Free ASH MISTRY AND THE CITY OF DEATH by Sarwat Chadda Page B

over a history book, one Ash knew well: The Life of Ashoka , a biography of the first emperor of India. The West might have Alexander the Great, but as far as Ash was concerned, no one came close to Ashoka, a violent brigand who’d ended up ruling one of the largest empires of the ancient world, back in the third century BC . Parvati tapped the book, her brow knotted, then picked another one off the shelf.
    The Ramayana . What else?
    She smirked. “They’ve given him ten heads, as usual.”
    It was an old children’s book. The cover was torn and scribbled on, but standing in the centre was Ravana, the demon king. Parvati’s dad. He was resplendent in golden armour and had, indeed, ten heads, all glaring in red-faced fury. Prince Rama, the hero, stood to the side, his skin blue, arrow nocked in his bow. The arrow had flames surrounding it.
    A magic arrow to destroy the demon king. An aastra.
    Ash remembered the smell of the battlefield, the tension in the bowstring as he drew the arrow back and the fury in Ravana’s gaze. The memories were so fresh and so close he could almost reach out and touch them.
    Parvati had talked about meeting him in previous incarnations. The thought still freaked him out. She said he was an Eternal Warrior, destined to be reborn again and again. How many people had he been? Rama? Ashoka? Who else? He’d visited museums and looked at the ancient armour and the rusting weapons in the glass cabinets, and his hands had curled, remembering how they’d once held axes and swords and spears and shields. The weight of armour, the narrow, restricted view through a helmet. He’d seen cities burn; he’d known little peace. A perpetual state of war. That was his destiny. But it had never been as vivid as the memory of Ashoka last night. He looked at the demon girl. “I need your help.” He rubbed his temples. “I had a dream last night. I was the original Ashoka, the one who became emperor of India. I dreamed I was fighting and I woke up just as I was about to kill my dad.”
    “The past lives are taking control? Rishi warned me this might happen. The Kali-aastra, it’s sustained by violence and death. It wants more power, and your rage, your guilt, will only feed it.”
    “How can I stop it?”
    Parvati smiled softly and sat down beside him. “I wish I knew, Ash, I really do. But that was something Rishi was meant to teach you.”
    “Isn’t there anyone else?”
    Her eyelids lowered and a hiss escaped her. She frowned. “No.”
    She was lying, he knew it. Why? “Are you sure? Elaine said—”
    “I’m sure she did, but Elaine’s no Rishi. There was no one like him.”
    “Then what am I going to do?”
    “It’s my fault. I came back into your life and stirred everything up. That’s why I’m here, Ash. To tell you that I’m going and I won’t be coming back. The further away I am, the better for both of us.”
    “You’re going after Savage?”
    Parvati raised her hand to her chest and Ash noticed a lump, a pouch, under her tunic. “He’ll come after the Koh-i-noor.” She laughed. “Like a rat after cheese, my favourite type of prey.”
    “Savage is dangerous, Parvati.”
    “And so am I. Still, I won’t be facing him alone.”
    “You’ve got Khan, right?”
    “Yes, I have Khan. But I am also Ravana’s daughter. All Savage knows ultimately came from my father. Either from the scrolls he stole from me, or from that night he resurrected Ravana. I’ve studied those scrolls and learned a few tricks, and they’d counter most of what Savage can throw at me.”
    “Like that thing you did with your eyes?” Back in Varanasi she’d almost succeeded in hypnotising him. That eerie emerald glow coming from her eyes wasn’t easy to forget.
    “Mesmerism. It’s part of one of the sorceries, and we serpents are especially good at it.”
    “Maybe, but Savage is in another league, Parvati. Let me come.” The thought was in his head and out of his mouth the same instant. But why