Ministry of Realms: The Cloaked Planet

By R. S. Tumber

The next big hit in magical fantasy?

Endorsed by former Disney Studios director, Joie Albrecht: "A thoroughly enjoyable fantasy romp where mythology springs to life - and danger, mysticism and excitement fill the pages!"

Annabel is a teen with special powers. When her archaeologist father returns from a dig in Bosnia with a strange orb, she feels compelled to sneak it into her school backpack. Later, with her friends Raj, Pete and Billy, Annabel enters an eerie forest and exposes the orb, awakening it. Instantly, forces beyond their control, transport the four children through an interdimensional wormhole, across the galaxy, to the planet of Tsarnum.

There, they discover that their arrival has been foretold by an ancient prophesy and they find themselves caught up in a mythic quest, helping the ancient Wizards by fighting against terrifying evil forces. They fly through the air on giant Phoenixes, battle bizarre creatures who threaten their lives, and must confront both the Prince of Black Fire in his multidimensional underworld and the evil Queen Xandala. It is a perilous race against time to stop the Queen from awakening Prometheus, the God of Fire, who will bring swift, terrifying destruction upon the realms. The risks are high and everything's at stake; the very existence of the human race on Earth depends upon their success. If they fail, they will never get to see their families again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. S. Tumber
• Release date: Aug 19, 2015
• ISBN: 9780993230875

R. S. Tumber

Rajinder Singh Tumber (R. S. Tumber) was born in April 1983 at the British Hospital for Mothers and Babies in Woolwich, and raised in Kent, England. Tumber is a cyber security specialist, sci-fi novelist, multi-genre author, cryptocurrency investor, and an inventor. Selected as a FINALIST for the "Personality of the Year" award in the cyber security industry, Tumber has been working within the private and public sectors; most recently in aerospace and defence. With over a decade of experience in the domain of cyber security, his work in thought-leadership has been published in national and global magazines and newspapers. In 2007, Tumber obtained an MSc Information Security from Royal Holloway, University of London. Prior to this achievement, Tumber studied at the University of Westminster, to obtain a BSc Computer Science (Hons). However, Tumber yearned for greater knowledge - not just within the scope of Cyber. For years, he has been fascinated with philosophy, astronomy, ancient history and other subjects beyond the public eye. Years of research and questioning of mainstream concepts have led him to write a range of eye-opening books, to inspire and enlighten those who are seeking a life of fulfilment; those who are not content with their current lives.

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Acknowledgements

Thank you to my dear mother, Jaspal Kaur Tumber

and, my dear father, Ujagar Singh Tumber.

Your love and support have been

priceless and immeasurable.

A Word from the Author

This work is the first of a fantasy series featuring lore, legend and mythology. These terms, unfortunately, portray an arbitrary fictional invention. But are myths lies? I claim that they’re the very opposite of lies. Myths convey the essential truth; the prime reality of life itself.

We have been duped into accepting the word ‘myth’ as being synonymous with a lie. This is because we have been duped into accepting the first real lie of materialism, which is the claim that there is no supernatural order to the universe. The materialists have imprisoned us in a world of mere matter. A world of physical facts, separated from and devoid of metaphysical truth.

I say that the materialists are lying. I say that they are the ones who have created a false myth. Their world doesn’t exist; it’s merely a figment of their imagination. The problem is that they have convinced us that it is true. Laughably, they have convinced us that this is all there is—three dimensions, five senses and four walls!

Ladies and gentlemen, the four walls of materialism are the four walls of a prison. The materialists are our jailors. We have been put into a prison of four walls and they don’t want us to see what is beyond those walls. They don’t want us to discover what lies beyond their narrow philosophy. Worse, they think that the act of escaping the prison is an act of treason.

Wouldn’t it be an act of treason against rationality to believe otherwise? Absolutely not! How can it be wrong for a prisoner to think of things that exist other than walls or jailers? Doesn’t the fact that the prisoner is able to think of things outside the walls suggest that things do exist outside the walls? After all, if the prison really is all there is, then how are we able to imagine things which exist beyond the prison?

The exit from the prison is the entrance to myths. Myths allow us to escape from the prison. Or, if we are unable to escape, then at the very least they allow us to catch a powerful glimpse of the beauty that lies beyond the walls. Whether this beauty is the truth is for you to decide. What I know is this: love is truth, and truth is beauty.

