Dark Tidings: Ancient Magic Meets the Internet Book 1 (12 page)

Madrick and Tung began to travel with considerably less urgency once they crossed the border which marked the limits of Mifal’s kingdom. In fact, they even took time out to do a bizarre celebratory dance the moment they left his domain. They were dog tired and their feet ached, but despite that their mood lightened noticeably. However, they weren’t going to let themselves become complacent, Madrick saw to that.

After a few more days walking they reached the sea and that put a watery stop to their southerly trek. Now they faced a new dilemma; should they head east or west? Madrick had made all the decisions so far, so a frustrated Tung decided it was about time he had a say.

“We’ve seen no sign of any pursuers for ages. I reckon we’ve left Mifal and his men far behind. I reckon we’re running from shadows, so as far as I’m concerned it’s time to have a rest. I really don’t care whether you agree or not. I’m staying put and if you don’t want to stay with me, you can go off on your own merry way. There’s an inviting alehouse over there. I, for one, am going to book a room and take a break.”

Five days later they were enjoying their fifth day’s stay at a rather pleasant little, secluded seaside tavern. It wasn’t terribly busy and, as time passed, they felt increasingly at home and safe; the warmth of the log fire, the mulled wine and the barmaids saw to that.

They’d traded some silver spurs, which Tung had created, for seven night’s board and all the food they could eat. Madrick hadn’t wanted any ale to be included in the package, but Tung had insisted and so far there’d been no problems. Eat, drink moderately and be merry was the order of the day.

The world seemed good, although they both had an unshakeable niggle which told them there was a nasty surprise just around the corner… but two tankards of ale and a hearty meal was enough to dampen any niggle, even the most unshakeable one.

Less than a mile away the trailing pack wolf-marched towards them; thirty-six paces walking followed by thirty-six running, and so on, and on, and on. They hadn’t given up at the border; they’d followed the remains of spells, traded silver for information, extorted directions by threatening locals and used their inherent tracking abilities to get ever closer to their fleeing prey. It had been a long and arduous trek, but their combined skills had kept them relentlessly going in the right direction.

The wizards who led the hunters knew the gap was closing and believed there was only a day or two separating them from their quarry. As they approached the tavern which entertained Tung and Madrick, their only thoughts were about a resting place for the night. They didn’t realise they were about to encounter their prey, face to face, for the first time.

Tung had been convinced to have the next spell ready up his sleeve, or to be more precise, in his head… just in case. The usual batch of useless spells were enchanted and subsequently dissipated. And then he created the ultimate escape spell; the perfect spell should they ever be cornered by their pursuers. Now, he had the Time Shift Spell in his head.

“This spell will transport us both, if we’re touching, into the future,” explained Madrick. “Our time transportation could be a matter of days, or weeks, or even years, but whatever time period it takes us to, we’ll confound our enemies and be long gone, literally. There is one small problem though.”

“Of course there is,” said Tung.

“The spell will only time-travel our bodies, nothing else. We’ll end up naked in our new time zone. Nothing will travel with us unless it’s contained within our bodies.”

It was déjà vu. Again, one of them would have to secrete the Scroll within their body. They both just stared at each other as they realised there was only one option, and it was the same option as before.

Tung was the first to speak. “It is not going to be me…”

Madrick was having none of it this time.

“I did it last time and I’m not doing it again. It’s your turn.”

“No chance. I have to suffer the head pains. I’m not suffering pains at the other end as well.”

They gave each other hard looks, but it was obvious neither was going to crack. Madrick broke the deadlock.

“This time we’ll leave it to skill and chance. This time we’ll play Rock, Parchment, Knife… best of three.”

The ales in Tung’s stomach convinced him this wasn’t a problem; after all, he was pretty good at the game so he was bound to beat the old man. The pair faced each other and clenched their fists.

One, two, three - Rock, Rock.

One, two, three - Rock, Rock.

One, two, three - Parchment, Parchment.

One, two, three - Rock, Parchment. First blood to Tung.

One, two, three - Parchment, Knife. Tung wins!

“In your face, old man,” shrieked Tung, although it wasn’t Madrick’s face which was going to suffer from the result of the game.

And so it was decided that, once again, Madrick would hide the Scroll. Tung handed it over to Madrick who slipped it in his pocket and hoped he’d be ready when the time came. It was deeply unpleasant, but at least he knew they’d prepared themselves well for escape should the worst come to the worst.

