Avalon's Call

By Lynne. W Bailey

Avalon isn't the same place Arthur remembers. The place he left was magic, but the Avalon he returns to is dark, very dark. Danger lurks around every corner, Guin is missing, and Avalon's magic is fading fast.

With the help of his friends, Arthur has t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marmaduke Publishing
• Release date: Feb 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9781838269937

Lynne. W Bailey

Lynne lives in the Midlands with her family and crazy dog. She spends a lot of her time day-dreaming about Arthur and Guin's adventures in Avalon, and often finds it difficult to pull herself away from the magical land.Lynne has spent over twenty years learning, reading, and studying legends, folklore, myths, fairy tales, crystals, metaphysics, and writing. She adores the weird and wonderful and can often be found sitting in amongst crystals.The Chronicles of Avalon is a culmination of everything Lynne loves to read and write about. Her dream is to inspire children and bring magic into their world.

Book preview

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Guin shivered as a dark shadow cloaked the cottage. She picked up a knitted blanket left on the back of a chair, wrapped it around her shoulders, and crossed the stone floor to the window. Spike, the blue and purple dragon she had recused a few months before, jumped up from his slumber and followed her. Guin peered out of the window and pulled the blanket tighter as an icy breeze curled around her shoulders. Spike stretched his neck so that his chin rested on the window ledge next to Guin’s arm and gazed in the same direction as his best friend.

Black tentacles stretched across the sky, enveloping Avalon in a darkness blacker than night. Squirrels ran across the linked branches of the trees, desperate to get to the safety of their nests as Morgana’s shadow breathed terror over the land. The great stag stamped its hoof, raised his antlers and sent out his call; danger was imminent. Avalon was cloaked in total darkness. Its residents quivered, huddled together in herds, families, and friends, terrified as the vibration of evil ricocheted through their homes.

Guin slammed the window shutters closed. How long would the border hold? How long until the evil trapped within Avalon is released into the rest of the world? She held back a sob as the light went out. Her homeland was captured by Morgana’s shadow, the shadow that had once been safely locked away and held in a prison portal for over a thousand years. Held until Arthur and herself had released it. What had they done?

Arthur was gone, back to his own world, Nimbwe had left to search for Merlin, and her mother had rushed to the temple to secure its magic against the darkness they had released. Guin was thankful they had freed Nimbwe, but at what cost? The light of Avalon had gone out and Guin was alone, well – apart from Spike.

Guin’s breath fogged in front of her, a plume of moisture twirling into strands that drifted around her head. She wrapped her arms around her chest tighter as the temperature continued to drop. Tiny icicles grew from the tip of her nose as the cold stole her consciousness and everything went dark.

She drifted through a fog of black. Her feet barely touched the ground as she faded in and out of reality. No strength to fight the evil that had swathed her in its tight grip. Icy tentacles stole her breath and muted her screams.

She was dropped onto a hard, stone floor. The air lifted slightly as the shadow disappeared. The frosty chill bit into her bones as she tried to gather her thoughts. Stalks of straw scratched her legs as she crawled towards a slither of light that ran horizonal across the floor. A door? Guin gagged as the stale, musty atmosphere brushed the back of her throat. Desperate for a breath of fresh air, she dragged her body forwards but slumped to the ground as the cold in her bones sent pain shooting into her joints. Where was she? She lay her face by the strip of light, drinking in the oxygen that drifted in through the slit. The freshness faded as the only gap sealed closed. No fresh air. No light. No warmth. Only a cold darkness that pulled at her consciousness, dragging her into a ghostly prison.

‘Arthur,’ she croaked. ‘Arthur,’ she managed to whimper as the dark pulled her into oblivion. But Arthur wasn’t there. She was alone. Completely alone, while the magic of Avalon died around her.

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Arthur gasped and sat up. His heartbeat was racing, his pyjamas were stuck to his skin and sweat was dripping into his eyes. Arthur took a deep breath, swung his body around, and placed his feet flat on the floor. It moved, as though someone had pulled up the end of his carpet and flicked it to create a wave.

‘Whoa,’ he gasped, startled at the movement.

He lifted his feet and bent forward to look under his bed. The carpet rippled like waves of an ocean. Arthur squeezed his eyes tight, leaned over and switched on his bedside lamp. The carpet was still once more. He shook his head; he was imagining things. He sat up and pulled his wet pyjama top away from his skin and surveyed his room. His bed covers lay in a heap on the floor, as though a fight had taken place on his bed. Arthur sighed and picked up his duvet, he shivered as a breeze curled through the open window. The clock told him it was 3:13am. He tiptoed out of his room and across the hall to the bathroom, peeled off his sweaty pyjamas, and threw them into the wash basket. Mum was going to moan about all the extra washing. It was the fifth time that week he’d woken up at exactly the same time, in exactly the same state, after having exactly the same dream. But it was the first time the floor had wobbled – or was it?

