The Calling

The light was fading as Sir Galahad walked through the copse and absently snatched at the branches hanging from a nearby tree. “What world is this?” he asked himself as he walked. His eyes grew accustomed to the dimming light and he could see the outskirts of the town in the distance. The lights from the houses shone like a thousand fireflies, sparkling and shining in the evening sky. “To be born again in this time” he mused as his fingers ran over the bark, flicking moss from the tree onto the grassy floor beneath his feet.

From the edge of the copse eyes watched through the bushes through the visors on their helmets. Agravain glanced at his fellow Knights and nodded a silent instruction toward the other two Knights in his company. “You understand your instructions?” the knights nodded their understanding and with hands firmly on the hilts of their swords the three Knights moved into the wooded area.

Francis moved through the small town and glanced into the shop windows as he walked. He stopped outside one shop and peered through the glass at the small assortment of figurines standing on display on a variety of shelves inside the shop. His eyes wandered casually over the assortment, figures of swords, Knights, busts of who he presumed to be King Arthur and a variety of mythical beasts. He pulled his stare from the window and searched the street, casting his gaze around the town. Examples of the myth of King Arthur seemed to be scattered everywhere across the town from street names to statues and the novelty items in the shop, wherever he looked there seemed to be an obsession over the myth.

“Come to me...” the voice again. It had been so long since he heard it he had completely forgotten what had brought him here in the first place. He cast he gaze around the street and hopefully the source of the voice, but again his vision could find no obvious source. “Come to me...you are close”. His feet moved absently along the street in the direction of the coastline. “Come to me...”

A sudden shrill noise broke his revere as he stepped from the edge of the street into the road. A car swerved violently in the road and from the window a series of profanities were emitted in Francis general direction. He shuddered at the thought of the near miss, but allowed the voice to direct him forward along the road, being more careful where he was walking. Darkness was falling and Francis suddenly became aware that he had nowhere to stay whilst here. He moved down the street close to the coast and looked over the sea as the water slowly crept in over the sandy beach. In the horizon the sun slowly sank as darkness slipped over the town. Francis carried on his walk along the street, his eyes moving over the buildings and shops. Despite the size of the town, it resembled many holiday seaside towns with its bright lights beaming from arcades and public houses. People moved in unison along the street in beautiful chaos as tourists and locals mingled in a variety of attractions from karaoke bars to miniature golf sites and cafes. He scanned several guest houses before settling on a tall prominent building sitting on the corner of the street. The sign displayed ‘vacancies’ inside and Francis stared at the name of the property set high above the door. The words stared down as though a beacon shining toward him like a radiant light broadcast from the town for Francis to follow.

“The sword in the Stone” mumbled Francis as he walked up the path to the front door, his hand wavering over the bell. He paused unsure whether to ring the bell or walk straight inside. Francis glanced around at the dwindling light and decided to push the door open and walk in.

Galahad spun around as a noise from the wood caught his attention. His lowered his visor and circled his position scanning the wood for signs of intrusion. “Who is there!” he called, “show yourself”. The wood remained silent, but Galahad stared through the darkness suspiciously. His hand moved to the hilt of his sword and withdrew the long blade from its scabbard. “Show yourself...I command thee” he called into the trees at the shadows. “I am Sir Galahad, noble of the Round Table...Conqueror of the Holy Grail...son of Sir Lancelot, now knave show yourself!” The bush parted and from its bowels stepped a singular knight. The last vestiges of light bounced off his armour and shone in the growing moonlight which fought its way through the tree line. He stood with his hand on the hilt of his sword and circled Galahad slowly, keeping his eyes fixed through his visor on the opposing figure. “Identify yourself!” demanded Galahad pointing his sword in the direction of the Knight.

“My Lord...” Galahad turned his attention to the source of a new sound close to his right and watched as a second Knight emerged from behind a tree. This Knight stood taller than his comrade and his armour was more impressive. While the first Knight wore a simple plain suit, with chain mail covering his arms and his legs, this Knight stood proud and regal in his demeanor. The dulled armour was ringed with floral decorations around the breastplate. This Knight’s arms and legs were covered much the same as Galahad’s, but the knee joints and arm joints were ranged by sharp obtrusive points. A singular feather rose from the helmet and spanned over the top of the helmet reaching the expanse of the metal. The Knight moved his hand toward his visor and paused over his face before pulling the half visor open revealing his face. He smiled at Galahad and removed his sword from its scabbard and waved into the bushes for the third Knight to move into the open.

