The Umbra Wars: Antecedents of the Tripartite

By Evren Kun

If you had the pleasure of meeting Martha right this minute, you would think that she is a wonderful little old lady with an infectious smile and a warm heart. And you would be right in thinking that too. But what if I told you that this is not all she is, and that her vocation has been born from a necessity? One deeply rooted in the stubborn refusal of us humans to just be better! What if she tirelessly fights the umbra on your behalf to keep the consciousness of the world tipped in the favour of the Lumna? What if I told you that she is the most powerful Archimage this world has ever seen? And that she regularly wields her considerable power to manipulate the Supreme Elementals. Or that she faces the nefarious Quells to conquer their umbra through the restorative qualities of love and forgiveness. What if she works with the Illuminaries, and has her very own Luminant to help her fight these battles? What if she needs apprentices to carry on this most noble of professions here on earth? If you knew that you could change your thoughts, words or actions to significantly contribute to her efforts, what would you do differently today?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Apr 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9781398433601

Evren Kun

For Evren, it largely began in a sleepy coastal town full of promise and freedom. As with the general way of things, life happened and lessons were learned, experiences were gained, and a young mind was forever changed. As she grew, the desire to broaden her horizons lit a fire in her being, and the lure of the city became too great to ignore. She chose her future vocation, convinced her bursars that law was not for her, and began her own adventure. Although she started her professional life as an Industrial Microbiologist, her career morphed into Analytical Chemistry over time. This served her well as she crossed the ocean to escape the violence that had crept up around her, temporarily numbing her soul. As she regained her strength, she realized that her life had led her to understand the transformative power of some of life’s virtues. This book was born from her desire to highlight them to others, entwining them with her own experiences and wrapping them up in a little magical realism to do just that. Together with her husband, they care for their animals and their little cottage amongst the trees. She is looking forward to winding back a little and living the simple life. But she does not want to admit to herself, nor to her husband just yet, that this is probably never going to happen.

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About the Author

For Evren, it largely began in a sleepy coastal town full of promise and freedom. As with the general way of things, life happened and lessons were learned, experiences were gained, and a young mind was forever changed. As she grew, the desire to broaden her horizons lit a fire in her being, and the lure of the city became too great to ignore. She chose her future vocation, convinced her bursars that law was not for her, and began her own adventure.

Although she started her professional life as an Industrial Microbiologist, her career morphed into Analytical Chemistry over time. This served her well as she crossed the ocean to escape the violence that had crept up around her, temporarily numbing her soul. As she regained her strength, she realized that her life had led her to understand the transformative power of some of life’s virtues. This book was born from her desire to highlight them to others, entwining them with her own experiences and wrapping them up in a little magical realism to do just that.

Together with her husband, they care for their animals and their little cottage amongst the trees. She is looking forward to winding back a little and living the simple life. But she does not want to admit to herself, nor to her husband just yet, that this is probably never going to happen.

Dedication

To my wonderful husband, who has the good grace to allow me the pleasure of letting my imagination run wild.

Copyright Information ©

Evren Kun 2022

The right of Evren Kun to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398433588 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398433595 (Audiobook)

ISBN 9781398433601 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2022

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

To my parents, thank you for the love you have shown me. I have only come to realise later in life, through my interactions with others, how lasting and powerful parental love can be. Thank you to all those who have knowingly or unknowingly shaped my life. It is largely because of you that I am who I am, and that I am becoming who I am supposed to be. To the staff at Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd. thank you for your tireless efforts. I am truly grateful. To my friend, Vanessa, and my sister, Mandy, thank you for giving up your time to dwell in this magical world of mine long enough to offer up advice. It is much appreciated. To my son Aaron, who has in many ways been my teacher in this life, I love you. To Robert who was taken from us so cruelly and too early. You gave me back my life and my joy. It was in my darkest hours after losing you, that my real transformation began, even though I couldn’t understand it at the time. If you could look down on me now, I know you would be happy with my choices. Which brings me to my husband, Gavin. You have stayed with me through it all. You are my love, my friend, my confidant, and my rock. You have shown me my weaknesses and led me to my strengths. You have enriched my life through your family and your daughter. I honour the greatness in you.

