Ash Mistry and the World of Darkness (29 page)

“Well, we’re not down here to top up our tans,” said Parvati. “Let’s get back to base.”

“You’ve got a base here?”

Parvati pointed up at the cliffs. “More like a refugee camp. We go out during the day to find food and supplies, fill the bottles with clean water, then get back before dark. That’s when they come.”

“How bad is it?”

Parvati grimaced and she looked tired by it all. “Pretty awful, Ash. We lose a few more people every night. The caves have an endless network of tunnels and fissures – no one knows all of them and we’re not enough fighters to defend all the ways in. And I swear new ones open up, walls shift and cracks appear where there weren’t any the day before. My people just … disappear.”

“You think it’s Savage using his magic? Changing the tunnels?”

“If it is, then why doesn’t he just finish us off? No, I think its other rakshasas who’ve learned a few sorcerer’s tricks, nothing major but enough to manipulate elements at a local level.”

“Ashoka still around?”

“He’ll be pleased to see you.”

They hiked up the slopes past abandoned barricades made of rocks, wooden planks and metal sheeting. Some had been welded together and studded with spikes, dried blood encrusted on them. The fighting had been at close quarters and vicious.

Three rows of walls protected the cave mouth, each higher than the last, and men patrolled with crude weapons and home-made armour. A trench had been dug in front of the first wall, and its bottom lined with long spikes. A couple of guards were dragging impaled bodies off them.

Parvati waved at the watchtower, a platform built into a natural ledge, and the steel gates rattled open. She glanced down at the pile of corpses, not much interested. “From last night. The city’s split in two. The worst affected, those consumed by demonic possession, are outside these walls, feeding on each other and any unfortunate souls who’ve not found refuge with us. Can you believe it, but some decided to stay at home? No point arguing with fools, so we left them to their fate. Torn apart, devoured, just to protect what? A few pots and pans. I’ll never understand humans.”

She marched under the walls and Ash saw the second line of defences, murder holes and the glow of fires on the battlements above. Parvati followed his gaze. “We pour hot sand on anyone who comes too close. It’s brilliant. Gets into all cracks and between armour. Better than boiling oil – not that we have any.”

More soldiers joined them as they passed the second gate. Parvati and her men offloaded their armour and the bigger weapons, but each man kept something to hand. Water and food was passed around and they dropped away to join their own people until it was just Parvati, Ash, Rani and the little girl Lakshmi, who refused to let go of Ash’s hand even when a woman tempted her with a bowl of hot, sweet rice.

Parvati splashed water on her face. “Where was I? Oh, yes, the city. So, we have the infected outside. Joining them in greater numbers every day are the true rakshasas, those that follow Savage.”

Rani nodded and accepted a bowl of food. “Yes, each major city had a battalion of rakshasas allocated to it. Once the city had been infected with RAVN-1, the rakshasas serving Savage would act as
agents provocateurs
and commanders. They’d rally the new demons to their service and organise them into a proper army, destroying any local resistance before it could present a threat. I was meant to lead the army in Rio.”

Why was he surprised? Savage’s background was service with the East India Company. Military conquest was his
modus operandi
. “So all those other target cities – London, New York, Beijing – have hundreds of demons all just waiting for the green light from Savage?”

“He’s had ten years to plan this,” said Rani.

“Kampani’s become a hot zone for the rakshasas spread over India. They’re all making their way here, swelling the opposition.”

“What about Savage?” asked Ash.

Parvati shook her head. “No. Not yet.”

“He’ll come,” said Rani. She looked at Ash. “For you, he’ll come.”

Parvati stopped at the third wall – the highest and best guarded. The gate was topped with barbed wire and the men on the battlements had guns. There was even a harpoon fixed on a ridge, no doubt taken from some whaling ship that had been dismantled down on the beach. “But now you’re here, Ash, we’ve got nothing to worry about, have we? Fighting a thousand demons, ten thousand. All in a day’s work for you, isn’t it?”

“Er, I wouldn’t put it quite like that.” Especially now he no longer had the use of the Kali-aastra. “I’m just an extra pair of hands.”

“You look exhausted,” said Parvati. “We’ve a few hours before dark. It might be a good idea to get some rest.”

