Excalibur Awakens

Prologue The sea is glinting silver in the moonlight, reflecting off the wings of the eagle that soars above the sorrows of the world. We are for the time being seeing the world from the eagles point of view. The water is choppy, the wind cold, but for the first time in several months the sky is clear. Ahead is and island aglow with unearthly light. The eagle is heading for this rocky outcropping. The beaches that fall abruptly into the water are covered in a thin veil of ice and the grassy shore not far away is covered in the last vestiges of snow. For now the winter months are over and slowly the summer is approaching. It will be weeks yet until the grass is green and the land once more habitable, but still hope is something, no matter how small. The eagle soars down to an unimpressive rocky building from which the light emanates. He perches in a window that has no glass and makes a small noise to announce his presence. The man that responds stands. He is tall and has a commanding figure. His silver hair and beard are cropped short. His dark grey eyes show age that the eagle can scarcely comprehend. He speaks but the eagle cannot understand. The birds sharp eyes pick up the dark stranger sitting as far away from the roaring fire as it is possible to be. He sits in a dark shadow that seems to be more of his own making than anything natural. The eagle feels threatened as red eyes gleam from this shroud and he squawks to make his feelings known. The old man nods acknowledgement and throws him a piece of rabbit meat. The eagle with a flash of steely beak snatches it from the air and swallows it with a few movements of it’s head. The old man smiles his white teeth flashing momentarily and slowly he reaches out and scratches the eagles head. But still weary of the stranger the eagle pulls away giving him a gentle nip instead. And then in a flurry of wings he is gone leaving us with this odd pair. The old man turns back and speaks softly, “I still want to know why you are here son of evil.” His voice is regal and commands respect, but the figure merely chuckles his voice cold and hateful, “why is it old man that you ask questions you already know the answers to?” the red eyes continued to gleam and his voice was chilly and cold. “All these years and still you are after something which has been drawn out of your existence… Why?” The old man shook his head a grin on his face. This merely seemed to incense the man (if we may call him that) sitting in the corner, “you play with a dangerous foe old man! Why do you pretend that it doesn’t exist, help me find it and return it to the rightful owner and together we can rule the world!” the eyes gleamed like glowing coals and slowly a grin grew out of the darkness, but it was evil. The old man shook his head, “and now my old apprentice you resort to this, to bribery and creating impossible images of glory… surely your mother taught you better than that, surely you know that after all these years I couldn’t care less about the rest of the world. Oh you still have the mind of that young boy that defeated his father and thus destroyed himself.” The old man smiled and shook his head. “You are beginning to anger me old man, and how can you say I destroyed myself, look at me! I am the most powerful man alive, and I am near immortal! I could squash you like a bug” the eyes no longer grinned they leered and spoke of pain. “Come then. I await your wrath, you forget that I taught you much of what you know, I may be old but do not underestimate my power!” and as he spoke the fire guttered and died and the light that we saw emanating from the house began to glow from the old man. “Mordred I saw you grow and the woman that tried to control you feared me, Mauve was terrified that I would outgrow her and so she banished me. I have faced terrors that you could not begin to imagine in the exile she sent me on, but still I am here. Now if you feel that you can face up to me then now is the time!” “Spare me the speech old man, I myself have faced those horrors in my search for my fathers sword. I have gone further even than Mauve and those who my father feared and now, now I am the most powerful being in existence!” he stood up, the shadow that he wore spreading out around the house and threw back the cloak he had been wearing to reveal what he had grown into. He had been a handsome boy when he drove the sword into his fathers belly, but where his father had returned the blow was an oozing hole. This was the only blemish that was man made. He stood as tall as his father over six feet, but he was skeletally thin and pale. He wore no shirt, and his gaunt ribs stuck out hideously. His skin was white as though it had never seen the sun. his red eyes gleamed out from behind the pitch dark oily hair. And the grin he wore on his once handsome face revealed his teeth, yellow, the canines had developed into sharp fangs like that of a dog. The old man looked at him in disgust and spat at his feet, “if this is what you have become then I pity you. Is this the appearance of a world ruling king, where is your crown oh mighty ruler? In retrospect; as a gift for all those years of absence I will give you a gift, a crown. Fit for a king.” He gestured and a golden circlet formed around Mordred’s head beneath the lank hair and began to tighten. Mordred began to scream, “stop it! STOP IT” as the circlet tightened squeezing his head. “Oh come on, can’t the powerful Mordred ruler of the world accept a gift from his fathers most loyal friend?” and with that he gestured once again and Mordred still screaming vanished in a puff of smoke. The old man muttered something inaudible and shook his head. He looked out the window and saw a shadow fleeing his presence, the shadow is speeding back to warmer times…

Paper Planes. . .

