Ash Mistry and the Savage Fortress (24 page)

he ground trembled and shook loose the curtain of sand that covered Ash. He lay curled up under the edge of the boulder, his body protecting the sleeping forms of Lucky and Parvati. A loud, angry buzzing filled the air.

Rakshasas?

The buzzing grew louder. He turned his shoulders, shaking off more sand. A shaft of bright sunlight pierced the crack between the underside of the boulder and the wedge of hard-packed sand that had blown up against it.

Ash rolled out of the crevice and rose to his feet.

There was nothing but empty desert. Dust-devils whirled across the flat expanse, and snaking dunes hissed as the wind caressed them.

All gone. The city. The rakshasas. Ravana.

And Savage?

Ash turned towards the buzzing. A plane rolled across the desert. The paint had been scoured clean off, so the bare metal, aluminium bright, shone with blinding intensity. He could just make out the faded image of a crown on the tail fin.

The plane swivelled and came to a stop in front of him. The side passenger door shook, then opened.

Jimmy took off his sunglasses and looked around the transformed landscape in amazement. Then he smiled at Ash. “Namaste.”

“You came back?” asked Ash. “For us?”

“Alas, nothing so heroic. I didn’t get five miles before the storms drove me down.” He gestured to the horizon. “Spent the night praying to every god I could think of. Want a lift back?”

“We can’t pay you.”

Jimmy took a big blue sapphire out of his pocket. “I think this covers a return flight,” he said. “First class.”

“What does that mean, first class?” Ash said.

Jimmy grinned and waved a paper bag. “The biscuits aren’t broken.”

ow do I look?” said Ash.

John shrugged. “Like an English.”

A couple of days had passed and India was returning to normal. The story out of Rajasthan was confusing, contradictory. Some people were blaming the riots on religious fanatics, others on terrorists. No one seemed too sure.

The journey back to Varanasi had taken ages. Jimmy had needed to make a stop on the way for repairs. When they’d reached the city they went straight to the Lalgur. Ujba had given them food and rest. He’d said little, but there was a calculating look in his eyes now whenever he spoke to Ash. Hakim too kept his distance. Ash wasn’t the same boy they’d known before.

But now they were here, Ash and Lucky, Parvati and John, in the crowded reception of the Best View Hotel. Ash put his finger in his shirt collar, loosening it. How had he ever felt comfortable in clothes like these?

He watched tourists arrive. A group of kids ran around the small courtyard and families greeted each other with hugs and garlands of flowers. All normal, day-to-day life.

We came so close to all this ending.

“Where is he?” Ash said.

“It’s not quite twelve o’clock,” replied John. “You nervous?”

Nervous? After having saved the world? Why should he be nervous?

“Yes. Very.”

They’d called Mum the moment they touched down and here they were, waiting for their dad to take them home.

Home. Where was that? Ash had spent the last month dreaming of London – but now, it didn’t feel like going home.

Lucky sipped on a bottle of Coke. She smiled up at him and tapped her foot impatiently, eyes on the lift doors that her father would come through any minute now.

Parvati looked at Ash. She wore her blackest shades and gave him a weak smile.

John followed his gaze and nudged him. “Go say something to her.”

“What?”

“How should I know? Something. Something nice.”

With a deep sigh, Ash agreed.

“I’m going,” he said as he reached her.

“Yes.”

Ash scratched his thumb. “You’ll be OK?”

“I’ve been OK for four thousand, five hundred and fifteen years. Yes, I’ll be OK.”

“Great,” he said. Ash stretched his collar again. In spite of the clothes he was wearing, the shirt, jacket, creased trousers and polished boots, he didn’t feel like an ‘English’ any more. He wanted to stay. His heart told him so. India was where he belonged.

But there was more than that. Something he’d not told the others. They’d seen him defeat the demon king and practically fly through the air, but since then Ash had tried to be normal, to act as if those superhuman abilities had gone. But he felt far from normal.

See Varanasi and die
.

Pilgrims came here at the end of their lives and their deaths fed him energy. He was absorbing it from all around
him now. Each passing spirit made him stronger. Power waxed and waned within him. He didn’t need to sleep any more, nor eat or drink. Was he now more than human, or less than human?

What was he becoming?

“Are you OK?” asked Parvati.

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you were resurrected by Kali. Maybe because you have the powers of a demon king in your heart. Nothing important, I’m sure.”

“Things have changed, Parvati.”

“And that’s why you need to be careful.”

Ash laughed. “With great power comes great responsibility, right? I learned that from Spider-Man.”