They entered the tunnels. Light came from oil lamps and bare bulbs strung out along wires nailed to the walls. There were cramped alcoves where families nestled together with their few belongings. Men watched him with grim, hard expressions, the women with weary despair and the children with bewilderment.

How long would they last? Ash felt chilled at the thought. What sort of a life had they had? And was this how it would end?

They huddled together. Wanting to be close. Rishi was right. All lives are great. Everyone was important to someone.

He scratched his thumb and pushed further into the caves.

The sound of metal hammering on metal echoed through the dingy labyrinth and the air stank of ozone as welders assembled better defences and new armour for the fighters. Ash ducked his head as part of the tunnel constricted, and kept his eye on Parvati. If he got lost here, he’d never find his way back out. They passed through vast cathedral-dwarfing caverns where hundreds camped among the stalagmites and streams of water dribbled along well-worn ruts in the limestone. In the torchlight these places glistened like cities built by fairies, all sparkling with amber, with emerald, with sapphire colours.

People came to Parvati with questions, and for blessings. She had both human and demon in her camp, slumbering side by side and sharing their food. Fear, desperation and a hope that with numbers they’d be safe had helped them put their differences aside.

Spider rakshasas spun hammocks for people to sleep in, and wolf rakshasas growled over a game of cards with a group of soot-stained welders. A few spotted Rani, stared from one demon princess to another, and a large, old cat rakshasa, his eyes milky and his fur patchy, bowed and touched her feet in humble greeting.

Hammers struck and sparks flew in one of the deeper chambers as blacksmiths and welders constructed arms. Roughly made swords from thick iron ships’ panels, spears from metal poles, edges and points keen, lay piled by the entrance. In a cave opposite, a man distributed flour and rice from sacks no doubt scavenged from the town.

“You organised all this?” Ash asked. There was a mini-city here at work.

“The caves have always been inhabited,” replied Parvati. “There are even old temples down here, carved right into the rock. But yes, until a few days ago it was just a refuge for those too poor to even live in the slums.”

“And you’ve rakshasas here too?” asked Rani.

Parvati laughed. “I think they mistook me for you. Not all follow Savage. They want an alternative and were only waiting for me – you – to make the break from him. Enough remember what happened in the last war between demon and human.”

Ash looked around at the rakshasas. “Are they all true demons?”

“No, some are victims of Savage’s chemical attack. These with us are the ones who’ve managed to hang on to their humanity, their sanity. There is blood on their hands, that is inevitable with the first change, but they still cling on to their mortal identity. Though for how long I don’t know.”

“Ash?”

A figure sat beside a small oil lamp. He turned an arrow in his hand, fingers smoothing down the fletching made from plastic bottles. The arrowhead was a jagged shard of glass. A bow lay across his lap, made of steel and strung with wire.

Rama.

That was Ash’s first reaction. The figure wore a breastplate, and a sword rested against the wall, the single curved edge silvery bright. Disassembled arrowheads, some glass, some metal, some stone, had been spread out over a tattered sari and the archer had all the materials for arrow-making arranged at his feet: shafts, fletching, glue, thread, arrowheads and spare bowstring.

Ash’s heart trembled. If Rama was here, then they had hope. The world had hope. The first and greatest of all Eternal Warriors.

“Ash?” the archer repeated. He stood up and gripped Ash’s arm. “Blimey, am I pleased to see you.”

“Ash … Ashoka?” Ash stuttered.

“Of course. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Ashoka? How could this be Ashoka?
Ash shook his head. “You’ve changed.”

“Changed? Understatement of the year, brother. Understatement of the century.”

Thick muscles quivered along his bare legs and arms, which were criss-crossed with fresh scars. The breastplate had been beaten from an oil drum and there was still a logo, a chariot, upon the chest. The front and back pieces were held in place by ribbons tied through loops over the shoulders and a deep blue sash was wrapped around his waist. His trousers were studded with irregular steel and iron discs that rustled as he moved. Ashoka blushed. “I must look like a clown.”

Ash blinked, still shaking his head in bewilderment. “You look like a bloody god of war.”

