Ash Mistry and the World of Darkness

Chapter Three

“Sit down,” said the girl.

Ashoka took a seat in his kitchen, his back against the wall, staring at the other boy.

The other Ash Mistry.

Weird did not begin to describe what it felt like to be face to face with himself. The boy had all his mannerisms – the way he pulled his hair from his forehead, the way he stood and tilted his head as he thought. But there were differences. The most obvious was that this other Ash was as sleek as a dagger and the way he moved was almost scary. He had a confidence that Ashoka lacked. Ashoka shuffled through life, a bit wary, a bit timid. This guy wasn’t just in charge of the situation – he owned it.

“This is too weird,” he said, and not for the first time. “How can you be me?”

“Check the house, Parvati,” ordered Ash, “and get him some clean clothes.” The girl nodded and left the two of them alone.

“There’s no one here,” said Ashoka. “Mum and Dad have taken Lucky to a gymnastics competition.” But he glanced at the clock. They should have been back by now.

“As soon as they return we all leave.”

“Leave?”

Ash checked out the window. “He’ll come after you. After everyone. We can’t stay here.”

Ashoka looked down at his torn shirt. He was still shaking. He walked over to the sink and filled his Yoda mug with water. He rinsed the vomit taste out of his mouth, then splashed his face, closing his eyes and letting the cold water refresh him. “Who’s after me? Why would anyone be after me?”

“Sit back down. Stay away from the window.” Ash’s hand twitched on the hilt of his katar.

Ashoka faced him. “Listen, this is my house and—”

“No, you listen,” snapped Ash. “There are people out there that want to kill you. I am the only one who can keep you alive, but I can only do that if you do exactly as I say. This is not open to discussion.”

Parvati reappeared. “All clear.” She had a bundle of clothes under her arm and a bag over her shoulder. She gave it to Ash. “And I found this.”

“Hey, that’s mine!” Ashoka said.

Ash paused, then held the bag out to Ashoka. “Show me.”

Ashoka unzipped the black canvas bag and drew out his bow.

Matt black with a magnesium-alloy main body, composite limbs with pulleys to increase the power. The bowstring was made of coated steel cables. State of the art. Right now the frame was folded in on itself and the bowstrings wound into the pulleys so the entire weapon was less than half a metre in length. He’d been given it as a present on his last day in India.

Ashoka held the central body and gave the bow a sharp flick.

The two limbs snapped out and locked. The pulleys whirred as the bowstring unreeled and quivered, springing into tension. Fully extended, the bow was just shorter than him.

“You any good with it?” asked Ash.

“Is that important right now?” said Ashoka.

“You’re right, it isn’t.” Ash tapped his watch. “Want to get a move on?”

Ashoka looked at the pile. He didn’t like getting changed in public. He had enough teasing about his weight in the changing rooms. “Do you mind?”

Ash shook his head, turning away. “This is ridiculous. I am you, Ashoka.”

“How can you be? I don’t look like you. I can’t do what you do.”

“I am you, but from a different timeline.”

Ashoka stopped. “A different timeline. Right.” That was the craziest thing he’d ever heard. The other boy frowned, no doubt seeing Ashoka’s disbelief.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” said the other Ash.

“You’re right about that.”

A distant cousin he could have believed, given how similar they looked. Maybe, just maybe a long-lost twin, some bizarre mishap at the hospital when he’d been born.

But different timelines?

“But if we are the same, right down to our fingerprints and DNA,” said Ashoka, “how come you look like that and I look like this? Which is very different. Shouldn’t we be really mega-identical?”

Ash shook his head. “Things happened in my life that never happened in yours. In my world, in my universe, I’ve a sister called Lucky, I live in this house and my mum and dad are the same as yours. But a month ago my timeline ceased to exist and somehow I ended up in yours.”

“What happened?” asked Ashoka, pulling off his bloody, tattered shirt and putting on his Nike T-shirt instead.

