The Calling
Chapter 4

“Are you sure?” said a woman’s voice.

“Yes...it is him” assured a male’s voice, this one filled with age. The two figures stood in the semi-gloom of a large cavern and stood over a stone chalice, gazing into the watery depths of the vessel. The first, stood in her semi-naked form with long blonde hair draped over her breasts, her beauty shining like a beacon through the cavern. The man was older and dressed in long flowing robes of a tattered material, he stood leaning against a long staff and gazed into the pool rubbing his whitening beard. “He is the direct blood line descendant”

“But is he ready?”

“Is anyone?” queried the old man. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ (F)indNƟvᴇl.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Why now, Merlin...after all of these years”

“I can feel now, more than any other the people of Briton need a protector...” his words echoed through the cave as visions flashed over the surface of the water of people dying and explosions and violence in streets before the image returned to that of an unconscious Francis on the floor of his home, with his mother kneeling beside his body.

“But, the boy...”

“...Will prove himself” assured Merlin, “as Arthur did. Now return to the Isle...we shall talk again soon”. The woman nodded and draped a hand across his shoulder as she walked.

“You do realise, that if he is a direct descendant to Arthur Pendragon and releases Excalibur, then she will awaken”

Merlin nodded and returned his attention to the pool of water and stared deep into its blackness.

“Francis...Francis...“, his mother gently slapped his cheek as she knelt by his prone body. He could feel the sensation on his cheek, but could do little about it. “Francis, boy. You alright...come on boy” she pleaded.

“Mother...” he said meekly, raising his head slightly.

“Oh! my boy” she cried and threw her arms around his head.

“Mum” he whined, “I’m fine” Francis tried to push his mother’s attention off him, but the woman’s maternal instinct was overpowering.

“I say if your fine or not” she reprimanded him as she held him tight in her grip.

“Please mother...” he said, pushing her off him. “I’m fine...I promise” he sat up on the floor of the hall and rubbed his head. “I’ve just been working too hard” he lied.

“This has happened before?” his mother asked.

“No...no” again he lied, avoiding eye contact with her. “I’ve just had trouble sleeping”

“You need a rest” she declared, “let me ring your work and tell them you won’t be in”

“No mum”

“You can’t go in, not in that state” she chided. He shook his head and struggled to his feet and sagged against the wall. “That settles it, you get back to bed while I ring work for you” Francis was too tired to argue with the woman and reluctantly accepted her help back to his room. She pushed the door open and looked into the mess laden bedroom, “and you can get this lot cleaned while your off!” she said.

Francis looked at her and saw a smile break across the woman’s face as she chided him, “Mum...” he began uncomfortably, “I... well...what I said...” he shuffled in the doorway unsure how to broach the apology.

“Ssh...it’s alright” she eased, “I know...mummy knows” she smiled and closed the door. Francis slumped onto the bed and allowed himself to become immersed in the pillow and listened as his mother’s voice echoed down the corridor. He closed his eyes and struggled to understand the dreams and visions which were affecting him. They were getting stronger, especially the woman and as sleep overcame him a tiny part of his active mind worried that he was beginning to lose his sanity.

The door to the large bedroom was flung open and framed in the half-light of the flames from the torches in the corridor stood the King. His face matched the colour of his crimson robes and the light from the torch illuminated against the metal of his crown. “Where is he?” he roared. The room was still and the heat from an open fire burning brightly in the hearth at the far end of the room stifled the atmosphere.

“My Lord!” snapped the woman in the bed. “How dare you, enter my chambers unannounced!” She sat in her bed, fully clothed in a white night dress, lined with intricate frills and stitching. Her golden hair flowed down her back and strands snaked over her shoulder as she sat staring with hostility toward the King.

“No room in my castle is barred to me!” roared the King back, “especially those of my wife!“. He stood, with sword in hand casting his gaze across the room. “Now, I will not ask again” he demanded, “where is the knave!”

“I do not know whim thee are speaking of” she replied and cast her gaze away from the doorway indignantly.

“Lancelot!” spat the King. “I know he is here!”

“There is nobody here but we two” she said, still refusing to look at the King.

