Chapter Text
Well the stage was set the sun was sinkin' low down
As they came to town to face another showdown
- Eagles
You and me burning matches
Lifting latches, on our way back home
-The Beatles
And it's run for the roses as fast as you can
Your fate is delivered and your time is at hand
It's the chance of a lifetime in a lifetime of chance
And it's high time you joined in the dance
-Dan Fogelberg
-----------------
Lying in bed together, in the home the folken had helped them build, Roland and Cuthbert were doing nothing but resting and enjoying each other’s company. Cuthbert often joked that the best part of their relationship was that they got to skip straight to being an old married couple. Roland didn’t disagree. It was nice to be able to skip the uncertainty and settle down with someone so familiar.
“You never saw it,” Cuthbert said, seemingly out of the blue. Roland turned toward his love and furrowed his brow. It wasn’t rare that he was a step or two behind Cuthbert, but this comment seemed unrelated to anything they had previously been discussing. “The Tower, I mean,” he continued.
“You say true,” Roland said. His heart had skipped a beat at the mention of the Tower. The days in which he had been single-mindedly determined to reach it had passed and he did his best to drive all thoughts of it from his mind. “We never went any further than Algul Siento. After that, we traveled away from the Tower. I knew at that time that if we had gotten too close, I would not have been able to stop myself. Not then.”
“What about now? A considerable amount of time has passed since your renunciation and I think you’re quite comfortable with the life you’ve built. Don’t you want to see it? Just to cast your eyes upon the edifice we dedicated so much of our lives to saving--that which nearly cost you everything?” He turned onto his side to face Roland, who was quiet for a moment.
“I suppose I would like to see it,” Roland admitted, sounding guilty, as if he was confessing to a heinous crime.
“Then we should go, you and I,” Cuthbert said, wrapping an arm around Roland’s waist and pulling him closer. This was something he had been thinking of quite a lot lately and he had no idea how Roland would feel about the idea. “In separate worlds, we each gave our lives for this Tower. I think we deserve to see what we were protecting so fiercely.”
“Do you not worry that you’d be tempted to go in?”
Cuthbert shook his head. “Going inside was never a part of my plan. My goal was always to save it. And then maybe, if ka would allow, to see it. After that, I wanted to be done with it evermore. I had no such desire to go in and climb to the top. In truth, that idea always scared me.”
Roland hesitated, reluctant to voice his true fear. He rolled onto his side so they were face to face, Cuthbert’s hand still resting on his waist. When he searched his love’s face and saw nothing but sincerity, he was able to go on. “Are you not scared that I might be seduced by its charms? That I’d be just as drawn to its pull as I had been to the pink Wizard’s Glass?”
“Nay, you know better now. And nevertheless, I’ll be with you. We may not know what resides there, but we know that that knowledge comes at a high price. I’d not let you give everything up so easily. And I’m not saying that to be honorable either, I’d much like to keep you for my own selfish reasons. Who else is there to follow me around and tell me I’m pretty?”
“The Crimson King is presumably still imprisoned there,” Roland said, always so serious.
“Then we’ll take care of him,” Cuthbert said with a shrug, ever the optimist. He felt confident that they could handle it. Improvisation was their specialty. “Someone ought to. Why not us?”
“It’s an enormous risk. We have everything to lose and nothing to gain by going there.” Roland spoke firmly, but truthfully, he was warming up to the idea. It whispered to the deep romance in his nature. Was there anything more romantic than defying the odds with the one you held dear? And Roland knew there was no one better than his beloved to laugh in the face of destiny.
“We would gain closure. I expect that it would ease your mind to know that you have seen it and turned away from it. You can finally let go of the notion that one day you might just take off for the Tower and revert back to who you were. You never give voice to them, but I suspect thoughts of the Tower still cast a shadow in your mind. It’s time to reject the hold it has over you. To come face to face and stand true.”
“I trust you understand the risks,” Roland said, already knowing that Cuthbert did, in fact, understand the risks. Despite his penchant for foolishness, he was not stupid. Far from it. When it came to intelligence, Roland had always lagged behind Cuthbert.
“Aye, I understand them very well, so I do. Still I say we go.”
“The others might not like it,” Roland said. A last resort argument if there ever was one. And a weak one, at that. Roland knew he was going to give in, he was only holding out because he felt like he was supposed to. It’s been years since he had renounced the Tower in favor of his family; he shouldn’t want to go see it. But the desire which had lay dormant in the depths of his mind was now awakened.