“The past was changed. I’ve spent the last five weeks investigating, and as far as I can tell, it changed ten years ago. A person went back in time by a decade and altered his past. So, from that point on, our existences diverged. Your universe took a different route to mine.”

“Just like that?”

Ash nodded. “Just like that. No big flash or bang. I shouldn’t exist here – this is your universe – but I do. I’m here with Parvati because we’re somehow immune to the effects of the Time Spell.”

“Time Spell? Someone cast a spell? This is truly weird.”

Parvati interrupted. “Your lives are different, but your destinies will be the same.”

Ashoka frowned. “Sorry, I don’t understand that.”

Ash rolled his eyes and, looking around, grabbed pen and paper from the kitchen counter. Ashoka watched over his shoulder as Ash began to draw a line. “This is us. We are the same person. We are born, and then, when we are four, something happens.” He drew a thick dot, and two parallel branches emerging from the same line, one above the other, close but separate.

“Year by year we live different lives, me along this top path, Timeline A, you along the bottom one, Timeline B. Then in December I jumped from my timeline to yours.” He did a loop from the top line to the bottom. “Instantly. There was no going backwards or forwards in time, but I left my universe and carried on in yours.”

“And what’s happened to yours?” asked Ashoka.

Ash frowned. “It could be continuing, everyone living their day-to-day lives without me. I simply vanished and the universe continued. Or it could have just …” he bit his lip and Ashoka saw a flicker of anguish “… stopped. Ended. I don’t know.”

“Amazing,” said Ashoka. “Totally amazing. But I don’t believe a word of it.” He’d calmed down now and was putting it all together. Attacked by demons? It had been a set-up. Clever special effects, plus it had been dark and he’d been scared. Things look different in the dark. Masks might look real, things like that. Any second now Ant and Dec were going to leap through the doorway. This was some new TV series, about freaking people out with stories of time travel and demons and alternate selves. Ashoka inspected the boy before him. It had been dark and he’d been in shock when he’d first seen him. Sure, he did look a lot like him, but there were subtle differences. Stuff that the make-up and whatever prosthetics they used couldn’t disguise. The eyes were darker, more haunted. His lips harsh and stiff. Things this boy had seen and done lay under his skin. Shadows of his deeds flickered in his penetrating gaze. Why had they picked an actor like him? Same height but definitely not the same physique. Ash had the body of an Olympian, all hard edges and harder muscles. Though the months of pulling a bow had built the muscles on Ashoka’s arms and back, they were still hidden under layers of podginess.

“Any second now,” he said. Maybe the presenters were getting their make-up sorted first.

Ash and Parvati looked at each other. “Any second now what?” said Ash.

Even with bad traffic, his parents and Lucky should have been home by now. It was almost ten.

Ashoka smiled. They must be in on the joke.

His mobile rang. It was Dad.

Ashoka sighed with relief. He’d freaked when he’d seen Ash and the girl, Parvati, freaked some more when Ash had told him his bizarre story of gods and monsters, but now normality had returned.

“OK, Dad, where are you? Joke’s over.”

“This is no joke, boy.” It was a man’s voice, but not one Ashoka recognised, or liked.

“Who is this?” Ashoka asked.

“Speak to him, child,” said the voice.

Ashoka heard sobbing and a sniff. This wasn’t some game or TV show. As cold dread crept through his veins, Ashoka realised his world had changed and all the earlier stuff, the easy life, was about to end. Right now.

“Ashoka?” said a young girl’s voice.

“Lucks?” Ashoka’s fingers tightened around his mobile. “Where are you?”

His sister sobbed again and then she screamed.

“Don’t you dare hurt her!” yelled Ashoka. “Don’t you dare hurt her!”

“Give us the Kali-aastra, boy,” said the man. “Do that and your family go free.”

Kali-aastra? Wasn’t that some sort of magical weapon? A weapon of the gods? What made them think he had it?

“I don’t have any Kali-aastra. I’ve told you already – this is some big mistake. Please, let my family go.”

“He was with you tonight.”

He? That made even less sense. An aastra couldn’t be a person. Could it?

