The Calling

“Save us...what...I mean how?” stammered Francis.

“It must be you” she said again, “you are the last Pendragon. You answered the calling of Excalibur, you are the one to save us all”

“Yes...but who?” Francis could feel himself becoming frustrated at her, “I don’t understand who I’m supposed to save. What do you mean save us, the world? What!” he snapped.

“Your impatience will be thy death, if thoust let it”

“Look...I’m sorry, I truly am, but you have to understand this is all a bit much for me”

“You are the last Pendragon” she said again and turned from Francis walking away through the flowers.

“So I gathered, but who must I save?” he shouted, then sighed and ran after her.

“You must save us all” she said simply, looking at him frowning, “surely this is obvious”

“It may be for you, but I’m a bit dim” he smacked his head as he spoke and pulled a face.

“Your mind is addled” she said, “You are the last Pendragon” her words were slow and methodical as she spoke, “you are the sole heir to King Arthur and by right of bloodline the sword Excalibur shall be yours” She continued her slow walk through the flowers as she spoke, “you bare the responsibilities of your birthright, it must be you that brings the end to us all and it must be you that saves us from our eternal waking”

“How am I to do this?” he asked

“Once you have Excalibur, the Fisher King will explain”

“Can’t you...I mean all this coming and going”

“No!” she snapped, “it must be the Fisher King. He is the protector; he is the holder of knowledge”

“Can you at least tell me what is going on?”

The Lady sighed and stopped before a small wooden cross. She touched the object and allowed her hands to trail across the bark, and as her hand passed Francis watched a myriad of blooms rise from the wood and gather and stare toward the sunlight. She rested her hand on the top of the cross and smiled at him. “You have his aspect” she said softly

“Arthur?”

She nodded, “not his features, but his aura”

“And that’s good?”

Again the Lady nodded as she stroked the cross, “he was a good man, with a kind and gentle heart” her voice was wistful and full of regret as she spoke, “he was destined for greatness before his desire ruled him” Francis knew this was about Guinevere and shuffled uncertain what to do next.

“You were saying...the sword”

“Yes” she stared at him for a moment before speaking, “the battle was bloody” she said her eyes glazing over as she stared wistfully into the distance, “and final in its resolution. Both sides were devastated. Arthur fought for the country and for valour, Mordred for his own desire and greed. There would be one outcome. In those circumstances there always is...” her voice trailed off as she looked back at Francis, “we observed...myself, my lover Merlin and Morgan. We observed the battle from afar, destined not to become embroiled in the conflict. Men fought beasts and comrades and friends fell as the fields of Cornwall became awash of blood” Francis looked around him as the flowers faded and the skies darkened, replaced by a deep brooding sensation. “The armies clashed and men died for naught, and while the Lords and nobles sat astride their mighty Steeds, the common man fought and fell in the dirt”

“Are you alright?” he asked as she paused in her story.

The Lady nodded and continued, “by the end of the day, all but seven had fallen including the King and Lord Mordred. The King was mortally wounded in battle and taken from the field to rest and heal from his wounds. They never healed and he died, but not before the Lady Morgan Le Fay cast a curse over the battlefield”

“A curse...”

“Yes...to all those who survived the battle, are doomed to live an unyielding sleep”

“I don’t understand”

“Every one thousand years, the survivors of the battle shall awaken and do battle across the land again until Morgan can retrieve Excalibur. This would extend to myself and Merlin...”

“But you weren’t there” interrupted Francis

“We were observers” she said simply, “and as much we too are cursed”

“But this doesn’t make any sense, if Morgan wants Excalibur enough the curse everyone who survived...including herself, then why don’t we just give it to her?”

“If Morgan receives Excalibur her power will become absolute. She will be bound by an unholy tie that will extend through a never ending life and the land will wash in blood”

Francis stared at her for a moment, “right...let me get this straight, if we give Morgan the sword, then she will wash the land with blood and if we don’t she will wash the land in blood. So either way, we’re pretty much screwed”

“Thine words have no meaning” the Lady remarked, “but thy meaning is clear” she nodded.

“Then answer me one last thing. If all those who survived the battle are cursed to live an unending sleep of whatever, then why does Mordred live? Ha! answer that one” he grinned at his own logic and felt immediately foolish at his own outburst.

“Morgan has unholy powers” the Lady began, “her gifts are in excess of my own and my Merlin, but only to an extent”

“Like what?”

“She has mastery of dark arts” she explained, “she can create unholy and unearthly creatures and the dead will rise for a while, whilst she lives. But her powers are limited to their time. She can only control what she can see...or has a connection with. Her subjects are still of free thought”

“And how do I lift the curse?”

“The Fisher King shall impart that knowledge. I am part of the curse, and I am doomed to obey the calling as is everyone”

“So... I need to return to the cave”

The Lady nodded, “the place of resting” she said softly. Francis watched as she closed her eyes and placed both hands on the wooden cross and raised her head to the sky, closing her eyes. “The time has come!” she called skyward, “the time of restitution. The calling of Excalibur!” her voice carried as the wind wound its way around her body, whipping up her hair and teasing at the soft fabric which wrapped around her body. “Arthur rises from beyond...” her eyes snapped open and she stared at Francis as the wind grew stronger, her hands wrapped tighter around the cross as she struggled against the storm brewing around them. “and through thee, the curse shall be lifted!” the wind screamed around her as her voice rose. Francis struggled to keep to his feet, stumbling to the floor as the wind battered his body and as he watched the Lady of the Lake as she continued to scream into the sky he wished he had something to hold onto. “All who survive Camlaan, shall be cursed to live an undying sleep...an eternal life until one comes forth to end thine curse” She stared at Francis...no through Francis as he fell to the floor and gazed up at her, “thine youth is that one! Behold! Hidden in plain sight!” she swept forward with one hand toward the cowering youth as she maintained her grip on the cross, the wind growing in strength and her hair billowing in the monsoon. He dug his fingers deep into the dirt beneath his sprawling body and continued to gaze up at the Lady as she shouted in the storm, “Excalibur!” she wailed, her voice raising to a fever pitch, and her hand released the wooden cross.

Francis watched as the bark crumbled from the cross and from beneath the wooden exterior and shining cold hard surface began to shine through the wood like a beacon. The crossed patched bark slowly revealed a smooth silver polished metal which shone in the sunlight and the wind continued to blast its surface, battering away the dullen wood which covered the object. Small jewels protruded through the top of the cross as the hilt of the sword was slowly revealed and a glistening deep gold adorned with a thick leather handle beaconed an impressive sight as more wood fell from the fabled weapon. A deep red encrusted jewel sat in a lone mounting at the head of the handle and glowed, calling toward Francis as the wind continued to grow around them, howling like a wolf at the gates of heaven. The cool metal shone, and the red, green and blue jewels glimmered like beacons as they ran across the handle as the wood fell completely away leaving the sword alone in the clearing, no grass...no flowers could compare to its beauty. It shone, radiant in the broadcast sunlight, dug deep into the soft ground and Francis could hear the voice in his head once again.

“Come to me...” it beckoned. Francis looked at the Lady and realised for the first time that the voice was not hers, it was the swords. Excalibur. “Come to me...” it called again, “Come to me.” He looked at the sword and reveled in its beauty...its majesty.

Excalibur...