ASH MISTRY AND THE CITY OF DEATH (21 page)

e’d never swum in the dark before, and it was weird seeing the reflections of the stars and the light of the moon fragmented upon the dark waves. A strange green glow followed his limbs, fluorescent algae activated by his movements. He dipped his head under once or twice. The darkness beneath was endless. He felt like he was floating in eternity.

Was he halfway there? Maybe.

There was a thin strip of beach ahead, sheltered by the high cliffs. Ash, chin low in the bobbing waves, put a bit of effort in and headed for it.

His toes scraped the sand. Ash found his footing and waded the last few metres. He stared straight up the cliffs in front of him. They were grim and black, smeared with moss, and water trickled down crooked narrow channels, collecting in rock pools at the cliff bottom. Ash shook his arms, trying to get some life back into them. But they hung heavily from his aching shoulders. He shuffled towards the high rocky wall, desperate for a rest, but knowing that if he stopped now, he’d never get started again. Dawn was approaching fast. Now was the time for sneaking.

He looked for a way up.

“Crap.” The cliffs were a lot taller than they’d looked from the shore.

Why was nothing simple any more?

No path up. No convenient rope dangling from the top. No escalator. Certainly no lift. Just clumps of weeds and grass sticking out of cracks in the rock. Dripping wet, legs worn from the swim, Ash searched the cliff for a handhold. He grabbed an exposed root, wedged his toes into a long crack and started to climb.

Ash crept up the dark cliff face like a spider, slowly, and planning each move. More than once his grip slipped and he found himself dangling fifty metres over the rock by just his fingertips. His arms burned and his shoulders ached like this was his worst PE class times a hundred, times a thousand. He was definitely low on battery power.

Bad time to have second thoughts about all this, Ash.

He needed a death – for someone nearby to die and allow him to absorb their death energies. Then he could take on anyone.

That was sick, thinking about death so casually. The realisation made him shiver, or was it just the night sea wind?

Savage was waiting at the top. His prize. He gritted his teeth and pushed on.

Game over, scumbag.

Eventually, with the eastern sky turning purple, Ash reached the top. He sat down to catch his breath and let his limbs recover. His fingers were numb from gripping the rock.

Ash drew out his katar. It settled comfortably in his grip. The katar wasn’t flash; it didn’t have gems or decorative carvings, it was as plain as could be.

It had one purpose, and he would use it for that: to end Savage’s miserable life, once and for ever.

Ash looked along the uneven cliff path. The sky was bloody now, dawn an hour away. Lights shone among the tents. They stood arranged in neat military rows, each of unblemished white canvas, like small houses. The island wasn’t big; it was almost square and relatively flat, though overgrown and dotted with palm trees. Ash spotted a few more of the flagstones, mostly covered in grass. He crept closer to the tents and crouched, barefoot and silent. He searched around, watching for anyone coming near. The darkness gathered around him. The shadows seemed thicker where he stood and the silence deeper.

The army of statues, the loha-mukhas, surrounded the edge of the camp. A pack of hyena rakshasas scouted the perimeter. One sniffed at the bush Ash hid behind, then wandered off.

Ash smiled to himself. His dip in the sea must have masked his scent.

He skirted round the edge of the encampment, heading towards the biggest tent. It was a plain thing, about five metres square and tall enough for a man to stand up in. The flaps were closed, but fluttered slightly in the wind. Up close, Ash saw the walls were embroidered with the crossed swords and poppies of the Savage coat of arms. There were two loha-mukhas standing guard outside, a six-armed Shiva made of bronze and a stone lion. Savage had to be in there.

At the back of the tent, Ash stopped and listened. Nothing. He scraped the edge of his katar into the heavy cloth, tearing a small hole. He peered in, but couldn’t see anything; it was too dark. His heart went into overdrive and he wiped the sweat from his hands.

This is it.

Ash cut a line through the back wall. The cloth parted, the noise seeming as loud as a scream, but there was no response as he entered the tent.

Early morning light followed him through the tear and cast a soft glow over the sleeping figure of Savage. He lay on his back, shirt undone. Seven skulls marked his chest in a circle pattern, each one glowing softly with a pale, almost radioactive yellow. They were deep brands, and Ash, for a moment, wondered how much they had hurt. He knew they were a symbol of Savage’s growing magical power, the number of sorceries he’d mastered. He’d only had five skulls when Ash had faced him in Rajasthan. Three more, and he’d be as powerful as Ravana.

Beside the bed was a small, low camp table. Savage’s cane rested on it, next to a small leather satchel. Ash flicked it open. The Koh-i-noor lay inside in its silk purse. He put the satchel over his shoulder.

