A young Karthus works towards a lifelong dream, learning to read and write.
Letter By Letter
"A B C D"
I push and pull my stylus across the wax, tracing the letters painted on the tablet below it. This has become another part of my new routine here at the temple. Wake up, place the tray in the dormitory's window so that the wax can melt flat, go about my duties and dig the graves, attend study with the other new initiates, return to the dorm, and practice writing letters again.
I can hardly believe it, but then I smell the beeswax and feel the grooves on the stylus between my fingers and I know it is real. I am learning to write!
"E F G"
I never thought I would learn to read, though I always wanted to. Reading was something usually only for those wealthy and smart. Horatia was the only one of us knew how to but she never had the time to teach us much, and even then, she only knew a few words. It was more than enough to get by in the slums. If most of the people around you couldn't read, why would you bother writing?
I wonder if she would be proud of me if she saw me now. Her little brother, writing letters and knowing which ones they are. Though, I also have no doubt that what she would actually do is tell me that I was doing a great job but that I still needed to keep practicing, especially with this letter. What is it called again? "G?" I do not like this letter. It curls back on itself too much, but Master Acheron says that I need to learn all the letters, so I will. I do not want to disappoint him.
"H I J K"
"K," I know that letter well. It's the first one in my name. It was something Horatia made sure we could all do; know what our names looked like written down and be able to recite how to spell them. That was it though, and looking back, I wasn't even really reading my whole name all the time. I would just check to see if it looked like the right length and check to see if the first few letters matched. I usually didn't need much past "R." But not this time. This time I am going to learn them all.
" P"
There are other acolytes here that are mocked me for not being able to read even though I am in my teen years. I try not to let it bother me. I bet I could catch and skin a rat faster than they ever could, not that that skill matters much anymore. I know even without catching my own food, I will be able to eat every day. There is another thing I can still be proud of though. I know the prayers and hymns better than any of the initiates do. I heard them every day and sang along with the dirges whenever I could.
They are just bitter second daughters and third sons offered to the Order by their fathers in a vain attempt to appease the Kindred and spare their lives on the battlefield. As if the Wolf's hunger could be so easily swayed? The thought makes me want to scoff.
" V"
Soon I will be able to read and write. Soon, soon, soon. Keep promising yourself. It makes study less dull. And think of what you will do after. I will read. I will read so much. I will read everything in this temple I can get my hands on. I will study everything about the mysteries of death and anything they have about what lies beyond. I want to know what it is the dying see in their last moments. What makes them look so enraptured? Why do they look so beautiful? What divinity do they see? I want to know.
I want to know so much. I want to know how to read the hymns. I want to help with the copy of texts. I want to record the names of the dying. I want to read what is written on the sides of shops. I want to know that the tavern by the docks is called the "Silver Gull" not because I saw the painting of the bird on the sign but because I read the black letters written below it. I want to write Horatia's name, and Caecilia's, and Liviana's. I want to write my own dirges.
"W X Y Z"
That's all of them. And I think that's what I want to do the most. I want to write a dirge just for my sisters. They didn't have much in life, but in death I can give them this. If what some believe is true, and that the spirits of the departed continue to watch over us from the beyond, then they will hear it. If what others say is true, that only our song can reach across, then they will still know that I haven't forgotten about them. And if their spirits cannot hear my songs at all, the living still will and they will know that I love my sisters. I miss them, I mourn for them, but I also rejoice for them. They are beyond pain and suffering, so I shed no tears.
I look down to examine my work. The letters that are most straight lines are getting better. Some are even as good as the letter beneath the wax! But the curved letters still don't look right, especially "G." And then there are also the little, the lower case, versions of these letters I need to learn. I still have a long way to go for improvement.
I want to practice more, but I need the sunlight to melt the wax again. A regular candle takes too long. I have tried before. At least there is some space along the edge that I can try to write some words. Luckily some words are like my name and I think I can spell them if I remember how each letter sounds.
"US"
Me and someone else.
"ART"
Like the statues of the Lamb and Wolf.
"KART"
What the donkeys pull.
"KARD"
What you play games with.
"KARY"
Hold and move something.
I sound out the words as I write and I am grateful that so many make the same sound as the start of my name.
"THANK"
When I feel grateful.
I am grateful every day.
I keep scratching words in the wax until my candle burns down to almost nothing and, reluctantly, I need to use what light is left to clean myself for bed. But I do see one more little space left untouched on the tablet and write out a final thing, the one thing I know I will write correctly; my own name.
"KARTHUS"