“Agravain...” breathed Galahad, “I have killed you once before”

“Camlaan” sighed Agravain. “This time Galahad it appears I have the upper hand” he laughed as he indicated around him toward his comrades.

“These knaves shall not stop me from killing you again...if I have to”

“You stood on the wrong side Sir Galahad!” snapped Agravain.

“I stood with my King!” raged Galahad and thrust forward toward the nearest Knight. The blade of his sword sank deep between his chest plate and the chain mail protecting his body and emerged from the Knights back soaked in a deep crimson. The sound of skin stretching and bone snapping as Galahad slowly pulled the blade from the knight’s body echoed around the small area. They watched as blood erupted from the knight’s mouth as his hands released their grip on the sword and snatched at the wound in the stomach. His hands moved desperately over the growing stain on his armour and a small eruption of blood gushed between his fingers. He looked despairingly toward Agravain as darkness swamped over his body and the knight slowly collapsed to his knees in a jet of blood. The knight pulled his hands away from his wound and looked down at the river of blood flowing over his hands and down his body toward his waist.

“I-I-I-” the knight stammered. Galahad raised his sword and swiftly brought it to arms, swinging it furiously through the air, metal connecting with flesh and bone. The headless body collapsed to the floor of the copse and stared out of his visor through lifeless eyes as the head bounced across the wood.

“I warn thee Agravain, leave now and I will spare your life” said Galahad ignoring the growing stain flowing from the suit of armour on the floor and staring into the eyes of Agravain.

“Have at thee Galahad!” yelled Agravain and rushed the knight with his sword drawn and held aloft. The two clashed, their swords sparking in the moonlight as Galahad parried the savage attack of Agravain. They stood locked in a deathly embrace, pulled together by destiny. “I serve a greater service” murmured Agravain as locked swords, “Arthur is dead, thine is a false King”

“Who do you serve?” asked Galahad through clenched teeth as he pushed Agravain from him. “That knave Mordred”. Agravain flinched at the sound of the name and raised his sword before his visor. “It is...he survived” breathed Galahad incredulously. “But I saw him killed”

“He lives...as do I!” raged Agravain as he rushed Galahad again. He swung the sword toward his side, where Galahad moved to block the attack. Agravain moved his attack to the other side of Galahad’s body where the Knight blocked him once again. Swords crashed together in a flurry of sparks as the two came together again, Agravain lunging forward in a wild attack. Galahad side-stepped the lunge and pulled his sword through the air slicing through the protecting chain mail on Agravain’s arm. Blood rushed from the wound and rushed over his arm turning the dull metal of the armour into the twisted parody of crimson as blood stained the wound. Agravain staggered back clutching his arm and turned savagely to his remaining comrade, “get him you fool!” he snapped.

The Knight waivered uncertainly, “it seems your men are not so easily ordered commander” laughed Galahad as he turned to face the other knight. “Do you wish to die?” he asked him, his arms spread wide in mock surprise.

The Knight looked from Galahad to Agravain, then back again “Get him!” screamed Agravain. The sound of the Knight Commander’s voice sparked the knight into action and he lunged forward toward Galahad. He stopped and stared at Galahad, his eyes widening as he searched the helmet of Galahad. His eyes slowly lowered down his body and mournfully gasped as the hilt of Galahad’s sword protruded from his stomach, reaching up through his armour deep inside his chest. He could feel the rush of blood and every vessel within the body exploded and erupted in spools of crimson puddles coursing through his body. The Knight could feel a numbness spread through his body as the cold steel forced its way through his vital organs and out into the cold night air. Words were trapped in his throat as he could feel something crawling up through his neck, something thick forcing its way through his mouth as thick reams of blood erupted over his tongue and through his lips. Agravain roared in anger and pushed himself from the ground and toward the two men. Galahad struggled to withdrew his sword from the body of the knight and moved the man’s body between himself of the onrush of Agravain who raised his sword and swung again and again. The sword dug into the back of the dead knight speared on Galahad’s sword, cutting at the armour cast over his back.

Mordred licked his lips as he watched the images flash before him in the orb. A sickly smile crossed his face and he clapped his hands as the force of Agravain’s attack upon Galahad. “Where is the Knight Commander?” demanded Morgan as she entered the courtyard. She eyes Mordred suspiciously as he stood abruptly from the column and moved into position to hide the images from her view. “What is happening?“, she crossed the courtyard and pushed Mordred out of the way and peered into the orb. Her face flushed with anger as she watched the image of the two knights clash. “I gave no instructions for this...” she cried and stared down at Mordred accusingly.

