MythOS
More praise for
CodeSpell
“A hint of cyberpunk, a dollop of Greek mythology, and a sprinkle of techno-magic bake up into an airy genre mashup. Lots of fast-paced action and romantic angst up the ante as Ravirn faces down his formidable foes.”
—Publishers Weekly
“One long adrenaline rush, with a few small pauses for Ravirn to heal from his near-fatal brushes with the movers and shakers of the universe, all while trying to figure out how to survive the next inevitable encounter.”
—SFRevu
“Imaginative, fascinating, with a lot of adventure thrown in . . . Mr. McCullough has followed his first two books with a worthy sequel. CodeSpell will keep the reader on edge.”
—Fresh Fiction
“This third book featuring hacker extraordinaire Ravirn is every bit [as much] of a fast-paced, energetic page-turner as its predecessors. Ravirn continues to be a fascinating protagonist, and the chaotic twists of the plot carry the reader through to the end.”
—Romantic Times
Cybermancy
“McCullough has true world-building skills, a great sense of Greek mythology, and the eye of a thriller writer. The blend of technology and magic is absolutely amazing, and I’m surprised no one has thought to do it quite like this before.”
—Blogcritics Magazine
“This is the second book in McCullough’s series that fuses hacking culture with ancient gods, and it’s every bit as charming, clever, and readable as its predecessor.”
—Romantic Times
“It’s smoothly readable, vivid, and fun . . . highly recommended.”
—MyShelf.com
“McCullough has the most remarkable writing talent I have ever read . . . Not satisfied to write a single genre or to use a subgenre already made, he has created a new template that others will build stories upon in later years. But know this: McCullough is the original and unparalleled.”
—Huntress Book Reviews
WebMage
“The most enjoyable science fantasy book I’ve read in the last four years . . . Its blending of magic and coding is inspired . . . WebMage has all the qualities I look for in a book—a wonderfully subdued sense of humor, nonstop action, and romantic relief. It’s a wonderful debut novel.”
—Christopher Stasheff, author of Saint Vidicon to the Rescue
“Inventive, irreverent, and fast paced, strong on both action and humor.”
—The Green Man Review
“[An] original and outstanding debut . . . McCullough handles his plot with unfailing invention, orchestrating a mixture of humor, philosophy, and programming insights that gives new meaning to terms as commonplace as ‘spell-checker’ and [as] esoteric as ‘programming in hex.’ ”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“A unique first novel, this has a charming, fresh combination of mythological, magical, and computer elements . . . that will enchant many types of readers.”
—KLIATT
“McCullough’s first novel, written very much in the style of Roger Zelazny’s classic Amber novels, is a rollicking combination of verbal humor, wild adventures, and just plain fun.”
—VOYA
“WebMage contains a lot of humor and a highly inventive new way of looking at the universe [that] combines the magic of old with the computer structures of today.”
—SFRevu
“Complex, well paced, highly creative, and, overall, an auspicious debut for McCullough . . . well worth reading for fans of light fantasy.”
—Sci Fi Weekly
“[A] fascinating world, somewhat redolent of Zelazny’s Amber universe . . . The interface between magical and computer technology definitely tickles my inner geek.”
—MIT Science Fiction Society
“This fast-paced, action-packed yarn is a lot of fun . . . weaving myth, magic, IT jargon . . . into a bang-up story.”
—Booklist
“McCullough has done a fantastic job integrating technology and mythology, and Ravirn is a wonderfully sympathetic protagonist.”
—Romantic Times
“Kelly McCullough has the hacker ethic and the hacker mind-set down pat . . . The combination of mythos, magic, and technology is great fun . . . Ravirn is the literary grandnephew of Corwin of Amber . . . If you like the Amber books, you will certainly enjoy WebMage.”
—Bewildering Stories
“It has finally happened. Someone crossed the genres of sci-fi and fantasy to create a magical world that has modern (futuristic) computer hackers . . . McCullough has taken characters out from the darkness of mythology and brought them into the light of this modern digital age . . . out-freaking-standing.”
—Huntress Book Reviews
“The action kept me reading way past my bedtime . . . gripping and imaginative.”
—Blogcritics Magazine
“This is a wild, fun ride. It is perfect reading for any time.”
