The Calling
Chapter 13

Morgan felt a sudden rush of remorse flow though her body as she watched Merlin’s conversation with Sir Galahad. “My Arthur” she said quietly.

“He is dead” cried Mordred, throwing back his head and laughing.

“Silence!” snapped Morgan.

“Morgan...oh...deathless one, don’t you see! With Arthur dead, I am the true King. I shall have Excalibur and the Kingdom”

“Oh, be quiet you idiot!! snapped Morgan, “you are half the man Arthur was!“. A tear rolled silently from her eyes and splashed onto the crystal globe win the center of the stone column. “Arthur was...beautiful” she said, her voice full of remorse of love, “I remember how his hair shone in the sunlight. We walked once through the lands around Camelot, before things changed...” her words drifted off into the distance as memories sparked her thoughts. She turned on Mordred savagely, “you will never be the man Arthur was” she spat, “but you can be great”. Her fingers ran over the globe as she returned her attention back to the orb. “Knight Commander!” she called into the darkness.

“Madame...” the Knight emerged from the shadows and saluted Morgan, waiting for his instructions.

“Are your forces prepared?” she queried. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNovᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“They are amassing as we speak my Lady”

“Good...” she turned back to the globe and spoke into the glass. “Show me the boy” she commanded. The mists in the sphere swirled and parted revealing an image of the young man standing on the platform that Merlin had shown Galahad only moments previously. “He is young...” she mused as she examined him through the globe, “he has Arthur’s eyes” she said wistfully as she watched and slowly stroked the glass, her fingers running around the circular cold device while a single tear ran down her cheek.

Francis stood on the station platform and stared down the tracks. He cast his gaze around the platform and noted his solitude was broken by only the sound of the occasional songbird. He stood alone on the platform and cast his eyes around the station and watched for a moment as a train thundered through the empty station. This was it then he thought, Newquay not France...if his heart brought him here then maybe he should let his subconscious mind allow him to continue his journey to...

He walked to the ticket office and stared at the information on the wall and let his eyes wander over the places displayed on the map. Tintagel...the name of the town rang in his mind like an alarm. “Come to me...” that voice again calling to him on the wings of the incoming breeze. “Come to me”

He looked around the station. He was still the only person in sight and although it hadn’t bothered him, he was slightly disheartened by the quietness of the station. “Yes?” The sound of the voice disturbed his train of thought and brought him back to the station. He looked through the Perspex glass and into the eyes of a plump looking middle aged woman. “Can I help you?”

“Err...yes...” stammered Francis, “return to Tintagel”

“You’ll need the train for Bude which runs through Padstow...Tintagel...”

“That’s fine” interrupted Francis and pushed a banknote beneath the glass. He glanced around again, expecting someone to be standing close to him or at the very least on the platform, but still nothing. His eyes darted around frantically searching for someone...anyone, he didn’t know why but he had the strangest feeling that he was being watched.

“Thank you...” said the woman behind the counter and pushed a small ticket under the glass with a handful of coins which Francis pocketed and hurried onto the platform. He stood nervously on the although he didn’t know why he felt this way, again his eyes were drawn to the station and he searched in vain for any sign of life. Nothing...so why did he have this feeling of dread. A distant rumble and vibration through his feet alerted him to the approach of the coming locomotive and he took an involuntary step away from the edge of the platform and glanced up toward the electronic sign on the ceiling of the station. It told him all he needed to know about the train...it was his and with bag firmly in his grasp he waited for the train to slow and stop at the station.

The locomotive slowed to a halt at the edge of the station and Francis checked the platform for further signs of passengers. Satisfied that he was still the only person on the platform he boarded the train and took his seat in the empty carriage. He peered over the back of the seat and down toward the front of the train, then repeated the action toward the rear of the carriage and frowned as once again the journey would be made alone. As the train slowly moved out of the station the movement and quietness of the train unnerved Francis and he peered along the aisle into the other carriages. The train wasn’t particularly long and from his position Francis could see both front and back of the train from his seat. He had expected to see at least some people somewhere in the carriages, but the train was completely empty.

The ticket inspector walked out onto the platform of the station with a small ticket in her hand, “sorry sir, but the train to Bude has been delayed...” her voice trailed off as she looked along the platform for the young man she had served only moments before. She searched through the crowd of people on the platform, but struggled to see him through the throng of people, “Excuse me...” she spoke softly to an elderly gentleman close to the door, “but has a young man just come out of here?“. The old man squinted through his spectacles at her and shook his head, before returning his attention to the newspaper. She scanned the crowd on the platform again before shrugging and pushing open the door of the ticket office and looking at the unwanted ticket to Bude in her hand, “Strange...” she murmured and returned to work.

“Travelling alone?” the voice made him jump and Francis glanced into the seats on the other side of the train from his position. A man and a woman sat opposite, one staring out of the window as the landscape of Cornwall flashed past outside, while the woman...the woman was hypnotic. Her eyes stared right at Francis...no not at him, but through him into his soul. He could feel their intense stare as they penetrated his mind and stripped his thoughts.

“I’m sorry...” he stammered apologetically, his face flushing with feign embarrassment, “I didn’t see you there, I thought I was travelling alone”. The woman smiled at him and could feel the awkwardness oozing out of Francis.

