“I don’t know. But I think you ought to give it a try.”
Roland reached slowly for the key. As his fingers touched it, a bright glimmer seemed to
flash down its barrel, but it was gone so quickly that Eddie could not be sure he had seen it.
It might have been only starlight.
Roland’s hand closed over the key growing out of the branch. For a moment his face
showed nothing. Then his brow furrowed and his head cocked in a listening gesture.
“What is it?” Susannah asked. “Do you hear—”
“Shhhh!” The puzzlement on Roland’s face was slowly being replaced with wonder. He
looked from Eddie to Susannah and then back to Eddie. His eyes were filling with some
great emotion, as a pitcher fills with water when it is dipped in a spring.
“Roland?” Eddie asked uneasily. “Are you all right?”
Roland whispered something. Eddie couldn’t hear what it was.
Susannah looked scared. She glanced frantically at Eddie, as if to ask, What did you do to
him?
Eddie took one of her hands in both of his own. “I think it’s all right.”
Roland’s hand was clamped so tightly on the chunk of wood that Eddie was momentarily
afraid he might snap it in two, but the wood was strong and Eddie had carved thick. The
gunslinger’s throat bulged; his Adam’s apple rose and fell as he struggled with speech. And
suddenly he yelled at the sky in a fair, strong voice:
“GONE! THE VOICES ARE GONE!”
He looked back at them, and Eddie saw something he had never expected to see in his
life—not even if that life stretched over a thousand years.
Roland of Gilead was weeping.
2
THE GUNSLINGER SLEPT SOUNDLY and dreamlessly that night for the first time in
months, and he slept with the not-quite finished key clenched tightly in his hand.
3
IN ANOTHER WORLD, BUT beneath the shadow of the same ka-tet, Jake Chambers
was having the most vivid dream of his life.
He was walking through the tangled remains of an ancient forest— a dead zone of fallen
trees and scruffy, aggravating bushes that bit his ankles and tried to steal his sneakers. He
came to a thin belt of younger trees (alders, he thought, or perhaps beeches—he was a city
boy, and the only thing he knew for sure about trees was that some had leaves and some
had needles) and discovered a path through them. He made his way along this, moving a
little faster. There was a clearing of some sort up ahead.
He stopped once before reaching it, when he spied some sort of stone marker to his right.
He left the path to look at it. There were letters carved into it, but they were so eroded he
couldn’t make them out. At last he closed his eyes (he had never done this in a dream before)
and let his fingers trace each letter, like a blind boy reading Braille. Each formed in the
darkness behind his lids until they made a sentence which stood forth in an outline of blue
light:
TRAVELLER, BEYOND LIES MID-WORLD.
Sleeping in his bed, Jake drew his knees up against his chest. The hand holding the key
was under his pillow, and now his fingers tightened their grip on it.
Mid-World, he thought, of course. St. Louis and Topeka and Oz and the World’s Fair and
Charlie the Choo-Choo.
He opened his dreaming eyes and pressed on. The clearing behind the trees was paved
with old cracked asphalt. A faded yellow circle had been painted in the middle. Jake
realized it was a playground basketball court even before he saw the boy at the far end,
standing at the foul line and shooting baskets with a dusty old Wilson ball. They popped in
one after another, falling neatly through the netless hole. The basket jutted out from
something that looked like a subway kiosk which had been shut up for the night. Its closed
door was painted in alternating diagonal stripes of yellow and black. From behind it—or
perhaps from below it—Jake could hear the steady rumble of powerful machinery. The
sound was somehow disturbing. Scary.
Don’t step on the robots, the boy shooting the baskets said without turning around. I guess
they’re all dead, but I wouldn’t take any chances, if I were you.
Jake looked around and saw a number of shattered mechanical devices lying around. One
looked like a rat or mouse, another like a bat. A mechanical snake lay in two rusty pieces
almost at his feet.
ARE you me? Jake asked, taking a step closer to die boy at the basket, but even before he
turned around, Jake knew that wasn’t the case. The boy was bigger than Jake, and at least
thirteen. His hair was darker, and when he looked at Jake, he saw that the stranger’s eyes
were hazel. His own were blue.
What do you think? the strange boy asked, and bounce-passed the ball to Jake.
No, of course not, Jake said. He spoke apologetically. It’s just that I’ve been cut in two for
the last three weeks or so. He dipped and shot from mid-court. The ball arched high and
dropped silently through the hoop. He was delighted . . . but he discovered he was also
afraid of what this strange boy might have to tell him.
I know, the boy said. It’s been a bitch for you, hasn’t it? He was wearing faded madras
shorts and a yellow t-shirt that said NEVER A DULL MOMENT IN MID-WORLD. He
had tied a green bandanna around his forehead to keep his hair out of his eyes. And things
are going to get worse before they get better.
What is this place? Jake asked. And who are you?
It’s the Portal of the Bear . . . but it’s also Brooklyn.
That didn’t seem to make sense, and yet somehow it did. Jake told himself that things
always seemed that way in dreams, but this didn’t really feel like a dream.
As for me, I don’t matter much, the boy said. He hooked the basket- ball over his shoulder.
It rose, then dropped smoothly through the hoop. I’m supposed to guide you, that’s all. I’ll
take you where you need to go, and I’ll show you what you need to see, but you have to be
careful because I won’t know you. And strangers make Henry nervous. He can get mean when he’s nervous, and he’s bigger than you.
Who’s Henry? Jake asked.
Never mind. Just don’t let him notice you. All you have to do is hang out . . . and follow us.
Then, when we leave . . .
The boy looked at Jake. There was both pity and fear in his eyes. Jake suddenly realized
that the boy was starting to fade—lie could see the yellow and black slashes on the box
right through the boy’s yellow t-shirt.
How will I find you? Jake was suddenly terrified that the boy would melt away completely
before he could say everything Jake needed to hear.
No problem, the boy said. His voice had taken on a queer, chiming echo. Just take the
subway to Co-Op City. You’ll find me.
No, I won’t! Jake cried. Co-Op City’s huge! There must be a hundred thousand people
living there!
Now the boy was just a milky outline. Only his hazel eyes were still completely there, like
the Cheshire cat’s grin in Alice. They regarded Jake with compassion and anxiety. No
problem-o, he said. You found the key and the rose, didn’t you? You’ll find me the same
way. This afternoon, Jake. Around three o’clock should be good. You’ll have to be careful,
and you’ll have to be quick. He paused, a ghostly boy with an old basketball lying near one
transparent foot. I have to go now . . . but it was good to meet you. You seem like a nice kid,
and I’m riot surprised he loves you. Remember, there•s danger, though. He careful . . . and
he quick.
Wait! Jake yelled, and run across the basketball court toward the disappearing boy. One of
his feet struck a shattered robot that looked like a child’s toy tractor. He stumbled and fell to his knees, shredding his pants. He ignored the thin burn of pain. Wait! You have to tell me
what all this is about! You have to tell me why these things are happening to me!
Because of the Beam, the boy who was now only a pair of floating eyes replied, and
because of the Tower. In the end, all things, even the Beams, serve the Dark Tower. Did
you think you would be any different?
Jake flailed and stumbled to his feet. Will I find him? Will I find the gunslinger?
I don’t know, the boy answered. His voice now seemed to come from a million miles away.
I only know you must try. About that you have no choice.