“Do you take all your philosophy from comic books?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

Parvati gazed at him. Even with her eyes hidden behind dark glasses, Ash felt them penetrate his own. “Then let me tell you what I think,” she said. “Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. It’s a famous saying, but it’s true. So watch yourself, Ashoka Mistry.”

“He’s still out there,” said Ash. “I should stay and help you find him.”

“Your job is done. You need to look after your sister. I’ll deal with Savage.”

Savage. The thought of him darkened Ash’s mood.

“Easy, Ash,” said Parvati.

Ash blinked, then smiled. “I’m good.”

Parvati didn’t look convinced. She’d been wary around him ever since that night. Sure, she smiled and was friendly, but the power balance had shifted, big time.

She put her cool hand against his cheek. “My hero.”

Hero?

He didn’t feel like a hero. He’d fought Savage and Ravana, but each time he’d been almost paralysed by fear, ready to give up. But he hadn’t. Maybe that was it, he’d never quit. He’d gone on even when he’d been terrified. Being heroic wasn’t about being fearless, it was about conquering your fear and never giving up.

He just hoped he never, ever had to go through that again. Saving the world once was enough for anyone.

“I’m still me, Parvati. That hasn’t changed.”

“You just make sure you stay this way.”

Suddenly Lucky screamed with joy and dashed into the arms of a man emerging from the lift. There were tears streaming down his face.

“Dad,” said Ash. His heart swelled to bursting and he tingled all over. He couldn’t believe it. After all they’d been through, there was his dad, and that was the most important thing in the world.

He saw the man’s red-rimmed eyes and his unkempt black hair. He saw the ruffled clothes and the tiredness. He saw his father smile at Lucky as he swung her in the air.

Ash blinked as he saw the golden spots glow over his father’s body. There, above his heart. There, along the arteries of his arm, his lungs, his neck. The temples of his head. There were so many ways to kill. Ash closed his eyes.

The Kali-aastra. He could never forget it.

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes again. The glowing points had vanished for now, and then their eyes met. His dad put Lucky down. The smile was soft, and he gave a slight nod. But Ash felt the joy radiating brightly from his father.

He was the Kali-aastra, but that was not the sum of him. He was Ash. He was thirteen and he missed home so very much. He was that man’s son.

Ash turned to Parvati. “I have to go.”

She leaned forward and put her warm, smooth lips against his. They lingered there and Ash felt a shiver run right through
his body. In a good way. A very good way. He could get used to this.

“May the gods protect you, Ashoka Mistry,” she whispered.

Ash smiled, unable to answer. He held her hand and, reluctantly, released it. Then he went to his father.

A shadow loomed across the ceiling, one only Ash could see. Arms, sinewy and shaking with bangles of bone, spread out to embrace him. He nodded to her in acceptance. She would protect him, of that he was sure. Protect him until she needed him next. He had given himself to her and he would never leave her. The black one. The slayer of demons.

Kali.

t seems terribly unfair that the only name on the front is mine. I did not write this book alone and what you have in your hands is the work of many, some of whom I’d like to thank here and now.

Firstly, Sarah Davies, my agent and guru. She and the gang at the Greenhouse Literary Agency have been here when I first proposed Ash and have stood by both of us on this extraordinary Indian adventure.

Then the captain, Nick Lake. It’s not often you meet an editor who can see what you’re trying to do even when you can’t. He and the rest of the HarperCollins team understood that when all was said and done, this book needed to be ‘bad-ass’.

Big thanks to my film agent, Jerry Kalajian. He’s a larger-than-life character who reminds me that stories are all about passion, and Jerry’s got it by the truckload.

I’ve many friends who’ve added their thoughts and opinions to this story and none more so than John Jennings. It was he who reminded me that while it was Ash’s journey, we could always do with more Parvati!

Alongside John has been Kristian, who’s heard about all of Ash’s trials and tribulations over the last two years, and no doubt will be hearing more. His advice and encouragement cannot be rewarded enough.

I’d like to thank Jane for keeping me constantly supplied with almond croissants and coffees for what must be the third book I’ve written at her splendid cafe, Tea West.

I’ve had great support from booksellers, librarians, bloggers and readers, too many to mention. Apologies I can’t thank you all individually. But I’d like to give a big shout out to the children’s department at Foyles – Neil, Sam, Jen and Jo.

Finally, I save my biggest thanks for my family. For my patient and loving wife, for my two daughters (my eternal muses), my sisters and my parents. All I am I owe to you.