“Liar!” The King strode into the room and took a swipe at a hanging tapestry close to the door. “You lie! Harlot!” he glanced an accusing look at her and pulled at a second tapestry.

“My Lord...” she begged, and cast a quick glance toward him, “You are my husband...and my life...!

A laugh from Arthur cut off her sentence, “My life!” he spat, “My life...your infidelity is as limited as your lies. Once I catch the cur, I shall cut out his liver and feed it to the birds” The Queen glimpsed briefly downward, only for a moment, but her look was caught by the King. “I knew it!” he roared dropping to his knees by the bed.

“No! please...my Lord!! begged the Queen, “please...“. She screamed as Arthur thrust the sword beneath the bed and swiped it wildly at the space. A figure scrambled from beneath the bed and pulled himself to his feet on the other side of the bed.

“My Lord” he smiled as he spoke.

“Lancelot!” spat the King as he too pulled himself to his feet and leaned on the bed. “Explain thy presence Sir!”

Lancelot spread his hands wide, before smoothing his black hair. “It is my duty to protect the Queen, my Lord” he said insincerely, “I simply entered her quarters to ascertain my ladies safety in these times of unrest”

“You lie!” accused Arthur and lunged forward across the covers of the bed with his sword. Lancelot jumped back from the bed, avoiding the thrust of the blade with ease.

Lancelot moved forward to the bed and sized up his opposition, “My Lord” he grinned. The King roared his disapproval at the Knight and moved from his position by the bed around the foot of the bed. Lancelot, dressed in light plain white shirt and breaches leaped over the bedding and the Queen and ran for the doorway. Arthur swiped the sword at empty air as Lancelot made his escape for the corridor. Torches flickered as the Knight ran down the stone lined hallways and flames jumped and licked at the heels of the disappearing Lancelot.

“Squire!” called Arthur as he struggled out of the room, fully adjourned with his ceremonial robes, “Squire!” he called as he gave chase down the corridor, “My horse!” The robes made the King more cumbersome than his fleet footed opponent, but nevertheless he continues the chase down the corridor. “You run, Lancelot!” he called as the Knight disappeared from view, “run...for when I catch thee, I will fillet your gizzard!”

Francis sat bolt upright in his bed and cast his gaze around his room. Nothing seemed different, the clothes were still scattered in indiscriminate piles across the floor, a small tide of rubbish cascaded over his bin and over the desk was an avalanche of paper and disks, but somehow he couldn’t shake the sensation of being watched. He ran his fingers through his hair and groaned as the pounding in his head drummed against the walls of his brain as he sank back down beneath the covers of his bed.

“Lancelot” he cursed quietly under his breath, then frowned. Where the hell had that come from? he didn’t even know anyone of that name. He had lost count today how many times he had questioned his own sanity and attempted to rise from the bed. His body felt heavy, weighed down by an unsuspecting force presented on his soul and pressing down against his body. Francis attempted to pull himself out of bed, but again he felt an extreme pressure placed on his ribs and brought his arm up the blankets and rest it over his chest. Breathing heavily for a moment he lay in quiet contemplation of just what exactly was happening to him.

“Come to me...” the whisper was faint and came from the direction of the window. Francis turned his head to the source of the noise and stared from his bed through the glass. A small bird perched on the sill and regarded Francis with curious eyes for a moment, before flying off. For a brief moment, Francis wished he was that bird, free to soar high above the Earth and through the darkening sky. Darkening sky? He frowned and turned his head toward his desk and strained under the light to make out the numbers dancing over the image presented by the small black clock resting on the surface. The red light seemed to swirl and buckle under his gaze, before settling down into a presentation of time. Four O’ Clock. Francis closed his eyes for a moment...how the hell had he slept all day? he wondered to himself, and why hadn’t his mother woken him? Questions surfaced in his mind and again he found an intense pressure push down on his chest. He could feel a panic rising through his body, forced into submission by the confusion in his head as the events of the day struggled to cross his memories. The dreams...the woman...Lancelot? why that name again...what was happening?

