Ash Mistry and the Savage Fortress (21 page)

ingers locked round the dagger hilt, Ash wiped the tears from his eyes.

His father had told him stories of the ancient warriors – the Rajputs. Rajasthan was named after them. When they’d faced certain defeat, the men had dressed in their finest robes and adorned themselves with their brightest jewels. Then they would charge the enemy, fighting, knowing they would be slaughtered, but never hesitating, never surrendering. Like true heroes.

But Ash was no ancient hero. A month ago he was having his lunch money stolen by the school bullies.

Today is a good day to die.
That’s what the Rajput warriors would say.

But it was never a good day to die.

He wanted to live, wanted it so badly that he shuffled backwards, ashamed of his cowardice, but unable to prevent it. He wanted to live! Surely Parvati could kill Savage without him? Maybe he’d underestimated her. She’d save Lucky and bring her here. He’d just wait on this spot. Safe.

No. If he stayed, Parvati would fail, Savage would win, and Lucky would die. If he stayed here, Ravana would be freed.

Look after your sister.

He could do that. He
would
do that.

How long had it been since Parvati left? He wasn’t sure. It must be ten minutes by now. If he waited any longer, he might never find the courage to act. This was it. He had to create a diversion – now.

Ash crept forward, keeping himself in the shadows. The hideous servants of Ravana didn’t notice him. They screamed and wailed and danced, celebrating the imminent coming of their king, but he pushed his way through, eyes on the citadel ahead. Ash turned a corner and tripped over two crouching figures.

“I’m so sorry,” Ash said as he trod on a thick, leathery tail.

Two rat rakshasas glared at him as they squatted over their meal, a small mangy dog. One pushed Ash back, hard.

“Away, fool,” snapped one. “We’re having dinner.”

Ash stepped away. He needed to get a lot closer to the citadel if he was going to create a diversion that might work. Cold sweat crept down his back. Time was running out. He looked for an empty alley.

“Hold.”

One of the rat demons, a dog’s hind leg still in its hand, came up to him. It sniffed at his feet, then stood, smelling round his throat. Its pink eyes came close up to Ash’s.

“Why aren’t you changed, like the other mortals?” it asked.

Ash swallowed. He needed to think of something
really
clever. “I am. It’s just on the inside.
Completely
changed.”

And that wasn’t.

The rat widened its jaws to give Ash an extremely close-up view of its crooked yellow teeth. It clearly didn’t believe Ash’s cunning lie. And it wasn’t going to let him get away.

“Sod it,” said Ash and he rammed his dagger into the rat’s belly.

The cut bit deep and blood gushed out. The second leaped at Ash and the two of them fell. Ash lost his grip on his weapon so he punched the rat’s long nose, and the rat snapped
its yellow, crooked teeth at Ash’s fingers. Its tail twitched and encircled Ash’s leg. This was a brawl, no skill or style, just the two biting, punching and kicking each other. The rat screamed as Ash pulled out a handful of whiskers. Then he kneed the monster between the legs and the rat groaned and let go.

Ash picked up his dagger as more creatures approached. He was panting hard from the scuffle and blinded with sweat, but he struck out at any who got too close.

“Fight then! What are you afraid of?” he roared.

A high-pitched cackle Ash recognised echoed from the alleys. A rakshasa bounded out of the crumbling walls and houses, her thick red mane quivering in the wind. She landed a few metres from him, crouched on all fours, grinning, her amber eyes wide with delight.

“My dear, sweet boy,” said Jackie. “How good of you to join us.”

Ash pointed the dagger at her. “Come on then.” Funny, he wasn’t scared. Now that he’d made the decision to fight he felt strangely calm. All he wanted to do, before Jackie tore him limb from limb, was to wipe that ugly grin off her face.

But before he could strike, she pounced, knocking him flat on his back and smashing all the air out of him. Ash
jabbed with the dagger but she cuffed it out of his hand. Ash was almost suffocated by the stench of decaying meat hanging around her.

“Savage is waiting,” she cackled. “He knew you’d come. Stupid human.”

