ASH MISTRY AND THE CITY OF DEATH (25 page)

sh dried his palms on his trousers for the third time in as many minutes. He looked down the long, dark corridor and listened to the faint, melancholy whispers of the wind as it blew towards him. The torches lit the first ten metres; beyond were just glints of light on the ancient, slimy stone. He glanced over his shoulder. Savage, Jackie and the remaining hyena rakshasa watched him intently. “See you on the other side,” he said and stepped on to the first tile.

So far so good. He narrowed his gaze and channelled the power of the Kali-aastra to see ahead, just a second or two into the future. Visible to no one but himself, a soft, faint trail of golden motes stretched out in front of him. The lights shone and burned out, marking the routes that would kill him. He saw shadowy images of himself, his futures, explore the way ahead. Flickering and pale, like mirages, they stepped on tiles and worked their way along the ever-changing tunnel. Some faded away, destroyed by the traps; others grew stronger, more solid the further they got, moving from one safe tile to the next. It was in their footsteps Ash followed.

As he reached the halfway point in the first section, the ground started to tremble. It shifted clockwise and the terrible groaning of stone upon stone grew louder as he jumped to the next tile, already at an angle to the horizontal. He slipped on the wet green algae, tottering on the edge of the tile before leaping to the next, focused on the square some three metres ahead.

Further away, two of his future selves stepped into the last segment. One took a wrong step and vanished.

Ash landed as the floor became the wall and he searched for the next tile; he had only a second to jump. Which tile was it? What had been the wall was now the ceiling and the golden path to it was fading, while another was glowing brighter as it became the floor. Ash jumped, bouncing off one tile and on to another. His toes just touched the edge before he stopped. The next section of corridor was turning in the opposite direction and faster. The golden paths were blinking on and off like strobes at a disco. No route was safe except for a second.

This was impossible. But he had to move; the ground was rotating. He sprang forward, ricocheted off one tile on the wall, and used it to launch himself another five metres to a bright golden landing point in the corner of a floor.

Halfway there, almost over.

Idiot. You’re only halfway. It can still go wrong if you start acting cocky.

Sweat dripped off him and his chest felt as if it was on fire. Every sense tingled and power surged through him. Ash catapulted forward, drawing on everything he had as all five sections of the corridor rotated, the first, third and fifth clockwise, the others anticlockwise. He was unstoppable, hitting one tile and then another, his toes barely touching the stone slabs as he chased the golden path shining brightly ahead.

Ash slammed down on the hard marble on the other side of the corridor with both feet and skidded a few metres before turning back. God, his lungs burned! He stood there, taking huge breaths, but immensely relieved. He’d done it! He’d used his inner eye, as Ujba had called it, to see the future and plan out the safest route. Back down at the far end was the bright dot of Savage’s torch. Ash just needed to explain which tiles were safe.

The torch blinked off.

The air hummed and Ash stepped back as a sudden draught rose from a rent in the air – a tear in space. Ash glimpsed endless night, a fathomless darkness decorated by minute shining points. The air turned blizzard-cold, and then Savage was standing there, right in front of him. The tear vanished, leaving Jackie and the hyena rakshasa shivering where the rip had been.

“You said you couldn’t use your magic,” Ash snarled.

Savage shrugged. “I might have misled you a little, but I wanted to see what you were capable of. And may I say, I’m very impressed. You really are very good.”

“You lied to me.”

“Come now, Ash. Don’t tell me you aren’t a little pleased with yourself for having made it? Think of my trick as empowering you to new heights.”

Ash wasn’t having any of it. “Let’s move.”

own, down and down they went. Sometimes they wandered in the darkness, guided only by the beams of their torches and Jackie’s memories. Other times they would enter halls lit by strange glowing ghosts, ethereal bodies that haunted the ruins. But always down.

The ceiling of the latest room curved over them, making Ash feel as if he was descending into the throat of a monster. The support beams arched like a beast’s ribs. The upper ridge of keystones could have been the joints of a spine.

Broken mirror frames lined the walls. The glass lay shattered upon the floor. The light in here, rather than being reflected in the glass, rose out of it.

Ash took a few more paces in before he spotted something on the floor among the debris. He picked it up.

A pair of reading glasses. One lens was broken and flecked with blood. The frame, thin and bent, had two large hooks behind the ears so they’d sit firmly in place no matter what happened. Ash straightened out the kink. The glasses looked familiar. He looked into the lenses.

Ash stumbles down the slope towards the Mercedes. The car lies crumpled, the tyres torn and the roof caved in. His uncle and aunt are in there.

The smell of petrol clouds the air as he approaches. Broken glass is scattered over the dusty, furrowed earth. There is a constant tapping sound. His heart quickens.

“Uncle Vik?”

Ash?

Ash runs forward and crawls into the car. He waves an object in his hand. “I found your glasses.”

His uncle sits in the driver’s seat. His head is distorted and blood seeps from a hole in his forehead. The tapping sound comes from the wiper hitting the bent frame of the windscreen.

Ash takes his uncle’s hand.
“Are you hurt?” he asks.

We’re dead, Ash.

Ash looks to the rear. His aunt lies there, her neck broken. “Why?”

Because of you, Ash.

He wants to deny it, but it’s true. They would be alive, but for him. “I… I didn’t mean to.”

You are the Kali-aastra. You kill everything you touch.

“No, it was an accident.”

Aunt Anita sits up, and her hideously twisted neck creaks as she turns her lifeless gaze towards him. Her fingers, broken and black, touch his neck softly, but firmly.

Uncle Vik faces him. He smiles and blood swells in his mouth, dripping down his upturned face.
We miss you, Ash.

“I miss you too.”

Stay with us. That way we won’t be so lonely.

“OK.”

