The Calling

Francis awoke with a start and gazed across his room, he hadn’t even realised he had fallen asleep, but the dreams had been so vivid...Arthur...Mordred and... Morgan. The clock told him he had slept for almost two hours and declared that the time was 05:50. Francis rose from the bed and shook his head before crossing the expanse of his room where he bent and grasped at his bulging bag. He flung it over his shoulder and pulled at the handle. He cast a final glance at his room before stepping into the hall and with one final check of his pockets and bag opened the door to his flat. He regretted leaving without saying goodbye to his Mother, but he surmised it would be better this way.

The cold air bit into his skin through his heavy clothing as he stepped onto the street and casting a quick glance around him for any unusual signs, pulled his jacket tighter around him before striding down the street toward the bus stop. He sat on the cold metal seat and glanced around at the street around him. Signs of early morning activity was beginning to stir with the odd car motoring past the bus stop and heading off to an unknown destination further along the road and deep into the city. Unknown destination...the thought struck Francis like a rock, where was he going he thought to himself. Sure the dreams were pointing toward France, but where in France...that was a question which hadn’t paid much heed to. He supposed he was just hoping that the voice in his head would be his guide. He sat and closed his eyes for a moment straining to hear the voice of the woman which had haunted him over the previous couple of days. Nothing...nothing at all. Could it all have been a dream after all, or even the first signs of stress. Maybe all he needed was a holiday and at a purely subconscious level his mind was driving him for an excuse to run away to another country or perhaps he was going mad.

“I don’t think so” the voice of an elderly man broke his train of thought and he opened his eyes to the source of the sound. Before him stood an elderly gentleman standing partially beneath the cover of the bus stand and partially out in the early morning drizzle. Francis blinked at the newcomer and allowed his eyes to examine the man who had spoken to him. He had unruly grey hair which run down his head and draped over his shoulders where his hair met and intermingled with an untidy beard. He wore a simple tunic which appeared to compass the entire length of his body and a bright golden chain hung around his chest. The man looked down at the chain and raised an elderly hand to the circular locket hanging from the olden links. “Madness is only a perception of the mind” he said continuing his response to Francis’ thoughts.

“I’m sorry” Francis stammered, “I hadn’t realised I had spoken out loud” he apologised meeting the old man’s stare. He eyes looked old, but bore a young shine to their appearance.

The old man chuckled at him, “Oh my dear boy no...” he looked at the confusion cross over Francis’ face, “you hadn’t, but then in a way I’m not really here anyway”. Francis leaned back as far as he could and felt his back press against the back of the shelter. He cast a quick glance around him and could see the look of puzzlement on the faces of the other passengers at the bus stop. They bore frowned expressions beneath heavy coats and umbrella’s and many shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of Francis. Francis returned to gaze to the old man before him and frowned as the image of the man had disappeared from view. He allowed his head to sink into his hands and groaned audibly at his embarrassment. It was bad enough hearing a woman’s voice, but now this...this old man and coupled with the dreams...France seemed a long way off the Francis wondered whether he should head for the nearest hospital and check into the first available ward.

“All is prepared master Merlin...” the voice echoed through the cavern. Merlin stood from the stone chalice and peered at the woman through the gloom.

“The Fisher King?” he enquired.

The woman nodded, “he is ready” she walked slowly across the cavern floor as she spoke until finally stood by the form of Merlin at the chalice. “The boy?”

“He has begun his journey” Merlin stated simply, “you have done well”

“I simply extend the calling of Excalibur...nothing more”

“But my dear...” said Merlin reaching for her hand, “you are the keeper...its vessel if you will” he raised her hand to his mouth where he kissed the back of her hand, looking directly into her eyes as she spoke.

“With the calling” she replied, “it will awaken her...”

Merlin nodded sadly and turned away from the woman. “This is unfortunate, but we are but pawns in the designs of Excalibur. We can only do our bidding and aide the true King of England” his gaze returned to the vision wading in the water. The woman looked into the depths and watched as Francis hauled himself onto the bus.

“This is definitely the one?” she asked. Merlin nodded to her question.

“You doubt Excalibur?”

“I do” she admitted, “I have spoken to the boy. He has no idea of his true blood line”

Merlin returned his attention to the naked woman and grasped both of her hands, “have faith my dear” he urged, “for the time will soon be upon us”. He glanced into the chalice at the signs of the vehicle in the water moving down the road, “prepare the sleepers and return to the Isle...for once he has arrived, expect the gates of hell to open”