The Calling

The room swam into view for what felt like the hundredth time that day and through sleep encrusted eyes, he stared around the room. A blurred figure sat at his table and Francis struggled to make out the person in his room. He groaned as he attempted to sit, his hands fleeting over his body checking for signs of the armour which had caused his last ‘panic attack’.

“Francis” cooed the soft voice from the chair.

“Mother?” he queried.

“Who else would it be!” she demanded before her tone softened, “sorry son, how are you feeling?”

His eyes wandered over his body and he tentatively slowly pulled back the blankets which covered his body. The armour had gone and been replaced by his plain old grey bottoms and white shirt. He cast his gaze back to his mother and frowned as he glimpsed the clock on the table. “How long have I been asleep?” he asked.

“All day” she replied, “it’s almost eight” she leant forward in her chair and placed her palm on his forehead and sighed, “you are feeling a little warm” she said.

“Mother” he complained half-heartedly, “how long have you been there?” he asked.

“Off and on all day” she admitted, “I’ve been worried” a concerned look fluttered over her face.

“Mum!” he moaned and turned to face the wall pulling the blankets closer to his body.

“Don’t you dare mum me!” she snapped, “I care for you boy, and this is all the thanks I get...if your father were still here...” her voice trailed off as she remembered her husband before he had walked out on them years previously. Francis turned back and sat up in bed and watched him mother for a moment with sadness, although she never admitted it, he knew a day didn’t go by that she hadn’t thought of his father and what had happened between them.

“Mum...”

She absently wiped her eyes and turned her head away from him, “dinners in the microwave” she said softly and smiled as she looked back at her son. She placed her hands in her lap and her smile waned and she regarded him solemnly, “are you alright?” she asked again. Francis struggled to find an answer for her, in truth he didn’t fully understand what was happening himself. “Is it drugs? is that it”

“No!” snapped Francis before checking his speech, “sorry, mum but no it isn’t drugs” he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and gripped his mother’s hands. “I promise...I’ve just been overdoing things at work lately. I probably just need a bit of a rest that’s all”

“Alright then” she sighed and stood from the chair, “if that’s all it is”, he nodded toward her, but found it slightly disconcerting that she never returned his smile. He watched as she walked to the door and slowly pulled at the entrance and paused in the door frame. “Who’s Arthur?” she asked facing the wall of the hallway.

Arthur? Francis’ head swam with the mention of the name and he reached a hand for his head. “Pardon?” he asked meekly.

“I said...” she reinforced turning to face her son, “who is Arthur?”

“New bloke at work” he lied, “giving the boss a bit of trouble, that’s all” he cast his gaze to the floor and he pretended to search for his clothes amongst the piles of laundry cast around the room. The silence between the two of them was almost tangible and Francis sifted through a small pile, aware of his mother’s presence.

“Not giving you any trouble...” she said gazing at the top of his head, “cause if he is I’ll go down to that garage of yours and have words with him, I will”

“No mum, don’t” he looked up at her, panic rising in his stomach and the feeling that his lie had been seen straight through. He felt a twang of relief coarse through is body as he saw his mother standing in the door frame smiling in his direction.

“Do you want your dinner heating?” she asked as she stepped into the hall.

“In a minute, I’ll be there a moment” he called at her retreating form as she stomped her way down the hallway. He sat alone in his room for a moment gazing around at the mess which littered his floor and shook his head. How the hell had he slept all day? He couldn’t understand what was happening, the dreams...the visions...his head swam under the intensity of the day and he placed his head in his hands.

“Come to me...” that voice again. Francis lifted his head from his hands, half expecting to see the woman once again. He gazed around his room searching for the sound of the voice, only to be met by silence. “Come to me...” there it was again, soft and gentle but definitely there...he was sure of it. Was he going mad? he asked himself, hearing voices, he had always doubted the plausibility of people who claimed they heard...things, but now he was experiencing it himself. The light of the moon spilled in through the window and cast shadows across the surface of the walls. He gazed from his bed out into the night sky and watched as the clouds floated aimlessly across the sky covering the small splattering of stars which shone and sparkled high above. He always thought there were more stars when he was small and his memory was cast back as a child when he would stand with his father gazing at the Great Bear...Orion’s Belt...the North Star, now where were they. He stood and crossed to the window and stared down to the street below.

“Come to me...” He frowned as the light from a street light illuminated a small area of the road and beneath stood the form of a woman...no the woman...still naked, and just...just standing there staring up toward his window. Francis could feel himself falling back away from the window and was forced to steady himself on the edge of his desk. “Come to me...” the voice trailed through the window and played at his hearing, teasing and tempting him.

With renewed effort, Francis forced himself back to the window and fumbled with the lock. His fingers felt heavy and clumsy as he struggled with the latch, before he pushed the pane wide open. “What do you want!” he shouted down into the street below, “Leave me alone!” The woman gazed up at the open window and smiled, beckoning upward toward the flat.

