by GR Griffin
Camelot Enterprise
A Contemporary Arthurian Epic
Arthur Pendragon, heir to Camelot Enterprise - the biggest superpower on the earth, knew that the world was facing an energy crisis. Something needed to be done. But the last thing he expected was the 'Albion Project', a new plan to excavate in the druid's sacred homeland. As Camelot Enterprise discovers outstanding deposits of oil within the Crystal Cave, home to the Ealdor clan, morals and the essence of humanity itself are put to the test. One thing Arthur was completely certain of: falling in love with a druid was definitely not part of the agenda.
Chapter 1
There were five people in the large room. It was scarcely lit by fancy chandeliers with dimmed bulbs; the curtains were pulled tightly closed, barricading any intrusion of the sun. To be more precise, there were five people in Uther Pendragon's office, indicated by the regal dragon figurine on the desk beside the golden name platter. Three of these strangers were standing to the corners of the room, gazing at the scenario unfolding in the centre compellingly. It was as if some mysterious gravitational force lured in their attention, unwilling to release them. At the centre of this pull, a man - no – a druid was sprawled on his knees weakly, bound by peculiar bronze chains around the wrists and ankles. Behind him a man in smart attire stood with a stern expression, his gun scraped the back of the druid's head.
The final man of course was Uther Pendragon. Pacing around the room, he stared dismally at the sight before him. Of all people, this was someone he had trusted, had never thought would betray him in such a way. Snarling darkly, the figure turned on his heel, knuckles white from tension. Yesterday evening, the traitor had been caught practicing magic- within these very walls, committing treason under the nose of those who deemed it so. Shuddering at the very thought of this despicable behaviour, he stopped pacing.
"All these years you've been lying to me." He stated. The shadows consumed the majority of his face, just as they had done with his heart. "…Hiding what you really are."
No response. Uther pressed his palms into the wooden desk vehemently, head bowed.
"You came from… Albion no doubt." The word Albion fell from his mouth like it was diseased.
The druid on his knees raised his head calmly. Surprisingly, there was no futile attempt at escape, or a desperate begging for mercy as many would have tried. To the druid, his face weathered with age and matted white hair to his shoulders, it seemed all too late. Either way, he was going there. Pleading guilty against the charges would take him there, pleading innocent would take him there; even saying nothing would take him there. Once the tyrannous Uther Pendragon had a suspicion that there was an inkling of magic in your veins, he would be determined to flush it out. The druid knew this better than anyone; he had bore witness to this monstrosity countless times. His friends, people who once believed in Camelot and all it stood for, they had all perished under the hand of Uther and a human race indoctrinated by gluttony and endless want. Eyes misting over with sorrow, the druid finally spoke.
"It's the only place our kind can take refuge. You've destroyed every inch of trust the druids ever had for the human race."
Uther's body faced the shadows, and he shut his eyes. At that exact moment two figures barged through the doors, fumbling forwards urgently. Both were drawn to the spectacle in the centre of the room, immobile with shock as he gave his verdict.
"Take him to the lab-"
Attention instantly shifted to the entrance of the office, the bright light behind the two figures outlined their silhouettes like deities, fighting in the name of justice.
"-What is the meaning of this?" one of them exclaimed, an undercurrent of anger lacing their voice. Confusion and hurt quickly swathed over their complexion. The other figure chose not to allow the evident scandal to affect their demeanour. Furiously, they took a step forwards.
"-Don't touch him!" they spat venomously.
Making his way round the desk at a predatory pace, Uther narrowed his eyes at the two figures.
"You," the male at the doorway felt his resolution crumble at the voice; the female remained bold. "dare defy me?"
