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Gemma was still talking to Anne, but her head was half turned and her eyes were on him. She gave a little laugh. Why was she laughing? Was it something Anne had said, or because of him? Even from here Ash saw the light sparkle in her hazel eyes. She had amazing eyes, sometimes grey, sometimes green, sometimes brown. Amazing eyes.
But why is she looking at me like that?
Oh no, have I got snot hanging from my nostril? Is my fly open?
He should have checked. Surely one of his mates would have told him?
No, the scumbags. He bet they were laughing their heads off, watching him stroll over with a bogey dangling down his face. Or worse: with his Doctor Who boxers on full exposure. Maybe he could detour to the corridor and do a full body check.
“Hi, Ash,” said Gemma.
“Er, hi, Gemma.”
The table fell totally silent. All ten of Gemma’s friends stopped eating, chatting and texting, and turned their attention to him.
Why oh why hadn’t he waited ’til after school? Caught her on the way home or something? Or in maths? She sat next to him in maths. Maths would have been perfect.
“You OK?” she asked. “You’re looking a bit pale.”
Ash stared at her mouth. Her teeth were a row of perfect little pearls and her lips red and glossy. Two dimples appeared as her smile grew. He smelled the soft, flowery scent of her perfume, making him think of springtime and bright sunlight. Jeez, she smelled of springtime and sunlight? He needed to slap himself hard before he felt the overwhelming desire to write poetry. Again.
“I’m fine. Totally fine,” he said. “How are you? Fine?”
Did I just say that? Beyond lame.
Gemma arched her eyebrows, waiting. “Was there something you wanted?”
Ask her out. Just ask her out.
“I was wondering,” he began, pausing to lick his oh-so-dry lips. “Wondering about Bonfire Night. Y’know, it’s Bonfire Night. Tonight.”
Aaargh. So totally smooth.
“Yes?” She shifted around on her chair, her blonde curls bouncing as she looked up at him.
Oh my God. Was that a hair flick? It was some sort of code. Hair flicks meant something; he’d read about it in one of his sister’s magazines. But what? He was deep in unknown territory: the world of girls.
“If you’re going?” he said. “To the big bonfire in Dulwich Park. Tonight.”
Like she couldn’t work that out herself. That was so special needs.
“Why? Are you going?”
She’s asking me? What does that mean?
“I was thinking—”
“Clear the way, loser.”
Jack Owen dropped his bag on the floor and himself on an empty chair. He leaned the chair back on its two legs and flipped his mobile – the latest iPhone – from his Prada leather jacket. He glanced over his shoulder as he texted. “You still here?”
Jack Owen. Ash’s arch-enemy. The arch-enemy of the entire Nerd Herd. Tanned, ridiculously handsome in that obvious ‘big muscles, perfect features, straight nose and floppy hair’ sort of way. Oh yeah, and captain of the football, rugby and cricket teams too. A company-director dad and all the toys money could buy.
I am Ash Mistry. I’ve done things that would melt Jack’s brain. I’ve fought Ravana, the greatest evil the world has ever known. I’ve defeated the demon nations.
Then why do I want to puke?
Ash moved half a step back. That was the old Ash, who would back down and hide. Then the new Ash rose like a black snake up through his belly, driving a sharp, flint-hard anger into his throat. “I was talking to Gemma.”
“And now you’re not.” Slowly, Jack got to his feet and faced Ash.
Gemma put her hand on Jack’s wrist. “C’mon, Jack, this is stupid.”
Jack looked Ash up and down.
“I see you’ve lost some weight. Turned some of that lard into muscle.” Jack leaned so close that he was whispering in Ash’s ear. “Think you can take me? Is that it? You a tough guy now?”
Jack had no idea.
So many ways to kill you.
Two bright golden lights settled on Jack’s neck – one just below his bulging Adam’s apple, the other near the jaw.
Easy ways.
Ash closed his eyes. But he could see the bright points shining through his eyelids. He covered his face with his hands, but it did no good.