Preface

This is but one of my own fantastical versions of how it may be, and highly aggrandised for the sake of fiction at that! I do not have a firm belief regarding the afterlife and this story is no more factual to me than any of my other musings. I have had an interest, some would say an obsession, with the philosophical machinations behind our reality, but I have settled on none because none have been proven to me. However, I have learned that although our emotions and reactions are based on our past experiences, the complexities run deep. And that what we say, think or do in the now are all intricately entwined with our emerging realities. We have control over the future by changing our behaviour in the present. We already know this, but we do not always act on it as we should. I hope that this book can serve as the reminder we need to move forward individually and collectively to a future where judgement, tyranny and greed are a thing of the past. And where compassion for one another, lack of judgement, forgiveness, and the conservation of what we have been gifted on this earth are our united commitment. The book took many fanciful turns in my attempts to reflect this, and I just let it go wherever it decided to take me. It lays a detailed foundation for the understanding behind any future books in the series. I hope you enjoy!

Martha

Martha Agnes Stuart lowered her knitting to her lap and rubbed her watery blue eyes. She gave a sigh as if to consciously end this time of meditative relaxation. She began the process of preparing herself to face some of the most formidable and powerful forces most people would never get to see. She was really looking forward to this session as always, despite outward appearances and sighs, and despite her age. Knitting had become her preferred exercise in mindfulness to keep herself grounded and present in the moment when she was not in a conclave. A conclave was just a fancy word for one of Martha’s sessions.

But Martha was also well versed in another mindful practice. It was a combination of sorts, that brought visualisation, affirmation and meditation together, but with a twist. Martha had begun referring to this practice rather endearingly as Visualation, even during her training. She used it rather frequently outside of her conclaves and it had proved useful over the years. It was a great example of a complex practice carrying a simple name. But for now, she was heading into a conclave and she glanced around the sitting room of her cottage as if in search of something.

Despite her appreciation of the intervals she managed to afford herself, she felt the usual flush of excitement that always came to her before one of her conclaves. Martha chuckled as she reminded herself that she ‘lived for this shit’. This was in honour of a line from a Triple X movie that had tickled her pink quite a long time ago and seemed to fit the situation rather accurately at times. When Vin Diesel had turned to the camera, just before he was ripped out of an airplane, and delivered that line with a decent measure of cheekiness, she had squealed with excitement. She knew then that it would become a favourite of her own, and it gave her that customary flushed feeling that now flowed through her veins.

She gently folded her half-finished colourful winter socks project into a ball with the needles secured somewhere inside. They were not simple ankle socks, but instead they looked like they had built in leg warmers. Once folded, she placed them into the vintage, foldable knitting stand that was ever present on the floor next to where she sat. After a long, satisfying stretch to relieve the atrophy from the last couple of hours’ idleness, she levered herself out of her favourite armchair. The outdated, threadbare, tapestry chair provided Martha with a level of comfort that could only come from years of faithful moulding.

The wear along the arm rests, the stains and the missing tassels on the bottom fringe were all fond reminders of times gone by. She could almost see Dodger, her once faithful Irish Setter, lying at her feet chewing on the tassels. Paul, the dearly departed love of her life, had brought him home for her. And both had spent the better part of the next twenty-four hours staring at their new acquisition as he slept between bouts of puppy cuteness. When he was little, he had chewed just about everything he could find. Apart from the tassels, he also held a special place in his heart for Paul’s slippers as well as the dish cloth, if he could reach it, hanging from the handle of the stove.

In fact, he had grown up coveting the dish cloth, even after his teething phase was long past, to the point that he had carried one around with him all the time. The cloths had also become part of a game between him and his humans at almost every opportunity. Martha remembered having once looked up from where she was cooking, when at the same time Dodger happened to glance up at her after a lazy afternoon doggie nap. They had both noticed, simultaneously, that the most recent dish cloth that he had adopted as his own had somehow landed up almost exactly halfway between them on the floor.

The only reason why he had not run to it immediately was because he was still trying to clear his head from the grip of sleep when the full extent of the situation became clear to him. Dodger spied her looking from the cloth back to him, and she knew from the glare he gave her that from that moment on the game had officially begun. He had been reluctant to run and grab it, because Martha was younger and more agile at that stage. He instinctively knew that there was far too large a likelihood that she would beat him to it. Not wanting to risk it, he had set about devising a plan that would lead him to eventual victory. Martha could have sworn that she saw human in him at times, and this had certainly been one of those times.