His father had taught him practically from birth that there was no room to indulge in one's imagination. Imagination was dangerous – an ancient concept forged by their kind. Imagination had to be harnessed and used only for the formation of products that were realistic, practical for business. It was certainly not for manifesting fictional truths. Nor was it for envisaging the vast terrain miles away from the infinite roads, towering grey buildings, and dreary smog-filled days in Camelot. He was foolish enough to have dreamt of visiting Mercia's lush forest once, one of the only remaining forests to date. When he'd told his father, he was merely scolded.
"Show more appreciation for the safe city you live in."
Thus, Arthur Pendragon had put to rest the dreams of the natural world, the desire to leave the towering walls of this city, and the many others he would find himself caged inside years to come. His father believed Fairytales came hand in hand with imagination, and inspired juvenile, dangerous thoughts. Therefore, they were forbidden in the Pendragon household; Gaius read him 'A history of Camelot Enterprise'instead, which apparently was far more beneficial (it had lulled Arthur to sleep through its long words and sheer monotony, that was for sure!).
Arthur had never been one to rebel against his father, even during childhood a fierce obedience began to sprout, eyes morphing with reverence and respect for the colossal figure, and the future he had been granted as his only son. But that didn't stop her from protesting.There were nights when the mischievous dark-haired girl – orphaned at the age of ten months and taken in by his father - would sneak into his room, smuggling all sorts of clandestine books: Cinderella, Snow White…He was sure not even the gods knew where she got them from; apparently all the books had been purged, and some more valuable copies were locked away forever.
'Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets' was definitely one of his favourites. His eyes percolated with awe and marvel whenever Morgana was in a nice enough mood to lend him that book. A story focused around courage, bravery to do what was right and of course ma-
-Harry Potter, at times, reminded him of himself. Not because of his valour – Arthur had nightmares for weeks about that bloody Basilisk, resorting to keeping the bedside lamp on all night- but mainly the curiosity and inability to overlook what many would. More peculiar was the way it was perceived. Yes, there were some who used it for evil. But others wielded the skill for the name of justice. Some nights, it would keep him awake, wondering and imagining. He had to be cautious back then, and read only a chapter a night –sometimes less- before slipping it back under Morgana's door on the way down for breakfast. She had always been better at hiding things than Arthur.
After all any utterance of the M word would result in a serious punishment, his father had reiterated this time and time again.
In fact, any utterance of the M word anywhere would result in nothing but trouble and condemnation.
Sometimes, when Arthur was young enough to enjoy life and lack understanding in his future, (a row of crooked teeth, his face dusted in light freckles) he would roll the luxurious red duvet off, and climb out of the bed which could have swallowed him and at least six other children whole. Delicately, he would scoop up the silver chain kept hidden in his mahogany bedside drawer, and clutch onto it tightly. Then, he would sit on the window ledge, admiring the infinite canvas of black, divergent against hundreds, thousands, of twinkling stars. With hisimagination, he would make shapes out of the stars, mould them into forbidden creatures with his eyes and bring them to life w
ith his reeling mind.
The necklace gripped in his hands was his mother's necklace. Hanging from the silver chain was a Merlin bird, it's wings outstretched in a majestic stance.
Now twenty-two years of age, Arthur still wore the chain around his neck everyday. But the days of stargazing and bursts of imaginationwere long gone. Today, the necklace was nestled underneath his immaculate blue silk shirt and red tie- both designer of course. Chunky navy glasses framed his sapphire eyes, blonde hair combed pristinely over his lightly bronzed skin. Sipping the warm tea from his mug, his eyebrows rose. According to the newspaper in his hands, the official statistics of captured druids in Camelot laboratories had been published. This was not new news to him. After all he was the chief executive, top of the business chain – aside from Uther Pendragon. Arthur had been the one to finalise the figures. The laboratory had been running since as long as he could remember, but even he had little knowledge of what exactly went on down there.