Jack laughed. “Look at him. He’s going to cry.” He prodded Ash in the chest. “Boo hoo.”
“Leave him alone, Jack. It’s not nice.”
“Jesus, Gemma, I’m just trying to toughen the boy up.” There was a laugh from one of the others round the table. “Everyone knows he’s madly in luurve with you. Isn’t that true, Ash?”
“Jack, I’m warning you.”
Jack ignored her. “C’mon, Ash. We all know you fancy her. Be a man, just say it.” He put his fingers on either side of Ash’s chin, wiggling it up and down. “Say it. ‘Gemma, I love you so much.’” He squeezed harder, burying his nails into Ash’s skin. “Say it.”
Ash opened his eyes and gazed at the brilliant lights that lay like a galaxy of stars over Jack. They glistened along his arteries. They shone upon his heart, his lungs. Joints sparkled. His eyes were golden bright.
The Chinese called it Dim Mak, the Death Touch. But to Ash it was Marma Adi, the 108 kill points. He knew them all – the points of weakness all living things possessed – and he could exploit these points to injure, disable, or kill. They moved and varied in intensity depending on the person. The old, infirm and very young had many more than the 108. Jack had fewer – he was young and strong and fit – but he had enough.
There was a spot glowing on the side of Jack’s head. Ash just needed to touch it, not very hard. Enough to create a blood clot in the brain. Death would come in five seconds, maybe six.
It would look like an accident.
“I’d let go, Jack,” said Ash. A warning. That was fair.
“Or what?”
Ash shivered. It wasn’t fear that made his heart quicken; it was excitement. He slowly raised his right hand. He could just tap the spot with his finger…
“That’s it.” Gemma got up and grabbed her bag. “C’mon, Anne.”
“Whatever,” said Jack, letting go of Ash. He grinned at the audience and got a smattering of embarrassed giggles for his performance.
Gemma gave Jack a withering look as she slung her rucksack over her shoulder and strode off, almost knocking down some small kid. Jack turned to Ash and winked.
“Way out of your league.” He picked up his own bag, making sure he tensed his biceps as he did so. “Leave the hot ones to guys like me. You stick to the farmyard animals.” Then he left. The others round the table, the entertainment over, quickly gathered their own gear and began to break up. Anne gave Ash a half-shrug before scurrying off after Gemma.
Ash stood by the now-empty table. What was he thinking? He stared at his hand like it wasn’t his. He’d almost killed Jack. Over what?
Josh joined Ash. “Well, that went down like the Titanic.”
Ash looked at him. Lungs, heart… There were nodes of energy shining on Josh’s throat, and on either side of his eyes too. So many… Ash retreated a step, afraid an accidental touch might kill his best friend.
“You all right?” Josh asked.
Ash braced himself against a table. “Just… catching my breath.” The sensation passed. It felt like a cloud fading from his soul. The Marma Adi visions were happening more and more often. He needed to be careful.
“That was banging,” said Josh.
“Banging?”
“Where were you over the summer, Ash? Oh yeah, out in India, bored out of your brain. Everyone’s using it. ‘Banging.’ Impressive. Of an epic nature.”
“What? Really? That was impressive?” Ash blinked, more than a little surprised by the assessment. “I thought I looked like a moron.”
“You did,” said Josh. “I was talking about Jack. That was a great line, don’t you think? The one about the farmyard animals. Couldn’t have thought it up himself, but he’s got the delivery.”
“I just wish I’d had something smart and devastating to say back,” said Ash.
Josh nodded. “Like ‘In your fat face, Jack’? That’s pretty cool.”
“If you’re seven.” Ash gazed towards the canteen doors, half hoping Gemma might turn round and come back. No such luck. “Why is it so hard to talk to girls?”
Josh slapped Ash’s head. “Because we’re nerds. Acting awkwardly around girls is our superpower. Anyway, forget about Gemma. You coming around next Tuesday?”
“Tuesday?” asked Ash.
“Dungeons 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?”
(#ulink_d98c00b3-9141-5a18-a5e8-9f94630883df)
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.
