The Wicker King

by K. Ancrum

  FRACTAL

  August was confined to his room for three weeks. The first day he got out of solitary, he had an appointment with his psychologist.

  “Why were you in Jack’s room?” she asked.

  “Because he invited me. He literally opened the door and asked me to come in.” August’s voice cracked from disuse.

  “You know as well as I do that that doesn’t matter. You should be more responsib—”

  “WHY?” August shouted, pushing away from the table and standing up. “Why do I have to always be the responsible one?”

  The psychologist raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, mostly because you’re not actually dealing with a serious mental illness. You’re a bit obsessive, codependent, and clearly possess a terrible sense of judgment. But regardless of what happened at court, you’re not criminally insane. Jack? Jack is actually ill. Instead of letting him lead you, why don’t you step up and lead him?”

  August sat back down. He put his head in his hands. “I don’t want to,” he said quietly.

  “Excuse me? I didn’t hear you.”

  “I don’t want to,” August said a little louder. “I like following him. Following orders. Doing whatever he wants. It feels good. It feels so fucking good.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  “I just … I know what to do with myself when he tells me what to do. He’s my king. When you lock him away from me, lock me away from him—it hurts us. It hurts me.” August was crying now. He couldn’t stop.

  “You need to calm down.”

  “No! I’m finished fucking being calm. I’ve been explaining this for months. No one ever fucking listens! I have never known a time when he wasn’t there to lead. That’s why I burned down the toy factory. That is why I let him practically drown me. Because it was worth it. It’s so fucking simple. Why can’t any of you get it into your fucking heads: He is my only constant. My fixed point.”

  30,000 LEAGUES

  “… they found out that he had a tumor.”

  “Wait, what?” He couldn’t quite hear over the roaring in his ears.

  “Jack had a tumor pressing on a section of his brain,” the psychologist said slowly. “Six more weeks and the damage would have been irreparable. The hallucinations weren’t the illness itself. They were only a symptom, and as the tumor grew, the symptom shifted as well—hence, the progressive darkening of his vision from pleasant images to threatening and terrifying delusions. His condition is called peduncular hallucinosis. It’s rare, but thankfully it’s curable. He’s having the tumor removed next week.”

  August stared at the floor. He clenched his hands into fists.

  “You couldn’t have known.”

  He laughed mirthlessly at that. “I always tried to do my best by him…,” August whispered.

  The psychologist looked tired. “There was nothing you could have done—”

  “Don’t. Patronize me,” August spat, looking up at her. “I could have taken him to a hospital, called his mom, talked to the school. Hell, I had the opportunity to get him to a psychologist for free. But I didn’t do any of that. I indulged him and I wasted time.”

  “August—”

  “No. We aren’t talking about this. I can’t talk about this right now. Take me back to my room.”

  “If you would just—”

  August got up silently, picked up his chair, and hurled it against the wall with astonishing violence. The wood splintered with a loud crack. “TAKE ME BACK.”

  HOME

  August barely ate the week Jack had surgery. He curled up into a ball of guilt on his bed, his eyes dry and prickly. He should have been finishing up senior year. Should have been laughing with Gordie and going to midterms and complaining about homework.

  He missed his mom.

  He missed real food, like lasagna and salmon and fresh vegetables.

  He missed the woods and his fires and the look of thirst in Jack’s eyes when he was on a bender.

  He missed Rina, with her sweet mouth and beautiful mind.

  He missed the sound of silence.

  Everything here rattled or beeped or groaned or yelled or cried, and August was fucking sick of it.

  PLANS

  They left him alone for a while. As long as he got up to shower and eat something at least once a day, no one spoke to him or asked him to do anything. He even got out of group therapy for a week, which was a relief. But it wasn’t sustainable. His case evaluation hearing was tomorrow.

  August wasn’t sure whether he was ecstatic at the chance to get out of here, terrified about what waited for him outside, or entirely too reluctant to leave Jack behind. It wasn’t something he could handle while knowing that Jack was still recovering from brain surgery. And fuck if he would leave before saying good-bye.

  Every day he asked the nice orderly when Jack was coming back, and every day she said she didn’t know. She wasn’t a higher-up, she was just an orderly; they didn’t trust her with that information.

  That was okay. He just needed to be here when it happened. It was too cruel to turn his back on this place with his king still trapped inside it.

  GRIFTING

  The hearing came. August sat quietly in his chair and listened while they described him as “gentle, protective, and under a lot of stress.” Also, apparently codependency wasn’t in the DSM-IV, so he couldn’t be held for that alone.

  It was decided that he would remain at the hospital for one more month for stabilization and rehabilitation purposes before his release, on the stipulation that he continue seeing his resident therapist for three more months.

  There wasn’t extensive property damage from the fire, outside of the abandoned building itself. But he would still be required to pay $2,000 in fines due to the closeness of the burn site to the nature preserve forest area, along with destruction of public property.