“Francis...Francis” the sound of his mother’s voice broke his concentration and he glanced toward the open door of his room.

“It’s alright mother!” he called.

“What’s all that shouting?” she called.

“I’ve got my window open, I think its people outside”

“Well, shut that damn window...it’s cold and it’s raining” she complained.

“Yes mum”. He looked out of the window again and frowned as the image of the woman disappeared. He glanced around the room and searched briefly for some clothes and dressed hurriedly. He needed to do this he thought as he pulled his jeans on over his bottoms and snatched his jacket thrusting his arms through the sleeves. “Mum...” he stammered standing in the hall, half framed by the sitting room door. He looked in the room at his mother sitting watching the television and waited for her to turn in her chair. “I’m just going to go for a little walk...try to clear my head a bit”

She nodded, “just you be careful” she warned, then called down the corridor as he walked for the front door, “have you got your keys?”

“Yes mum...” he called back, his fingers wandering to his trouser pockets where the cold metal of the keys touched his skin. “Won’t be long” he promised as he quietly pulled the door closed behind him and gazed down the hall toward the lift at the far end of the corridor.

The rain fell on his face as he stood on the threshold of the block and gazed over the car park toward a small patch of grass close to the main road. It felt cold against his skin as traces of water residue slid over his face and snaked over his features as the rain drenched his body. The world around him appeared to blur and fade from his view as he peered through the rain and over toward...

the woman...

There she was...just standing.

He frowned and wiped the rain from his face and stared at the woman. She stood under the light from the street lamp oblivious to the rain around her, the water coursing over her naked body. The water soaked her blonde hair and cascaded over her head and shoulders before running down her chest following the curves of her breasts, then tracing her contours of her flat stomach and finally falling from her naked groin and legs. Francis stepped out into the rain and walked slowly across the courtyard, his eyes never leaving the woman as his feet splashed in the puddles which lay scattered over the street. The cold bit at his skin through his heavy clothing and he pulled his jacket close around his body then thrusting his hands deep into his pockets he forged a way out into the storm. He glanced around him as he walked through the rain at the empty street around him and eventually stood before the woman. She stood naked in the rain, staring out through deep mystic blue eyes and inclined her head slightly at his curiosity.

“Come to me...” she whispered, her words floating to his ears through the wind. His eyes flicked over her body, lingering on her breasts before wandering down her body, examining over aspect of her naked form and drawn toward her groin and legs before returning to her face.

“Who are you?” he asked. The woman said nothing just stood casting her gaze over his body. She tilted her head from side to side as she carefully observed his movements. “Well?” he demanded. Francis glanced around him, sure he was being watched but even from his vantage point beneath the street light he could see no-one in the area apart from the two of them. The woman still stood in silence and Francis could feel frustration rising in the pit of his stomach and fought to remain calm. His eyes were once again drawn to her breasts and he lingered over their form. He watched with a growing arousal as the water played her breasts, running and flowing over her fleshy mounds and falling over her erect nipples.

“You are the Pendragon...” it was more a statement than a question and was the first words he had heard from her since his demand.

“Pardon?” he asked.

“You are the Pendragon” he repeated blinking through the rain. Francis examined her face as she spoke for the second time. The woman was extremely pretty, with eyes which shone and sparkled like pools of an azure liquid in the sunlight while her hair; although sodden by the rainfall was long and flowing with the cascading blonde locks falling over her slim shoulders. She waited patiently for an answer as Francis stood shivering in the cold rain and he realised that despite the conditions she appeared not to notice the bitterness of the conditions. “He is not the one...” she said again looking past Francis as she spoke. Francis glanced behind him expecting a third person to be standing behind them, but again saw no-one. He watched and frowned as she appeared to be listening to something...someone...

The cave was dark and dank and the woman stood gazing into the deep pool in the stone chalice. “He is not the one...” she spoke into the water as she gazed into its depths. The image in the water shimmered under her scrutiny as the couple stood in the hostile conditions confronting each other. The young man stood in the ripples watching the naked female before him, immobile, “he is confused” she stated.

“He is confused” spoke the woman. Francis pulled his hands from his jacket and spread them out by his sides.

“To right I am!” he cursed, “What’s going on? who are you?” he demanded again.

The woman watched the scene unfold in the water, “he does not know...” she said.

“He will” the male voice broke the silence of the cave and caused the woman to look up from her vigil. “He is the one” came the old voice, “I can feel it” the man stepped into the light of the cave and crossed to the stone chalice and peered into the water, “have faith...” he said softly and he eased into position opposite her. Raising his head, he looked into the blue eyes of the woman and smiled through ageing grey whiskers of his beard, “have faith in me” She looked at him for a moment and returned her gaze to the water as the young boy took a step toward the image before him.

“He does not know...” the woman said causing Francis to glance around him once again and not for the first time that day question his own sanity.