“I think they trust us.” Cuthbert placed his hand on the side of Roland’s face and started soothingly rubbing his thumb back and forth across his cheek. Truthfully, Cuthbert was a little worried. But he trusted Roland, and he truly believed that this would put both of their minds at rest. The Tower had taken enough of their lives, he didn’t want it hanging over them for all the time they had left.
Roland went quiet again, sorting his thoughts, which had always been slow work for him. He wanted to give this proper consideration. After a moment he spoke: “Okay.”
“Okay? You mean you want to go?”
“Aye, I do. We’ll protect each other, won’t we?”
“Of course we will.” Cuthbert rolled over again, this time pulling Roland on top of him. He reached his hand around to the back of Roland’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Roland gladly complied. When they pulled away for a breath, Cuthbert spoke again. “I’ll protect you as passionately as I once fought for the Tower.”
“Mmm, say true? How passionate are we talking?”
“Let me demonstrate for you,” Cuthbert said in a low voice. He grabbed Roland by the shoulders and flipped their positions, pinning Roland to the bed.
-----------------
The next week, after some difficult goodbyes, they set out for their journey. Each carried a packsack stuffed with warm clothing and other supplies. The trip was likely to be cold and grueling, but they had what they needed to make it as safe as possible.
A few weeks in, they passed through the former Castle of the Crimson King, Le Casse Roi Russe. At one time, the Crimson King’s Minister of State with the aid of the King’s glammer, had lain in wait for Roland’s ka-tet to come along. However, once it became clear to him that Roland’s ka-tet was never coming, he fled.
Written haphazardly upon a crumbling wall of stone in old paint were these words:
BEWARE OF DANDELO
“Any idea what that means?” Cuthbert asked.
“No,” Roland said, “Mayhap we’ll find out.”
-----------------
About 5 weeks after passing through Le Casse Roi Russe, they spotted a road. From the place where it first came into view, it looked like an inverted T carved into the snow. The cross arm was only perhaps four hundred feet all the way across, but the long end carried all the way to the horizon and then disappeared over it. In addition to the road, they both noted the roofs of cottages. Smoke poured out of the roof of one of these cottages.
An hour later, they reached the point in which the two roads met. Rising out of the snow was a pole with signs at the top, seeming to indicate the names of the roads. The short road was called
ODD’s LANE
The other one, however, sent a chill down both their spines, causing them to unconsciously draw nearer to each other. It read:
TOWER ROAD
As Roland turned his attention to the cluster of cottages, Cuthbert noticed something peculiar about one of the signs--the one that indicated Odd’s Lane.
“Why does it look like the ‘S’ was added?” Cuthbert asked.
Roland shrugged and started to move away, he was more interested in starting down Tower road than reading signs. But Cuthbert stayed behind, studying the letters. After a moment, he gasped in realization.
“Roland, I got it! Get back here!”
“What is it?”
Cuthbert grasped Roland’s shoulders and held him in front of the sign. “Look at the letters. If you ignore the ‘S’, what do you notice?”
He looked. It was a riddle, and Roland, not very good at riddles under normal circumstances, was too anxious to try to figure it out. “Bert, my dear,” he said with an impatient sigh, “Will you not just tell me?”
Cuthbert relented. “It’s Dandelo! Odd Lane is made up of the same letters which make Dandelo. It seems the ‘S’ was put there to throw us off.”
Roland’s eyes widened as he saw Cuthbert was right. And to think that he would’ve just continued down the road without a second thought about the damned sign. Roland tilted his chin toward the chimney with smoke puffing out. “Do you think that’s Dandelo?
“Aye, who else?”
Before they had a chance to decide whether or not they should pass by, the decision was made for them. A rosy-cheeked old man hobbled out of the cottage and called to them.
“Looks like we’re in for some palaver whether we want it or not,” said Roland.
“Yar, it seems so,” Cuthbert replied. Then, lowering his voice: “Stay wary.”
-----------------
The old man introduced himself as Joe Collins of Odd Lane. Something about the man’s presence filled them both with a good feeling. He was vivacious for an old man, and filled with enormous good humor. The kind of person anyone can get along with. Cuthbert wondered how he could’ve thought such a man could be dangerous.