—Rambles.net
Ace Books by Kelly McCullough
WEBMAGE
CYBERMANCY
CODESPELL
MYTHOS
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
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(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
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(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)
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(a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
MYTHOS
An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Ace mass-market edition / June 2009
Copyright © 2009 by Kelly McCullough.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
eISBN : 978-1-101-05136-8
ACE
Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
http://us.penguingroup.com
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, extra-special thanks are owed to Laura McCullough, Stephanie Zvan, Jack Byrne, and Anne Sowards.
Man
y thanks also to the Wyrdsmiths: Lyda, Doug, Naomi, Bill, Eleanor, Harry, and Sean. My web guru: Ben. Beta readers: Steph, Ben, Sara, Dave, Sari, Karl, Angie, Sean, Laura R., and Norma. Eric Witchey for the train question. My extended support structure: Bill and Nancy, James, Tom, Ann, Mike, Sandy, and so many more. My family: Phyllis, Carol, Paul and Jane, Lockwood and Darlene, Judy, Lee C., Kat, Jean, Lee P., and all the rest.
I also want to thank some of the many people who have worked on these books at the Penguin end of things and made me look so good in the process. My marvelous series copy editors: Robert and Sara Schwager. Cover art I love: Christian McGrath. Likewise, cover design: Judith Lagerman. Anne Sowards’s assistant: Cameron Dufty. Publicists extraordinaire: Valerie Cortes and Rosanne Romanello. Interior text design: Kristin del Rosario. Production editor: Michelle Kasper. Assistant production editor: Andromeda Macri.
For Laura,
the bright star at the center of my universe,
and in memory of Phyllis Neese,
my grandmother and one of my biggest fans
CHAPTER ONE
“This is a really bad idea,” I murmured into my headset.
Melchior’s answering chuckle came through the earpiece, its wire trailing down my neck to slide under the wing of the stylized raven on the back of my leather jacket. The raven that covered the laptop pocket, where he lay hidden.
“Shouldn’t that be my line, Ravirn?”
He had a point. Normally, when we’re teetering on the edge of disaster, I’m the one making the reassuring noises while my webgoblin spews pessimism. Not this time. The role reversal made me nervous. So did our location, floating amidst the wild, cascading colors of the Primal Chaos and our cracking target. Necessity.
The world-sized computer-cum-goddess and Fate of the Gods is the closest thing to an all-powerful, all-knowing deity the Greek pantheon has yet produced. When she says, “Boo,” other gods run and hide. Add to that the fact that the Furies are her personal system administrators, ready to tear any cracker—say, yours truly—into teeny, tiny shreds before delivering him to Hades in a bucket, and you get a feel for what a bad idea it is to mess with her.
With everyone from Apollo to Zeus terrified of her, why was I—a very mortal sorcerer and hacker—about to do just that? Lots of reasons, only a few worth noting.
First and foremost, Necessity was broken. Badly broken. The goddess is also a computer with all of a computer’s vulnerabilities. A really nasty virus had torn the hell out of her quite recently and very nearly destroyed the universe in the process. Since a small disagreement I was having with Hades had more to do with that than I’d like to admit, I felt a certain amount of ownership for Necessity’s current problems and a responsibility to set them right.
Which leads to reason two: the webtroll Ahllan, one of Melchior’s oldest and closest friends, not to mention the former leader of the familiar underground and current victim of that aforementioned conflict with Hades. Somewhere in the middle of the fight, she’d vanished in a way that involved the near-limitless powers of Necessity. If we wanted to know where she’d gone and why and, more important, how to get her back, we had to go to the source.
My third reason was less noble and one I hadn’t even shared with Melchior. To see if I could. I’m a hacker and cracker right down to the marrow, and, even damaged as she was, Necessity was the hardest target imaginable. The idea of cracking Necessity scared the crap out of me, but if I could do it and get away with it, it would be the hacker equivalent of pulling the sword from the stone.
“Hey, Ravirn,” Melchior whispered into my earpiece, “focus.”
I started, and he chuckled evilly.
“Relax,” he said. “Shara turned off the alarms and unlocked the locks. All we have to do is open one little door.”
Shara was our hidden ace, once a webgoblin, now a part of Necessity’s security architecture and our key to many locks. All of them, really, except this first one. For that, I had Occam.
I reached back and grabbed the sword-cane tucked behind my left shoulder, swinging it around in front of me. Three feet of ebony with a steel base. The hilt was made of something like organic diamond, grown into an exquisite sculpture of a goddess, fiery-winged and naked. Tisiphone the Fury, my sometime foe, sometime lover.
