little ship. It could take a few days yet. But I have found all Savage’s other factories and chemical labs in China. Something bad has happened to each of them. He’ll not be producing any more of his drug for a long while to come, that’s for sure.”

  Ashoka went to join his dad, who was in another room with some of Ti Fun’s men, analysing more of Dr Wells’s data. Ashoka watched him hurrying about between half a dozen computers, looking at weather charts, locations of Savage’s investments, and shipping news. He doubted his dad had slept at all since they’d arrived here.

  “Your father has found a purpose,” said Parvati, sipping tea from an antique china cup.

  Ashoka stabbed another ball of dim sum with his chopstick. “He wants Savage stopped.”

  “And what about your sister and your mother? How are they?” asked Parvati.

  Lucky had woken screaming. It had taken them ages to calm her down. Mum jumped at every sound or slight movement, her nerves as tight as piano wires. Her eyes, usually bright with humour, were ringed, afraid. She hadn’t slept, too terrified of what nightmares might come.

  But Ashoka’s hands were steady. The visions he’d seen, the corpses swinging in their bags, the men devoured by acid and flame, the stench of death, it … stirred something inside.

  A thrill. A burning, shameful thrill.

  “That was quite a shot you made,” said Parvati. “Mayar was a lord of demons. Only the greatest of heroes would have ever stood a chance against him.”

  “I was lucky. Really, stupidly lucky.” Now that he thought of it, Ashoka could barely stop himself from trembling. Taking out a demon crocodile with an arrow. Waiting until the jaws were practically around his head before letting the arrow go. What had he been thinking?

  “I wondered when it would happen,” said Parvati.

  “Wondered what?”

  “You believe in reincarnation, don’t you?” asked Parvati.

  “I suppose. I’ve never really thought much about it.”

  Parvati smiled. “You’ve been around this world a thousand times, Ashoka. I’ve been there and seen you. You’ve had so many lives, been so many people in so many different places. All different, but for one thing. Your destiny has never changed.”

  “Destiny?” He didn’t like the sound of that.

  “You are the Eternal Warrior,” said Parvati. “War calls to you.”

  “No, it doesn’t. I hate conflict. I can’t even stand up to Jack and his cronies at school. You’d have thought I’d be s
limmer with all the times they’ve nicked my lunch money.”

  “No, what matters are the stakes. I knew Rama. He gave up his throne without hesitation, even though he knew it was a plot, but he obeyed his father’s word. He lived in a forest, content, sleeping on leaves when he once had palaces beyond number. He knew the true value of gold, of silks and diamonds – which is nothing. He had Sita, and that was all that mattered. His love for her was all-consuming. But when Ravana kidnapped her his rage and fury knew no bounds. Rama would have set the world on fire to find her. He was at heart a man of peace, but when it truly mattered, he was an unstoppable god of war.”

  He’d never heard Parvati speak like this. She stirred her tea, lost in some ancient memory, and sighed. “I have known you for so long. As Rama, the Emperor Ashoka, as a Trojan prince, a Roman slave, a Sikh maharajah and many others. Sometimes we’d meet and you’d be a small child, or I’d be a withered old crone, but I always knew you instantly. I’ve been beside you. Through all of it.”

  She looked at him and Ashoka caught his breath. Parvati’s gaze was frighteningly intense, flooded with emotion. But she wasn’t looking at him, not really, but at his other self, Ash. The boy she’d fought Ravana alongside, the friend with whom she’d gone to Lanka, the warrior for whom she’d travelled through time.

  All those sacrifices she’d made, in this life and so many others, for him. Parvati had bled and died for him. And she would again and again.

  “Why haven’t you told Ash?” said Ashoka.

  Parvati blinked. “Told him what?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? That you love him.”

  Parvati put her hand to her throat, stunned. “I … I’m a rakshasa. A demon.” She got up and the cup rattled as she dropped it on to the saucer. “We are not capable of such things.”

  Ashoka sank into the sofa. He was just trying to help. Parvati and Ash had feelings for each other that went way beyond mere friendship. The way Parvati talked, it was obvious she’d loved him since the moment she’d first seen him, as Rama. But then Prince Rama was the ultimate good guy, the perfect hero. He probably had that effect on everyone.