Better Than Reading

“What does it say?” Haschen asked.

The rest of the Elders looked dubious; the toddler sitting on the patchwork blanket in the middle of the Vault gazed up at them with wide, solemn eyes.

“What does it say?” Haschen repeated.

“ ‘He who bears the cross and the rose will rule the world,’” the boy said.

The Elders smiled, pleased to hear the ritual words spill from a child’s lips in such a sweet child’s voice.

“But can he read?” one of the Elders asked.

“Better,” Haschen said. “He’s learned early.” He leaned down and stroked a hand over the boy’s spine, whispered in his hear.

The little boy screamed and arched away from Haschen’s touch, every muscle tighter than piano wire, but it was too late, the work had begun. The Elders stared as ink, lettered in a toddler’s unsteady hand, spread across the tiny torso, and formed ritual words, an image of a cross bound with roses and thorns.

“How old is he?” another Elder asked.

Haschen said, “Two.”

(170 words)