She head-butted him and Ash’s neck almost snapped. Black spots swelled in front of his eyes and his limbs gave up. He stared at her, dimly aware of the monster leaning back to head-butt him again.

The next blow didn’t hurt at all. But that was because Ash was already unconscious.

enses swimming, body limp, Ash was dragged through the city. Dimly he made out the grotesque faces of rakshasas glaring at him with undisguised hate.

They came to the royal avenue, lined by burning pyres and monsters. The path rose upwards and Ash blinked away the dull, wavering confusion in his head. He needed to focus.

The road was arrow-straight and led to a bridge about ten metres long and two wide, crossing over to the central square. There was no railing, and Ash peered over the side as they crossed it. One slip and he’d tumble thirty metres or more down into a dry, empty moat that surrounded the
central square, which was vast, flat and marked by just one feature.

A huge cube of black iron.

Ravana’s prison. It had to be at least fifteen metres wide and high, and there, set in the front of the cube were a pair of gates, two high panels that groaned as though the metal itself was being tortured by what lay within. The air around the building shimmered with a heat haze, distorting the cube so it looked unearthly – not quite solid, not quite real.

Jackie forced him on to the square and Ash collapsed in front of the iron building. He had to dig his nails into the carvings that covered its surface to hoist himself up. The metal was warm, pulsing with heat. Ash sensed the hatred radiating from within it.

The gates bore ornate scenes of warriors and strange creatures, half man and half beast. Rakshasas. There was no spare patch of wall that wasn’t filled with bloodshed. The battlefield seemed endless. Indecipherable runes lined the top and bottom of the walls, no doubt the story of the great war between man and demon-kind. In the heart of the slaughter stood an immense warrior, decorated with gold leaf, the one bright spot on the dark iron canvas. He stood upon a mountain of corpses, sword in each hand. He could
not be touched or harmed, though his armoured body bristled with arrows and swords. Each sweep of his swords tore apart bodies, and armies turned to dust under his gaze. Ravana.

Where was Parvati?

The prison of Ravana shimmered and the metal moaned. The trapped demon king was stirring within, his power already corrupting the country with his madness. This close, a metre away from his spirit, Ash could barely stop himself from screaming.

“Beautiful, isn’t he?”

Ash blinked and turned towards the speaker. Light distorted around the cube, colours quivered and fractured and he could make out a cluster of figures beside the prison, but nothing more. Then one approached him, coalescing into a single, solid form.

Savage. He had changed, and for the worse. He was bent double, a crooked, wrinkled thing, his head sunk low on his chest and his spine curved and humped. But his eyes still shone with insane desire. He turned his deformed head, smiling at Ash. Only his black magic and immense willpower was keeping him alive. He leaned heavily on his cane, and Ash glimpsed something in his other hand, something silver and gold.

“Ash!”

He recognised the voice instantly and sobbed with joy as he saw the small girl held by Mayar.

“Lucky?”

She ran into his arms. They hung on to each other, and Ash could feel her heartbeat, as light and fast as a sparrow’s.

“You OK?” he asked.

“I am now you’re here,” she smiled weakly, wiping away her tears.

Ash smoothed her hair away from her face. “I promised.”

“I didn’t believe you. I’m sorry.” Lucky trembled against him. “I’m sorry, Ash. I’m so sorry.”

“Me too. I’m sorry I dragged you into this mess.” He ran his fingers through her tangled black hair. “It’ll be OK, Lucky. I promise.”

“How terribly touching. You came all this way by yourself?” Savage peered across the city, searching with his nearly blind eyes. “Where’s Parvati?”

“Dead. The spider-woman’s poison was too much.”

Jackie handed Savage the punch dagger. “Then this was your rescue plan? To barge in here, with this piece of cutlery?” He tossed the dagger away. “My, my, you do suffer from delusions of grandeur.”

Ash stood up and faced Savage. Now, with Lucky here and Parvati on her way, he wasn’t afraid. He had Savage’s attention; he had to delay the Englishman as long as possible. Parvati was coming. She had to be.

“Delusional?” said Ash. “I got this far, didn’t I? I escaped the fortress and beat your demons.”

