Ash Mistry and the Savage Fortress (7 page)

y the time they’d rowed back across the river, Uncle Vik had explained everything. Only Lucky had a question.

“No pony?” she asked.

Aunt Anita stroked her cheek. “No pony.”

Uncle Vik got in the car, and the engine purred to life. Ash got in the front passenger seat while Aunt Anita and Lucky dropped down in the back.

Uncle Vik sighed deeply. “Well, if they put a price on love, I’ve just paid it,” he said. “Two million pounds, that’s what you cost me, nephew.”

“Sorry.”

“I’ll ask your father for a refund.” He ran his fingers over the steering wheel. “Let us get home before Savage confiscates this and has us hitching a ride on the back of a bullock cart.”

Ash slipped the arrowhead out of his trouser pocket. The golden object glistened as he cupped it in his hands. It was a narrow triangle about five centimetres long with two long edges ending in a needle-thin point. But the tip was missing, a sliver a few millimetres in length, barely noticeable unless you looked closely. He checked his thumb, unable to see the splinter. Maybe it had fallen out by now. It certainly didn’t hurt as much, just throbbed a bit.

He hadn’t even realised he’d taken it. And he’d almost died getting it, so it was his now. Maybe they could sell it? If it was real gold, it had to be worth something. It might go a little way towards making up for all that money Uncle Vik had just lost.

Ash rolled down the window and let the cold air rush over his face. The desert smelt of age, of time; not like a living thing, but of sand, rock and wind. Eternal things.

“You were right, Ash, about the money,” Uncle Vik murmured. “It was too much. I knew it wasn’t right. That’s why I couldn’t cash it.”

“Savage wanted to buy you,” said Ash. “The guy’s hideous.”

“You can’t blame him for his illness,” said Aunt Anita.

“It’s more than that.” Ash closed his eyes, trying to search his memory, check the facts. Mayar with the reptile eyes. Jackie’s freakish fur. Savage’s words and the things in his study. What bit of that was normal? Normal people didn’t have jars with human snakes sloshing around in them.

“It’ll all seem better in the morning.” Uncle Vik said. “Come on, nephew. You’ve had a bit of a rough evening. You’ll feel better once we’re home.”

“India is not my home,” said Ash. Suddenly he was shaking. All the night’s events, the dreams of Rama, the collapsed tomb and Savage and his hideous henchmen crowded his memories. “I hate India. It was stupid to come here and it was stupid for you to work for Savage.”

“You think your uncle’s stupid?” said Aunt Anita, accusingly.

“That’s not what I—”

But she was too angry to hear him. “Ashoka Mistry, you apologise to your uncle right now.”

Ash glanced up at the rear-view mirror and saw Aunt Anita staring back at him, her lips locked in a thin, firm line.

“Well?” she asked.

Anger buzzed around his head – anger at them, anger at himself. And fear. He’d thought he was going to die, first buried under the rock, then when he’d been surrounded by Savage’s people. Even now it left a sickening dread in the pit of his belly.

“Right,” his aunt said. “I am going to count to three, and if you don’t apologise, you’re grounded for the rest of this trip, and there will be no Internet and no gaming. You understand?”

Ash knew he was being unfair. His uncle was a good man, he was trying his best. But he clamped his mouth shut.

“One…”

He heard the noise of machinery, just buried under the whistling wind and the steady rumble of the Mercedes. He leaned against the passenger door window, staring out.

“Two…”

Ash caught a glimpse of metal in the side mirror. He peered closer at the reflection. Was that another car?

“Look out!” he screamed as headlights burst into life, flooding the interior of the car with an explosion of brilliant, blinding whiteness. Another vehicle rammed into the rear of the Mercedes, hurling them forward. The car swung out wildly and Ash was deafened by the sound of tearing metal
and Lucky’s screams. He caught a glimpse of their attacker: a white Humvee. One of Savage’s vehicles.

The Humvee ploughed its chunky crash bars into the side of their car. Tyres shredded on the crude road as it was pushed along, locked to the giant SUV.

We’re going to die
. Blank terror seized him as he was thrown against the door. He was centimetres from the Humvee – all he could see was the bright chrome bars, feel the dragon-breath blowing heat off its giant radiator.

Then the Humvee spun round again in a tyre-melting hand-break turn, tearing itself free of the Mercedes. Ash’s door, trapped in the crash bars, was ripped off like it was made of paper. The car slid along the verge, metal screaming, and sparks erupted along the steel undercarriage.