Arthur grabbed a towel and dried his face and body. After changing into a clean pair of jogging bottoms and t-shirt, he crept down the stairs jumping over the creaky step. The last thing he wanted was to wake mum again. She’d want to talk about what had woke him up; she’d make him tell her about his dream and his feelings; she’d ask what was going on in his life and look for a deeper meaning. Mum was always looking for a deeper meaning in things. Glastonbury was the perfect place for her, a town where most people had a mystical reason for any event. Even what colour pants you picked that day meant something deeper in Glastonbury. Red? You need grounding. Pink? You need love in your life. Yellow? Are you in need of some happiness? Arthur’s mum loved it. Guin would love it. Arthur sighed. The colour of his pants was irrelevant, it was guilt that was waking him up. Guilt, because he’d left his new friends to deal with the shadow they’d released, Morgana’s shadow. He didn’t know what was happening to them back in Avalon, and the not knowing was playing on his mind. Did they manage to banish the shadow?

Arthur shivered, not because it was cold; but the memory of the icy hand that grabbed his throat and tried to crush the life out of him, the death-cold hand of Morgana’s shadow, filtered through his mind. Arthur shuddered. He had thought he was going to die under its grip; no wonder he’d been dreaming about it since he had returned. Arthur had been back for eight weeks, though no time had passed for everyone else at home while he’d been away. No one knew about his adventures, as far as they were concerned Arthur had tripped and banged his head, which had led Arthur to question his sanity, daily. Had it really happened? Had he really been to Avalon, or had he hit his head that hard his mind had made it all up? But the memories of journeying through Avalon, saving a baby dragon, fighting trolls, releasing Nimbwe and an evil shadow, were so vivid there was no way it wasn’t true. Right? He had opened his eyes lying on the ground, amongst the stones, like none of it had happened; no time had passed. Not one second. But it did happen. It must have.

Arthur tiptoed into the kitchen and poured himself some fresh orange juice. Something tapped behind him. Arthur jumped It was only the branch from the apple tree hitting the window in the breeze. He drank his juice and put the empty cup in the sink. The branch tapped the glass again, Arthur moved closer to the window and peered out. His mum’s solar lights were glowing orange, creating black shadows of the branches above as they danced in the gentle breeze. The branch tapped the window over and over in a hypnotic rhythm. Arthur stared into the garden; the vibration of the tapping thrummed through him, the beat getting under his skin – thud-thud…thud. Thud-thud…thud. It was no longer a tapping sound but a soft drumming, lulling him, soothing the anxiety of his dream. A faint wind instrument, that sounded like a flute, played alongside the drumming. Arthur opened the window, the music instantly sounded louder. Who on earth was playing instruments at half past three in the morning?

Arthur walked across the kitchen and opened the back door. He hopped over the back step and into the narrow alley, where they kept the bins, which ran alongside his house. A wall, with overgrown bushes sprouting over the top, separated his garden from next door’s. Arthur walked the length of the wall running his fingers along the rough, bumpy bricks. Fragments came away under his touch. He stopped by the wooden bench his mum had bought a few days ago and sat down. The drumming and flute stopped. Arthur listened intently; snoring was coming from the open window next door. A car drove past. A cat meowed. Arthur sat there waiting, listening out for the drumming and flute. Nothing. As he stood up to go back into the house, the music started again. He wasn’t sure if music was the word to call it. It wasn’t like any he’d ever heard before, but there was a definite drumming beat and a flute melody. It was coming from the large, overgrown blackberry bush in the corner of the walled garden, but it couldn’t be coming from there, could it? Arthur stepped closer to the bush. The drumming got louder. He peered into the thicket; something sparkled; a tiny spark of light flashed for a second and then disappeared.

Arthur knelt and stretched forward to investigate. What was sparkling under his blackberry bush? The drumming got louder. He gently moved the spikey branches to one side and crawled further in, closer to the root. The drumming and flute got louder still. Tiny thorns scratched his arms as he lifted the thin branches out of the way. He inched forward. A black ball suddenly jumped at him and scratched his face.

‘Arrggh!’ he yelped and jerked backwards. Thorns tore his t-shirt and stuck into his palms as he clambered out of the bush and flopped backwards onto the ground, panting. The drumming and flute had stopped. Arthur sat up. A black cat sat staring at him, flicking its tail as it meowed.