He pulled at the blankets of the bed and allowed them to fall in a heap on the floor by his bed and threw a look down across his body. He lay prone on the bed, dressed in not his grey linen bottoms and plain white t-shirt, but instead in full body armour. The chest plate of the suit lay heavy on his chest and was bejewelled with a draped insignia cast in light material of a rampant yellow lion set before a field of brilliant red. His legs were encrusted with heavy armour, gleaming and shining in the fading light, while his arms were covered in patches of chain mail. He could feel himself losing control of his body and panic coursed through his veins...“Mum!” he yelled.

“My liege...” the man knelt on the floor before King Arthur as he sat regally staring out over the courtroom. The hall was empty barring the two men and the King sat brooding over recent events which had led to the ultimate betrayal.

“Speak” he commanded in the quiet voice.

“It is Lancelot, my Lord” a fire sparked in King Arthur’s eyes and he glared at the kneeling knight who remained staring at the floor unable to meet his King’s gaze. “I have news from Iseult, my Lord”

“I care not” lied Arthur and sat with his fingers entwined for a moment quietly seething under his own loathing. The air was still in the room and the quiet was deafening as the knight shuffled uncomfortably in his position and raised his head slightly to catch a glimpse of his King. Arthur looked tired, his eyes were ringed with aeons of distress and edged with a bitter red hue. The pressure of the last few days had taken a toll on the King...the stories of Lancelot and Guinevere had spread throughout court like a plague and the ire of the King rose. Riders had sped out through every part of the Kingdom in search of the errant Knight who had once been the favourite of the King as he fled. The love of the King toward his beloved Guinevere was unbridled by only his passion toward his position and his people. “Well!” spat the King, “I have not all day...speak!” he commanded.

“But...my Lord” stammered the Knight.

“I command thee to speak...or by God I will see that you never speak again!” he roared.

“My liege...” a new voice came from the doorway and eased through the hall toward the pair.

“Lord Kay, this is of no concern to you” spat the King.

“My lord...your welfare is everyone’s concern” he insisted, “we stand together against whatever threat beholds yourself and in turn your kingdom” he crossed the expanse of the hall as he spoke.

“You were one of my first Knights...” warned Arthur, “but be warned Lord Kay, “I shall not hesitate of dispatching you”

“My lord, I have not come here looking for a fight, but instead to counsel yourself”

“Then council me!”

“Merlin has sent me to broker a resolution surrounding this incident, he fears for your well-being”

“Then where is he?” shouted Arthur casting his gaze around the hall, “if he is so concerned then why do I not see him?”

“He has other matters to attend my lord” Lord Kay spread his hands before him and bowed his head as he stood before the throne, “he fears for the future...” he raised his gaze to look into the eyes of the King, “your future”

“My future” spat Arthur, rising from the throne and crossing to the window. He looked over the cascading countryside and spoke over his shoulder. “These people depend on me Kay” he spoke softly as he looked over the land. “They need a solid and string leader...they need a powerful King that they will follow. The actions of Lancelot had brought shame on me and my kingdom. My enemies will see that as a sign of weakness Lord Kay, a weakness that they will benefit. I must act...” he sighed and lowered his gaze to the floor before turning to look at Kay. He moved over to the Knight and placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered, “if the people feel their King is weak then there is naught that can be done, perhaps my time is over”

“My lord!”

Arthur raised his hand to the Knight, “Everything has its time Lord Kay...and perhaps this is mine”

“No! my Liege, your people need you. You are a great and kind man”

“Thank you, but I am tired...I am tired of everything” he cast his eyesight around the hall, “the whole thing” he sighed and slumped into the throne and rested his hand into the palm of his hand.

“No my Lord...you are wrong. You a strong leader and a better man than most of us, that is why you are betrothed as King and protector supreme.” Lord Kay looked down at the errant Knight still in his kneeling position on the floor. “At least my lord, hear what the man has to say”

Arthur nodded and gazed down at the Knight, “well, man!” he commanded.

The Knight kept his head toward the floor and spoke into the ground, “I have word from Iseult, that Lancelot has fled to France...” his words died in his throat as the King leaped from the throne.

“Lord Kay!” he roared, “we ride this day for France!”

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