The Beginning

The time has come on third Earth when the dabbling of humanity has not just divorced magic from science, but nearly obliterated it. What once allowed humanity to flourish and advance is now unravelling due to its own destructive nature. Humans do not understand the natural order of things. There was a time when they recognised the power of magic over science and all things; when they recognised that those who control magic control destiny. Magic is a great player in the cosmos, and third Earth is part of the chessboard.

As above, so below—that is a central rule of the cosmos. But humans do not understand this. They now live in mental ruin. The Golden Age of the Atlanteans and the Lemurians is no more. Great wisdom, magic and the power of consciousness have faded, and soon they too will be no more. Drastic measures must be taken to bring balance to the cosmos.

Humankind now believes it is the master of the Earth, but humans are mistaken in their ignorance and stupidity. The Elders of the Ministry were, are and shall be. The Ministry existed long before humanity’s creation of time.

Not in the spaces we know, but between them, the Elders exist serene and primal, unlimited to dimensional states and physical realms. The Elders are the representatives of the cosmic elements Fire, Earth, Water, Air, Ether, Sound and Dark Matter. They are the dimensional gatekeepers. They have not only walked upon the surface of planets in different star systems, but they have created many of them. They have created many strange things. Their presence has been invoked by magical words and rites.

Unknown to the masses, the Elders grew and nurtured the inhabitants of Earth. Humanity now rules where they once ruled, but the Elders shall soon rule again. After summer comes winter, after winter comes summer. They have been waiting patiently, in the air, in the waters, underground, both seen and unseen. But no longer, as a rebellion has arisen…

***

‘Burn him!’ come the cries of the villagers. ‘Burn them all!’

As the shadows of trees tower above him, Seker can feel the villagers chasing him, the pounding drum of his heartbeat in his ears. Adrenaline pumps like ice water through his veins as fear starts to take hold of his mind. ‘I must warn the others!’ Seker tells himself, realising that the end is coming.

There was once a time when he loved nothing more than to run through the lush woodland after the rain had left the air crisp. The world had seemed much quieter then.

The bellowing is farther behind him. ‘I must have gained speed,’ he mutters, trying desperately to gauge the distance of his pursuers whilst mustering his strength. ‘I must keep going.’ But glancing back, he sees the sky lit like swarming fireflies by the blazing torches of villagers.

A tinge of relief settles in his chest as he lays eyes upon the house. He ignores the great seal embellishing its door, the gables leaning above him and the splintered beams buckling with age under the thatched roof. The sense of urgency is so immense that his feet do not stop; instead he bursts through the blood-smeared door, finding himself suddenly facedown on a decaying oak floor.

As gasps of surprise fade, voices boom from every direction.

‘You are late!’

‘You have broken the sacred seal!’

‘The door can be fixed!’ he cries.

‘What news do you bring?’ someone asks.

Dusting himself off as he gets to his feet, Seker wears a look of defeat. With apprentices following close behind, the ministers of white wizards eagerly wait for Seker to catch his breath.

‘They know we’re here! We must leave now! They’re coming with torches…hundreds of them!’

‘What about the Mona Ishar rite we’re gathered here for?’ comes the worried outburst of an apprentice.

Apprentices clad in smooth white robes with the crimson lion emblem upon their backs stand in line behind their master as he roars above the crowd: ‘It has taken hours for us to arrive in Albion!’

‘Hours? It has taken us an entire solar day to reach here from Alban!’ rumbles the tall, gangly Master of the West, his own apprentices surrounding him in robes bearing the ruby dragon.

‘Aye!’ comes the shriek of agreement of the Northern Master, his highland accent crisp. The sapphire robes of his apprentices feature the gleaming white unicorn of their homeland. Anger flickers in the emerald eyes of the Master of the Isle, echoing the viridian shamrock emblazoned across the robes that surround him. ‘What nonsense! Nalbin is a week’s travel from Albion!’

Sensing the rage brewing around him, Seker cuts through the arguments: ‘None of that matters now. We must leave this place immediately! Our efforts to teach them have failed, just as they did with mankind of old; they are simply not able to open their hearts and minds.’

A rumble of agreement is heard through the crowd, but the Shamrock Master interjects: ‘Is it not bad enough that for so long we have been treated as outcasts? But now we may end up as carcasses. We must escape, but where to?’

A smile creeps onto the lips of the Unicorn Master. ‘Why not return to Avebury? We will be safe in the catacombs of Stonehenge.’