Savage leered. “True, but I still ended up with this.”

He revealed the object hidden behind his back: the aastra. The golden arrowhead had been fixed to the end of a slim silver shaft so it looked like an arrow again. The fletching was mother-of-pearl and rippled with colour. It was too heavy to be used as an arrow, but would serve perfectly well as a dagger; the arrowhead was easily sharp enough.

Savage gazed down at the weapon. “A great death. That’s all I need now to awaken the aastra. Once it is awakened, I’ll use it to smash open the gates, and my lord, Ravana, will be free.” He touched the iron reverentially, like it was the holiest of shrines. “He will make me immortal. Young again. Beautiful again. Safe from death, for ever.”

Where’s Parvati?

She was meant to be here. Now was the perfect time for a last-minute rescue. But as he searched the rakshasas beyond
the moat, he couldn’t see her. Maybe she’d met some rakshasa tougher than her after all.

There was always a last-minute rescue in the stories. But this was real life, and maybe in real life the bad guys won.

It came to him, only now, when it was too late. He’d thought Savage would sacrifice Lucky to awaken the aastra. He remembered Parvati hadn’t sounded so sure. To open the Iron Gates a great death was needed and Lucky was not a ‘great death’. Not for Savage.

“It’s me you want, isn’t it?” said Ash.

“At last, the penny drops.” Savage pointed the aastra at him. “Yes, I need
you
. The eternal warrior. Yours will be the great death.”

Lucky looked at Savage, then back at Ash. “No!”

Savage continued, “I wondered why Rishi was so interested in you: a weak, cowardly and quite useless child. But then, despite everything I threw at you, you not only survived, you prospered. Jat’s death could have been mere chance. But escaping my fortress? Defeating Mayar? That was not chance, that was destiny.”

Ash looked at Lucky. He smiled at her, though he could hardly see through his tears. “I’m sorry, Lucks. It’s the only way.”

She dug her fingers into his arms, shaking her head. “No…”

“Lucks, think about it. I have to do this.” She was his sister and he had to get her out of here, nothing else mattered. He brushed her hair from her face. Parvati would be here, soon, he was sure of it, but maybe not in time to save him. He faced Savage.

“Me for her. You let her go.”

Savage’s eyes narrowed. “You’re in no position to negotiate. You are powerless.”

“I don’t know,” said Ash. “I did kill Jat, and I gave Mayar one hell of a toothache.”

Mayar growled and thumped his foot forward, arms flexing. Drool dribbled off his bandaged jaw and his upper teeth overhung the lower like a ledge. “You little runt, I’ll rip your—”

“Easy, Mayar,” said Savage. He peered at Ash, then nodded. “I will let the girl go. Once the ritual is complete.”

“Your word on that?” Ash asked. “As an English gentleman?”

“My word, as an English gentleman.”

Ash knew Savage was lying, but it didn’t matter. All he needed was to delay things long enough for Parvati to turn up.

Savage snapped his fingers. “Hold him, Mayar.”

Mayar hesitated. “I…”

What was wrong? Then Ash realised. Mayar was scared. Of him.

“What are you afraid of?” said Savage. “He’s just an ordinary boy.”

An ordinary boy who had beaten up a rakshasa. Ash’s heart quickened as he met the demon’s reptilian gaze.

“You act like he has the aastra. He doesn’t,” Savage said impatiently. “Hold him.”

Mayar shook himself. Snarling, he reached forward and grabbed Ash, twisting his arms sharply behind his back.

Ash bit down, but couldn’t help cry out. Still, his eyes blazed defiantly.

“You’ve changed, boy,” said Savage. “Once you were plump, spoilt and weak in body and soul. Now? Now there’s something inside you. Seeing you here, I’m convinced you are an eternal warrior. Your death will awaken the aastra. You should feel honoured.”

“Let him go!” Lucky pummelled the crocodile’s legs, but she might as well have been trying to batter an oak tree. Jackie laughed and pulled her back.