“I gave the order...”

“You have no right!”

“I have every right, I am King elect”

Morgan’s hand flashed out and caught Mordred sharply on his cheek and forced him to stagger backward, stumbling on the uneven ground and crashing on the floor. “You are nothing” she raged, “you have needlessly jeopardised my plans and for what? your own personal glory” she sneered at him as she peered back into the orb. The body of the dead knight had been discarded and Galahad stood on even footing with Agravain. She watched for a moment as their swords clash in the air of the wooded copse. “Knight Commander...hear me”

Agravain staggered back under the volley of lunges by Galahad and defended desperately under the growing momentum of the attack. He spied the bodies of his two dead comrades and sighed heavily as he caught his breath under the onslaught of blows. “You fight well my Lord Agravain” commented Galahad as he lunged forward once again. The Knight swung his sword to defend the attack and knocked the sword away before composing himself. He could feel his lungs swelling with the strain of battle and held his sword aloft, swinging it heavily downward where it was easily defended by Galahad’s own sword.

A sensation tickled his ear and he paused slightly allowing Galahad to deliver a vicious blow against his armour. The force of the blow rocked Agravain and forced him backward where he sagged under the attack, a small river of blood erupted from his mouth. “Knight Commander...hear me” the voice was clear and the instruction simple.

“I hear you Morgan” he panted breathlessly as he whispered her name.

“Return to me...now is not the time”

Agravain nodded his understanding and glanced at Sir Galahad who stood before him smiling in the dwindling light. “This is not over...” he warned, then turned and disappeared into the trees.

Galahad stood for a moment, tall and proud, smears of blood staining his armour and cascading down the blade of his sword. “Run!” he called into the darkness, “Run...thee coward!“. He stood and listened for sounds of movement for a moment before collapsing to his knees dropping his sword to the ground and his hand drifting to his side. He winched in pain as he pulled at his armour to reveal a deep gash in his side, a crimson smile growing across his body. He glanced around the wood and heaved himself to his feet using his sword, the pain from the wound searing through and coursing through his body. He pulled the sword free from the deep gash of mud and staggered through the trees, heading back into the direction of the cavern. His head felt light and he could feel his body succumbing to sleep as he struggled to walk through the ether, “Merlin...” he whispered as he sagged to the floor, his face buried deep into the sandy beach as he fell.

The bar appeared to fall into a deathly silence as Francis approached. He scanned the room and felt the weight of the stares as he leant on the bar and surveyed the pumps and bottles behind the bar. A young woman approached smiling and stood before him eyeing him as he waited nervously.

“Yes...love” she winked at his as she spoke.

“Err...Lager please” he stammered softly and fumbled in his pocket for his loose change.

“Just arrived?” she asked as she pulled a glass from the counter beneath the bar and pushed the glass beneath a pump. She pulled at the handle and looked at him as he spoke...or rather nodding dumbly. “I won’t bite...” she giggled as she spoke and handed the drink over the counter, holding her hand out for the money. “At least not yet...if you’re lucky” she whispered teasing him as her hand closed around his.

“Guinevere!” snapped a burly man from the other end of the bar. She flushed a slight shade of red and bounced toward the till with the handful of money, turning her head toward the man and sticking out her tongue in his direction before winking again at Francis. The man stood before Francis and folded his arms across his chest, “We don’t want any trouble here son...you got that?“, it was more a statement than a question thought Francis and he gazed into the frothy head of the drink on the counter. “You keep your hands to yourself” he warned.

“Dad...” bemoaned the young woman, Guinevere. “I’m old enough to look after myself, I don’t need you chaperoning every move I make”

“Just looking after my little girl, that’s all Gwen. These big city types...” he peered over the counter and leant closer to Francis, “I know what they come here for...”

“Don’t listen to him” cooed Gwen and smiled. “Where you staying?” Francis blushed and looked around as she spoke, “you need a room”

“Oh, no!”

“Dad! stop, we need the business” she snapped and gestured for Francis to follow her to the other room. He picked his drink up off the counter and followed her into the adjacent room, pausing to turn and glance at the baleful stare of the landlord. “Don’t mind him” she said as she walked, “ever since mum died, he’s become this overprotective...” she trailed off as she waited for Francis to catch her as she moved from behind the bar and out into the room. Francis watched her as she walked, his eyes drawn to the sway of her hips as she walked. She was speaking as she walked, but Francis never heard a single word as he fell hypnotised by her demeanor. His eyes wandered over her body as he walked slowly behind her, watching her every movement. Her body clung to her tight grey Jeans, the contours of the material holding her long slim legs and tracing up toward a petite rounded bottom. Long ginger hair fell over her back in waves and cascaded across the blue material of her shirt. She turned and spoke again, breaking the spell cast over him, “well?” she asked.

