TKW: The Gift of Borlath

The Gift of Borlath


The halls of Bloor's Academy whistled with spiteful echoes of the wind that howled outside. It was Friday night, and for once nobody had detention. Silence hung over every empty classroom like a curtain of gray. Only through a few windows did light glow.
One of them belonged to Manfred Bloor, former head boy and current teaching assistant. He was amusing himself by pinching candlewicks between his bony fingers and lighting them using his endowment of conjuring fire. Candles dripped from every surface like fireflies on waxen stems. Manfred preferred their ageless glow to the harsh glare of electric lamps.

Finished at last with his simple task, the angular young man sighed in satisfaction, throwing himself into a violin-backed wooden chair and meeting his own black gaze in the age-clouded antique mirror hanging above his desk. The candlelight flickering in the depths of his eyes reminded him briefly of the talent that had abandoned him only recently: hypnotism, yet another thing Charlie Bone had stolen from him. Manfred was convinced that Charlie's willfully blocking him from reading the boy's mind had broken his power.

But it hardly mattered now. After all, he was now the possessor of an even greater skill-that of control over fire, like his ancestor Borlath-and that skill would be what brought down the infernal meddler in the end. It was just a very short matter of time until he would be at the peak of his power, and then-oh, then-all that boy and his cursed confidantes had done would be for naught.

Manfred smirked at his reflection. Thinking about hurting Bone always gave him pleasure.

…hast thou enemies then?…

Manfred started, whipping round in his chair. Where had that voice come from? It seemed not to have come from any discernable direction or indeed been spoken out loud at all, instead echoing from within his own mind as if he himself had thought the question.

"Hello?" he barked, not so much afraid as angry. If it was one of Charlie's stupid little buddies sneaking into the building after hours to mess with him, they were going to be sorry. That Olivia Vertigo was an actress; she probably knew how to mimic and throw her voice. Little hellion.

…be not mistaken, no parlor trick am I but thy destiny…

…follow my instructions and I shall aid thee in thine nemeses' destruction…

Manfred scowled. Something about the voice was tugging at his insides, willing him to obey this… this sensory apparition. What a ridiculous situation. He was probably asleep and dreaming this right now. Nobody talked to voices in their head except mad people, and mad he certainly wasn't. "And what if I don't?"

…then thou shalt wish thou had listened to thy betters, insolent scion!…

Manfred winced. A sharp burning flash had just struck through his head down to his ribs. If this was a dream then it was a rather unpleasant one.

…still doubting? a wise attitude… Approving laughter. …then I shall make good my word. come, and I shall prove to my descendant…

With a jerk, Manfred's body rose to its feet as if someone had lifted him by his collar. Puppetlike, he was lurched to the door, out of it and down through the building, all the while feeling as if someone had caught him by the arm (only over his entire body) and was pulling him forward.

When the curious sensation receded and Manfred could control his own movements again, he found himself standing in the middle of the ruins, in front of the stone under which Borlath's artifacts had been discovered along with his mother's heart.

"What is this?" he demanded of the chilly midnight air. "There's nothing here! Nothing but dirt! We dug up this spot ages ago."

…ah, but thou art mistaken, my son many times great. indeed thy beast-boy had unearthed all that there is to be had from this cold earth, but had no one considered the stone itself as a hiding place of treasure?…

Manfred shivered in the frigid breeze. "How could anything be hidden in that stone? It's solid."

…true, but still does this humble building block keep its secret like all of this city's. see how it is darker than the rest. the keepsake inside hath dyed its container with the essence of its meaning…

In the moonlight, the block didn't look any different than the surrounding others. Manfred shrugged.

…lay thy palms against the surface and will thy fire to come. my power within it wilt do the rest…

Manfred obeyed. Might as well. It was better than being shocked again. Placing his hands flat on the icy stone, he closed his eyes.

Fire.

The stone exploded with a eardrum-snapping crack! and something heavy and shining was propelled into Manfred's outstretched hands, almost as if by magnetism. He stumbled backwards, almost dropped whatever it was, and regained his footing by leaning against a half-crumbled wall.

