Dark Tidings: Ancient Magic Meets the Internet Book 1 (2 page)

Michael considered himself a self-taught, computer whizz-kid. Others thought of him as a geeky hacker who was a bit too smart for his own good and who had no idea what the word ‘responsibility’ meant.

He didn’t care what other people thought about him. He’d more important things to focus on. Over the last eighteen months he’d devised a plan to take down one of the planet’s most immoral financial institutions. ‘Other people’ might think differently when that happened. Then he might be interested in what they thought.

Today was the day to kick his plan into action and start the ball rolling; the demolition ball. He was starting a new job in the computer department of a major international bank based in the heart of the city. Big bank, big city, big salary. In reality, the salary was of no interest, all that mattered to him was the fact he’d be working in a bank, and in particular, this bank.

The International Investment Bank of Europe (IIBE) was far and away the richest bank that had ever existed. Its wealth far outstripped the combined assets of the United States Federal Reserve and the National Bank of China and, as if that wasn’t enough, it owned the principal banks in most of the world’s developed countries. More banks than the Mississippi River, Michael liked to say, but that was possibly unfair to the Mississippi, because IIBE was much murkier and its banks were much slipperier.

IIBE also had a tangled web of commercial links to virtually all the major financial organisations on the planet and, in his not so humble opinion, cheated and exploited every single one of them. Give a man a gun and he can rob a bank, but give a man a bank and he can rob the whole world. IIBE and the men who ran it illustrated that sentiment perfectly.

It was time to go. One last check in the mirror confirmed that he looked exactly how he wanted others to see him. Most of his reflected image pleased him: the neat black hair, grey suit, crisp white shirt and dark purple tie definitely worked. The beard and moustache annoyed him though, but they added an air of maturity. Looking a few years older would help him win acceptance. Older know-it-alls were more acceptable than younger ones.

Overall he was happy. The reflection screamed confidence, capability, and knowledge. He looked good, he looked the business.

He was ready for anything the world could throw at him. Most people’s best laid plans were destroyed by their first contact with reality, but he wasn’t most people, and he was convinced his plan was indestructible.

Clenching was Tung’s involuntary reaction to the massive frustration welling up inside him. His teeth, fists and buttocks were now all firmly clenched. What evil had contrived to make him spend his last few hours on earth listening to the ravings of a demented old man? Unfortunately he had no choice but to listen. He was, literally, a captive audience.

“You’ll find this hard to believe,” Madrick began, “but I wasn’t always known as a fantastic wizard.”

Tung had no difficulty whatsoever believing it because he’d no idea who this idiot was. Of course he’d heard of the Royal Wizard, but it seemed highly unlikely that this old fool was a royal anything, except maybe a right royal cock-up. Say nothing, he told himself, the story might be a short one.

“I wasn’t the worst apprentice in the Sorebun Sorcery Academy,” Madrick continued, “but it would be fair to say I was never the pointiest arrow in the quiver. Then things changed. Then something special happened.”

Something special? What special thing could happen to a wizard which would interest him? He could see the old man’s lips moving, but all he was hearing was blah, blah, blah. He forced himself back into focus. Wizards could be very nasty when someone annoyed them.

“… was exploring a forgotten corner of the school library, right at the back, where it was quieter than a tomb and darker than a wolf’s mouth. I sensed that my epic search would soon be over. I felt it in my waters, this was the day I’d find the Holy Grail, the treasure of all treasures - the librarian’s secret wine store.”

Wine? Tung wondered if the old man had a bottle or two hidden under his cloak. A few glugs might make the story a bit more interesting. A gnat fluttered past his face and interrupted his train of thought. Ironic, because Tung had the attention span of a gnat. He watched it flit on its random flight path and wondered what gnats thought about all day. Only once it had drifted out of sight into a dark corner, did Tung drift back to reality. Dear Lord, the old man was still talking.

“… climbed on a few stacked tomes so I could search the highest shelves. I pushed some large volumes aside and peered through the gap, and that’s when I discovered it.”

“The wine?”

“No. Right at the back of that dusty, top shelf was a large, decaying map scroll. I stretched into the darkness and lifted it down. I brushed the cobwebs off and untied the red strip of leather which bound the ancient map. As I unrolled the parchment, a smaller, less significant looking scroll slid out and fell to my feet. It was a spell scroll. No one was around to see me, so I slipped it inside my robe and rushed back to my room at full pelt. Can you imagine how excited I was?”

“I can imagine,” remarked Tung who couldn’t imagine it at all, his idea of excitement always involved wine, women and boisterous song. It looked like there was to be no hidden booze, and this story didn’t even have a tune. This was even less exciting than watching witches burn, at least smouldering witches smelt good.