Ash sat there, gasping. He couldn’t move. Blood dripped from his face, and he touched his cheek. A small cut from the shattered windscreen. Broken squares of glass covered his lap, sparkling like a scattering of diamonds.

“Ash, Ash…” His uncle grabbed his arm.

“I’m OK.”

The Humvee paused like a huge white bull, its engine growling. It was about a hundred metres away. The Mercedes had spun all the way round so the two were facing one
another. The Humvee began to creep forward, slowly picking up speed.

“Open the bloody doors!” shouted his aunt. She was twisting the handle, but the door frame had buckled, locking them in.

Ash fumbled with his seatbelt and it clicked open. He stared at his uncle as Uncle Vik struggled to undo his seatbelt.

“Get out, Ash. Get out,” said Uncle Vik.

“Let me help.” If he pulled they could both—

“Get out!”

The Humvee roared and the stark headlights glared down at them like the eyes of demons.

Ash scrabbled out and began pulling at his aunt’s door behind him. The air stank of burning rubber as the Humvee accelerated towards them. The driver of the vehicle grinned at him, and Ash’s blood turned to ice. Jackie hunched over the wheel and beside her Mayar licked his lips.

Aunt Anita hoisted Lucky on to her lap, and Ash grabbed his sister and hauled her through the broken window. Lucky sobbed as she clambered out, then Ash turned back to his aunt.

“C’mon!” He pulled at the door handle, but his palms
were slick with sweat and the door wouldn’t budge. He pulled and pulled until his arms ached.

Tears streamed down his aunt’s face, the mascara leaving big black tracks down her cheeks. Her mouth seemed caught between a frown and smile. She just shook her head and met his gaze. “Look after your sister,” she said. Then she shoved Ash back as hard as she could.

The car crumpled like an accordion as the vehicles collided and the Mercedes tore through the thorny bushes that lined the verge and down the steep slope. Ash’s screams were drowned out by the sounds of grinding metal and shattering glass. The noise seemed to go on for ever as the car turned over and over, ploughing a deep furrow through the hard-baked earth. Ash stared at the black skid-marks and the shiny black oil that lay like a trail of blood along the ruined path.

The Humvee spun once, and howls of joy burst from the driver and her passenger. The front of the big SUV was smashed, a headlamp dangling out of its broken socket, and Ash’s door still hung off the mangled crash bars. Steam hissed out of a dent in the radiator. Jackie stared at Ash through the cracked windscreen, a big, eager smile across her face.

She revved the engine once more, and the vehicle rolled forward, growling.

Ash looked around. He was in the centre of the road. Lucky knelt sobbing a few metres away. There was no escape.

The Humvee accelerated.

sh dragged his sister to her feet and started running. The terrible growl of the Humvee’s engine filled the night, drowning out everything but total fear. Ash stared at his long shadow running ahead of him, cast by the glaring eyes of the mechanical monster that had already killed Uncle Vik and Aunt Anita. If only they could get off the road and down the slope, they might live, but there was no gap through the spiky buses that lined the verge. The ground trembled as the car descended on them.

We’re not going to make it.
Heart pounding and his lungs burning with desperate gasps, he ran anyway, hand in hand with Lucky.

Don’t look back
. Even though the headlights bathed them both and the stench of burning petrol filled the air, he kept his head and ran.

“Boy.”

Rough hands grabbed him and lifted Ash off his feet. Blindly he swung his fists at the stranger, then stopped.

He dangled a few centimetres before a pair of intense blue eyes, almost lost under a forest of thick dreadlocks. It was the blue-eyed holy man, the sadhu. The guy who’d hit the cow. Ash stared at him, speechless with disbelief. What was he doing out here?

“Behind me,” the man commanded as he dropped Ash to the ground, and Ash scrambled to put the man between himself and the Humvee, dragging Lucky with him.

The skinny brown man stood in the path of the thundering Humvee, his hands resting on his bamboo stick. His matted white and grey hair hung loose about him, the thick vine-like tresses whipped about by the rushing wind. He was chanting something, but the words were lost in the cry of the oncoming vehicle.

How was the old man going to make any difference? They were facing a three-ton vehicle, not some lazy cow. Ash clung on to Lucky. Death rushed towards them. Any
second now all three of them were going to be red smears on the road.

“Ash…” Lucky whispered.

Lucky’s long straight black hair was rising. The air about them hummed. The old man’s eyes shone with radiant blue light. Sparks of electric power ran over his body as a storm of lightning erupted along his staff and sharp, jagged bolts flew off in all directions.