Ashoka looked at Ash. He’d seen Ash in action. How he’d taken out the two rat-demons without breaking a sweat. How he’d knocked aside a bullet. If anyone could be a weapon, it was Ash.

Kali’s weapon. Kali, the goddess of death and destruction, was the most terrifying of all the gods, more feared than the demons she fought. If Ash was her weapon, then maybe Ashoka should be as afraid of him as of the demons, if not more.

He should give them Ash. No question.

Ashoka put his hand over the mobile. “They want you.”

“It’s a trap.”

“Yeah, and my family are in it and I want them out, right now. You need to turn yourself in.”

“That would be a mistake.”

“The only mistake is you being here! It’s a straightforward swap. You for them.”

Ash shook his head slowly. “The moment you do that, they’ll have no reason to keep them. They’ll be killed.”

“No,” said Ashoka. “You’re just saying that. I can’t risk it.”

“Give me a chance to save them.” Ash’s gaze hadn’t shifted. He drew a deep breath. “But it’s your choice.”

Ashoka lifted his hand away.

“Ashoka?” said Lucky. “Are you there?”

“Yes, I’m here.” What should he do? He shouldn’t be making these sorts of choices! It was as if he’d gone into an alternative universe too, one with demons and death and horror. Ashoka closed his eyes, but no wish was going to change things. He had to act. “He’s … gone.”

Lucky yelled as the mobile was snatched from her. “Where is he?” the man snarled.

“He didn’t tell me. I think he went after that Jackie woman,” Ashoka replied. “He said he’d be back tomorrow.” He gulped and steadied himself. “Please, as soon as he comes back, I’ll call you.”

“Do that,” said the man. “Or I promise you I will eat your sister’s eyes for dinner.”

The mobile went dead.

“What have I done?” Ashoka stared at the mobile, tempted to call right back and tell them the truth. Tell them to come and get Ash right now and give him his family back. That’s all he wanted.

Parvati spoke. “They were only taken a few hours ago. They can’t be far.”

“London’s a big place,” said Ashoka. “How will we find them?”

“We’ve some help,” said Ash. “Come on.”

Ashoka looked around his kitchen. His home. It felt shockingly empty.

Lucky grinned at him from a photo, sitting proudly on her black and white pony, Domino. She’d nagged and nagged, and right after coming back from India, Dad had got her one. She’d almost exploded with happiness and Ashoka had just acted all cool, ignoring her excitement. Now he’d do anything to have her back. “Promise you’ll find them.”

“They’re my family too,” said Ash. “You need anything?”

He had a state-of-the-art games system upstairs. He had his books and gear and clothes and trainers and everything. But that was all junk. The only things that mattered were gone.

His gaze fell to his bow and he picked it up.

“You got any arrows for that?” asked Ash.

“No. Dad said they had to stay at the club. He was worried I might put one through a neighbour’s window by accident.”

Ashoka pressed open the catches and disassembled it in a matter of seconds.

Parvati look across at him intently.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she replied.

“If Jackie’s just hired help, then who’s she working for?” asked Ashoka as they headed down into Brixton tube station. Ash and Parvati stood either side of him, scanning for trouble.

“Lord Alexander Savage,” said Ash.

Ashoka stopped. “Savage? He can’t be. Savage is one of the good guys.” He looked around until he saw a poster on the wall across the street. “See that? The Savage Foundation. He owns it. It’s his charity. It saves millions of lives. Medical supplies, fresh water to villages in Africa, humanitarian aid to war zones. He’s an amazing man. And a friend of ours.”

Parvati snorted. “No, he’s not.”

“Savage is just a businessman. He wouldn’t get mixed up in demons and kidnappings. Why should he?”

“Savage is much more than a mere businessman,” said Parvati. “He’s a three-hundred-year-old sorcerer. He’s been looking for the secret of immortality and it looks like he’s finally found it.”

They rushed down the escalator on to the platform, looking around them as they went. Not too many people about, and definitely no rakshasas.