‘Stupid cat,’ muttered Arthur getting to his feet. He’d lost interest in the drumming after the fright the fur ball had given him. Whoever was playing that music had obviously gone to bed, which is where he should be and not crawling around the undergrowth of a blackberry bush searching for a musician. What did he think he was going to find? A tiny person drumming and another one playing the flute? Arthur sniggered to himself. He was going crazy; obviously, the music hadn’t come from the bush. What a stupid thing to think. Arthur shook his head and skulked back to bed. Thankfully no one was awake to witness his idiocy.

Later that morning Arthur woke to the sound of pans clattering and the smell of breakfast drifting into his room. He jumped up, threw on his jogging bottoms that he’d thrown to the floor after his midnight escapade, and skipped downstairs to the kitchen.

‘Morning, handsome.’ His mother smiled. ‘I knew the smell of breakfast would get you up.’

Arthur grinned. ‘Your breakfast is the best in all of the land.’ He sat at the tiny table that took up half of the kitchen and picked up the ketchup, ready to drown his food in the sweet, red goop.

‘Sleep well?’ she asked.

‘Not really. Weird dreams.’

She crinkled her forehead. ‘What’s on your mind, son?’

He mentally went through the conversation in his head – well, Mum, it’s like this - a few weeks ago, I crossed a portal into Avalon. I met a girl called Guin who took me on a quest. We battled trolls, escaped Mudlees, rescued a baby dragon, climbed a sheer cliff face, rescued an ancient witch from her own prison portal, and released an evil shadow that wants to find its physical body so it can control Avalon. Oh, and I chose to leave my new friends to deal with that because I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you on your own.

Arthur snorted. Maybe not. ‘Honestly, Mum. I’m fine. Too much freaky TV before bed.’

‘What are you doing today?’ she asked.

Arthur chewed slowly. What he would like to do was get into the shop where he’d found Marmaduke a few weeks ago. What was it called? Arthur examined his piece of bean-covered toast while he thought about the shop he’d been thrown out of, which had gone from being a crystal shop, a very weird crystal shop, to a boarded-up empty shop in a matter of seconds. What was it called? Avalon’s something…? Arthur took another bite of his toast. Avalon’s Portal! He almost chocked on his toast as the name flashed in his mind.

‘Careful,’ said mum.

Arthur finished two slices of toast, half a tin of beans, a scoop of fried mushrooms, two fried eggs, the rest of the orange juice, and a glass of milk before declaring he was full.

‘I should hope you are,’ said mum. He ran up the stairs to brush his teeth. He was going back to that shop, Avalon’s Portal, but this time he was going to see if he could get inside. He’d walked past it every day since term ended looking to see if Marmaduke would appear, but it was always empty and boarded-up. There was no sign or clue to show it had been the most magical shop Arthur had ever been in. There was now a bench outside, though he was sure it hadn’t been there when Marmaduke had thrown him out of the place, he would have crashed into it if there had been.

Arthur grabbed his school bag and took out his books. Something dropped onto the floor as he tipped his school stuff out from his bag. He bent down and picked up a small velvet pouch. His fingers fumbled with the thin string as he opened it and poured the contents onto the palm of his hand; a small glittering bottle of fairy dust and a crystal pendant glinted. A ray of light beamed in through the window and hit the crystal; a huge rainbow appeared from the tip of the point and spread across his bedroom wall. For a few seconds, Arthur’s room was filled with shimmering, colourful light. Sparks danced around him, and a ringing sound filled his ears; his body became light, he felt as though he was floating. A cloud slid over the sun, wiping out the rainbow, and the ray of light disappeared along with the colour and the sparkles.

Arthur grinned at the items in his hand. They were the key. They had to be. He put them back in the pouch, put the pouch in his bag, and threw his bag on his back. Arthur had been back to the shop, Avalon’s Portal, but he hadn’t gone back with these.

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Arthur stood outside the shop and looked up, the gold holographic sign that had fascinated him a few weeks before was not there. The sparkly purple window frame that had caught the light and twinkled like it was encrusted with diamonds, was now a murky green. The window that had contained the tiny wizard figurine that Arthur had been convinced winked at him, was now an empty window covered with whitewash paint.

Arthur stepped back; a large man nudged him off the curb and into the road without so much as an apology – rude!

‘I hope you fall on your face, idiot,’ Arthur muttered under his breath. The man tripped over his own feet and stumbled to the floor. Arthur gasped. Had he made that happen?