“I’m sorry...” he blushed as he spoke.”

She smiled and laughed slightly, knowing full well the effect that she had on men, “I said...how long are you staying for?”

Her blue eyes shone beneath her glasses and radiated under her smile which lit her face as she spoke. “About a week...maybe more” he realised his face was turning a deeper crimson as he spoke, which fueled her even more. She smiled and bent over the desk reaching for a large book behind the counter. Francis found his eyes wander to her waist again as the material over her rounded buttocks stretched tighter over her petite form, the shirt rose slightly revealing a slightest form of a black thong which sat just in view above her trouser line. She straightened and opened the book grinning broadly at Francis as she held the book open for him.

“I’ll give you room twelve...” she purred moving closer to him as he scribbled his name inside the pages, “right at the top of the house...away from everyone else” she teased and bit at her bottom lip as she spoke. “No one can here you up there” she winked and Francis could feel his loins stir with the suggestion and laid the pen in the center of the book. He stared at her for a moment, lost in her eyes...falling under her beauty.

“Pendragon...” the burly voice of her father snapped him back to the pub.

“Yes sir...” he stammered and looked toward him as the landlord eyes the book.

“You taking the piss or something” he snapped.

“No...”

“Do you know who Pendragon was?”

“Dad...”

“Don’t Guinevere” he warned. “Pendragon...” he eyes Francis as he regarded him.

“I... I’m sorry, but no”

“King Arthur Pendragon...” the landlord’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at he stared down at Francis, “the greatest King of Britain”

“Yes sir” said Francis dumbly.

“Is that all you can say?” he raged incredulously,

“Father...”

“Don’t you Father me!” he snapped, Francis was aware that his anger was growing, and the growing interest from the bar was becoming tangible.

“You come here...the birthplace of Arthur, then to the Sword in the Stone and claim your name is Pendragon. Do you think us idiots”?

“But it is sir” stammered Francis, reaching into his bag searching desperately for his passport.

“You must think us all idiots!” The landlord stopped his tirade and grasped at the small purple book thrust toward him. His open at the picture and stared at the page, then at Francis, then back again. “I’ll let you off this time...but I’ll be watching you” he warned as he handed the passport back to Francis and stalked back into the bar, taking his position behind the bar.

“So much for Cornish hospitality” murmured Francis as he stuffed the passport back into his bag.

“He means well” Guinevere said apologetically and held her hand out toward him. “Start again?” she ventured. Francis nodded and accepted her hand shaking and smiling at her. “I’m...”

“I know...Guinevere” he said smiling.

She pulled a face at the sound of her name, “please call me Gwen, I hate Guinevere”

Francis nodded and looked back into the bar where her Father was watching intently the exchange between the two of them. “Why is everyone around here so obsessed with the myth of King Arthur”

“You’re kidding” she giggled, “This is where King Arthur was supposed to have been born. Our whole town is built around the story; it’s become a way of life”

“Even down to your name?” he teased

Gwen laughed, “yes...even down to my name”. They stood staring at each other for a moment, before Francis set down his drink and hoisted his bag over his back.

“If you don’t mind...” he indicated toward the stair.

“Oh...yes of course” she said smiling. Francis turned and began to walk up the stair toward the upper floors and his room. While his mind turned to a shower, he couldn’t help himself smiling as the thought of Gwen crossed his mind. He stopped at the first floor landing and glanced down the stairs and saw Gwen standing leaning on the bannister up at him. “You never know” she called up, “who might turn up tonight” she winked, smiled and skipped back into the bar leaving Francis flushing with embarrassment desperately on the landing.

Outside a flash of lightning distracted Francis from the young woman and caused him to stare outside the small boarding house. Under the light stood the naked woman who had plagued his dreams for the last few nights. She pointed up toward the window as the storm drew in overhead, lightning flashing across the sky. “Come to me...” she breathed. Francis turned from the window and continued his climb up the stair, choosing to ignore the temptation of leaving the house and confronting her again. He was here and that was enough, “come to me...” the voice urged, “you must come to me...”

“Leave me alone!” he snapped as he stopped and stared out of the second floor window. The rain fell across the pavement under the streetlight and he could see the water crossing her body.

“Come to me...” she urged. “Beware...”