Again, nods of agreement are shared among wizard masters and apprentices.

Suddenly it occurs to Seker to ask: ‘What of the witches? They too have gathered for the Mona Ishar rite not far from here. They must be warned!’

Not quite believing his ears, the Master of the White Unicorn stands, aghast. ‘No!’ he roars. ‘They practice the dark arts; we have no reason to warn them!’

The Lion Master responds more temperately: ‘We may disagree with their practice, but are they not alike to us? They too practice the occult universal laws.’

Eyes briefly meet across the room, some guilty, some defiant, but all recognize that, despite the witches’ dark nature, they too deserve a warning of the impending attack.

Approaching footsteps shake the ground like the rumble of an earthquake; the villagers are less than a mile away.

The Shamrock Master breaks the silence with his booming voice: ‘Hurry, we don’t have much time. They are almost here.’

With all twenty-five staffs held high, one for each wizard and apprentice, the magicians begin to file out the rear entrance toward the witches’ congregation.

From all corners of the world, witches—some ghoulish and others deformed—are gathered upon the hill around a crumbling stone altar, staring wide-eyed at the moon, snarling and screeching.

Standing upon the altar, arms stretched wide and with a look of sheer wickedness upon her face, Laurasia, the Head Witch, greets the others. ‘Welcome, sisters! It has been too long since we last gathered!’ she shrieks. ‘Tonight we will celebrate the Mona Ishar rite.’ Cheers and shrill laughter fill the air.

A rustling from the bushes behind her grabs the attention of a ghastly witch; her curiosity takes hold of her as she creeps closer to the sound, only to find a fox and her cubs quivering on the ground. A vicious smile spreads from ear to ear as she lifts her wand, glowing red at the tip, and aims it at the animals.

Before she can fire her magic, a blast of chilling blue light charged with electricity strikes her between the shoulder blades, throwing her to the ground with a light thud. The entire congregation of witches gasps and snarls as the Lion Master reveals himself, followed closely by his comrades. Laurasia turns swiftly to see the source of the commotion. ‘What are you doing here?’ she wails, staring at the wizards, who now stand firm.

The Lion Master approaches her, a crease in his brow. ‘Although we have our differences, Laurasia, we have come to warn you of the dangers we face now in Albion.’

‘Dangers? What dangers? Do not waste my time, wizard!’ Her shrill, callous tone pierces the night air.

‘Listen!’ roars the Lion Master, his voice bouncing from the clouds, causing a bolt of lightning to flash cold fire upon the altar. Laurasia falls silent but continues to stare. ‘The humans are coming in their hundreds, killing every sorcerer they can find. If we stay here we will go up in flames and the occult universal laws will be no more. Our existence will come to an end at the hands of these hypocritical villagers. We must leave now!’

‘And go where?’ snarls Laurasia.

‘We are travelling to the ancient catacombs of Stonehenge,’ replies the Lion Master.

Laurasia interjects: ‘The catacombs were destroyed just last night. The North Witch saw it herself.’

The wizard looks down, in deep contemplation. ‘Then we must—’

But a yell interrupts him: ‘Here they are!’

All of the sorcerers turn, and to their horror they see a flood of torches and bloodthirsty villagers screaming, ‘Get them!’

‘Run!’ the Lion Master and the Head Witch cry in unison.

Gasping for air as they flee into the forest, both dark and light sorcerers find themselves at a clearing. Fifty witches and wizards, once all-powerful, are now running like deer from wolves. The herd of humans numbers in the hundreds, and each holds a blade and a torch. The swarming fireflies are setting woodland alight during their sprint towards the practitioners of magic. ‘Slaughter them all!’ they yell.

After the last war the wizards vowed never again to hurt another ordinary human unless death faced them. Death is now staring at them, but with just twenty-five staffs, four of which are old and decrepit and many of the others too young, the hundreds of wolves will be too much for the wizards to handle.

The witches, on the other hand, had not made such a vow, for they do not care for the feelings of such ignorant and narrow-minded humans. They see the villagers as lambs to be slaughtered for the greater good of the occult universal laws.

This is a hunt, and the fifty witches and wizards are the prey. They have to pay mind to their direction of escape through the towering forest, and only the wizard masters and the eldest witches know where they are running to. The light from the moon is their only aid.