Ashoka blushed even brighter. “Look at this face. Enough to frighten kids.” He shifted so the uneven light caught on a deep crevasse that ran from his forehead to just below his eye. The stitching was simple but effective, but the scar was going to be large and permanent. “From my first fight with a rakshasa. A big panther. It almost clawed my eye out.”

Parvati handed Ashoka a waterskin. “You should see him, Ash. A week ago he could hardly peel an orange without cutting himself, and now even the rakshasas beyond the gates speak his name with fear. They think Rama has returned.”

“I can believe it,” said Ash quietly. He looked at the arrow in Ashoka’s hand. “You made this?”

“Yes. Simple when you know how.”

“And you know how?” The fletching was perfectly even, the shaft true and the arrowhead delicately chipped to a needle-fine point. This was the work of an expert, a master. “How?”

Ashoka looked embarrassed, so Parvati spoke. “He’s the Eternal Warrior.”

But so am I
, he wanted to say. They were the same person but as different as night and day.

“You’re the Kali-aastra,” said Parvati, touching him softly on the hand.

He was a thing of darkness – that’s what she meant. The weapon of Kali, a killer. Things had happened to him that had never happened to Ashoka, forced him into a world of darkness. Ash was the shadow to Ashoka’s sun. The guy in front of him was a slightly less plump version of the nerd whose life he’d saved in that alleyway less than a fortnight ago. Back then he’d emptied his guts at the sight of a little blood, but this Ashoka … his demeanour, his gaze, his confidence were that of a warrior, a noble.

“Say something, Ash,” said Ashoka.

“Er, have you met Rani?”

Rani looked at Ashoka with the same bewilderment verging on awe. She felt as Ash did, that they had Rama walking among them. She huffed and adjusted her scabbards to hide her stunned expression and nodded in greeting. Then she glanced at Ash. “Give it to him.”

Yes. Ashoka was this universe’s Eternal Warrior. Destiny couldn’t have been clearer if it had sent eagles to fly around Ashoka’s head. Ash took out a cloth bundle.

Ashoka unwrapped it and the golden glow of the object within illuminated his face. “This what I think it is?”

Ash nodded. “It’s yours. You’ll only have one shot.”

“Look at us,” said Ashoka. “Two Eternal Warriors and a pair of demon princesses.” He smiled. “How badass are we?”

R
eggie lifts his sputtering candle and shines its wavering light to the chair in the corner of his room. “Sit over there. Let me have a look at you.”

“Why?” says Parvati.

“You’re hurt.”

“That is no concern of yours.”

Reggie gathers his bag and puts it on the table. “It is. Now sit.”

“They intend to kill me.” Parvati hesitates at the door. “It is hypocrisy to patch up my injuries now only to hang me in the morning.”

Reggie snaps the bag open. Instantly the smells of his herbs and chemicals break over him. “Why must you be so difficult?” He pulls out a roll of bandages. “And who said anything about hanging you?”

Reluctantly Parvati sits on the wicker chair.

Reggie pours water into a tin dish and then with his pipette squeezes five drops of iodine into it. He rolls a cloth into the water until it is soaked and then turns to look at her.

Her fangs and the scales that covered her face have gone. She would be human but for her eyes, which remain those of a serpent. There is a swelling above her left eye and cuts upon her arms where she defended herself. She walked to Reggie’s bungalow, so her injuries are most likely superficial, but he will keep her here tonight to be sure.

“What were you doing in the jungle?” asks Reggie. He gently wipes her face clean of blood.

“I wanted to stay away from people. It’s safer that way.”

“What happened?”

Parvati shrugs. “Men came. Their mistake. They attacked me. Their bigger mistake.”

“So you killed one?”

“I had to.”

Reggie sucks his teeth. “That I do not believe.”

“You know nothing of the ways of the world, old man.”

Reggie rinses out the bloody cloth and starts on the wounds along her arms. “I’ve seen more death than you can possibly imagine.”

Parvati smiles. “I doubt that.”

Reggie meets her gaze. “You killed that poor man. Why? Because killing is easy. What does it take? A pull of a trigger? A thrust of a sword? It takes nothing.”

Parvati winces. Reggie doesn’t know if it’s because of the sting of the iodine or his words.