Page 30 of The Wicker King

He walked back to town and straight to Jack’s house. To his surprise, Jack’s mom opened the door when he knocked. She hadn’t been home in weeks. He frowned at her with undisguised disapproval.

“Hi, August. May I help you?”

“I need to see Jack.”

Jack’s mom looked concerned. “I don’t know if you should. He’s not feeling very well.”

“Even more reason that I should see him. I’m the only one who ever does anything about it anyway,” August said meanly.

He pushed past her and headed up the stairs. August opened Jack’s door without knocking and shut it behind him. Jack was crouched in the corner in the dark, his head buried in his arms. August strode fast to him and dropped to his knees. He lifted Jack’s face and gripped it tight in his hands.

“I was just scared,” Jack whispered.

“I know.” He wiped a tear from Jack’s cheek, smearing his face with ash.

“Don’t leave me.”

August shut his eyes. “I won’t.”

CULTURAL STUDIES

Rina took off her apron and scooted into the booth with them. Jack pushed the poem across the table to her, then leaned back in his chair as she read. She’d taken her hair down out of the tight bun she always wore for work. By the time she got to the bottom of the page, she was frowning.

“What does it mean?” August demanded.

“I only took half a semester of folklore at the community college, so—”

“You’re the best we’ve got right now,” August interrupted. “Anything you can give us would be good.”

Rina tapped a bobby pin on the paper and looked thoughtful. “So, the Wicker King is from a game you used to play when you were kids, right?” They both nodded. “What were the rules?”

“It was an imagination game. More of a power play than anything else, I’m beginning to realize,” Jack said dryly. “It was a classic adventure story. Pretend hunting, pretend feasts, pretend sword fighting with sticks.”

Rina squinted. “If I were to compare this poem to others I’ve seen, it’s kind of like a really simple rhymeless lai. Or a prophecy of some kind. If you scrap the nonsense words and only focus on the words in English, it’s a pretty simple narrative.”

She slid the plate holding the remainder of August’s apple pie to her side of the table and took a quick bite.

“Basically, there is an object, the so-called Rapturous Blue, that has been taken from its home. And that’s not a good thing because without it, everyone and everything in the story is going to die. Because of some other evil Cloven King. The Wicker King—that’s you,” she said to Jack, “has to go and find the Rapturous Blue and bring it back so whatever the Fortentook is doesn’t happen. So I’m assuming that whatever Jack is seeing is following that basic narrative.”

“That doesn’t … sound … good,” Jack said.

August leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. His heart was racing. “What do you suggest we do?”

Rina shrugged. “Personally, I’d take him to the hospital.”

“We’re not doing that,” Jack said quickly.

“Why?” Rina frowned.

“Because I said so. We’re going to fulfill the prophecy.”

“Are you fucking crazy?” August spat.

“Why are you so afraid of a little adventure? Nothing cool ever happens in this stupid town.” Jack grinned mirthlessly. “Besides, we’re already playing one game. Why not add another? Do you think you can’t handle it?”

“What game? The one from when you were kids?” Rina asked. She looked suspicious.

“No, not really,” Jack said vaguely. “We’re too old for that one. This one is different.”