The Calling

Francis awoke with a start and stared over the rushing landscape outside the carriage. He frowned as trees and bushes past the window at high speed and searched outside for signs of his location. It didn’t look much like France he mused as he shook his head free of recent dreams...the dreams...he was surprised how vivid they had been and his memories of them. For some reason they had appeared stronger in their appearance and a lot more graphic in nature. He questioned his own feelings and self-decency in the nature of his dream...the woman, Gwenhwyfar...the attack at the hands of Mordred, the visions seemed so real...so...so...so...he struggled to find the words for the horror he had dreamt. He glanced around the carriage for any signs of fellow travelers, but like the countryside around the train there were no signs of life.

He glanced at his watch and saw he had been asleep for at least four hours and returned his attention to the passing world outside the carriage. “Tickets please...” the voice made Francis jump in his seat and frowned as he gazed up at the stern uniformed guard standing before him, between the rows of seats in the aisle.

“I-I-I” stammered Francis, surely the man hadn’t been there a second ago he thought.

“Ticket...” the guard held his hand outstretched in the direction of Francis who sat staring at the guard’s hand for a moment. “Have you got a ticket sir?” he asked again. The question stirred Francis into action and he grasped his bag and opened the zip.

“Sorry...” he whispered as he pulled his small leather wallet from the bag and pulled the small orange and green ticket from the wallet. “Is this France?” he asked as he handed the ticket over.

The guard laughed heartily as he accepted the ticket and inspected it, turning over the small card in his hand. “Oh, son.” he exclaimed, “Have you made a mistake...” he handed the ticket back to Francis and laughed again, “We’re nearly at Newquay...end of the line”

“Newquay!” Francis accepted the ticket and collapsed into his seat, “but I’m supposed to be going to France” he said exasperated.

“Not according to your ticket” said the guard. Francis blinked and stared at the guard, before inspecting his own ticket. The dark black writing on the card did indeed say ‘Newquay’ across the ticket and Francis stared hard at the writing and a frown burrowed over his brow. How the hell did this happen...Newquay, why the hell did he come here? how the hell had he bought a ticket for Newquay when he wanted to go the France. He cast his mind back to the station...Paddington he realised not St. Pancras, his head sagged into his hands as questions exploded in his brain. Had his heart overcome his brain and bought the ticket without him even knowing. He could see the first signs of life through the window rising out of the horizon as buildings began to replace trees, houses and factories climbed from the ground emerging from the oncoming coastline like a goliath stirring from its slumber. He glanced back at the guard...where was he? he looked over the backs of the seats and down the train straining to watch the retreat of the guard, but as before his appearance the guard had completely disappeared from view. Francis grabbed his bag and pulled it from the floor and onto his lap and gazed at the approaching town and sighed. Newquay...best make the most of it he thought and waited patiently as the train neared the station.

Merlin stood alone in the cavern and watched Francis in the water of the stone chalice as he stood in the carriage and swayed in time with the motion of the train. “Soon” he whispered into the shadows and peered toward the back of the cave. Around the back of the cave stood seven stone pillars which ran from the floor of the cavern and rose, touching the roof. The pillars were embedded into the wall of the cave and stood tall and proud overlooking a plain flat stone altar. Merlin left his position at the chalice and circled the altar until he rested by the pillars. He surveyed the monoliths and breathed deeply the dank atmosphere and ran his hand over the roughly strewn rock face. Small stone chips fell away from the pillar which Merlin had touched and bounced over the water laced floor disappearing into the depths of a resting puddle. A hole appeared in the central pillar as further flakes of stone fell away from the rock onto the floor and gaped at the incessant darkness within the apparent hollow stone tubing. “Galahad...” whispered Merlin as he pressed his face against the stone pillar, pressing his ear hard against the rough surface. Three fingers snaked from the hole and writhed in the darkness, flexing and stretching from their sudden release from there solitary confinement.

The wind battered against the ruins of the castle, which stood overlooking the sea perched on the edge of the cliff. The monument was a memory of its own fallen glory of a time gone by and as the wind whistled through open battlements and gaping holes in the walls of the crumbling structure, deep below the ground in the bowels of the main keep movement broke the silence of the castle. The ground rose and fell as the earth beneath swelled and stirred and through the depths of the soil, hands pushed through the surface and thrust aside deep rivets of grass and mud. The long slender fingers pushed against the collapsing ground and separated the reams of earth pushing against the encompassing soil. “Free” gasped a female voice as the hands clawed at the soil. The soft ground groaned under the strain placed upon it by the sudden force placed around the growing hole as hands placed flat on the edge of the precipice. Stained arms thrust out into the darkness of the yawning chasm and droplets of soil fell away as a head slowly pulled itself free from the ground. The woman opened her eyes and blinked, shaking her head free of remnants of soil from her face, spitting earth from her mouth and smiled in the darkness. “Free!” she repeated joyfully and pushed hard with her free hands on the soil around her. She contorted and writhed as soil fell away from around her as she slowly pulled her way from the ground, realising her slender body from her earthen prison. She remained on all fours for a moment panting heavily from exhaustion caused by the effort and strain of freeing herself from the ground. She raised her head and listened to the wind as it passed through the castle ruins. “I hear you...” she whispered, pulling herself unsteadily to her feet, “Excalibur...“. Her eyes shone in the darkness as she cocked her head to one side, listening to the noises around her. “After all this time” she breathed, flexing her hands and arms, “I’m free!” she screamed in a symphony of light from her hands as she danced around the confined space beneath the castle. “I hear you Excalibur!” she cried toward the ceiling, “I hear you!” she laughed and spun in her position deep within the castle. “I live...” she abruptly stopped and stared through the darkness, scanning her surroundings. “After all this time” she whispered, “Morgan Le Fay lives again”