With plan in place, he had given a lazy pretentious yawn in the hope that she would think he had absolutely no interest in the dishcloth at all. He had stretched himself out during that process so that his front paws ended up about a foot closer to the prize. He had then slyly pretended to sit up, but his front paws never once lost their stronghold. Instead, his bum and back legs had slid up to greet them.

But this had not been lost on Martha, and the ground he had gained was matched by a step forward from herself. She could see that this sent his mind into absolute turmoil. The game had continued until he had rolled and shuffled and inched his way as close as he could, all the while matched by Martha, until he just could not stand it anymore. His final mad dash was so comical that Martha did not have the heart to get there first, even if she could have. Instead, she gave him a big cuddle to congratulate him on his amazing achievement.

He had been overly chuffed with himself that day, and Martha now felt the familiar twinge of sadness whenever she thought about him and the years of love that he had given them. Dodger had spent many hours lying at her feet while she had sat knitting or reading in her chair. In the beginning, the chair’s tassels had become the victims of his itchy gums when he was teething as a pup. After that, he had often sucked on them out of pure force of habit. And when she admonished him, he would stop mid suck and glance up at her, tassels still in his mouth, in the most comical and guilty of fashions.

Every part of this chair, as with all the other things cluttering her warm and inviting home, served to keep Martha grounded. With their connection to the past, they held her in the present, and prevented her from losing herself in the temptations her vocation offered. And even though Martha held such awesome power, nothing in the world would ever convince her to exchange a single thing around her for the emptiness that would come with surroundings that were modern and new. After all, she was old and no longer had the luxury of the time it would take to build new memories into a brand-new chair. Not to mention that nowadays, outside of Moe, who was Martha’s old and monumentally lazy tabby cat, she was pretty much alone. And apart from her recent relentless search for apprentices, that’s exactly how Martha liked it.

Moe had been given to her long after Dodger and Paul had passed on. Yet he seemed to have a soft spot for Paul when he was around. Which admittedly, was only when Paul joined Martha from beyond the veil for her conclave sessions or other bits and bobs. But Moe’s adoration for Martha was complete even though he had a funny way of showing it. He was given to her by her closest neighbour after it had become clear to everyone that he much rather preferred hanging out at her cottage instead. But it had not always been like it was now. His behaviour in the beginning was bizarre to say the least.

He would come slinking past her when she happened to open the front door and would run and hide under her hutch, refusing to come out for hours on end. Martha grew used to seeing his eyeballs following her around, without being able to see the rest of him. He would generally slink back out at some stage when she happened to open the door again, looking up at her with a quick wide-eyed glance before scuttling out of sight. Martha suspected that he was intrigued by the goings on in her spare room. Even though she always kept the door closed when she was in there, cats were clearly sensitive to shifts in energy, and her sessions were way more than just a shift!

Eventually one day, when she was standing in her sitting room, in her open toed slippers, completely absorbed by a pamphlet she was reading, Moe had decided that he would finally dare to come say hello. Martha was so engrossed elsewhere, that when his soft nose and whiskers greeted her toes, her imagination could think of nothing else but a massive Martha eating demon tarantula. She promptly kicked out on instinct and Moe went flying across the floor so fast that he whistled. Of course, he ended up hiding back under the hutch again, leaving Martha feeling like a dragon. But eventually, he ventured out once more, and on that occasion, she was prepared. He fast became a regular feature and their familiarity with each other quickly grew until he was only going home on the odd occasion.

In the beginning, this was usually only when he felt absolutely compelled to, because he simply had to eat. Martha had promised herself she would not feed him, because he technically still had an owner, but she soon enough started giving him titbits despite herself. She finally accepted that the charade was over after watching him snack down on a tin of cat food that she had inadvertently bought for him during her latest shopping spree. She had reluctantly trundled over to the neighbours to discuss the rather unfortunate situation but had been met with surprisingly little resistance.

Within minutes, they had lumbered her with food bowls, a clawing post, a kitty bed, kitty litter and toys that she had no idea even existed. And so, Uranus (that was truly his name at the time) had become hers by default, and she had very promptly renamed him Moe, which she intuitively knew he would much rather prefer. The neighbour had since moved on and things had become what they are today.