From nearly a mile away, Nextar’s spell-enhanced hearing picked up the happy hubbub which emanated from the tavern. He steered the small army of wizards and serfs in that general direction. It was Gravalar who first spotted the secluded inn.

“There it is,” he said pointing at the faint lights in the distance, “we’ll stay there for the night and make our plans for tomorrow.”

Only the wizards, of course, would stay in the inn. The rest of the entourage would camp nearby in makeshift tents. Serfs and common people had no place indoors as far as the elite brethren were concerned.

As the eight wizards entered the tavern, they saw Tung and Madrick almost immediately. They froze. Tung and Madrick spotted the new strangers at exactly the same time. They had no idea who they were, but they knew they spelled trouble with a capital ‘T’… well, Madrick knew about the capital ‘T’. They also froze.

“Run,” yelled Madrick. “We need to get out of here. We must get to our room, fast.”

The wizards reacted like lightning. Three of them set off through the crowd after the fleeing pair while the others ran outside to organise the serfs.

Madrick and Tung pounded up the stairs and dived into their room.

“Barricade the door,” Madrick screamed as he pulled out the Scroll and prepared himself for the pain.

Using all his strength, Tung managed to push the great four-poster bed against the door. He was just in the nick of time. Two seconds later, bodies slammed against the now-barricaded door, but it held fast.

“Give yourselves up,” shouted Gravalar through the thick wood. “We only want the Scroll. We don’t care about you people. We will do you no harm.”

“Have mercy on us,” shouted Tung trying to buy some more time. “If you spare us we’ll happily give up the Scroll. I’ll get it for you now. It’s here. Let me bring it to you.”

Shouting serfs congregated outside the window and made it clear there was no escape by that route. Wizards pounded on the door. Was this to be the end of their journey? Was this to be the end of their lives?

Outside, Stanverital, the biggest of the wizards, shoulder charged the door, but the thick oak with a large bed behind it was too formidable a barrier.

“Get thee behind me, Stan,” cried Devligrate as he prepared to use the Thunderball Spell again.

Stanverital dived out of the way in the nick of time. Devligrate said the spell at super fast speed. BAAAAAMMMM. The door, and most of the bed, disintegrated in a thunderous blast of splinters. As one, the wizards and a couple of serfs burst through the gap, their prey now at their mercy.

Despite all the chaos, Madrick’s quick thinking had bought them just enough time. He’d suffered the pain and humiliation of concealing the Scroll yet again. Now he grabbed Tung and screamed.

“Quickly, use the spell now. RIGHT NOW.”

“Right,” said Tung, “I guess there’s no time like the present.”

And then, there was literally no time like the present… there was just the future. Tung and Madrick were catapulted into the twenty-first century.

The wizards just stared at each other in amazement. Their prey had disappeared in front of their eyes in a puff of nothingness.

“Block the door, Stan,” screamed Gravalar. “Devligrate, you block the window. Make sure there’s no way out. If they’ve become invisible make sure they can’t escape.”

Rumour had it they’d used invisibility when they mysteriously broke out of Mifal’s dungeon. That wasn’t going to be allowed to happen again here.

When Nextar, senior wizard number two, and four serfs arrived, they searched the room thoroughly. It was a futile exercise. The room was empty except for the piles of clothes which now lay untidily on the ground. They patted their way around the floor, feeling every corner and crevice. They found plenty of cobwebs and some rather nasty sticky stuff, but no sign of their quarry. Nextar also used his extraordinary hearing skill, but he picked up no trace of the thieves. There was nobody hiding anywhere in the room. There was nothing. The pair hadn’t become invisible; there must be some other explanation.

The discarded clothes meant it wasn’t the Transportation Spell; a spell which moved the subject to a place up to five hundred miles away. Had it been that particular spell then the clothes would have gone too and there’d have been the smell of burnt wood. No one knew why, but a smouldering sandalwood smell always accompanied a magic transportation.

There was a lot of shouting and confusion as the wizards debated various scenarios. Despite the wide range of theories, they only came up with one plausible explanation. The pair had invoked one of the all-time major spells and had time travelled. They were now somewhere, or rather sometime, in the future.

They discussed what they knew of the great spell. Conventional wisdom suggested the thieves could have jumped anything between five hours and ten years. As it happened, conventional wisdom was wrong. The one thing they knew for sure was that the ‘jumpers’ could re-appear anywhere within a hundred miles of their departure point, so the task now facing them was nigh on impossible.

