Ash Mistry and the City of Death. Sarwat Chadda

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СКАЧАТЬ and Dragons, old-school style. We’re on the last level of the ‘The Catacombs of Doom’ and we need you, Ash.”

      Oh yeah, Dungeons and Dragons. Josh’s dad had banned him from any sort of computer gaming – any sort of computer access at all. Josh hadn’t explained why, but Akbar reckoned he’d been caught visiting a few sites way inappropriate for his age. So they’d dusted off their old role-playing games and miniature figures, and Tuesday nights were D&D.

      Josh put his arm over Ash’s shoulder. “It will bang to the utmost. You’ll be fighting the demon lord of hell.”

      “Done that already.”

      “What?”

      “Never mind.” Ash wriggled out from under Josh’s heavy arm. “Remind me again why I hang out with you?”

      Josh gave a mocking sob. “What? After all I’ve done for you? If it hadn’t been for me, remember, Gemma wouldn’t know you even exist. That poem you wrote her was banging.”

      “Uploading it on to the school blog wasn’t what I had in mind.”

      “Then you should have a better password than ‘TARDIS’, shouldn’t you?”

      

sh kicked a full rubbish bin on his way home. It must have weighed more than fifteen kilograms, but it lofted into the air and spun in a high arc over a long line of oak trees, a block of houses and the A205 road. He heard it splash down in a pond somewhere in Dulwich Park, half a mile away.

      He could do that, but he couldn’t ask a girl out. Anger surged within him, and Ash struggled to cool down.

      But maybe he didn’t want to cool down. Maybe he could show Jack and everyone what he was capable of. They’d look at him differently then.

      Yeah, they’d look at him with horror.

      Some days, it was as if nothing had ever happened, and Ash was just a normal fourteen-year-old boy trying to keep on the straight and narrow. Not exceptionally bright like Akbar, nor as cool as Jack, just kind of in the middle, not making any ripples.

      But then the dreams came. Dreams of blood and death.

      Then Ash remembered exactly what he was.

      The Kali-aastra, the living weapon of the death goddess Kali. He’d slain the demon king Ravana and absorbed his preternatural energies. He could leap tall buildings in a single bound and do five impossible things before breakfast. Six at the weekend.

      Had it only been last summer? It felt like a lifetime ago. It had been a lifetime ago. Ash touched the scar on his abdomen that he’d got when his old life had, literally, ended. Three months had passed since his rebirth, and the powers had lessened somewhat, but that was like saying K2 was smaller than Mount Everest. It was still a huge mountain and Ash was still somewhere high above normal.

      He remembered going running one night in September, just after coming back from India. Ravana’s strength surged through every atom of his body, and it was threatening to explode out of him, so he’d needed to burn it off. He ran. And ran and ran. He’d stopped when he got to Edinburgh. He’d climbed the old castle, then run all the way back. He’d still been home before dawn.

      But raw power wasn’t everything. There was no point in having the strength to knock out an elephant if you didn’t have the skill to hit it where it hurt most. So every morning before the sun came up, Ash crept out to the park or the nearby Sydenham Woods and trained. He’d been taught the basics of Kalari-payit, the ancient Indian martial art, and once he’d caught a glimpse of Kali herself and watched her fight. Somewhere in his DNA lay all the arts of combat. Kicks, high and low, sweeping arcs, punches, spear-strikes, blocks and grapples. He shifted from one move to another with instinctive grace. That rhythm, the dance of Kali, came to him more and more easily.

      Would he ever be truly ‘normal’? No. The death energies he’d absorbed from Ravana would fade away over time, but when? It could be decades. Centuries. There were no scales that could measure the strength of the demon king. And when – if – Ravana’s energies did fade, Ash would for ever absorb more. Death was the one certainty, and death strengthened him.

      Death was everywhere.

      Now, in winter, the trees lining the road had lost their summer coats, and the gutters were filled with damp, golden leaves steadily rotting, steadily dying. A small trickle of power entered his fingertips as he passed along the decaying piles. At night Ash gazed at stars and wondered whether somewhere out in the universe there was a supernova happening, a star’s life ending. A solar system becoming extinct, waves of energy radiating out across the cosmos. Were the heavens making him stronger too?

      It felt too big sometimes, what he was and what it meant. So he liked to be normal at school. That was why he hid his powers. It was nice to pretend, to escape, even if it was just for a few hours a day.

      He registered that it was cold, but it didn’t bother him. He wore the sweater merely for show nowadays. It had just turned half past four, and the long, late autumn shadows led him home.

      Ash stopped by his garden gate and looked up and down the road. For what? Gemma following him home? Not bloody likely, given his pathetic performance in the lunch hall.

      You blew it.

      So much about him had changed and not changed. He still didn’t understand maths and he certainly couldn’t get a date.

      He turned into Croxted Road and saw a battered white van parked outside their drive. Must be to do with Number 43; they were having their house repainted. He’d ask them to move it before Dad got home. If they didn’t, he could do it himself. It looked about three tons. No problem.

      Lucky opened the door before Ash even knocked. His sister was still in her school uniform, green sweater and grey skirt, grey socks that came up to her knees. Her long black ponytail flicked across her face as she turned back and forth. “Ash—”

      “Before you ask, the answer is no.” Ash went in and threw his rucksack into the corner. “I did not ask Gemma out.”

      “Ash—”

      “Just give it a rest, will you? Who says I’m interested in her anyway?” He passed through the hall to the kitchen. He really needed some comfort food right now, and that packet of doughnuts up on the sweets shelf would do nicely. Lucky grabbed his sleeve as he turned the door handle.

      “Ash!”

      “What?”

      Lucky was the only one who knew what he’d been through in India, but she didn’t treat him any differently, which was why, even though she was eleven and way too smart for her own good, he would die for her.

      Had died for her.

      You would think that would count for something, wouldn’t you? But right now she was being a typical younger sister. Which was irritating.

      Lucky stared hard at him, as if she was trying to project her thoughts СКАЧАТЬ