The decaying smell of burning flame from the torches is still strong and begins to surround the practitioners of the occult arts. ‘They are not far behind!’ cries Seker.

Arrows come flying from above. ‘Argh!’ One apprentice cries out in pain as he is struck in the leg and topples to the ground.

‘Eos!’ cries a Shamrock apprentice, turning back to help his wounded initiate.

‘It is too late for him! Run, boy, run!’ yells his master.

They emerge from the woodland into a beautiful open green field. The air is suddenly filled with a sweet perfume.

‘Nooo!’ A witch from the east runs into a set of deadly spikes, a trap set up by the villagers.

‘They will pay for this!’ shouts Laurasia.

Still running, but now sniffing at the same time, the witches and wizards cannot resist the temptation of staring at the carpet of spring flowers, which stretch as far as the eye can see. But what had been a layer of green covered with evenly spread flowers becomes strange, diverging ways when they enter it. Confusion spreads amongst the panting magicians.

‘Where are we?’ asks a Lion apprentice.

‘I can’t run anymore!’ pants a Shamrock apprentice. The paths are taking strange turns now, and the confusion slows the pace to an exhausted jog. All paths, like a maze, now lead to one point. The light and dark practitioners stand side by side. Soon they will be surrounded by the wolves.

‘Where on earth are we?’ shouts a young witch.

All except the apprentices and the young witches know where they are. ‘We are standing upon the veins of the earth, similar to those we found in Peru,’ says the witch to her underling, still trying to catch her breath. ‘What did our sister say the Inca king named this feature? Oh, that’s it—Nazca lines.’

‘So where are we going from here?’ an apprentice asks his Unicorn Master.

‘To that burial mound’ replies the master, pointing towards the mound just under fifty feet away. ‘In there, together, we will conjure the spell of Galdor so we, including the mound, will not be seen by the people.’

‘Over there! I see one of them!’ A villager comes rushing towards them with a pitchfork, and a score of moving flames come flurrying from every direction.

‘Oh no! Now what?’ cries the Witch of the East.

Giant luminescent green flames rise from the ground surrounding the magicians. Rivulets of green electricity begin flowing along the ground like water.

‘Who is doing that?’ shouts Laurasia. They all look at each other.

‘Who is invoking this?’ says the Master of Lions. The flames reach six feet in height. The apprentices and witches all shake their heads, stumbling over their words in a feeble attempt to respond.

Paralysis of shock hits each of them. Their breath comes in rapid short gasps. Running nowhere, but moving at an enormous speed, voices screaming, shouting, adrenaline racing through their bodies, they have lost the feeling of standing on solid ground, and are now ploughing deeper and deeper into darkness. Green electricity crackles around the rim of the void of darkness. A splash of water hits Seker on his fearful face, and now another splash on Laurasia…still tumbling. Voices tremble with fear:

‘What’s that noise?’

‘I can’t see anything!’

‘I can! Who’s shining that light?’

‘What light?’

Multiple voices shriek: ‘Arrrgh!’

The light overcomes the darkness, the noise that of waves crashing against rocks. Splash! Splash! And another…splash! Some are temporarily frozen, while others are swinging their limbs everywhere. A clear blue liquid fills the magicians’ lungs, as they find themselves in deep water. It’s difficult to breathe, and they reach out for anything that can take them to the surface. Their survival instinct and adrenaline kick in once more, and they kick towards the surface, coughing out water and gasping for air. Confused and exhausted, they drift along, their heads just above the water. A few moments seem like a lifetime. They now feel their bodies against a hard surface. Moving only their necks, they find themselves washed ashore. A few moments of rest pass…

‘Get off me! Get off me, I say!’

‘You’re on my foot!’

‘Move!’

The wizards need their staffs to help them stand. The witches use anything or anyone they can push down upon to get to their feet. Finally they all stand in silence. Jaws drop.

‘Di–did we just come down that waterfall?’

‘Wh–where…where are we? What happened to the field and the mound?’

‘I can’t see any pesky villagers.’

‘Look! It’s an oak!’

‘Wow! Look at the size of that mushroom!’

‘What’s that popping its head out of the water next to that lily?’

‘I read about those! That’s an ichthyosaurus!’

‘I thought they were extinct!’

‘So did I!’

Another creature rises from the water and sinks its teeth into the neck of the ichthyosaurus.

‘Did you see that?!’

‘That…that was a plesiosaurus! I’m sure of it!’