“My uncle works for him,” continued Ashoka. “We stayed with him in India last summer. Savage gave me that bow. Why bother if he wants me dead?”

“You’re just bait, Ashoka,” said Parvati.

“Bait? For what?”

“Save it for later. The train’s coming. Look sharp …” Ash forced Ashoka back a step, “… and stay close, all right?”

The train carriages weren’t busy at this time of night and they kept Ashoka wedged between them, both Parvati and Ash watching the other passengers, ready for the first hint of trouble. It freaked Ashoka out that Ash had exactly the same greatcoat as him, his Sherlock Special.

But Ash looked really cool in his. Way cool.

How were they the same guy?

They weren’t, not in a million years. Ash was the Kali-aastra.

He’d read about aastras. They were super-weapons, made by the gods and carried by the great heroes of Indian mythology. Rama, the prince, had used an aastra to destroy the demon king, Ravana. Ashoka loved that story, the Ramayana. Rama and his brother Lakshmana had spent years searching for Rama’s wife, the beautiful Sita, who’d been kidnapped by Ravana and taken to his island fortress of Lanka. The story had climaxed with a massive battle where Rama and Lakshmana had fired aastra after aastra, killing tens of thousands of demons with each shot and destroying Lanka.

And what would an aastra of Kali do? That was a no-brainer. It would be the ultimate weapon, the ultimate killing machine.

Was that what Ash was? Some divine terminator?

They came out at Finsbury Park station and on to the streets again.

“What are we doing here?” said Ashoka.

“Keeping you safe,” said Ash. “We’ve a friend—”

“Acquaintance really,” interrupted Parvati.

“… Who knows the situation. We’ve been staying with her for the last month. She’s helping.”

Ashoka turned up the collar of his coat to cut out the chill wind. The only place open was a kebab shop and the only people around were tramps loitering under the bus shelters.

Everywhere they looked were boarded-up shops. A man stood guard outside an off-licence, a snarling pit bull tugging at its leash. The car parked opposite had smashed windows and no wheels.

“Nice neighbourhood,” said Ashoka.

Ash pointed to a shop on the corner.

Elaine’s Bazaar.

It was a junk shop. Steel grilles covered the windows, not that what was in there looked worth stealing. Old dust-covered VCRs, a kid’s bike, mannequins wearing last century’s clothes, and cheap Formica furniture. The paint on the overhead sign, three golden balls, was turning green and flaky with age. The shop had an apartment above it and lights shone within. Ash got out some keys.

“This is your secret hideout?” asked Ashoka. He peered through the shop window. Was that a stuffed bear inside? “It’s not exactly Wayne Manor, is it?”

“And you’re not exactly Bruce Wayne,” said Ash.

The interior smelt musty. The stuffed bear wore a feather boa and a top hat. Clothes spilled out of battered trunks. A small door behind the counter opened up and a light came on.

An old woman wearing a faded tartan dressing gown paused to look at them. Her wild grey hair stuck out in all directions and she was scrawny, her skin wrinkled and thick on her bones. A cigarette glowed between her yellow teeth. “Where are the others?” she said.

“Captured,” said Ash. He took the cigarette out of the woman’s thin fingers. “And I’ve spoken to you about these already.”

Parvati interrupted. “Ashoka, meet Elaine. She’ll be your host for the next few days.”

Elaine peered at Ashoka. She didn’t look impressed, but then neither was Ashoka. Wasn’t there somewhere better than this dump? Like a cardboard box under a bridge?

“Were you followed?” asked the old woman.

“Please,” said Parvati. “Give us some credit.”

Elaine pulled the dressing gown up to her neck and double-locked the door behind them. “I just don’t want any unexpected guests, that’s all. Not safe for an old woman like me, living all alone.”

Ashoka felt exhausted. The last few hours, all the panic and fear and running, were catching up with him. He wasn’t used to this. “This is not my life,” he muttered.

“It is now,” said Ash, not too unkindly. “I’m sorry.”