Moe had grown on her to the point that she could no longer sleep at night unless he was curled up by her feet on the bed in his usual position. She had only come to realise the full extent of their bond after an angry storm had rolled in one night, and he was still nowhere to be found. She had tossed and turned for a short while, worrying herself sick, before concluding that this would simply not do. She had also briefly considered calling on the elements, but wisely decided against it. After all, there were rules about interfering with the weather as well as the natural order of most things. Instead, she opted to rug herself up against the wind, rain and hail, and go save her cat on her own.

Luckily, she quickly picked up on his cries, weak against the rage of nature, and found him crouching under the upturned wheelbarrow trying desperately to keep himself out of harm’s way. At that point, he was clearly just as relieved to see her as she was to see him. They embraced with a deep and conscious understanding of love and devotion. And he clung to her under her jacket as she bravely made her way home. Once inside, Martha, as bruised and windswept as she was, took a moment out to enjoy the uncustomary love and lavish attention she received from him for the next few minutes. Once he decided she had had enough, he simply sauntered off down the passage without a backward glance. He assumed his customary position on the bed and promptly fell asleep, as only a cat could do.

Nowadays, he spent a lot of time sleeping. In fact, up until just a few moments ago, he had been curled up on the couch in his favourite spot for his afternoon siesta. But now as Martha heaved herself out of her chair, he raised his head in his customary lazy fashion and was watching her every move from under his droopy eyelids. She knew that he knew what was about to go down, and suddenly a preening session in the late afternoon sun on the enclosed patio seemed like a much better idea to him than staying too close to the action.

The energy that was generated was just a bit too scary for him, and as curious as he was about the spare room when the door was closed, he had long ago decided to leave it be. Martha interrupted his journey from the couch to the floor by plucking him up and snuggling him between bosom and chin. He immediately set about pretending to hate it to ensure he remained true to the broader character of his species. But when Martha whispered lovingly in his ear, he was compelled to show the adoration that he truly felt, and adequately conveyed this to her by starting up his purring engine.

Martha had in fact told Moe not to worry because they would soon have an apprentice or two, and there would be little need for him to escape to the patio after that. She already had two people in mind after all, and could possibly soon be on full alert keeping watch over them. This would be a tiring and difficult time for Martha. The Quafits would most certainly be on alert for anyone that Martha started giving extra attention to, as they knew full well that her time was coming to an end. The most dangerous time for her likely apprentices would be when they were oblivious of their chosen status, and when they remained untrained in the Mage Arts if they accepted the offered choice.

But the burden of their safety would lay squarely on Martha’s shoulders, and they would be oblivious to her tireless efforts for a large part of the process. For now, her interest in them was cloaked, and this would only fall away when the level of interest rose to a point where it was difficult to conceal. Martha had scooped Moe up as he had uncurled himself to make his way off the couch, and after the snuggle, she gave him a final tickle under his chin. She then placed him back on the couch because she considered the floor far too much of a challenge. She was rewarded with a slanted glare dripping with pure judgment before he made his own way to the floor, turned his back on her, stuck his tail straight up in the air and sauntered out the door.

Entities, Quells and Quafits

Martha’s mind wondered back to the task at hand, and she recalled that she had been attempting to remember the most recent hiding place for her Muti. It was not the traditional type, but rather a vapour based concoction of sorts that she snorted up her nose. It put the likes of any modern-day drug to absolute shame. She thought that the word muti sounded very funny, just like the English word’s pumpkin, goggles and dollop always made her chuckle for some reason. It was pronounced as a combination of moo and tea and had originated within the Zulu culture in Southern Africa.

But the use of the word was quite diverse, as it had spread as far north as Lake Tanganyika. The memories of the first time she had heard it came flooding back, as they often did, and the mixed emotions of trepidation and triumph came with them. The battle she had waged against the Quell of Lake Tanganyika had been a fierce one, but it was one that had earned her great respect. Martha’s dealings with entities and their subsequent annihilation were often referred to as drubbery. And on this occasion, the battle had gone down in the Akashic Records as one of the most spectacular and exhaustive drubbings to date.

Over the years, negative energies had accumulated and taken refuge in this beautiful and tropical lake, which also happened to be the deepest lake in Africa. So deep and tropical in fact, that the fossil water it had formed created a perfect lair for a growing and ambitious force that was foul and malignant to its core. Quells prefer but are not limited to natural lairs such as the deep still waters of Lake Tanganyika that lay undisturbed and without life due to the lack of oxygen. Quells are sensitive to lifeforms that they do not have an affinity with, as the higher vibrations are disruptive to their energy. When two or more entities choose to unite or choose not to attach to humans, they naturally gravitate away from populations, even as the Quell continues to grow in number.