Ash knelt down beside the bed and pressed the razor-sharp edge of the katar against Savage’s throat.

he pale, almost translucent skin of the Englishman was reflected in the mirror-like steel. A thick blue vein stood out, running from behind his jaw to somewhere under his shoulder. It would take only a little pressure to open it.

Ash tightened his grip on the hilt. His palms were slippery. He stared at the passive, sleeping face, eyes gently closed and his mouth just open.

Savage was pure evil. Ash would be doing the world a favour in killing him. It wouldn’t even be hard; he was asleep and defenceless. This wasn’t like fighting Ravana, or even any of the other rakshasas with their fangs and claws and totally negative attitudes. Ash had bathed in their blood, so why was his hand trembling now?

Just do it and feel guilty later.

But his arm wouldn’t budge. He couldn’t even get himself to lean over and sort-of-cut-Savage’s-throat-by-accident.

Coward!

Would Savage hesitate? Would Parvati? It wouldn’t even cross their minds. Ash was the Kali-aastra. Death was his job. But still he couldn’t strike.

I can’t kill a defenceless man.

“Difficult, isn’t it?” whispered Savage, his eyes still closed.

“Don’t move.”

“I am completely at your mercy.”

“I could kill you right now.”

“Yes, you certainly could,” said Savage. “But I doubt it. Heroes don’t murder people in their beds.”

“Just watch me.” Ash leaned over Savage, the flat of the dagger on his skin.”

“You do it and your friend will remain cold and dead in her grave.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Brahma-aastra, of course. The Life Giver.” Savage’s eyes opened slowly. “I can bring your friend back.”

“Yeah, as a zombie. No thanks.”

“Listen to me, Ash. Do you think I’d waste all this time, money and effort if I didn’t know how to do it properly? I’m insulted you think so little of my abilities.”

“How?”

“Let me get up and I’ll show you.”

Ash held the blade to Savage’s throat. “You stay right there. Just tell me.”

“Is that it? You expect me to talk?”

Savage was bluffing. He wanted to drag things out, hoping one of the rakshasas or loha-mukhas outside might come in and rescue him. Enough was enough. “No, Savage, I expect you to die.”

Sweat shone on Savage’s wrinkled face. “Listen,” he said with rare desperation. “I’ve read the histories of Ashoka, how he tried to use it and all he awoke were monsters, zombies as you call them, instead of living, breathing humans. Agreed?”

“The mantra, the spell, that activated the aastra was wrong” said Ash. “There’s a mispronunciation in there, or some other error that’s crept in over time. That mistake means that when you use the Brahma-aastra on the dead they don’t come back, not as they once were.”

Now Savage smiled – sly, reptilian. “But there was one person who knew the correct, flawless mantra. He learned it from Brahma himself.”

“Ravana.”

“Yes. Lord Ravana knew the spell perfectly. But because he was a rakshasa, he couldn’t use the aastra.”

“And you know it? The proper mantra?”

“I know where it is. And with your help, I could get it and save your friend. I’m the only hope she has.” Savage turned slowly so they faced each other. “The Brahma-aastra is no weapon. It cannot be employed for anything but healing. Used properly, it can repair any wound, cure any sickness, raise the dead. Look at me. I’m dying, boy. The diamond is my only hope. Do you honestly think I’d use it if there was a risk of being turned into some mindless, shambling monstrosity?”

“How do I know this isn’t some plot to bring Ravana back? You did it before.”

“You’re the Kali-aastra, boy. When you killed Ravana, you killed him for good. And why would I bring him back now? I only freed him to regain my youth and learn more sorceries. I was going to destroy him myself afterwards, using Kali’s arrowhead.”

“You’re lying.”

“Who would want to live in a world ruled by Ravana? Not me. I just wish you’d waited until I’d absorbed more of his magic, at least enough to stop me looking like this.”

What should he do? Savage couldn’t be trusted, but everything he said made sense.

And Gemma could be brought back to life. Hope surged through him again. Think what it would be like, having her back. All the damage, all the mistakes, would be undone. He could still save her.

“I’m no super-villain, Ash,” said Savage. “I’m old, weak and dying, trying to hang on to whatever life I have left. Would you deny a person, terminally ill, the chance to save himself? Of course you wouldn’t. Let me prove myself. If I am telling the truth, then think of the lives we’ll save, starting with your friend. If I’m lying or can’t awaken the Koh-i-noor, then kill me. I won’t stop you. I don’t want to go on like this.”

Ash lifted the dagger away. “One chance, Savage. That’s all you’ve got.”

“That’s all I’ll need.” Savage swung his feet off the bed. He put his hand on the cane. “Shall we?”

“Wait.” One hand still holding the katar point in Savage’s back, Ash whipped his scarf round the old man’s neck, so it became a leash. “I wouldn’t want you running off.” He pushed Savage out of the tent.

