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Ash Mistry and the World of Darkness
Sarwat Chadda
Rick Riordan did it for Greece. Now Sarwat Chadda does it for India… Book three in the incredible action-adventure trilogy about Ash Mistry, reluctant hero and living weapon of the death goddess Kali.Ash Mistry is in a world of pain. A parallel world in fact, where another version of him seems to be living his life, and the evil Lord Savage – now all-powerful and adored by the nation – is about to carry out a terrible plan.Worse still, Ash’s superpowers, invested in him by the Death Goddess Kali, seem no longer to be working.Without Kali, can Ash defeat Savage and save the world?
For my family
Be not entangled in this
world of days and nights;
Thou hast another time
and space as well.
Muhammad Iqbal
poet
Table of Contents
Title Page (#u439b4b40-ffd6-5e98-9adb-7c4641ae90ab)
Dedication (#u5c9893f7-ded6-5eee-83f8-b2eb9b9f12cb)
Epigraph (#ucff62be2-3a3a-531f-8606-cd48e4a701c8)
Chapter One (#u67576fbb-f332-5b1c-a2f7-fa4dbecc97db)
Chapter Two (#ua0e17ef1-012b-5ad4-97b1-f5ee0b648548)
Chapter Three (#ubdee880a-f479-57e2-b393-ae90ab87e97d)
Chapter Four (#ua4a31476-43d5-557b-bb03-778df80b7181)
Chapter Five (#uaf007a99-0512-50ce-8e0f-1efc088c820d)
Chapter Six (#uab4683e7-1cb7-54c3-b7ee-b422d14af81d)
Chapter Seven (#ud0f4bd34-b510-5a43-ba13-d04d1a15fa3f)
Chapter Eight (#u8996e9fd-c2ec-5326-8c0b-fac64a899041)
Chapter Nine (#u56d98338-6c13-5ae6-ac85-f75aa32564b5)
Chapter Ten (#ufc627347-d030-5989-a599-3a1883ac13a1)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-one (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-one (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-one (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-one (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-six (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by Sarwat Chadda (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_ee9675b7-d95d-531a-9a68-73b96cf9a127)
Ashoka Mistry tripped over the tree root. A second later he crashed flat on his face, eating leaves as he slid down the muddy slope and landed in a grey, stagnant puddle.
He lay there, in the foul water, groaning.
And this was exactly why he hated cross-country running.
“For heaven’s sake, Mistry,” said Mr Leach, the PE teacher. “Are you auditioning for the circus or what?” He scampered down the slope, moving with what could only be described as cat-like grace. He finished with a controlled skid that brought him to a perfect stop in front of Ashoka. A few boys clapped.
“Sorry, sir,” said Ashoka, slowly sitting up and spitting out leaves.
“Well, get up. Get up.”
Ashoka tried to stand, but his shorts were caught on something. “Sir …”
Mr Leach took hold of his arm and pulled.
“Sir!”
The loud, sickening tearing sound made the whole class erupt in laughter.
“Nice underpants,” said one of the boys.
“Your mum buy you those, Mistry?” said another.
Ashoka stood ankle-deep in the water, smeared with mud and plastered with leaves, his running shorts bearing a long gash down the back, exposing his limited-edition Doctor Who underpants.
Mr Leach sighed then tucked his clipboard under his arm and scrabbled up the slope to where the rest of the class stood waiting. He turned back to Ashoka. “Come on, lad.”
Ashoka stared at the steep incline and the long, brown trench he’d left in it. The entire wood was just a sea of mud and here he was, at the bottom. He tried to adjust his shorts but all he got was a longer tear. He clambered up the slope. Or tried to.
The laughter and the snickering and the catcalls he blanked out. They were the same taunts no matter which sport he did. Football, rugby, basketball, gymnastics. If there was a piece of equipment that he could stumble over, he would. But cross-country was a special type of hell. It was bad enough doing laps around the school grounds, but this, out in Dulwich Woods, brought a whole new meaning to the word ‘humiliating’. This first run of the year was the worst. The snow had barely melted and the earth was a mixture of freezing puddles, slush and deep, thick mud. Ashoka was not a January sort of person. Now he was going to have to jog all the way back with his backside hanging out. And that included going past two girls’ schools.
“Come on, Ash,” urged Josh.
“Ashoka, my name’s Ashoka,” he muttered under his breath. How many times had he told Josh? He wasn’t Ash, not any more.
Gritting his teeth, Ashoka grabbed hold of a fistful of weeds and began hauling himself up. He was going to get to the top, no matter what.
His boots, totally sodden and slick with mud, couldn’t get any sort of grip. He slipped to his knees, panting, but still hanging on.
Mr Leach drummed his fingers on his board.
Don’t rush. Just get to the top.
His arms ached. His grip weakened. The root was damp with dew. With awful slowness, Ashoka began to slide backwards.
He dug his fingers into the ground, but he was too heavy. Sharp stones scraped his shins and knees, but Ashoka didn’t care – he would not fall back. Vainly he tried to find another handhold, but before he knew it he was back at the bottom.
Mr Leach rolled his eyes. “I should have known.” He turned to the rest of the class. “What are you lot waiting for? Get back to the school right now.” The group of boys began to move off, but not before a few of the wits waved goodbye to Ashoka.
“Don’t worry, we’ll send a crane for you!”