This automatic undertaking is usually quite precise in nature. So that if there was a large perfect circle of unoccupied area in amongst an equally distributed population, the Quell would come to rest at the centre. But this wasn’t always true when it came to depth. In the case of Lake Tanganyika, the ancient waters are devoid of currents and therefore devoid of most forms of life. And the resulting lair’s location was a balance of distance and inertia. The presence of a Quell in no way affects the beauty and the wonder of the natural environment around it. If accessible despite remoteness, some clairsentient people feel an energy shift, or a shiver down their spine, or some other sense that they do not fully understand.

The area in question then usually becomes shrouded in suspicion. Rumours start and they grow quite rapidly. This is how word of a possible Quell comes to the attention of the elders in the area. People would only be affected by the Quells if their affinity for the Umbran was so strong, that it would effortlessly draw the entities from the Quells towards them like magnets. And then, it would not matter if they were located miles away or happened to be standing right in its midst. This is all theoretical to humanity of course, because as of this time, no one has quite figured this out.

In general, the Quell’s presence remains masked and separated, with the only exception being slight vibrational imbalances to some of the general population in its vicinity. This Quell had begun in the usual fashion, as a Quellite, or infantile Quell. On this occasion, it was seeded by the fear that emanated from a world at war.

Between December 1915 and February 1916, the German stronghold had been shaken when the allied army captured one vessel and sunk another on the very same lake. A pocket of low vibrational entities began to emerge more expediently than usual, which sometimes happens at the time of multiple deaths. War, genocide and other atrocities, all committed by humanity against humanity could contribute to this type of accelerated assembly. In this case, it was even more pronounced as a suitable lair was within reach, and the affinities at the time of death were strong. The aimless wandering that came with confusion towards an entities new state of being was usually quite short. At Lake Tanganyika they came spiralling out of their human hosts as they lay dying on the battlefield or in their watery graves and quickly drew together by affinity.

Of course, it was initially not much, as most men that died were not bad men, but rather good men fighting a bad war. But as their souls passed on, the few entities they carried detached and drew together as a seed, with one or two advanced entities amongst them. All entities that continue to walk the earth, once the transition period is over, are of low vibration as they are not lumnal enough to absorb into what would be even the lowest plane of the afterlife. They have evolved to become attachments only and are thereby excluded by design from the process of passing that is granted to even the lowest of humans. And their desire to draw any lumna is below the threshold.

The hope for their enlightenment and mass conversion lies squarely with the Archimages and Luminants, such as Martha and Paul. The Quells they gather in are of the umbra and therefore one part of the collective Umbran, as they are not light enough to be of the lumna and thereby belong to the Lumnan. Entities are generally harmless by design when wandering, unless called up by what usually amounts to some unskilled and ignorant wannabe sorcerer. At that point, they may attach and make some mischief, by tapping into the sheer will of the wannabe, which could allow them to manipulate matter and throw a thing or two around a room.

Of course, this usually always frightens the living daylights out of the poor meddlers, but the danger still usually lies with the human actions taken due to the pure terror of the experience. The paranormal is not as frightening as it appears, and it is the beliefs and actions that are subsequently held and acted upon by people that remains the problem. Mischief can only come to those who invite it in.

Entities are drawn to two things, both of which are umbra. One of their affinities is to a pocket of umbral energy where they can feel at home, as was with the Quell at Lake Tanganyika. The other is the umbra that is carried by living things. And in general, this excludes all but humankind. Although an animal could possess umbra if cursed by a being that wields that type of power. So, humans are the living beings that can carry umbra and the entities can find solace by attaching themselves to the being, through the umbra. They seek to match themselves to a suitable new host with purpose and for maximum benefit. In areas that are densely populated, entities can wander around and attach and detach for the longest time. But if they reach areas of low density and do not find a suitable host, they are drawn quickly across large expanses to an isolated Quell. At Lake Tanganyika, the living were hard to find as they were either dead, dying or probably about to die.

And in this way, a Quellite was born that gorged itself on the entities that arose from a flawed humanity, even