Ash kept close behind Savage, ready to use him as a shield if anyone tried to attack him. Everywhere he looked there were loha-mukhas and rakshasas. “Tell them to back way off.”

“You heard him,” said Savage.

The nearest, the Shiva statue and the stone lion, obeyed, their faces blank. The monkeys and the huge
David
watched, their joints creaking as they moved their heads to follow Ash and Savage’s walk into the heart of the encampment. Seagulls cried overhead and the sea rustled below, but otherwise the only sound was Ash’s galloping heart.

If Savage tried to double-cross him, it would be the last thing he ever did. Ash would skewer him and pray the death energies would be great enough for him to fight his way out.

“Looks like rain,” Savage said, peering at the black clouds in the distance that just hid the dawning sun. “Morning, Jackie.”

Jackie stood at the open tent, mouth agog and eyes saucer-sized on seeing Ash. She lunged forward, but halted as Ash dug the katar in deep enough for Savage to cry out. “Stay where you are,” Savage said.

“Let me kill him, Master,” she snarled. “I want to eat his heart.”

“I have other plans,” replied Savage. “Ash and I are now… partners.”

“But Master—”

“No, Jackie.” He met her gaze, and Jackie, growling deep in her throat, stepped back.

“Shall we get down to business?” Savage said.

The wind was picking up and lightning flashed on the horizon. Savage shuffled to the edge of the cliff, Ash close behind him. The wave tops frothed as the sea, so still and silent last night, churned far beneath them.

“This will do,” said Savage. Ash realised they were on a square platform. Grass covered most of it, but bare stone could still be seen where the grass had been eroded. He looked back at the beach he’d swum from. Was this still part of that road that they’d found in the jungle? Then he turned back towards the storm, still so far away. Where did the road end? Somewhere out in the middle of the sea?

Savage touched the scarf round his neck. “You can loosen this.”

The nearest henchman was Jackie, and she was just a pounce away. But Ash let the cloth slip free and wrapped it round his waist as a sash.

“Thank you,” said Savage. “And now, to work.” He raised his cane and peered far into the distance. His lips moving silently, his cane drew symbols in the air with sharp, swift cuts.

The ground around them trembled and shifted.

“What are you doing?” asked Ash.

“Things you wouldn’t believe, boy.” Savage pointed out to the sea with his cane. “You’ve heard of Lanka, I suppose?”

“Of course. Ravana’s kingdom.”

Savage grinned. Ash had seen that face before, frighteningly hungry and obsessed. “Out in the middle of the sea. And Rama’s army, when he came for Ravana, was stuck on the land there, unable to cross.”

Ash shook his head. “No. Rama’s army attacked Lanka. Rama had them build a bridge stretching all the way across the sea…”

His gaze fell upon the stone slabs under his feet.

“Not a bridge, but a causeway,” said Savage. “That was four thousand years ago. The sea was lower then. Now the causeway’s sunk under fifteen metres of water.”

The waves rose and struck the island. Out in the distance the storm grew wilder. Great blinding flashes of lightning burst across the churning clouds. The wind howled around them, making Ash stagger.

“Lanka was a series of island kingdoms,” continued Savage, “sustained by Ravana’s magic. When he died, they disappeared, one by one, under the waves. They’re still there, but many hundreds of fathoms deep. But that’s where we’ll find what we’re looking for.”

All around them, rocks and small stones rolled and bumped into one another. The earth beneath them surged and buckled, flexing like a springboard. One after the other, the loha-mukhas each turned to face the sea, watching the storm.

“I am master of the elemental sorceries, Ash,” said Savage. “Air, Water, Fire and Earth. I can make the very stones dance. And what else are these –” he spread out his hands to include the army of statues – “but stone, brought to life by me?”

Ash stared as slabs of stone rose out of the waves. Covered in seaweed and coral and dripping with barnacles, one after the other they broke the surface, creating a road across the water.

“You’re raising the road to Lanka,” whispered Ash.

“Yes,” hissed Savage. His face was rigid with the effort. His skin peeled and flaked and his body withered and re-formed as the magic stole his life force. Ash watched as blue veins pulsed against his tissue-thin skin, and Savage bent double, as old and as frail as a skeleton. His white hair fell out in patches. “But not just the road.”

By now the storm was in its full fury. Twenty-metre-high waves crashed against the rocks, followed by huge tidal waves and heralded by winds that caused the heavy statues to sway. Lightning dazzled the black sky and thunder roared like the screams of the gods.

Palace spires, ancient, twisted, black and cruel, pierced the boiling waters from below. Ash watched tall towers, stout castles and gardens made of coral rise out of the ocean depths. Water cascaded down paths and off roofs, rivers running from the heights of the palaces back into the sea.

Lanka, the capital of Ravana, rose out of the ocean.