The Calling

“Mordred!“, the sound of his name distracted his lust for a moment and he glanced around at the sound of the voice. “Enough!” Mordred remained in place over the body of Gwen as she lay sobbing on the table still gripping the edge of the table, braced against the horror behind her.

“Leave me Morgan!” he warned as he returned his attention to the girl on the table at his mercy.

“Mordred!” she snapped again.

“I told thee Morgan...leave me. I have business to attend”

“As I remember it would not take much time” she chided.

“Have a care witch!” he snapped, his lust rising through his body.

“Leave her...we have much to do” she commanded.

“I said leave me...”

“No Mordred...you will not harm the girl” she commented, “we need her”

“I shall have my fun!” Mordred snapped.

“I warn thee!” shouted Morgan across the room, “release the girl” Mordred lay on top of her pressing his body against hers for a moment then stood, raising his hands above his head as he straightened. “You shall wisdom for once” she said, “now...bring her, we have much to plan before we take Excalibur”

Mordred nodded to Agravain who had stood watching silently, “bring her” he ordered the Knight Commander who allowed the girl to pull her clothing back up over her waist before lifting her gently in his arms.

Gwen sobbed as his hands covered her and lifted her over his shoulder, “I am sorry” he whispered as he hoisted the girl and followed Morgan from the building.

As they passed Mordred, he sneered “I shall have my sport girl” he promised as Agravain walked past, then lifted an empty glass from an adjoining table and threw it savagely against the wall. As the glass scattered into a thousand pieces, light glistened through the tiny shards as they came to rest across the floor close to the lifeless corpse of the Landlord who lay staring out through unstaring eyes.

“Whoa!” yelled Francis raising his hands up before his chest slowly backing away. “What do you mean I will die!”

The Fisher King paced slowly forward, stalking Francis as he moved around the cavern. “If thoust are pure of thought and mind you will survive”

“Pure of thought and mind...what’s that supposed to mean”

“The bloodline will be pure...” whispered the Fisher King as he reached out.

“No... no... no...” complained Francis, “I’m not prepared to do this...”

“You do not have a choice” proclaimed the Fisher King, “you answered the call of Excalibur. You must undertake the test”

“No” said Francis resolutely.

“You do not have a choice...you answered the call”

“I refuse...” snapped Francis.

The Fisher King moved with lightning fast reflexes and grasped at Francis’ wrist pulling him close to his hulking body. Francis recoiled as the stench of rotting flesh struck his senses and struggled against the grip of the giant. “You cannot it is ordained”

“I won’t...” he complained as he writhed beneath his grip, pushing desperately as the Fisher King dragged him protesting toward the stone chalice.

“The choice has been made” he Fisher King stated simply and reached out a long scrawny hand toward the chalice and placed his hand into the depths of the dark water within.

“You cannot make me!” shouted Francis.

“It is done...“, the water in the chalice bubbled under the touch of the Fisher King as small strands of steam rose from the liquid and spilled through the cavern. The Knights pressed themselves against the back of the cavern, while Merlin watched fascinated by the effects of the water from the touch of the Fisher King. Mist spilled over the edges of the chalice and crawled across the floor, touching and caressing the walls and climbing the rock, forcing its way to the ceiling. Flashes of light danced between the clouds as streaks of colour stained the dull patches which now threatened to consume the entire cavern.

“Merlin!” called Galahad.

“Be calm...” instructed Merlin and waved away his concerns as the cloud thickened and images began to appear around the cavern.

The Fisher King released his grip on Francis’ wrist and placed the palm of his rotting deformed hand on the top of his head. Francis could feel the bony sinew of its fingers as they lay softly across his hair and felt a sharp sensation penetrating his mind and the tendrils of the Fisher King’s mind entered and searched the recessed of his brain which slept. “Show me...” he whispered, closing his eyes and raising his head to the ceiling. “Ancient mystics...” he urged, “show me the truth...show me what I need to know...is the boy pure...is the blood tainted...“. The clouds thickened further as images intensified and spread across the cavern, “show me...” urged the Fisher King as Francis screamed as the tendrils of thought invaded his mind.

An image rose from the chalice and stood erect and regal within the mist, his armour a rich silver with golden trim sporting the edges of breast plate which ran over the front of the armour. The helmet held a large red plume of finery from its peak, which ran over the crest and fell toward the back of the helmet. Rich red velvet covered his arms from a partially hidden tunic, and heavy brown breeches covered thick powerful legs. His hand rested on the hilt of a powerful looking sword which hung from a scabbard tied tightly around his waist as the figure stood ghostly silent as the mist around offered further imagery.

“Tis him” declared Galahad, “Arthur...” he breathed.

Around the cavern the expanse of land beyond spread over the walls and cast an illusion of a vast moorland, with rolls of banks and mud cast out as far as the eye could see. Lord Bedivere nudged Tristan and indicated to the changing scenery which cast around the walls. “Aye...he is right, ’tis Arthur” he whispered, “But see” Tristan followed his eyes and nodded as chaos began to run through the cavern. “Camlaan” he whispered almost silently.