Ash tried to ignore the agonising creaking of his joints
as he was lifted up to balance on his toes. But, strangely, the pain was sharpest in his hand – his left hand. He clenched it, and the pain doubled as he touched his thumb. Where he’d cut himself with the aastra. Where the splinter had entered.

There’s something inside you
. That was what Savage had just said. He meant Ash had changed, become tougher, more determined, but that wasn’t all of it.

Ash’s gaze fell on the aastra Savage held a few centimetres from his chest. The golden arrowhead shone brightly, with the two edges that formed the needle-sharp point smooth but for the slightest imperfection – a sliver missing.

The sliver that had gone into his thumb. The tip of the arrowhead.

There
was
something inside him.

Because Ash had held the arrowhead at the time of Jat’s death, he’d thought the power inside him was coming from that. But when Rishi had died, the aastra had been nowhere near him. Instead, Rishi’s death energies had passed into the splinter of metal in Ash. A part of the aastra was within him. That was why he’d defeated Mayar.

The Kali-aastra. It all made sense now.

Sweat poured off him. Black waves of oblivion threatened
as Mayar twisted his arm to almost breaking point, but Ash fought back. He needed to keep focused! He could do nothing but defy Savage. Every second’s delay was another second given to Parvati.

He stared at the golden arrowhead, the Kali-aastra. He stared so hard its golden light filled his vision. Savage ran his wrinkled thumb along the edge.

“Shame there’s a bit missing,” he whispered. “Only the smallest piece, and you have to look really closely to notice it. It’s still sharp enough to do the job, but I’ll have to really twist it in. Really work it into your heart. Won’t be easy. Won’t be quick.”

Ash pressed his forefinger against his thumb. The tip was still in there, somewhere.

Savage drew the flat of the cold arrowhead down Ash’s chest. Ash gasped as he felt the sharp prod of metal over his heart.

Charged with the power of a god.
That was what Rishi had told him that morning on the boat.

Savage scratched Ash’s skin. A sharp, hot pain, and then a thin line of blood ran down his chest.

What would you give to wield the power of a god?

“No! Please don’t hurt him!” That was his sister’s voice,
but she sounded far away. She was far away from where he was going.

What would you give?

What pleases Kali most is death.

Savage handed his tiger cane to Jackie and took the aastra in both hands. “Goodbye, Ashoka Mistry.” He pressed the point against Ash’s bleeding chest, dragging it lower until it was in the centre of his stomach.

Then Ash screamed as Savage drove the golden arrowhead into his belly and a shockwave, hotter than lava, burst through him. Savage twisted the shaft, then ripped the arrow back out. Ash sagged in Mayar’s grip. Savage held the arrow before him, the arrowhead thickly covered in blood. His blood.

What pleases her most is death
. A great death.

His.

“Kali…” whispered Ash with the last of his strength. “I’m yours.”

Mayar released him. Ash fell a hundred miles, a hundred years, it seemed, before he hit the ground. He tried to raise himself but nothing worked. He lay there, his cheek against the stone.

“Thank you, Ash,” said Savage. “I couldn’t have done it without you.” He smeared Ash’s blood over his cheeks.
“Stomach wounds are fatal, but not instantly. I really do want you to see this, so don’t die quite yet.”

Ash’s eyesight was already fading into blurry greys and blacks. He’d thought, hoped, that his own death would awaken the aastra in him, enough to give him some strength, some way to strike back the way he did against Mayar. But as his blood began to spread across the flagstone and his energy faded, Ash knew he’d been wrong. He’d lost, and Savage had won.

Savage joined his two rakshasas. “We have a god to wake.”

He faced the gates and raised his arms, the bloody aastra in his hand. The skies shook and the earth rumbled and groaned, and the buildings around the central prison cracked and swayed.

“My lord,” whispered Savage.

He struck the golden arrowhead against the black iron.

The gates began to melt like wax against a blazing fire. Even from where Ash lay, just hanging on to life, he could see the iron twist and deform. Faces, beautiful and evil, leered. Divinely carved women rose to the surface of the metal, and transformed into screeching harpies, full of fangs and wicked claws.

Savage leaned against the prison, pushing the arrowhead deeper within.