Aunt Anita’s fingers tighten round Ash’s neck, but he doesn’t fight back. He killed them both and should be with them. He deserves this.

His breathing is hoarse and his head pounding as his air is cut off. His vision goes murky and dark. He’s dimly aware of a white shadow in front of him, one of bright silver steel.

The fingers drop their grip and Ash gasps. He stares around, bewildered, as Aunt Anita screams.

Savage drags his aunt out of the car, pulling her out by her hair. She flails at him, but Savage is young, strong and utterly ruthless. He throws her to the ground and drags the blade from his cane.

“No!” Ash cries out.

Savage pushes the sword into Anita’s heart. Blood spurts as she screams, washing his white suit in crimson. He tugs the blade free and approaches Ash’s uncle.

“No!” Ash hurls himself between Savage and Uncle Vik, but Savage knocks him aside without breaking his step.

Uncle Vik hisses, eyes red with rage and unholy bloodlust, but Savage, gaze cold, flicks the tip of the blade across his throat. Uncle Vik covers the wound, but the blood washes through his fingers and he sinks to the ground.

Ash, knees in the dirt, stares up at the Englishman.

“You killed them,” he accuses.

“No, Ash. You did.” Then Savage twists the glasses from Ash’s grip and tosses them away.

*

Ash gasped. He gulped big, lung-swelling quantities of air as if he’d been drowning and just broken the water’s surface.

“What… happened?” It had been just like he’d remembered, his uncle and aunt dead from the car crash. The stink of petrol lingered even now.

“Mastery of the Humours. A combination of Black Bile and Phlegm, which control the emotions and mind, used to manipulate your dreams,” said Savage. “We’re up against someone very, very good.”

“And you were there too.” Savage had gone into his mind. How dare he?

“I had to come in to save you.” Savage brushed the dirt from his clothes. “You entered a nightmare and it almost got you. Someone looked into your heart and found what you feared most.”

“Death? Being killed?”

“Hardly. No, you fear failure. You feel you should have saved your uncle and aunt, and the guilt of failure almost killed you, Ash. The same as with Gemma.” Savage slipped his sword back into his cane. “You want to be this superhero who always succeeds. The sort who always does the right thing and follows the right path. I sympathise. I was just the same, once.”

“You, a hero?” Ash scoffed. “That’ll be the day.”

He heard a deep, distant rumble, and the roof above them creaked. A light sprinkle of dust fell over him. He looked up and saw thin cracks along the stone. “How far underground are we?”

“Many fathoms,” said Jackie. “Ravana’s private chambers were deep under the sea, inaccessible but for this route.”

“What else is down here?” asked Ash.

“Let’s go and find out.” Savage pushed Ash, not softly, ahead. “Let’s not linger here. We don’t want you having another nightmare.”

he hall’s roof rose over fifty metres above their heads, supported by a forest of columns. Broken statues lay scattered across the floor as if they’d entered the lair of Medusa. Some were stone, others bronze or strange metals that glowed with golden light, casting weird shadows across the shimmering water that rippled ankle-deep across the floor, which was itself one unimaginably huge mosaic. Ash couldn’t take it all in – it was too big – but he could see what it was. A map.

Upon the map, awesome dragons flew across sapphire skies and creatures strode across mountains and shining cities, where courtiers sat among soft cushions, their attention captivated by jewel-clad dancing girls. At the summit of a snow-clad mountain, wreathed in swirling clouds, sat Ravana, lord of all. Beneath him, wrapped in chains and kneeling in humble homage, were the gods. There was war, there was love, death and birth, and the lives of maharajahs and peasants, of gods and demons. Ash followed a line of blue rivers as they crossed empires that were now less than dust.

“Ravana’s kingdom,” said Jackie with soft awe. “He was the first Alamgir.”

Ash recognised that word from one of his books about the Moghuls, the ancient emperors of India. It meant ‘universe conqueror’. But if anyone had the right to be called Alamgir, it was the demon king.

Water dripped down from the ceiling. The groaning from without was louder now, and it sounded like the sea was pounding against the building’s shell. The remaining hyena rakshasa sniffed at the nearest column, then relieved himself on it.

“Are we totally lost or what?” said Ash.

“No, we’re very near.” Savage scrutinised his surroundings. “Though being near isn’t good enough. It’s the last step that’s the most slippery.” He checked his pistol, drawing back the slide and letting it slam sharply back in place. The abrupt metallic rap sounded like a gunshot in the vast space.

“We expecting trouble?” Ash asked.

Savage shook his head. “No. Trouble’s already come.”

A splash brought Ash’s attention to the wavering shadows ahead. One after the other, long-dead lamps rose into the hall, casting a chaotic battle of swaying and entangled images across the columns, across the water. The flames multiplied a thousand times, a million, on every wave and droplet.

The air in front of them shimmered and the lights around it spiralled with dazzling colours. Ash shaded his eyes as a dark outline began to form within the white heart of the blaze. A gale suddenly screamed to almost ear-piercing heights, forcing them back. The wind bit Ash’s bare skin so hard it burned. Then it calmed and the light died. Ash blinked the white spots out of his sight.

A man stood before them. Three metres tall and naked but for an elegant white and gold loincloth, he was young and slim, and his dark skin was covered with occult symbols. Ash realised the figure was standing on the water’s surface, only his soles getting wet. The symbols slid and mutated over him, merging and rewriting themselves constantly. Upon his forehead, like a third eye, was a glowing brand. Even from this distance Ash counted nine skulls.

Nine sorceries. Savage knew only seven, and he was the greatest sorcerer in the world.

Ash had a bad feeling about this. A really bad feeling.

The man’s black-on-black eyes gazed over the party.

Savage tucked his cane under his arm and bowed. “My lord Vibheeshana.”