“Who are you talking to?” he demanded and stood in a foolish silence as she stood gazing into the rain, past him into...into...nothing. The rain was biting at her flesh and Francis felt a pang of guilt at her nakedness and took a step toward her pulling his jacket from his body. The woman raised her hand out toward him and showed him the flat of her palm indicating for him to stop. “Your cold...” he said meekly as his jacket hung limply in his hands, “put this on”

“He has chivalry” commented the old man as the pair watched through the water.

The woman snapped, “that does not make him a hero or a King!“, a look of anger flashed over her face, which caused the old man to smirk at her ire.

“Trust me, the time is nigh!” she sighed and returned to gaze to the water and he melded back into the shadows.

She shook her head and allowed a small smile to fleet over her lips and whispered to herself “Merlin...” as he disappeared.

Francis found himself frozen as the woman held him at bay with her gesture. “that does not make him a hero or a King” she said as she looked through Francis.

“I never said it did” he said, “and I’m not either” he stood unsure what to do and pulled his jacket back over his body. Water drenched his body and he could feel the rain trickling down his back and felt the cold biting at him even through his clothes. “Look...” he admitted, “I don’t know what’s going on here or even what I’m doing, but I’m pretty sure that if we stay out here any longer we’ll catch our deaths”

The woman stood watching him and an amused smile fleeted across her face for a moment before she whispered almost inaudibly, “Merlin...“. Francis could feel his head spin with the name and he staggered under his own weight. That name...it was so familiar, not just through modern culture and mythology, but a connection with the dreams he was having about Arthur and Lancelot and of course this woman...were they connected? Merlin...Francis sagged to his knees and he gazed up through the rain at the naked woman before him as she cast her gaze down at his crumpled body. She took a step closer to him and he could feel the heat of her body close to his face as the woman peered down regally at him. Francis rested his hands on the pavement and water swamped his hands and ravaged his skin. “You are the Pendragon” she stated simply from her vantage point over his body.

He raised his head allowing his vision to ease over her body only inches before him and sat back on his legs in the wet conditions. Her groin was close to his head and he sighed deeply as a sob forced its way out of his body, he could feel himself losing control as events were spiraling out of control quickly. He didn’t understand what was happening, he knew at this distance from this naked woman he should be feeling highly aroused, but instead all he could fear was the increasing feeling of panic and fear coursing through his veins. “Follow your heart” she said as she placed a hand on the top of his head, “come to me...” those words again, they were haunting him. “Come to me...” she purred as the image of the woman disappeared, “Come to me...and follow your heart...come to me...your destiny...” the feeling on his head eased and the vision of the woman faded before him and Francis found himself kneeling on the wet pavement, rain falling on his body...alone. The woman was gone. He glanced around as he knelt on the ground and could see through blurred eyesight a series of curious eyes and hidden whispers as couples walked past him.

He wondered how long they had been there and pulled himself to his feet, glancing around. The woman was nowhere in sight...what had she said, follow your heart. Perhaps that’s what he needed...a holiday. Perhaps that’s what his body was telling him, that he needed a break. He pulled his jacket further over his body and made the short journey back to his home and shuddered as the cold wind combined with the biting rain pounded on his body. His mind whirled with thoughts of the encounter with the woman and the dreams which were haunting his sleep. He opened the door to his home, unsure how he had made it back and he frowned as he struggled to remember the short walk home. He looked down the hall toward the room where the light from the television spilled through the door. “Mum!” he called, “Mum...” he waited for a response for a moment before continuing, “I’m going to go away for a few days...is that okay?” his voice drifted down the hall and he stood in the hallway for a moment waiting for his mother’s approval.

The door to the living room opened slightly and his mother poked her face through the gap. Shadows illuminated and played across her face and she looked on with concern toward her son, “are you sure that’s what you want?” she asked.

Francis nodded, “I think I’ve been overdoing things at work” he shrugged, “the break might do me good”

She smiled warmly at her son, “Where will you go?”

Francis blinked in the hallway, he hadn’t thought of that he realized and his mind drifted back to the dreams and visions he had been experiencing. He was sure they were the key to his problems and he struggled to remember the last dream. He closed his eyes and images of the King preparing to travel abroad swam into his mind. He opened his eyes and stared intently at his mother, “France” he said resolutely.

The woman straightened from her position over the stone chalice. She smiled in the darkness and spoke indiscriminately into the darkness. “It is done” she stated simply to the waiting shadows. “He will come”

From the back of the cavern a large shape detached itself from the wall and straightened to its full height. The image was still hidden from sight in the darkness, but its voice broke the revere of the cavern. “I am prepared” the gravelly tones shattered to the silence as the small glimmer of light touched on the shape’s skin. The reflection from the shape’s skin glistened in the semi-gloom and its eyes sparkled in the light as it settled back into its position against the dank cavern wall, “all is ready...”