“You are” she purred. Her words struck Francis and he seemed to notice the couples attire for the first time since she had spoken. He still sat gazing out of the window, but he was dressed in heavy dull grey armour. From his position Francis could see black trim running across the joints of the armour and running into an elaborate breastplate with an intricate floral design running over the dulled metal. The man wore a black helmet, which had a long silver rim running along the top of the helmet and ‘fins’ of a metallic grey at each side of the headpiece. The helmet had no visor and Francis could see the man’s face reflected in the glass of the carriage as he continued to stare from the window and beyond. He had a cruel face, with small eyes and a sharp long nose thought Francis as he examined the man with interest. His neck was covered by a chain mail mesh which ran from the back of the helmet and into the armour.

The woman in contrast sat staring at Francis, her face open and flushed with the look of contempt at the meeting. Her auburn hair fell around her naked shoulders and sprawled over her back, a small golden tiara was held in position on her head and crowned a dignified air which surrounded the woman’s aura. Her face was attractive and the word milf drifted into the mind of Francis as he found her attractive, whilst she was older than the male her appearance was youthful with a blemish free skin off-set by deep green eyes which sparkled in the sunlight reflected through the glass of the carriage. In contrast to the heavily armoured male, she wore little in the way of protection with a simple golden breastplate covering her flowing green and yellow robes which covered the entirety of her body. “So you are the offspring of Arthur” she mused.

“No” said Francis resolutely, “my father was Luther, my mother is Irene” he continued.

“But you are a Pendragon...his bloodline” she smiled in her victory.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Oh my dear...look closely you know who I am” she replied cryptically. Francis shook his head and found himself drawn into her gaze.

“This is foolish” spat the male, “let us finish it”

“Silence” laughed the woman, “look at me” she teased. Francis could feel a word forming in his mind...no, not a word...a name. He looked hard at the woman, drawn by her beauty. “Give yourself to my will in a way that Arthur did not”

“Morgan Le Fay” whispered Francis. She threw her head back and laughed at the sound of his voice whispering her name.

She stood and gazed down at him in his seat, “I warn thee...oppose me and you will die, surrender Excalibur and I will allow you to keep your life”

“I do not have it” he said. Morgan brought her hand sharply across his cheek and he could feel the flare of the strike against his skin and the taste of blood in his mouth as rage crossed her face.

“You lie!” she spat, her face flushing a deep crimson.

“No!” cringed Francis, his hand resting on his cheek.

She regarded him for a moment before laughing again, “It matters not, you are nothing to me...tell Merlin that I am coming” she turned to the male, “Mordred...” she breathed and held her hand out toward him. He grasped her hand and the couple faded from view leaving Francis alone in the carriage.

“Wh-what just happened?” he questioned as he searched the carriage for signs of the couple. Morgan Le Fay...Mordred...this was all too real for him and that name, Merlin and Arthur. This coupled with the naked woman and the voice in his head was bringing things to a head quicker than he could ever have realised. Excalibur...was that what was drawing him toward Tintagel? The myth of King Arthur and the Knight of the Round Table, it would explain a lot, but how much of it was a myth and how much was based in reality.

The carriage buckled under the constant sway of the train as it ran along the metal tracks. He cast a glanced outside and watched the rushing landscape blur from view, trees and bushes merged into one long green stream of colour. The train rocked again, violently on the track and Francis reached for the opposite seat to steady himself against falling into the aisle. The floor beneath his feet felt different from the hard flooring of the carriage that he had become use to and he glanced toward the floor. Along the surface of the carriage a soft clear gleam was covering the floor of the train, and Francis placed his hand on the floor, running his hand over the glistening surface. It felt slightly rough beneath his hand and as Francis ran his fingers across the surface of the floor he noted that the substance was warm and soft in texture. The carriage buckled violently, throwing Francis to the ground. He lay face down and blew on the floor, the stench hit him and he rolled over onto his back to escape the rising odour as the floor of the carriage continue to writhe and contort beneath his body. He forced himself to his feet and the train lurched and buckled again throwing him off his feet and sprawling across the seats. A grimace grew across huis face as an intense pain spread over his legs and as he looked down the floor shimmered and changed before his eyes.

Colours mingled into view and a deep purple with bright yellow triangles blurred into view as he struggled to regain his footing. Desperately Francis grabbed for the handrails on the back of the seat and planted his feet on the softening floor as it rolled back and forth. His eyes strained to the light from the window and Francis forced his fingers into a growing gap at the top of the glass, forcing the window down into the carriage and allowing a sudden gush of wind to bellow through the train. The noise from outside the carriage deafened him as he forced his head through the open window. He looked down the expanse of the train and reeled as the locomotive writhe and leapt from the track before his eyes. The engine twisted and turned, contorting into the unholy shape. The main body of the engine changed into a long thin snout, the window narrowed into large circular red eyes; a crack spread across the middle of the engine and opened revealing a set of sharp white teeth. Francis grasped onto the edge of the window and steadied himself against the vicious lurch of the creature that the train was slowly transforming into. He looked down at the track and recoiled in horror as it began to rise off the floor and into the air, turning slowly into large fronds which the main body of the creature moved across.

He could feel himself falling as the creature buckled under his body and he grasped desperately at the seats...the handrails...anything to brace the impact of him falling. His hands waved desperately in the air as they pushed through...nothing. The creature lurched again and turned to face the falling Francis as he tumbled through the air high above the ground. The roar of the creature echoed in his ears and the sound of laughter filled the air around him, slowly he fell...

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