Rain spattered the passenger window of the SUV. No longer new the smell of leather had long since faded away into nothingness. Through the rain drops the lights of the other cars were refracted into thousands of rainbows and unimaginable colours. “At least this is a change in weather. . .” Cairo St Clair and had been sitting in the front passenger seat of this SUV for close on three weeks now, and the same scenery had been flashing past him window all day. He had felt slightly better when the rain had begun to fall, at least the weather matched his mood. And, it would force his father to pull over for the night. Up ahead he could see a small town, if it could even be called a town. It had three houses and what looked like a small motel on the other end. “A warm bed.” The dark car pulled into the parking and Cairo waited, watching as his father ran into the tiny office, his collar turned up to guard against the rain. Five minutes later he emerged, a set of keys in his right hand, gesturing at a door nearby. Shaking his head Cairo grabbed his jacket and imitating his father’s collar ran out into the rain. He stood in the rain, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest warding off the cold, while his father fumbled wit the lock. Finally it opened and the apartment turned out to be made up of two rooms; the first, a combination, living-kitchen-dining and bedroom. The second was a bathroom. “At least they’re twin beds,” He muttered throwing his father a derisive look as he stepped over the threshold, out of the rain. He moved to the nearest bed and stripping out of his soaked clothes he fell across the bed and stretched luxuriously for the first time in weeks. It didn’t take long for him to fall deep into a troubled sleep. He awoke in the diminutive hours of the morning drenched in a cold sweat, his light hair plastered to his forehead. Stumbling out of bed he walked passed his father who was lying peacefully on his own bed. It would be so easy to smother him now, quick and painless. But what then? He walked into the bathroom, closed the door and switched on the harsh fluorescent light. He leaned over the oft chipped sink and turned on the water, allowing the sound to soothe him. He splashed his face with water, which revived him slightly. Then cupping his hands he allowed them to fill with water as he tried to remember the dream, but the memories faded as fast as the water in his hands. He could remember being home, the laughter. And then it had all started again, the screaming, the crying . . . and eventually the pleading. He looked up trying to escape the memories of the past, yet the face that looked back at him did not ease his anxiety. The young reflection was gaunt and haunted. Dark blue rings surrounded his eyes making them appear incredibly sunken. The once happy, if serious blue eyes, had become icy and guarded. He turned off the water and walked out of the room turning off the light. Stalking past his fathers sleeping figure he left the apartment, walking out into the damp cool, night. He walked out of the motel’s parking area and onto the street. To his surprise the motel had a pool around the corner and despite the cold and wet he walked towards it. He opened the gate wincing at the squeak. The pool was not big, and was obviously in need of some care. He lowered his left foot into the water and shuddered at the temperature. Then throwing all inhibitions to the wind he dived in, welcoming the numbing sensation as the water closed over him. He swam from on end to other, revelling in the autonomy that took control. The physical exertion freed him for a while. Here he could escape from the memories, the screaming torture that sleep and waking boredom brought him. He spent what felt like hours swimming, breaking into a rhythm that freed him. Eventually he could no longer raise his arms or kick his feet, and flipping onto his back he allowed himself to float in the water. Hot and cold no longer meant anything to him, his body totally numb, and his mind in a state of utter exhaustion. He lay like that for several minutes allowing his mind to return to his body. And climbing slowly out of the water he looked up at the sky. Out here after the rain the air smelt clean, the sky looked stunning, without the smog and smoke of the city. Spread out above him the stars winked, worlds rotated, out there time meant nothing. He found as he crawled into the room that that was what he needed to do. Keep his body and mind so exhausted that thought vanished. He walked, once again into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He sighed as the deluge began to rain down on him, soaking his body with warmth. When he lay down on the bed his eyes closed and he was gone, but this time there were no screams. . . 