Laurasia roars: ‘Where are we?’

‘Could we be in one of the seven planes of existence?’

‘Look at the sun. It’s so bright!’

‘That’s a strange shape for a sun. Looks more like a crystal to me.’

Thud! The ground trembles. Thud!…thud! It becomes louder and the ground shakes more violently.

‘What is that?’

‘Look! Up there! Above those trees!’

‘It has scales.’

‘Look at those sharp teeth!’

The beast above them lets out a great roar and stares at the group of sorcerers.

‘Run! Run!’

‘Run where?’

‘Anywhere!’

Though they’re exhausted, they resume their flight, rushing among giant trees, mushrooms and other strange and colourful plants.

‘In there! Quick!’ The Unicorn Master points to a giant, beautifully crafted gold pyramid.

Two pillars flank the entrance, but there is no time to analyse the delicate carvings as they dart inside.

‘It’s so dark.’ The wizard apprentices pass their hands over their staffs, illuminating the heads to give light.

The sorcerers find themselves in a room empty except for a yard-high obelisk upon a square platform in the middle. The walls are covered with symbols and markings.

‘What is this place?’ asks a witch, looking round in wonder.

‘We are discovering too many unknowns tonight, sister!’ one of her companions says.

‘We were the teachers of the occult, but now, looking upon these walls, I feel like a student,’ says Seker.

Wizards and witches alike scatter around the room as they try to make sense of what they see.

‘Here is Hecate’s Wheel and the Elven Star,’ says a witch, pointing.

‘I think this is the Triskele, and here the Triquetra,’ says a magician’s apprentice.

The Master of Lions walks across to examine one of the walls. ‘The Ankh and Amenta of Ancient Egypt,’ he says.

The Master of Dragons, also examining symbols, says, ‘Here is the Rod of Asclepius of Ancient Egypt.’

The Master of Unicorns says, ‘I see the Sri Yantra and Shiva Lingam of ancient India.’

Laurasia says, ‘Here is the Flower of Life, from many religions. I have seen this in the ancient temple of Abydos.’

A witch standing next to her adds, ‘And it is found in ancient synagogues in Israel, in Galilee and Masada.’

The wizard apprentices and witches begin to look up towards the ceiling. In the centre is a giant circular zodiac, familiar to all. However, surrounding the zodiac are unrecognisable symbols. Around the edges of the ceiling are what seem to be the ancient symbols of Water, Air, Earth, Fire, Ether, Sound and Dark Matter, along with one other symbol which cannot be identified. This last symbol is a circle containing the letter ‘M’, divided symmetrically into two, from top to bottom, by a serpent. Above the serpent is a star with six points. A strange-looking sigil is engraved within the star’s hexagonal centre.

The Master of Dragons, knowledgeable in many languages, old and new, peers at a text engraved in a corner of the mysterious and seemingly ancient room. The engraving seems to be a mix of Latin and the language of Albion. He reads:

‘Historia Regum Britanniae—Brutus of Troy and the Moon goddess Diana.

Brutus! There lies beyond the Gallic bounds

An island which the Western Sea surrounds,

By giants once possessed, now few remain

To bar thy entrance, or obstruct thy reign.

To reach that happy shore thy sails employ;

There fate decrees to raise a second Troy

And found an empire in thy royal line,

Which time shall ne’er destroy, nor bounds confine.’

‘There are many we cannot decipher,’ says Seker, ‘but some that we can—originating from all around the world. What does all this mean?’

A witch says, ‘I don’t care what it means; I want revenge on those humans!’

‘Yes!’ agrees one of her sisters, ‘they chased us from our home and they killed Disa.’

Laurasia says, ‘We will get our revenge, my sisters, as soon as we figure out how to get out of here.’

An apprentice of Shamrock reluctantly says to his master, but loudly enough for everyone to hear: ‘Master, I…I agree with the witch. The humans have driven us from our home. We tried to teach them our ways, but they spat on our teachings and don’t care about the universal laws.’

The wizards cannot disagree with him.

Bang! A small explosion erupts within the room. A stream of crackling fireworks appears in the vicinity of the obelisk in the centre of the room, and grey mist rises from the stony ground, from which blue beams of electricity now also emanate.

With raised eyebrows, the white wizards immediately turn to the witches. ‘What are you doing?’ shouts the Unicorn Master. But the witches also stand with raised eyebrows, looking equally puzzled.

The illuminated