  August went back to the ward with promises of significantly less restriction and a significant increase in privileges, but he really just wanted to sleep for days.

  CHANSONNIER

  The Raven

  The Golden Bird

  The Eagle of the North

  The Champion with Sparks in His Veins

  The King’s Lionheart

  The Bringer of the Blue

  Defender of Light

  Would it still be real after the treatment, or would all his titles collapse like a tower of sand?

  Would Jack look at him from across a table years from now and see the hero of this story? Or would he just see a man? A friend?

  Nothing so glorious as to be shouted from the rooftops or cemented in legend.

  Or was “friend” enough of a title to satisfy? After all of this?

  August didn’t know. And it kept him up at night.

  BIND AND BREAK AND FIND AND TAKE

  They brought Jack back at night, when they knew August would be sleeping. August was banned from the entire left wing of the institution, where the more fragile patients were kept, for three full days while Jack recovered and readjusted to life without his vision clouded by hallucinations.

  The nice orderly had been coming into his room every so often to bring news. Today she came in and shut the door behind her. August sat up in bed. “He asked me to tell you that he’s being acquitted as a condition of him going through with the surgery. It’s likely that he’ll have to pay fines, but otherwise, he should be released.”

  “When is he leaving?” August asked.

  “As soon as possible. He’ll likely be gone before you. I overheard one of the doctors in the hallway talking with the director. He said that he’d only be here for a couple more days. It’s likely that the only reason he didn’t go straight home after the week of recovering from his surgery is because they can’t release him from the hospital before first settling things here in the ward.”

  August began getting up. “I need to see him.”

  She put a hand on his shoulder. “You need to stay here. You’re so close to getting out
, August. You can’t do anything to jeopardize that. You have a month left. Don’t make it six more. You and I both know that it’s not worth it.”

  “Okay, yeah … okay.” August went to lie back down, like a titan finally falling to dust.

  CIRRUS

  He was dreaming. He had to be, because he was walking through the hospital in broad daylight. No one stopped him. No one told him to go back to his room. There were no guards. There was just the sun coming through the windows and the unbearable stifling white, washed golden in the light.

  He walked the length of the hospital to the room he was forbidden from entering and opened the door. There was nothing inside. August searched the room. Then, disappointed, he went out into the hallway.

  “He’s not there. He was never there.”

  An orderly he had never seen before stood at the end of the hallway.

  “What do you mean, he was never there? Of course he was there! Just because nobody is in there now doesn’t mean no one was ever there at all,” August said, frustrated.

  August turned to gesture back at the empty room, but found it wasn’t empty at all.

  Jack sat on the bed. He knew it was him by the way he curled one leg gracefully under the other, but his entire head was obscured by a large white cloud. August stumbled into the room and fell to his knees. As soon as they hit the tile, they were no longer covered by rough cloth, but clad in the finest steel.

  “Are you certain, Lionheart?” The orderly was in the doorway now.

  “Of course,” August said, bowing before him. “I never doubted once.”

  When he looked up, the room was empty and the armor was gone and the orderly had vanished.

  When August woke up, he wept.

  OKAY

  “I feel as though your stay here has been less than advantageous for you,” the psychologist said.

  “What makes you think that?” August replied. He took a bite of his apple, pilfered at lunch.

  “If I was to be completely honest, you’re much worse now than when you came in. The only thing we seem to have fixed is your pyromania.”

  August snorted. He wasn’t a pyromaniac. He hadn’t had the urge since he’d nearly burned off the entire first layer of skin on his palms. Which was totally a rational response. If they wanted to take credit for that, whatever.

  “It’s likely that Jack will come out of this situation with significantly less trauma than you will,” the psychologist remarked. “The procedure is invasive, but the recovery time for this illness is notoriously very short. Only a couple of days, actually. If the surgery is successful, he should be right as rain.”

  August took another bite.

  “How do you feel about that?”

  He chewed for a bit instead of answering.

  “What’s your name? You know, I never asked. Or cared to find out, before now,” he said suddenly.

  “Kimberly Cho.”

  “Dr. Cho?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks. You know. For everything.”

  LES CINQ DOIGTS

  It was night when he came. The guard turned on the light and searched the room before waving him in. August sat up in bed and watched the guard close the door behind him. He could see the man still looking in through the tiny window. Ah well, it couldn’t be helped. August turned his attention to Jack.

  Jack stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. He was wearing regular clothes and his head was shaved because of the surgery. He looked pretty much like he had the day they’d arrived. Maybe a bit thinner and a bit paler, but no worse for wear.

  “Can I?” Jack gestured at the bed. August nodded.

  Jack approached him hesitantly and sat on the edge. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” he blurted out. “I wanted to see you before I did.”

  August cleared his throat. “So the surgery … the surgery worked, huh?”

  “Yup.” Jack picked at the sheets for a bit before continuing. “It’s weird, you know? I wouldn’t say I miss it, but it’s weird. It’s a good thing it’s over, though, I guess. Or at least that’s what they keep telling me.”