The Humvee was a heartbeat away.

The sadhu swung the stick high over his head and slammed it down on the accelerating vehicle just as it reached him. Thunder exploded, and the SUV stopped dead. It was as though a giant fist had punched down on to the bonnet, driving the car into the ground. The windscreen erupted and an ear-piercing wail rose out of the grinding gears and engine parts as they were utterly flattened. The earth rippled, hurling Ash backwards.

Ash lay sprawled on the broken ground, his ears ringing. He couldn’t see anything; a fog of dust covered the road. He struggled to his feet, gasping, and swayed side to side, muscles and bones rocked by the battering. He stepped forward, arms out, blindly reaching into the dense cloud. All he knew was that it had fallen quiet, but for an evil hissing coming from… somewhere.

What had happened to the car?

Oh God. Where was his sister?

“Lucks?”

A sudden breeze dispersed the worst of the cloud, revealing the old man. The sadhu stood in the centre of the crater with the flattened car. His head was lowered and his stick raised horizontally, high over his head. His finger joints clicked as he adjusted his grip on his weapon.

Two other figures prowled through the wreckage as well. Jackie and Mayar moved to either side of the motionless holy man. They looked bloodied and dishevelled, not seriously injured, but definitely
wrong
. Jackie stalked closer on all fours, her face elongated and covered in reddish brown hair. A row of slavering fangs dripped saliva from her ever-widening grin and her arms were now forepaws, each one tipped with wicked, yellow claws.

Mayar pulled off his white jacket, revealing a torso covered in dense green scales. Heavy lumps encrusted his snout-like jaw lined with jagged crocodile teeth. He too lowered himself down to all fours, and a long thick tail tore itself out from his trouser seat.

Ash felt a slick bubble of vomit tremble in his throat, but held it down. He blinked again, hoping the creatures would
vanish and be replaced by something normal, something believable. But they were sickeningly, grotesquely real. He stepped back, panting in short, weak gasps, staring at the two monsters.
Monsters
.

Rakshasas.

“The boy is ours, Rishi,” Jackie growled. She crept forward, just outside the reach of the old man’s stick. “He has stolen from our master.”

“Then take him, if you can,” answered the old man.

Ash stared at him, still bewildered that the skinny guy had crushed a car with his stick. If he could do that, what else could he do? The two rakshasas kept a wary distance; despite their huge size and all their fangs and claws, they seemed reluctant to make the first move against the sadhu.

Jackie threw back her head as she laughed at the moon. It was a high pitched and cruel noise, half-human and half-beast, the cry of something that fed on the dead. A jackal’s laugh.

Mayar snapped his jaws. Spittle dripped from his mouth and there was hunger in his eyes. He looked towards his demon companion.

Then at the same moment, Jackie leaped high and Mayar rushed in low. The sadhu jumped over Mayar and slammed
his stick across Jackie’s chest, catapulting her high into the air. Mayar’s eyes blazed and he opened his jaws wide. Ash stumbled a few paces backwards, but the crocodile was almost upon him, so close that Ash could see down the monster’s red throat and almost count every dagger-like tooth.

Mayar roared as he crashed to a halt, barely a hand’s breadth from Ash. Discarding his stick the old man had the crocodile by the tail. Mayar turned suddenly and snapped at him, but the sadhu just hopped backwards, dragging the thrashing monster with him. “Ash!” shouted Lucky.

Ash spun round as a gigantic vulture swooped out of the darkness. The wings were five metres wide and attached to the body of a tall man: Jat, the third of Savage’s henchmen. His hooked nose was now transformed into a curved beak and his feet had become long talons. Ash threw himself to the ground as the talons tore the back of his shirt. Jat screeched in anger. Then Lucky screamed as Jat went after her instead.

Lucky fought hard, but the scaly talons locked round her arms. Ash ran towards them, but Lucky was rising away, Jat flapping furiously to get some lift with the additional weight. Ash leaped up, arms straining as far as they would stretch.

His fingers closed round nothing as, with a sudden jerk
and cry of triumph, the vulture monster rose into the night sky and out of reach, Lucky dangling from his taloned feet.

The sadhu ran in a strange bow-legged way and leaped. His big hands hooked round a branch and he swung upwards, launching himself into the air. He turned over and over, a tight ball of leathery muscle, at the last moment thrusting out his large feet and slamming into Jat’s chest. The vulture man was knocked backwards and Lucky fell from his grip.