“Once back in the privacy of my own room, I examined my little treasure. All sorts of thoughts flashed through my mind. What could the spell be? The Gold Spell? The Kill Spell? I moved the yellowed parchment closer to my candle. The Thunderbolt Spell? The All-Seeing-Eye Spell? In the flickering candlelight, I read the words on the ancient parchment.”

Trance-like, Tung watched the old man and tried to work out where this was going. He’d a sneaking suspicion that, wherever it was going, it was going to take a long time to get there.

“What was the wretched spell? Tell me right now or you can finish telling your story to the rats.”

“Be patient my young friend, I’m coming to that.”

Clearly the old man savoured building the tension, and he wasn’t going to hurry to reach the climax.

“As I read the magical manuscript, I became more and more excited. This spell was one of the most powerful of all spells. This spell was one of the great wizard legends. This spell was only rumoured to exist, but I had it right there in my hand. It was indeed…” Madrick paused for effect, straightened his back and boomed, “THE SPELL SPELL!”

“The spell spell?” repeated Tung. “That’s the world’s most powerful spell? Really?”

A well-read man might have thought it sounded more like a lexicographer’s fantasy party than a great wizard legend. But Tung wasn’t a well-read man, so he thought ‘magic stutter’ and this made him laugh.

Madrick spotted Tung’s lack of awe. The boy wasn’t even slightly impressed. How could he make this idiot understand the story’s importance? He considered explaining the nature of wizards, spells and magic scrolls. He considered telling the fool how a wizard loses the memory of a spell once he’s spoken it. He considered explaining that even the most skilful wizards must return to the spell scrolls to relearn spoken spells. He considered it, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort.

“Scrolls are bleeding important you know. The more powerful the spell, the more bloodily important the scroll.”

Because Tung was still giggling, the old man’s frustration was becoming apoplectic. Then, as if a switch had been turned off, the tittering stopped.

“I know scrolls are important,” Tung said. “I know about these things.”

“Only wizards, magicians and male witches know about these things,” insisted Madrick, silently adding ‘and maybe female witches’. However truth be told, the female of the species was a complete mystery to him.

“And only wizards really, truly know.”

“Wizards and me,” Tung persisted. He wasn’t sure if he should tell Madrick about the time he broke into the Sorebun Academy. It was a terrible idea to admit to his wrong-doing so, of course, he told the story.

“I broke into the Sorebun School once. No one in their right mind would do it twice. I searched high and low for anything worth stealing. Eventually I found the scroll library.

“Of course I got caught, but not before I discovered what you White Wizards actually spend your lives doing. You search the world for scrolls. The more you collect, the more powerful you become. And the more you collect, the fewer are left for the Black Wizards. It’s a good versus evil arms race.”

“You, young man, have a very simplistic view of the world.”

“Anyway,” Tung continued, “I was duly interrogated by the Great Grand Wizard himself. At first he suspected I belonged to the Order of Black Wizards. He thought I was there to steal the scrolls for that evil brotherhood. Mind you it didn’t take him long to discover that I was just a rather sad, common cutpurse. On that note, I was unceremoniously ejected from the building, but not before he’d blessed me with a few curses I’d prefer to forget, including one which did actually make me forget a lot of things. So you see, I do understand.”

Tung was clearly pleased with himself, while Madrick, although somewhat taken aback, was thrilled his cellmate had some grasp of these mysteries. With renewed vigour, he pressed on with his tale.

“The Spell Spell, what more could a wizard wish for? I had a big decision to make. I could hand over my discovery to the Academy and go down in the annals of history as the hero wizard who found the most powerful spell ever created. Or I could keep it for myself. It was an easy choice, really. Being a hero in the history books doesn’t put bread on the table, and anyway I was the one who found it so I decided to keep it for myself. Finders keepers and all that malarkey. I hid the scroll in my room and pondered the possibilities. I knew I couldn’t use it immediately without drawing attention to myself. I’d have to bide my time, otherwise the Great Grand Wizard would just steal it from me. He’s a sneaky man whose not to be trusted.”

Madrick resembled a windmill in a hurricane, his arms gyrated and thrashed as he relived the saga.

“Hold on a tick, Rick. If you have the most powerful spell in the universe, why not use the damned thing to escape?”

“Well,” the old man conceded, losing a bit of his enthusiasm, “there’s just one small catch.”

“Isn’t there always?” whispered Tung, who could sense the rapid approach of a tsunami of disappointment. Life’s a beach, and the tide’s coming in fast.

“Explain it to me magic man, what’s the problem?”

Madrick ignored him.