After plenty of further shouting, pushing and debate, they decided the prudent thing to do was remain in camp while they planned their next step. They searched everywhere for the Scroll because they knew it should have been left behind, unless of course they’d done the unthinkable. Their search produced nothing.

Nothing produced results. They searched, they waited, and then they searched some more. Five days passed and despite all their efforts there was no sign of the fugitives. Discussion followed discussion, and they eventually decided they had no choice other than to report back to the Black and White Councils and let the wise ones work out what to do next. They left twenty serfs at the inn to maintain the vigil even though they knew deep down it was a futile gesture. The fugitives and the Scroll had gone for good or if not for good, they’d gone for a very long time.

The expeditionary force returned to report to the joint Council of the Black and White.

They bragged about how they had successfully followed the trail to the secluded tavern. They described the brief moment of contact.

“They were there in front of us. We had them cornered and then… they were gone.”

They held up the ragged clothes they’d retrieved from the scene. They described the detailed search of the area and how they’d waited and watched in case the time leap had been a short one. Finally, they told them of the team of watchers who had been left in place.

The Council members listened carefully. The more they heard, the clearer it became that the Scroll had time travelled with the pair; they’d probably used the same ‘method’ to take it with them during their invisible escape from Mifal’s dungeon.

What could they do now? First, they would strengthen the team of watchers which was waiting at the tavern. They accepted it could be a very long wait and the pair wouldn’t necessarily turn up in that exact place, although it was the most likely point of re-entry.

The Council comprised the wisest wizards in the land so they knew more about spells than anyone else. They knew a lot about the Time Shift Spell and they understood that the time leap could be up to two hundred years, much longer than the ten years which the younger wizards believed. They knew they would have to play the long game. They had no idea just how long. They certainly had no idea that this was going to be a thousand year game.

After many hours of deliberation they collectively decided on their second move. The only way to be certain of retrieving the Scroll was to be there, in place, when the Scroll arrived. Not just with a bunch of serfs, but with a well disciplined, well resourced organisation. This needed to be a very special organisation because this was without a doubt the most important of all scrolls.

So a secret society was initiated, one which would pass on its remit from generation to generation. It would perpetuate the story of the great Scroll and how it had fallen into the hands of two thieving common folk. Its sole purpose would be to find the Scroll. They decreed that the Society would be in existence from that day forth so, by the very nature of time, it would be in place when the time travellers arrived. Through the Society, they would be waiting, no matter how long it took.

Stanverital, Devligrate, Gravalar and Nextar would be the founding members so they were to be entrusted with recovering the Scroll. The leader of this new Society would be titled the Great Grand Master and the first of these was to be Gravalar.

The Council armed the four founders with resources beyond the dreams of the masses and total secrecy was demanded. The Society would be named the secret ones or, to give it its formal title, the Occultus Populous.

And so it was.

Over the centuries, the secret was never discovered. Sometimes some ‘genius’ from the common people would feel very clever when he exposed the secret workings of societies such as the Freemasons, the Hashshashin, The Knights of the Golden Circle or the Illuminati. But these ‘geniuses’ had all been tricked by an on-going deception because these other societies were merely smokescreens created by the Occultus Populous. It had ingeniously established a web of clandestine organisations to conceal its own secret until the Scroll and the travellers appeared.

As decades turned to centuries, the Society’s aims became more and more blurred. There were still the writings about the Scroll, but after so many years, the stories had become somewhat myth like. It was no longer clear if the Scroll actually existed and the story of the time travellers took on the qualities of a fable. The Society’s purpose evolved into one which protected the standing of the elite and kept the commoners in their place. Over the centuries, it expanded far beyond its original roots and became truly global.

Using its vast wealth and a little magic and trickery, it gained authority over most of the world’s money which meant it had ultimate control over everyone who was in debt. In order to maintain the cloak of secrecy, it deluded the masses using distractions such as unnecessary work, pointless study, mindless entertainment and sport.

By the time the twenty-first century rolled around, the Occultus Populous owned the majority of the world’s most powerful financial institutions. Virtually every Government was trapped in debt and many were forced to sell their own Nation’s assets, lose sovereignty and place their citizens in poverty to repay their crippling debts. The rich got richer and the poor got poorer; which was how the Society deemed things were meant to be. Everything was going well as far as that plan was concerned.

It was clear, though, that the Society had gradually lost sight of the very reason it had been created all those centuries ago; its raison d’être had shifted. The Occultus Populous had largely forgotten about the Scroll, and its members were now focused on their own selfish power and greed.