The Calling

The ground felt hard beneath his body and Francis pushed his hands against the floor and forced himself up. “Are you alright son?” asked an old man.

Francis glanced around him confused and slowly pulled himself into a sitting position on the cold hard floor of the platform. He looked around at the gathering crowd and could see a mill of faces staring down at his...embarrassment. “I-I don’t understand” he stammered.

“You had a bit of a funny turn” said another voice, kneeling by his body. Her face swam into view and he recognised the woman who had sold him a ticket earlier.

“Where am I?” he asked looking around the station floor.

“You’re still at Newquay station, don’t worry” she smiled sympathetically, “here drink this”. Francis looked at the glass of water and gratefully accepted it. He drank the cool liquid gratefully and traces of water escaped the glass and ran down his chin, settling on his jacket. “Can you remember what happened?” she asked kindly

“I can’t remember...” lied Francis as his memories of the Wyvern and Morgan swam into his head. “I must have blacked out for a moment that’s all” he smiled meekly at her and attempted to stand.

“Whoa! there youngster” shouted the old man, “you’re in no fit state to move” he turned to the woman, “I think we should get an ambulance for him” The woman nodded in agreement and looked back at Francis, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m alright” insisted Francis pushing her hand away. He almost immediately regretted the action and looked into the woman’s eyes, “Promise” he said softly.

Her frown was replaced by a smile and she stood and held her hand out for him to help him to his feet. “If you’re sure” she said uncertainly.

Francis nodded, “I just need a bit of a break...that’s why I’m here” he looked around the station and struggled to comprehend what was happening. Where was the Wyvern and how had he found himself back here on the floor of the station? “Overdoing it back home...work” he added quickly following several suspicious glances from other commuters.

“Your ticket...” the woman smiled at him and handed the small orange and green card, “you left it” she explained as he gratefully accepted the ticket and stood to his feet. He felt his head swim as he stood and steadied himself with her help for a moment before glancing around the platform. Everything seemed normal, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. He could see the shape of the train in the distance and shuddered as the thought of his recent experience with the Wyvern slipped back into his memory. The creature had seemed so real...so...so...immense. He waited as the train pulled into the station and slowed to a standstill at the platform and he cast his gaze along the tracks to the rear of the vehicle, then the front toward the engine. “This is your train” said the woman and she ushered Francis toward the train. He stared at the open doors and stepped over threshold into the train and settled uncertainly into his seat.

“It didn’t kill him” stated Mordred as he watched with disappointment from his vantage point.

“Obviously” commented Morgan.

“Why not?” he demanded, “we could have taken Excalibur for ourselves”

“You fool!” she spat, “He does not have Excalibur yet, and does not know of her whereabouts” she circled the column as she spoke and regarded Mordred coldly. “But she speaks to him...she calls him”. She could feel herself losing patience with Mordred as confusion crossed his face. “We allow this boy to follow the calling until he finds the sword...” she allowed her words to penetrate Mordred’s skull for a moment before finishing her sentence, disappointed that he had not finished it for her, “and then we take it from him”.

“We do not need this boy” spat Mordred, “he is but a gnat”

“But it is this gnat, that Excalibur speaks!” she could feel herself losing control of her temper and briefly wondered what had drawn her to such an idiot. “As much as you cannot comprehend you oaf, we need this boy as much as Merlin does” she clenched her fists at the name, “he is a direct descendant to Arthur’s bloodline and as such can hear the calling”

“But why now Morgan...” Mordred looked about the ruined castle around them, “and why here?”

Morgan laughed, “Here?” she queried, “Arthur’s birthplace? I could think of no better place than here to secure his grave. I would believe that the Lady Viviane would secrete herself to this place being close to the Isle of Apples and the holy lake of Avalon. Yes...I should think Excalibur would be near...as would Merlin. As for why now? this I cannot tell Mordred” she peered into the ether of the mist as she spoke, “the future I cannot see” she admitted and turned to the knight, “but I can tell thee Lord Mordred, you must be prepared to take to arms to win the seat of England”

Mordred nodded his understanding, “I did so once forth my love...I am willing to do so again”

“And you lost...remember that Mordred, remember” she turned from him humming and playfully ran her hand over the glass dome of the sphere, “have a care good Mordred for your own mortality, for while I resurrected you once, do not be sure that I can hold back your death again” she smiled and floated from the courtyard leaving Mordred alone with the stone column.

“Good Morgan” he breathed, “I promise this...Blood will be spilled on this land in my name” his hand rested on the hilt of his sword and he pulled the heavy long blade from its scabbard and swung it through the air. The metal reverberated around the confined space and sparks flew off the rock as it fell to the floor as the sword sliced through the brick of the ruined castle. He panted through the sudden movement and moped a pearl of sweat from his brow and he stalked to the crystal ball still locked in position at the pinnacle of the stone column, “Excalibur will be mine” he whispered.