The object he held was a great black sword. Wickedly glinting in pools of old moonlight, it seemed to grow as he beheld it-how could it ever have fit inside the block? It was misshapen like a strange diamond-shaped flame; jagged, melted and malevolent as dragons' teeth. Uniformly reflective and dark over blade and hilt, it appeared to have been carved all in one piece from some huge jewel. Manfred was awestruck. The thought-voice's next gleeful words seemed to come from far away.

…behold my gift to thee, my soon-to-be shell-Soulslicer, the last and most powerful weapon of Borlath the Black King!…

Through his haze of confusion and amazement, Manfred caught the strange phrases. Part of that sentence hadn't made sense.

"Borlath, the Black King? Borlath was never a king... don't you mean the Red King? I never heard of him using a weapon like this-"

…No!…</b> The voice seemed harsher, stronger, more excited. …Do not confuse me with that soft incompetent! I should have been more than he ever amounted to for all of his flashy talents! And I would have been, but for that meddler Mathonwy! No, this is no one's but ours…

The penny dropped at last.

"You…" Vaguely, Manfred was disturbed to find himself shaking, and not from the wind chill. "You… you're Borlath? But how? You're dead-- you've been dead for centuries! What do you want with me?" He was too shocked to be as reverent as he would have otherwise.

…What do I want, my child? Not much… Borlath beguiled. …Only a little of thine help, that is all I require. Tonight is the anniversary of a prophecy I placed upon this place, so I have returned to see it through. Thou art my chosen one, Manfred Bloor, and thou shalt rule over thy kin with my power in thy hands. My knowledge and courage shalt reside in thine heart, and my soul shalt be with you at all times to consult and support. All I need is thy consent…

Reflecting in the glorious blade, Manfred's ghostly face began to split into a deranged grin. "I'll be able to do whatever I wish?"

…Yes, with my guidance…

"My family will be restored to its rightful place of honor?"

…Naturally…

Manfred felt his breath coming faster, in nearing-hysterical gouts of biting coldness. "I'll have the means to finish Charlie Bone and all the rest of his pals-those ignorant unendowed meddlers and filthy blood traitors-for good?"

Borlath roared with pleased hilarity. …Thou art truly of my blood, young Bloor! Yes, it shalt be thine!…

"Then my consent is yours!" Manfred's voice rose and cracked, half-giggling in mad glee. "Anything to wipe them off the face of the earth! Every single one of them! We'll take them out together, and anyone else who dares oppose us!"

His crazed shrieking laughter ricocheted crazily off the ruin walls, multiplying and echoing itself so that it seemed an entire castle-full of voices shared the joke, and Borlath laughed right along, soundlessly in his head.

…Then prepare thyself, my son, for now having consent, I enter…

Manfred's breath froze in his throat. His muscles seemed to disappear, and he dropped to his knees, Soulslicer burying its point in the rain-softened soil. The world seemed to implode into soap-bubbled colors, crushing him in a pressure like the deep sea's embrace. He wanted to scream, couldn't draw in his lungs, and could only watch captive as his vision twisted; wrested away from him, the absence of his senses filled him throughout, and though Borlath's laughter continued to ring in his fading ears there was something wrong with it;

it sounded louder and clearer and thinner-

-it sounded like his own voice…

Then the night collapsed in upon him and Manfred knew no more.

----------------------------


About fifteen minutes away on Filbert Street, it was bath time.
Slowly shriveling in a tubful of his mother's pomegranate bubble bath, Charlie Bone wondered what Benjamin would be doing tomorrow. Perhaps they could go walking to the park with Runner Bean and talk along the way; Benjamin had been in a constant sour mood recently, and Charlie was hoping to get to the bottom of it. After all, Benjamin was his oldest friend, and ever since Emma had pointed out the whole mood swing issue, it had been bothering Charlie.
All of it was really quite hard to think about in the midst of pink foam, though. Bath suds were one of Charlie's secret guilty pleasures. They never failed to completely blow away all his worries, and if they were thick enough he could make little sculptures with them.

Charlie bubbled away innocently, pleased with himself for not getting detention, and looked ahead to a long peaceful weekend.