1 Blue skies and fluffy clouds These are often the last images one expects to see on days of pain and misery. Freshly cut grass pushed it’s pleasantly harsh scent over the garden as children played in the pool. Water splashing and a little girl’s hysterical giggles echo over the potent lavender flowers. Parents sit on deck chairs watching as the kids play. Cole St Clair knew that he was not in his sons favour, but this was the last thing on his mind as he sipped his beer, watching his son lift his daughter out of the water. Everything was so clear; the water droplets that ran over his children, creating a myriad of colours. The sound of bees buzzing through the flower beds, the scratching of his stubble beneath his hand. A prominent business man; Cole was usually away, one of the many reasons – at least he guessed – that his son was always looking for a fight. He should have seen what was coming, but as many rich men do, he had become complacent. He had become so drunk with his own power that he no longer saw any man as a threat. Powerfully built, despite his middling years, he was as fit as any twenty year old. His dark brown hair, flecked with shocking silver – so unlike his sons – was always kept severely short, an old habit he had picked up from the days of conscription. Despite the flecks of grey and his deep wrinkles he commanded respect from anyone in his office community. His wife, Gina was much younger than he, and yet she was as commanding a presence as he had ever been, she had platinum blonde hair, and she usually wore it loose. Her eyes were a startling, dark, deep sea green; all this was surrounded by a dark olive skinned complexion. Their youngest daughter Gabrielle continued her mother’s line with the same hair and eyes. It was a Saturday and for the first time in months Cole St Clair was home, and today he was spending time with his family – a shock to them all. He smiled as his daughter wriggled free of Cairo’s arms and climbing out of the pool she ran madly towards him, showering both her parents with water. Leaping into her fathers arms she began to wrestle him, while he tickled her madly, causing her to laugh until tears of mirth were running down the girls face. Cairo climbed out of the pool slowly. He picked up his towel and dried himself as he watched his father with distaste clearly etched over his face. He only hid his aversion, when his sister was nearby. Not one of the people present expected the phone to ring from deep with in the house. Gently depositing Gabrielle on the ground Cole rose and slowly walked into the house. As soon as the glass door closed behind him someone rose from behind the lavender bushes on the side of the house. Nobody noticed the man, dressed entirely in black; he looked like a ninja from the old movies. Suddenly Gabrielle saw the shape and turning her smile vanished instantly, dissolving into a grimace of fear. She screamed; a shrill piercing sound that caused the birds sheltering in nearby trees to take flight. Cairo looked up and seeing the man and the weapons present in his hands immediately flung his sister behind him. Moving forward he blocked his mother from view also. The Man in black stepped over the flowers and moved towards the family. As he did there came a crash form the house and Cairo turned slightly. This provided the assailant with an opportunity to bring the butt of a rifle to connect with Cairo’s temple. Instantly lights exploded before the teens eyes. He fought of the sensation and stepped forward slightly, but once again the man in black swung. This time he brought the heavy weapon down on Cairo’s back. He stumbled and went down, noting as he did that Gabrielle was screaming. Then his world went black. . . Across the road from the motel there was an old train car that had been converted into a diner. When Cairo stepped out of the room he noticed the steel sides glinting in the early morning sunlight. He crossed the empty barren, barren road and stepped into the tiny place, filled with the usual customers. One could tell instantly by the sudden change in atmosphere that despite the motel, the people in this tiny town were unused to strangers. The creaking door caused all the tenants to glance upward and glare malevolently at the uninvited new comer. Clearly this unkempt teen was not their idea of welcome clientele. Aside from the fact that he had had the first decent nights sleep in weeks, and a shower this morning, his hair was still ruffled and he was in need of a razor. He sat down at the counter and ordered a