A twist loosed Occam from its sheath. It’s an unusual sword, a doubled blade with a plus-sign-shaped cross section, not great for hack and slash but absolutely deadly for thrusting. The blade is made of the same organic diamond as the hilt, the stuff of Fury claws, and security magic. With it, and under certain circumstances, I can pretend I’m a fourth Fury, one of Necessity’s sys-admins . . . reality’s sys-admins.
I pressed my right palm against the blade, then paused. Once I took the next step, we were committed and, quite possibly, dead. It wasn’t a decision I wanted to rush.
Melchior sighed. “Are we going to do this? Or are we just going to float here until the Primal Chaos devours us?”
“Patience, Mel. We’re perfectly safe.” I hope, I added mentally.
The Primal Chaos is magic in its purest form. Pure, raw creation. It both contains and gave birth to the near-infinite parallel worlds of reality. It’s incredibly dangerous stuff, except to those like me . . . maybe. When I became the Raven, I joined Team Chaos, theoretically immunizing me from the normal effects.
Unfortunately, that immunity doesn’t fully extend to those around me—which was why Melchior was riding inside my jacket in laptop shape. There’s also the part where I’m not immune to its abnormal effects, the ones reserved for creatures of chaos, even minor powers like me. For example, the present circumstances have pretty much the same effect on me that hanging around in a billowing cloud of marijuana smoke would have on a human.
Have I not mentioned the bit about being nonhuman? Sorry. I’m a mortal child of the gods. On my mother’s side I descend from Lachesis, the second of the three Fates and the goddess who measures the threads. On my father’s side, I trace my line to Thalia, muse of bucolic comedy. And yes, Fate and Slapstick are the two forces that dominate my life. It’s less entertaining than it sounds; picture a cream pie with broken glass in the bottom.
The name of my soul and my power is Raven. It is not the name I was born with, nor one I would ever have chosen. It was laid upon me in one of those tragicomic cream-pie moments by Clotho, the Fate who spins. The name has shaped me, as names must, made me more impulsive and sarcastic. More prone to take risks like, oh, say . . . cracking Necessity.
I still prefer to be called Ravirn, but whether I like it or not, I am Raven and one face of the Trickster. Because of that, both my triumphs and mistakes have grown in scope, and all too often, one flows so smoothly into the other that it can be hard to tell which is which. I was really hoping this would be a day of triumph, but I never know.
“Bossss!” It was Melchior. “Hellooo, are you still out there?”
I pulled my attention back to the here and now—damn chaos . . . damn good chaos. So sweet. I shook my head and blinked several times.
“Sorry, Mel. I lost my concentration again. Chaos.”
“Uh-huh, that was really my point. That we want to be on the other side of the wall of reality.”
“Right. Good point. Oh, and Mel?”
“Yes?”
“How many times have I asked you not to call me ‘boss’?”
“Two thousand three hundred and twelve, if you count this one. Why do you ask?” he added brightly.
I sighed. “It’s not doing me any good, is it?”
“Could we get back to breaking and entering, and save the big existential questions for later?”
“Right, that’s what I thought.”
Sliding my right hand along Occam’s edge opened a deep cut in my palm, a cut that filled with chaos rather than the blood a more normal blade would have drawn. Then, taking the hilt firmly in my wounded hand—to make a bond between the sword and the stuff of my soul—I slashed a vertical hole in the wall between real
ity and chaos, or more accurately between chaos and one specific corner of reality.
I slipped through the rift and out onto a dark hillside where the smell of pines hung heavy in the air. Behind me, the hole sealed itself with a zipper sort of sound, and I felt a trickle of cold sliding down my spine like icy water. Reality shouldn’t do that. Open the walls of reality with any tool other than a sharpened bit of Fury-stuff and Primal Chaos pours through from there to here with generally catastrophic results. I’d killed a cousin that way a couple of years back—an act that still haunts my nightmares—and I’d very nearly done the same to Hades later—likewise the stuff of nightmares, though for very different reasons.
“Melchior?” I whispered, doing a slow turn and scanning for movement. “I need a touch of night vision, please. Then why don’t you come out and play?”
Through my earpiece I heard him whistle “Redeye,” a binary program, or codespell if you prefer. It would temporarily allow me to see in the infrared.
“How do things look out there?” he asked.
“Nothing’s tried to eat me yet.” I turned again, surveying my surroundings with improved vision. “Nothing’s moving. Northern hemisphere, pine forest, probably late summer, though it’s hard to tell. With Persephone free, the seasons are all askew in the top dozen DecLoci.”