“The Spell Spell creates random spells. It’s a bit like ‘and for my third wish, I’ll have three more wishes.’ It’s the spell which just keeps giving. Until it plays the cruellest trick of all.”

“Come on, what’s the catch?”

“Well you see, each spell must be used before the next one can be created.”

Tung had worked it out now, so he stopped the old man mid-flow.

“And the scroll’s previous owner hadn’t used the last spell, so the damned thing’s not worth the parchment it’s scribbled on. Or rather scribed on.”

“Good guess, but I’m the one who hasn’t used the last spell. It’s me that’s causing the problem.”

The old wizard slipped his hand inside his robe. After some scrabbling around, which could easily have been mistaken for flea-scratching, he withdrew a rather insignificant yellowed scroll which he unrolled and passed to Tung.

“Mmm,” said Tung, as he strained to focus on the ancient manuscript. Try as he might, none of it made sense, partly because it was written in a strange, mystical script, but mainly because he couldn’t read. He was totally illiterate.

“So what do you think?” said Madrick.

“I think,” replied Tung as an idea sparked into life in his head, “I think that when you say it creates random spells, you mean
random
spells. You do the hocus-pocus, but you’ve absolutely no control over the spell which is created. And you’ve hocus-pocused up a spell you can’t use.”

“Exactly right. You’re a remarkably astute young man.”

Michael was twenty-one and he’d been messing with computers since the age of six. Computer games had dominated his childhood, but his love affair with technology really started when he discovered the Internet and all the wonderful things it had to offer a growing boy. His father’s attempts to restrict his access using parental controls and passwords were futile; an adult versus a determined teenager is no real contest. His dad built the best barriers he could, but they were more of a challenge than a hindrance. Creating workarounds sparked off an enduring fascination with security systems, encryption and the like.

He enjoyed ploughing through thick, programming manuals. The books were the techie equivalent of a Big Mac triple cheeseburger. Specialist Internet forums became his home and computing magazines consumed all his pocket money. His appetite for knowledge, and burgers, was insatiable.

Friends came and went. Who wanted to be mates with someone who spent every waking hour on a computer? So his early years were lonely, but they were the happiest days of his life. His parents were loving and supportive. He’d a roof over his head, a room of his own, plenty to eat and an Internet connection. Who could ask for anything more?

By age fourteen, he was a legend among the Internet techno-geeks. He didn’t know everything, but he learnt early on that when the unexpected happens, he should behave as though he meant it to happen. Not only was that a fun challenge, but when pulled-off it made him look very clever indeed.

This acclaim gave him a self-confidence which eventually matured into social confidence. Unusual for a computer buff who’d kept himself hidden from face to face contact with others. Now, he was comfortable in any circle and he’d a well thought out opinion on most topics and a clever anecdote or joke for nearly any situation. He was funny, articulate and an all-round likeable guy.

At nineteen, he joined Noviru, an emerging high-tech company producing intelligent, anti-virus software. Their software was revolutionary; it learnt from its experience in the real world and it evolved by itself to counter the ever changing threat from Internet crackers and hackers. Revolutionary and evolutionary.

He worked in the Malware Creation department, MC for short, a little ironic because MC was the texting abbreviation for Merry Christmas, but they made presents no one wanted. Malware Creation wasn’t the department’s official name, of course. In fact, the department didn’t exist officially.

Michael spent his days creating Viruses, Worms, Trojans, and Spyware, all targeting the big banks and other financial institutions. These targets called it ‘malware,’ which was a bit harsh because his creations weren’t particularly malicious, so maybe ‘pesky-ware’ was nearer the mark. Whatever you called them, they were annoying enough to be the ultimate door-opening tool for Noviru’s sales team. How else could a small company grab the undivided attention of multinational giants?

The software simply told people their system had been breached. ‘
This message demonstrates your vulnerability. Contact Noviru if you want total protection.
’ As time went on, he injected his personality and humour into the mix. ‘
Planet Earth is shutting down in twenty minutes. Please save all your files, log off and contact Noviru.
’ Sometimes his software was sneakier. Messing with the target’s automated telephone answering systems was a favourite ploy. ‘
Press seven if you would like a list of how technology has improved our lives.
’ Or trapping callers in the holding-music loop and every so often telling them they were one place further back in the queue. How funny was that?

As soon as the businesses realised they couldn’t dislodge the invasive software, they reluctantly contacted Noviru for help. Inevitably the first meetings were hostile with a capital ‘H.’ Lots of shouting, plenty of accusations and threats of legal action, or worse. However, after everyone calmed down, there was often a sale made.

That was just the tip of Michael’s digital iceberg. He had his own plans for one of these titanic financial companies. He had created software intruders which were infinitely more devious than anything Noviru had.