coffee, usually he steered away from the stuff, but having been deprived of sleep and decent food caffeine had become both his primary nutrition and energy. The woman who placed the cup before him was clearly not pleased with this teenager strutting in here like a regular. He sipped at the steaming brew, savouring the warmth and scent as it warmed him from the inside out. When the woman removed the empty cup she asked, “will that be all?” He shook his head and pointed at the image of the diner’s breakfast special, “I’ll have one of those and another coffee please.” She scowled violently, but retreated into the back and the sound of pans emanated from the kitchen. When she placed it in front of him he set to it with vigour that surprised her, this was after all the first decent meal he had had in a while. When he pushed the plate away she removed it and allowed him to finish his second cup while she washed up. In the corner of the diner behind the counter stood a TV that had a repetitive program of the news, the volume was turned right down leaving the sound to a dull mumble. Cairo was watching it out of the corner of his eye, the same old share prices and oil feuds in the middle-east, for once there was something normal nearby. He almost choked on his coffee when an image of his house flashed onto the screen. He had not seen it in weeks, and the image he saw now was not the way he remembered it. The entire front wall that had once held the front door and windows was blasted away; the ruined furniture behind the wrecked wall was covered with blood. He asked the lady to turn it up, and once again she scowled but she obliged. The reporter’s voice carried over the sounds up by the camera. “Prominent business tycoon Cole St Clair has gone missing days after the police investigation revealed that he was responsible for the murder of both his philanthropist wife Gina St Clair, and his 7 year old daughter Gabrielle. His son and oldest child; Cairo St Clair has disappeared hours before this scene was discovered. Modus operandi and motive are both still under investigation by the police. Reasons for the disappearance of Cairo are still merely rumours, and many fear him dead along with his mother and sister.” Cairo zoned out and blocked the rest of the report, at least they hadn’t shown photos or the tension in the diner would have gotten much worse. Ephraim Knight stood over the huge, dark wood desk, a small smirk flickering across his dark noble features. His back was tuned to the enormous shuttered window, which – when open – afforded one of the most spectacular views New York had to offer. The desk before him was littered with papers; however the one before him happened to stand out with an unnatural prominence, indeed it was different. Scattered across its almost luminescent surface, runes that appeared completely alien we inscribed. And it was these runes that gave a reason to Ephraim Knights grin. He stretched a long slender arm across the desk and depressed a small button. Almost instantly a voice emanated; “Yes Mr Knight?” “Hold all my calls and appointments please,” his voice was sweet, dripping with an intoxicating pleasantness, so the vehemence that came from his last syllables shocked the secretary, “No one is to disturb me!” He barley heard her stammered reply as he walked around the desk, puling a small silver object from within his jacket. Covering this object were the same runes that had alighted the paper. He pressed a small button on the top, and followed by a loud humming sound a void filled the space before him. He stepped into this empty nothingness and another hum followed as the space disappeared and the room was left empty. . . Cairo left the diner and slowly walked across the road once again. Seeing the house that he had grown up in blasted apart like that had struck a chord deep within him. As though he had flipped a switch the adrenaline began to flow. The anger reverberated through him. He opened the door of the motel room and there a few feet away form the doorway in which he stood his father waited. A haze of red descended over his vision and that chord that had been vibrating snapped violently, and a terrible sound echoed through his mind. He rushed towards him with inhuman speed. Before he knew what was happening his father was on the floor. A violent flurry of flesh and bone that were his fists were pummelling into his face. He heard something crack, and then again, but pain no longer mattered him, only that Cole should suffer. But already Coles reflexes were kicking in, and those years of training and experience began to assert themselves. His moment of surprise had lost it’s advantage. It