Elaine turned around and started back upstairs. “I’ve a room for you, boy.”

The apartment upstairs wasn’t exactly flash, but, unlike the shop below, it was at least neat and tidy. There were some photos on the wall, a frame with Arabic calligraphy and a painting of a scene from the Bible. He spotted a statuette of Ganesha on the mantelpiece and a menorah beside it. Sticks of incense smouldered in a narrow brass fluted pot, the sweet smell mixing with coffee and nicotine. Ashoka picked the sofa with a Rajasthani cover and fell on it.

He’d never been so beaten in his entire life. Every part of him was on the verge of collapse.

Rakshasas. Time travellers. Kidnappings. And Savage. Was it true? Was Savage behind all this? It was too much to take in.

He put his face in his hands.

Ash pulled off his coat and dropped his katar on the dining table. “You’ve had a busy day. Get some sleep and we’ll go over everything in the morning.”

“How can you be so calm?” Ashoka snapped. “They’ve got my family.”

Parvati smiled at him. “Please, Ashoka, we’re here to help you. Get some rest.”

Elaine came through with a bundle of linen, a pillow and a duvet. “Here you go.”

He wasn’t happy, but Ashoka took the pile off the old woman. She directed him through a doorway and Ashoka entered a small room with a single brass bed and table. There was a window, but it faced a brick wall. He dropped the duvet over the mattress and dropped himself on to the duvet.

He was asleep before he hit the bed.

Chapter Four

Parvati stood at the door, listening. “He’s asleep.”

Ash turned back to the dining room as Elaine put a mug down. She shook out another cigarette, then caught the look in his eye and put it back with a forlorn sigh. “Well, what next, boss?” she said.

“A shower.” Ash sniffed his clothing. “I stink of rat-demon.” There were flecks of blood on his sleeves. “Then we talk.”

He entered Elaine’s bathroom and dumped his clothes on the cold tiles. The pipes rattled as he turned the hot tap full on. The shower head gurgled, then steaming hot water blasted out. He put his head under and let it burn him.

The water turned pink and Ash watched it swirl around the plughole.

Calm? Ashoka thought he was calm? Couldn’t he see how terrified he was?

Ash felt along his chest, from the smooth skin, taut across his muscles, to a ridge on his solar plexus. To the scar.

He glanced down at his thumb. There was a small cut. Last summer a sliver of metal had entered, kicking off his transformation from schoolboy to master of the arts of death. Servant of the goddess Kali. Her divine weapon.

The Kali-aastra.

He’d acquired superhuman strength and reflexes and even mastered Marma Adi, the ability to kill with a touch. He’d even gained the ability to glimpse the future, as his patron goddess was also the mistress of Time.

But all that power had gone the moment he’d jumped timelines.

It was as if he was half sleeping. Everything was slow, dull, colourless, compared to how he’d felt as the Kali-aastra. Had the jump to Ashoka’s universe drained him of all his power?

He shouldn’t be here. It had to be because of the Kali-aastra. Somehow it had protected him from the Time Spell, but in doing so burnt out his powers.

He needed to find a way to awaken them again. He needed a Great Death because that was what Kali craved. By killing for Kali, Ash gained more power.

He’d slain those rat-demons though and nothing had happened. He’d not felt even the slightest trickle of supernatural energy.

Perhaps their deaths weren’t great? Perhaps Kali wanted more death before she granted him anything? The last time, he’d had to sacrifice himself. How was he going to top that?

And in the meantime, without the power of Kali, what was he? Just a normal boy all over again, trying to defeat the greatest evil the universe has ever known.

And Ashoka thought he was calm?

He made a fist, looked at the water run and steam over the hard knuckles. Normal? Maybe that wasn’t totally true. He’d seen Kali dance. He still knew all the moves she’d shown him. He could fight better than any man, but once he’d been able to tear down buildings with his hands, move faster than an eye-blink, kill with a touch. That was all gone. Physically he was in perfect condition, perfect human condition. But that wasn’t going to be enough for what they faced. Not by a million miles.