  “Is it permanent?” August asked, his voice cracking.

  “Yeah. Yes it is.”

  August felt a lump rising in his throat and he didn’t know why. He turned away from Jack and glared at the barred window.

  ALLEGRETTO

  “Are you … mad at me?”

  August shook his head, but he gripped the edge of the blanket tighter. When he turned back, Jack was visibly upset.

  “No, I’m not mad at you, Jack, I could never be … I am angry, though. I think I’ve been angry since it began … I’m angry that we have nothing to show for it. I’m angry that we couldn’t fix you on our own. I’m angry that I’m still here and you’re going to leave me here—” August bit his tongue at the pain of that thought, and closed his eyes.

  When he opened them, Jack was frowning very hard.

  August shook his head and forced a smile. “But that’s not important. I’m glad you’re not sick anymore. Do you think they’ll let you back on the team?”

  “I don’t care about the team, August. Why are you even … August? August, look at me. Look at me.”

  He couldn’t. “It was nice to see you, Jack, but I think you should go,” he said.

  “No!” Jack scrambled closer, but August didn’t react. “No, please! I’m sorry, August. I’m sorry.”

  August just stared at the floor.

  “I’m sorry.” Jack was crying now. Everything in August was screaming at him to do something—he always did something when Jack cried. But instead, he just sat there and said:

  “I’m always going to be a part of this world that doesn’t even exist anymore. I’m always going to look at you and…” August paused. “At one point it was just a game. At the river it was supposed to be a game. But now I can’t stop. I never could. I’m always going to want to be at your heels, fighting for you. Hurting myself because you tell me to. It’s fucked up and I’m fucked up now, too.”

  Jack’s face constricted with pain. He gripped August’s shoulders and shook him.

  “I never said I didn’t feel the same,” Jack said harshly. “Just because I don’t see the kingdom doesn’t mean it doesn’t still exist,” Jack said furiously. “As long as one of us remembers it, it still counts. We decide the end of the game, not them. Not anyone else. You’re so stupid, August. You’re so stupid and I love you so much.”

  MODERATO

  “I love you and we don’t need the other world to keep that.” He glanced at the small window in the door to see if the guard was watching, then leaned over quickly and pressed their foreheads together.

  “It’s just true,” he said. “It always has been. In this world and the next. They could take everything away and leave us with nothing, and I would still love you.”

  Jack’s face went blurry, like August was seeing it through the sea.

  “Do they still sing songs of my victory?” August choked.

  “They do. And they’ll crescendo like beacons to the farthest reaches. With every new breath of life that forms in a world without darkness that came at the price of your hands and your mind.”

  “You’ve become a poet,” August breathed.

  “I haven’t.” Jack laughed softly. “I’m just telling you what I saw carved into the walls before they stole that world from me. You were chosen as Champion, August. Not a martyr.”

  Jack brushed the salt from August’s cheek.

  “I’ve never seen you cry before,” he whispered.

  Then, with a resolute and terrible sorrow, Jack cradled August’s cheek in his nervously shaking hands and kissed him.

  GLORY

  August’s heart seized.

  He didn’t … know he could have this.

  Jack kissed him so carefully that August thought he would fall to pieces. Kissed him with the weight of knowing the price of risk. Then he gazed back at August like his heart was already breaking.


  It was the same face that Jack had made on the roof, in the middle of the night, when they rolled in the grass, when he sat back with August’s blood and ink on his hands, when his face was lit orange with flames, when he’d opened the door to Rina’s room, when he stared across the gym at the homecoming dance, when he pulled him from the river and breathed him back to life.

  Jack had been waiting. He’d been trying. He was scared. There were tears in his eyes and it took August’s breath away.

  They were being watched, but August didn’t care. He curled his fingers into Jack’s shirt and dragged him closer.

  “How long?” He had to know.

  “August, please—”

  “How long have you been waiting for me?” The words tore themselves roughly from his throat.

  Jack closed his eyes and hung his head in despair. It had been before all of this, then. Maybe even earlier.

  August brushed his fingertips against the sharp edge of Jack’s jaw. Then he touched the edge of the bandage on the side of Jack’s head.

  “I’m right here,” he said. “I’ve always been right here.”

  The sound Jack made was so quiet and so desperately lonely. So August closed the last inch between them, and answered it. He ate up the noises Jack made, sweet and lush as they were, and tasted the rest of their lives.

  “When we are free and have healed from this, will you stay?” he gasped. “Will you stay with me?”

  The guard pounded on the door. Jack jerked back from him with a start and placed his hands in full view of the window. He was still wrecked and wanting, glorious and raw. August reached back out for him, instinctively, but Jack shook his head, scrambling to his feet as the door began to open.

  “I have to go. But I’ll be back for you,” Jack promised.

  “Mr. Rossi, your time is up.”

  “I’ll be back for you. I always will.”