It had begun with one lab (Arthur was told the story many times as a child by his proud father) here in Camelot, the head quarters of Camelot Enterprise. To suggest that it would have remained this way would be foolish, even without knowing the views of m…magic...his father held. As the business expanded, it had progressed into a political superpower, not only promising to find vast expanses of oil, but to create a new, efficient energy. In the constant oil strikes, people blinded by fear and despairing investors had latched onto Uther Pendragon's company. It was the only successful energy supplier to have lasted up to this day and age, where demand was excessively high, and supply was…Arthur frowned. Supply was significantly lower.
This new energy was forged through the extraction of magic. How this was done, Arthur was not entirely sure. He left that to the scientists and just got on with his own job. Some things were best kept secret, unknown. All he knew was that there was now a lab for every C.E office – there were five primary locations scattered across the globe: Camelot, Paris, Tokyo, New York and Sydney. Not to mention the smaller business parks (which still employed over 30,000 people) in China, Germany, Russia, Mexico, you name it. C.E had spread like an infectious virus all across the planet.
Arthur refrained from venturing near the lab. Not because he was scared or remorseful, he just didn't want to acknowledge it. Nobody seemed to be concerned about the moral and ethnic hypocrisy all of this proposed. Despite democracy reigning supreme across the world, the druids were subjected to the utmost discrimination. This prosecution of druids, Arthur knew, had began with his Father: the Magic Containment act of 2085 – underground extremists referred to it as the Great Purge, the destruction of cultural harmony.
This prejudice against the druids had always been visible in human history, but it was only now that the druids were truly prosecuted, discriminated against. Morgana used to recite to him verses of 'æmryš': a compilation of sacred druid texts named after their supposed savoir 'Emrys' – extremely rare. She had been privileged enough to find a tattered copy in a tiny Venetian bookshop. Leon, biologist and furtive scholar on the Druids had begged to see it; Arthur had tried to throw it into the water, where it belonged. His response had not been well received by both Morgana and Leon.
The book, æmryš, revealed that the Druids once had lived amongst people. In fact, they had done so for centuries. However, in the last century, they had returned to their 'Holy land': Albion (Aęniän). Albion – just the human name for it dripped with magic and myth. Many doubted whether Albion existed, for it was invisible to the eye, the expanse of land larger than Australia was secured under a constant magical barrier. It was their safe-haven. Unspoiled land. It was a place where they could continue in their primitive, simple means of living without the threat of being taken to labs or court for simply being a druid.
Those that were stupid enough to step into this world were taken to the labs. Despite the prospect of going to the lab, many druids infiltrated the modern streets, acting as normal people in order to "spy upon the modernised world".
The published figures of druids held in captivity had increased by 60% in the last decade alone. Arthur didn't really have an opinion on this. It was a positive increase, but whether it was worth celebrating over- it wasn't really his place to say. He knew that Morgana would not be happy about this. She had no doubt, once again, planned some sort of sick controversial attack on Arthur for supporting his father in this (support, he thought, was perhaps the wrong word.) Last year, she had set free ten druids – which was ridiculous – and recklessly harboured them to the safety of Albion through a covert network of druidians (people without magic who either support and preach the beliefs of the druids or help shelter them when they exit Albion).
He dreaded to think what kind of stunt she had been planning for this year. Work was going to be hell. Sighing, Arthur glanced down at his watch. Shit. He was late- again.
Tearing himself away from vast mahogany table he was sat at, immersed in subtle touches of Victorian woodwork and modernist simplicity, he picked up the black briefcase. Holding his hand out he spoke monotonously.
"Keys." The car keys obediently landed in his hand.
At the word 'door' it opened itself, allowing Arthur to step outside onto the dark steps. The sun was shining vividly; the usual thick smog was almost untraceable. As he briskly trotted down each step, Gucci sunglasses framing his eyes, the door behind him closed. The buzzing that echoed through his ears assured him his apartment was locked. Jumping into his sexy - he thought it was sexy – C.E 2000, a streamline jet-black vehicle with golden-laced interior, Arthur revved the engine complacently. All thoughts of druids and magic were expelled from his head as the booming music shook the car.