wasn’t long before Cole had subdued his son. Pinned to the ground Cairo gazed up at him, the fire in his eyes seemed to spread out and burn him. And then it was gone. Replaced by an emotion he was not used to; a deep feeling of helplessness. In increasing measure this emotion had slowly began to steel over him. And in that moment everything hit him, leaving him feeling no better than a helpless cripple. Three weeks he had been on the run from insignificant town to insignificant town, eating only miniscule meals and sleeping more often than not in that damned car. Despite the terror and nightmares that haunted his waking hours and his restless sleep, he had never given much thought to that day. Fate tends to be a sick joker, and in that moment she released all of her twisted humour on him. The memories all surged to the surface, like a dam breaking, the torrent poured out in a confused rush. Cole saw the tears begin to leak from his sons eyes and his face blanched. Cairo wriggled out form under him and crawled into the dark corner. And there he sat, his arms wrapped around his knees, rocking back and forth. When Cairo came around again his father had left, leaving the room dark and cold. That cold detached anger flooded through him again, he hated being so dependant. There had been times when he could have put an end to his father’s sorry existence, but then he would have been too vulnerable, and for now he need Cole, at least until he knew the reasons behind his families murder. These feelings caused only more rage to surface. At least Cole had taught him one thing – emotions could be used, provided they weren’t used against you. He stood and looked into his reflection in the window, gone was the emptiness. Now behind the blue eyes burnt an icy fire. A fire that threatened to overwhelm everything in its vicinity. But he knew, now that he had a reason to live again; that fire would remain in check, burning only what he needed it to. Wooden panels and dim lighting line the mausoleum type passage way to a huge, richly furnished study. In the centre of the study is a huge desk, behind which sits a man. The light from the green and gold desk lamp glinting off his silver flecked hair. Surrounded by thousands of books Cole St Clair looks like some long dead philosopher. He is talking into an old fashioned telephone – “I will not be blackmailed!” his deep voice with a slight rasp echoes through the room. “If he really wants to get my attention he can see me face to face! I will not play broken telephone with some unkempt ras- No my family is perfectly safe and dare threaten them again and you’ll see what power really is!” He slammed the phone into its cradle and sat back, the chair giving a slight protest. “I know you’re there Cairo so you might as well come out.” Cole uttered a deep sigh as Cairo stepped out of the shadows, an ancient hardcover version of Charles Dickens’ A tale of two cities, open in his hands. “It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.” The teen’s voice echoed over the dusty tomes that surrounded him. He was full of the swagger and confidence that comes with being seventeen. Of course Cole’s teenage years had been very different indeed. He stood and looked at his son, “If you’ve something to say, spit it out and be done with it, I don’t have time to play games!” Cairo looked up at his father and laughed. But it is a sound without humour. “That’s it though isn’t it Father, you never have time anymore. Not even for your own son!” Cairo snorted and shook his head, “oh father if only you knew. . .” Cole started to speak but Cairo cut him off, “don’t patronise me old man, I may be young, but I have seen and heard enough of what you have done to last me a life time, thank you!” And with that he snapped the ancient volume closed and faded back into the shadows. Cole stood and watched as his son dematerialised. His expression, the last one you would expect on a fathers face. In those lines there is no care or concern. As if the moment was forgotten he walked to the desk once again and picking up a file he left the room. From the shadows Cairo watched him leave, his eyes starting to water, but he blinks away the tears before his emotions are allowed to overcome him. Rocks Brush Once again the same old, dull scenery was flashing past Cairo’s window. And once again he was sitting, his eyes locked on some distant world, the one place he could escape to in these dull, and aching hours. Once again he had left things behind, his face no more than some obscure memory in some unimportant mind. At least this time there had been no abandonment. His memories wondered back to his home; the