Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
Rebuking Lord Summerisle
Lord Summerisle, I have a bone to pick with you.
So, they're dragging Sergeant Howie off to be burned in the Wicker Man.
"Don't you see?" Howie cries to you. "When it doesn't work, next year they'll come for you!"
He says that to you, Lord Summerisle, and you say nothing in response. Instead you look nonplussed, as if such a thing had never even crossed your mind.
Shame on you, Summerisle. Shame on you.
You have no right to be king if you're not willing to die for your people. That's the price of a crown. The only worthy sacrifice is a willing sacrifice, as you should have known before you lured an innocent victim (however obnoxious) in from the Mainland to be your surrogate.
"If and when that time comes, I will go willingly."
That's what you should have said to him.
Sir.
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