Ash dived for his sister, leaping further than he’d thought possible, and she crashed into his arms. They bounced a few metres, Ash trying to let her land on top of him. He cried out as they skidded along the broken tarmac, a layer of skin tearing off his back.

With barely a sound, the sadhu landed on the ground. He flicked his staff up off the ground with his toes.

Jat circled overhead, but the sadhu raised his staff and bolts of blue energy crackled along it. Jat screamed in frustration, obviously afraid to get within range of the old man with a stick. With one mighty sweep of his wings he rose away into the sky.

Ash lay on his back, staring into the night. The other two monsters had fled. Black dread swirled in his belly. He must be sick. Delirious. This couldn’t be happening.

“Lucks?” he said. “You OK?”

Lucky rolled off him. She nodded her head. Her arms bled from Jat’s claws, but the cuts weren’t deep.

“Where are they?” she asked. “Where’s Uncle Vik and Auntie?”

He gritted his teeth as he peeled himself off the ground. His back was hot and sticky, and not with sweat, while his spine felt stiff and ready to break.

“Wait here, Lucks.”

He ran past the ruined Humvee in the crater, steam rising out of the radiator and small pockets of fire glowing from where the petrol and sparks had met. Silhouetted against the swaying firelight was the sadhu.

“Are you hurt?” asked the old man.

Ash rushed past him to the edge of the road. The long black skid-marks and the torn-up foliage showed where the Mercedes had gone. He peered over, his heart hammering and his throat dry.

The Mercedes was at the bottom of the slope, its wheels torn away and the roof caved in. Steam hissed from the mangled engine. Ash clambered down the slope that was littered with broken metal and rubber torn from the tyres.

Maybe they were alive. They could be. His heartbeat rose
rapidly and he was panting hard as he skidded down the slope. He could hear something. Yes, there it was again. Tapping. Someone was tapping. They were alive. He’d get them out and everything was going to be OK. Like it had been five minutes ago.

He was at the car now. The axle was bent and great wide gashes ran the length of the car. The engine still groaned and there was the
plink plink plink
of oil on to metal. The air stank of petrol fumes. But he could hear tapping. Someone was alive.

“Uncle Vik?” Ash crawled the last metre and looked into the car.

His uncle leaned back in his seat. His eyes stared blankly ahead, unblinking. Blood dribbled from the puncture wound in his forehead.

“Uncle?”

His uncle blindly watched the windscreen wipers slide back and forth. Each time the wipers reached their zenith, they hit the bent roof, tapping the metal at each pass.

Aunt Anita lay asleep, so it seemed, in the back seat. Only the crookedness of her neck betrayed that she was never going to wake.

Ash stared, empty-eyed. His palms scraped along the broken glass, but he barely noticed. Something stuck painfully
in his throat. The temperature was warm, even now, but he shivered. He took his aunt’s hands in his own.

“Please.” He put his cheek against her cold palm. “Please.” All he wanted was the smallest sign. Just a little movement. Trembling, he shook his aunt. “Please wake up!”

Aunt Anita’s body tilted loosely left and right. Her head dangled on her broken neck.

“Boy?”

Ash slowly turned and saw the old man squatting some metres away. His stick lay across his arms, but he waited patiently.

“Please help,” Ash said. He’d seen the man do amazing things. Miraculous things. Couldn’t he help them?

“I am sorry.” He stood up and looked around. “We must go.”

“No,” Ash said through gritted teeth. “I’m staying here.” He couldn’t help but think of the angry words he’d thrown at his aunt and uncle just minutes ago. Words he’d never be able to take back.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he whispered.

The old man gazed at Ash from under his bushy grey brows. “They are dead, boy.” He put his hand on Ash’s shoulder. “Come, boy. Before the rakshasas return.”

Ash wiped his face. He started up the slope and saw Lucky kneeling there. She looked at him, eyes filled with tears, but silent. She took hold of his outstretched hand as he reached the top and he squeezed her warm fingers, determined not to let go. They’d almost got her too. He wouldn’t let that happen. Not ever.

“Why?” he asked the old man. Only a few days ago, Savage had given Uncle Vik millions. It didn’t make any sense.

The sadhu joined them, picking up a sack-cloth bag lying behind a bush.

“They want the aastra,” he said.

“Aastra? What aastra?”

The old man stuck out a long bony finger and pointed at Ash’s pocket. Ash slowly reached in and pulled out the golden arrowhead. It glowed faintly in the darkness.

“The aastra,” said the sadhu.