huge, lush green gardens, the vast dusty library. The stormy nights huddled around the huge fireplace drinking molten chocolate with his mother and sister, or in front of the television, watching some movie, all the time huddled beneath a huge blanket to ward off the cold stormy night. All that was gone! Ripped away like some plaster. He could almost guarantee that the assassins would feel no remorse, no pity for the lives they had taken. Now he was trapped with only his fascist controlling father for company. In a fit of anger he lashed out, his fist connecting with the faux wood dashboard. It split beneath the impact and out of sheer shock his father swerved the car; “What the hell are you doing?” Cairo looked at him, no longer was the hatred burning in his ice blue eyes, slowly he was gaining control over his wild, rampant emotions. He shook his head but before he reverted to staring at the road he muttered, “like you care . . .” He flexed his knuckles, oblivious to the broken skin and the slowly dripping blood. The sun is at its zenith, beating its harsh rays down on the black vehicle. Cole was starting to lose interest on the long blank road before him as it stretched emptily into the distance. Subtly another black car, a long sleek sedan gained on them until it slowed allowing a rough mile between them. And that was where the subtlety ended, the absence of a licence plate and the pitch black tint gave the car an ominous appearance. Cole noticed the car, but there was no way to lose it on this narrow straight road. However when the sleek black barrel of a shotgun protruded from the passenger window he threw caution to the winds. Yet try though he might there was no way he could lose the persistent bastards. Cairo sat in his seat, silent and calm, he had been aware of the tail long before his father, but he’d seen no reason to say anything. Slowly almost imperceptibly the road began to climb upwards as they entered some lushly forested hills. By the time Cole realised the danger it was too late. He jerked the wheel as a sharp report exploded behind them, blasting apart a piece of the rock face. It took Cairo one long moment to register the gunshot. Cole swerved around a corner just as another shot created a crater in the rock next to the road. Then there was another sharp curve that was blocked by a fallen tree. Cole managed to spin the car and stop just in time to miss the wooden obstacle. The tail was not so lucky, in turning the corner they saw the danger and swerving to far the back end of the sedan went over the edge. Slowly the momentum took control and the car began to tilt over until it was spinning end over end through the trees and brush that grew on the slope. Cairo pulled a small pocket knife out of the glove compartment, and abandoning the SUV he hurtled towards the sedan laying on its roof several metres down the slope. Just before he reached it he noticed the shotgun glinting, stopping only to pick it up he slowed as he reached the car. There lying half in, half out of the car window was the driver. He noticed the gun, but before he could utter a word Cairo had brought the weapon to bear and aimed. He took note of the mans face, every detail seemingly crystal clear in that moment. The last thing the driver saw was a single tear running down the skinny teens face. Cairo pulled the trigger and grimaced at both the roaring sound that echoed through the lush green forest and the bruising kick back that the weapon produced. Where there had been a vaguely handsome face moments before, there was now a bloody stump of neck, the blood pumping out uncontrollably, the remains of the mans head, a bloody grey mess splattered over the car. In his eyes that icy fire was burning once again. He walked around to the other side of the car, and pulling open the door with difficulty the shooter fell out, clearly dead. Despite this Cairo was filled with a deep unquenchable, burning thirst for revenge. He aimed at the spot where moments before the mans heart had been beating, and braced for both the sound and the retort he fired. The chest exploded, leaving his spongy grey lungs a spattered mess, his heart vanished. Cairo then moved the gun upwards slightly and allowing that all consuming anger to take control he fired for the third and final time, removing the mans head, leaving him to wonder the next world heartless and headless. Hefting the gun he slowly returned to the SUV. His father stared at him, his mouth hanging slightly open, Cairo looked down at himself and realised his shirt was covered with blood and gore from the executions. Stripping off the gory ensemble he hurled it into the bush, and placing