Francis stepped from the train and gazed down the deserted platform. A shudder forced its way along his back as thoughts of the last time he thought he was alone and memories of the Wyvern flashed through his mind once again. This was becoming far too real he thought absently as he searched for the exit from the station. His eyes wandered toward the bridge which crossed the track and the road beyond the station, whilst close to him a small gate offered another way from the station and he waivered unsure which path to take. The wind whistled around his feet, picking up absent items of rubbish and skirting them around his feet. He closed his eyes and strained his ears as the noises surrounding the station and he listened to the distant sounds of traffic and the crash of waves hitting the shore line somewhere close, but out of sight. Nothing else...

He sighed inwardly and moved silently to the bridge and stared up the metal steps and placed his foot on the bottom step before pausing a taking a final look around the empty station. He reasoned in his own mind that the main platform and ticket office would be closest to the town and with a final push forced himself up the steps, listening to his own footfalls as they echoed up the metal rungs.

“All is prepared?” asked Galahad. Merlin nodded in the darkness as he watched Francis walk slowly across the metal bridge toward the town. “This is a strange time” commented Galahad as he stared over Merlin’s shoulder. “Metal carriages pulled by noisy strange carriages along roads made of metal. I do not understand this world” Galahad shook his head and moved away from the chalice and ran his hands over the rock monoliths at the back of the cavern. “I do not trust this world”

“Then trust me my Lord” said Merlin. The two men stood in awkward silence for a moment, their eyes meeting and locking an obvious mistrust emanating between them.

“I do not know who to trust...yet” Galahad sighed and moved rested his eyes on the rock before him and ran his hands over the surface of the rough rock. “Your words betray your desire Merlin, they always did. You trade in mistrust and lies” he turned and looked straight at Merlin, “was it not your council that Arthur took to arms at Camlaan? was it not your words which drove him into battle? and your design which led to his death?“, the accusations forced Merlin to stare deep into the water.

“I did not mean for his death” Merlin said simply.

“But it still happened!” raged Galahad.

“I loved Arthur like a son!” snapped Merlin, “his death was not foreseen and could not have been prevented” sadness descended over Merlin as he fought to repress the memories from centuries previous attempted to rise through the present. “He did what was ordained by a greater force than myself, but I could not stop his death” Merlin looked from the chalice, straight at Galahad. “Please my Lord...help me redeem myself. Help me redeem his name”

“His name or yours Merlin?“. The silence was deafening between the two men as they stood staring at each other for a moment. “I will follow you...for now” said Galahad simply, “but not for you, for him...if he truly is the King” he indicated toward the chalice, then turned and walked toward the small tunnel of light at the opposite side of the cavern. “I will be outside” he stated and stalked down the tunnel.

“Good Sir Agravain...” purred Mordred as he walked out into the ruins of the castle. The knight turned and considered him for a moment before rising the visor and meeting his old friend with a smile.

“My Lord” he replied and knelt before Mordred.

Mordred removed his helmet and allowed the wind to sweep through his unkempt black hair. He shook his head in the breeze and threw his arms wide letting the wind to play around his body. “After so long my friend, it feels good does it not to feel life once again”

“It is my Lord” Agravain looked about his person and whispered quietly to Mordred, “It is beyond my understanding why we are alive my Lord, I do not trust thy kindred” he confided.

Mordred laughed at the Knights unease, “It is beyond your comprehension old friend, but be sure we shall succeed in our quest for the crown”

“Arthur lives still” asked Agravain incredulously.

“No my friend, but his bloodline continues in a child!” he laughed and placed his arm around the shoulder of Agravain. “Our victory is assured” he leant forward and spoke softly in his ear, “Once we have Excalibur, nothing can stop...” he stopped mid-sentence and narrowed his eyes through the dwindling sunlight. A frown flashed across his face briefly before being replaced by a flush of crimson as anger replaced any other emotion. “Look!” he spat pointing down the cliff toward a small patch of trees. Agravain followed his eyesight and strained his eyes as he peered into the distance.

“Is that...?”

“Yes...Galahad” he spat. He turned and clenched his fists in anger and regarded the land around him deep in thought, “take two men and take offensive position in the copse" he ordered.

“Morgan...”

“Damn Morgan!” raged Mordred, “I have given you a direct order and you will do what I say!”

Agravain nodded lowly, “My Lord” he commented and watched as his commander stood in the breeze staring down into the wooded area, his hands clenched in anger.