Arthur had definitely broken all the speed limits on his smooth drive to Camelot Enterprise. Any anger anybody had at his outrageous driving melted away in reverence of the beautiful vessel he travelled in. Besides, it didn't matter. He was Arthur Pendragon; he could do whatever he wanted, within reason. Parking up outside the colossal building (the Camelot Enterprise perimeter stretched for miles), he strode up the glass staircase towards a network of codes and heavily monitored steel doors. Flashing his card hastily to the machine, the device buzzed, granting him access. He walked into the main reception hall. Dramatic glass windows peered into other rooms and distant buildings. The tall, towering ceiling continued to astound him every morning, and the large brass statue of his father stood proudly in the centre of the expansive hall. As expected, a woman was rushing towards him over the cerulean-tiled floor, eyes wide. Her long raven hair streaked behind her frantically. Mentally preparing himself for their verbal warfare, Arthur removed the sunglasses from his face, placing them in his suit pocket.
Instead of being greeted by a crude remark, he was struck unexpectedly with an aura of alarm about her person. Agitatedly, she grabbed his arm and pulled him across the hallway wordlessly. A few spectators gazed upon the sight curiously before resuming their business. Drawing his eyebrows together in confusion, Arthur tugged himself free of her grip. The statue of his father towered over him, spilling a dark shadow over the floor.
"Good morning to you too." He grunted, wiping his creased sleeve extensively.
Morgana swallowed-hard and then whacked him forcefully in the arm. She appeared to be apathetic to his dramatic exhale. Taking a step out of his father's shadow, Arthur glowered at her.
"We don't have much time." She said sternly.
Her feet pushed her forwards promptly in a strident march before he could begin to question her behaviour or what she meant. It was typical of her to withhold information. Flapping his arms to his sides in a huff, Arthur followed out of curiosity only. It would be unfair to say that those piercing, sharp eyes had any control over him whatsoever. The cerulean tiles morphed into a dull yellow, the great hall dwindled into the distance behind their brisk walking. They continued to walk through the thin corridor until it stretched out into a wider network. Morgana steered towards the left- a corridor bathed in white and
sparse in decoration. Walking down the corridor briskly, Arthur had established that they were nearing Uther's private office. Rolling his eyes, the blonde blocked Morgana's path.
"Get out of my way!"
Her tone was venomous as she took step to the left; Arthur mirrored her steps, avoiding the poison accurately.
"Hasn't this gone on long enough Morgana?"
Drearily, he took a step to the right, predicting her next move. Holding both hands to each side of the wall, he gazed down at the woman with a raised eyebrow. A smirk drifted over his lips. He'd only been here five minutes, and had already foiled her plans of causing disruption, protest or whatever else she was trying to demonstrate.
"This isn't about me." She spat; the words peeled the smugness off Arthur's face, morphing the expression into confusion.
Catching his eyes, her turquoise orbs permeated anxiety.
"It's Gaius."
By now Arthur had reached optimum levels of bewilderment. Blinking slowly, he opened his mouth a little, eyebrows raised as if to gesture he required a little more information than it's Gaius. For all he knew that sentence could lead to just about anywhere. Gaius was kind of an enigma. Reaching the door, the pair barged past the protesting guards (more like mice, Arthur pushed them aside in seconds) and dramatically sprung open the doors. The sight was sickening.
Eyes-wide, he gazed upon the supposed 'druid' on the floor, and heard his father's cold voice resonate through the office.
"Take him to the lab."
Without hesitation, the brutal man standing behind Gaius hauled him up viciously. Attention shifted suddenly to the entrance of the office, the bright light behind the two recent intruders outlined their silhouettes like deities, fighting in the name of justice.
"-What is the meaning of this?" Arthur exclaimed, an undercurrent of anger lacing their voice.
"-Don't touch him!" Morgana spat savagely at the guard, stepping forwards.