The old man took them in, and showed them around his house full of wonders. Through Susannah, Eddie, and Jake, they both had some second-hand knowledge about the technology from America-side. Roland had even seen some during their travels. But to see such simple wonders as fluorescent lights and magic ice boxes up close was fascinating. Joe Collins explained that a robot that he called Stuttering Bill helped him maintain the generator which supplied the electricity to keep the place running.
After some more talking, Joe Collins gave them a fine meal. It wasn’t until after they ate that Cuthbert started to once again become suspicious. When speaking of how he came to be here, Collins mentioned that he used to be some kind of comic entertainer in a place called the Midwest. Roland, with rather uncharacteristic cheer, asked to hear some of his jokes, as he told them on the road. Joe Collins decided to give it a try.
He stood up and gave them a taste of one of the shows he put on. As he progressed, Roland lost himself in laughter. Although Cuthbert was laughing as well, he found Roland’s wild, unbridled laughter to be a little excessive. For Cuthbert, most of the humor was in the way the man carried himself, not so much the actual jokes. In fact, the jokes were kind of lame.
It became obvious to Cuthbert that this was a trick, Roland was never that unguarded with his emotions. Most of the time he couldn’t even make Roland laugh so hard. Nay, his love had almost no sense of humor, but that was okay because he had enough for the both of them. And even he could see that this wasn’t funny. Roland, with his underdeveloped sense of humor, was just more susceptible to the trick.
Dandelo, he thought, How could I let myself forget?
Cuthbert kept laughing along with the jokes. He didn’t want to alert the creature before him to his epiphany. Now that he was conscious of it, he realized he could actually feel the good feelings being fed to him, much like the way cattle are fed nutrients before being slaughtered.
During a small lull between jokes, he excused himself to the bathroom. He needed a chance to reassess the situation. Once inside, he heard an agonized crying sound. They had noticed it a few times already, but had been too distracted to think much of it. He tried to come up with and plan and then realized he didn’t really need one. He’d just go back in and shoot the damn thing. He pulled his slingshot from his belt and left the bathroom.
When he came back, Roland was on the floor, clutching at his throat but still laughing. Cuthbert didn’t hesitate, he simply aimed and shot, as was ingrained in him since childhood.
He shot the creature--yes, creature, not man for in its dying it was now reverting to its true form--until it stopped moving.
Once that was taken care of, he kneeled down next to Roland and caressed the side of his face. “Are you alright, love?”
Roland suddenly stood up and staggered over to the door. He ripped it open, took a couple of steps, and threw up. When he came back in, he sank to his knees before Cuthbert, who was momentarily alarmed, thinking Roland might be fainting. Then the realization hit. Always such a stickler for tradition.
“No, no, not this shit again,” Cuthbert said, chuckling nervously. But he knew Roland would not relent until Cuthbert gave him pardon. He was too ashamed of his actions. Cuthbert sighed and then gave in. “Rise, gunslinger, I give you pardon in good heart.” He paused, then added: “Though it isn’t necessary, dear one. We save each other. ‘Twas a powerful glammer and there is no shame in falling victim to it.”
Roland smiled weakly, still ashamed, but nevertheless grateful for the man before him. He rose to his feet and gave his beloved a brief kiss.
“That’s how I know my love for you is true,” Cuthbert said as he pulled away. “Only a moment ago you were spewing your guts out and yet, I still want to kiss you.” Roland gave him a flat look before pushing Cuthbert off of him in exaggerated annoyance. He went to the thing lying on the floor (which now looked like some kind of large, malformed bug) to check that it was really dead. That was when the cry rose up again.
Roland and Cuthbert's eyes met and then, in the same instant, they moved toward the noise, drawing their weapons.
They went down to the cellar, and there, they found the boy they would come to know as Patrick Danville, the artist. A young man, held prisoner by Dandelo. Cuthbert, much better with vulnerable people than Roland, drew the boy out with tenderness and humor. The boy couldn’t talk (his tongue had been removed by Dandelo) but he could communicate perfectly fine with his sketchbook and a pencil. They found these items on a high shelf, along with a jar of erasers which had been removed from the pencils. Cuthbert thought this strange. Why had Patrick been prohibited from using the erasers? Was it just some extra form of torture or had there been another reason?
-----------------
They looked around Dandelo’s place for warm clothing to take for Patrick, knowing that they would need to share what they had. They packed what they could use, including a far-seeing instrument, and headed outside to see if they could find the robot that Dandelo had mentioned. It was still freezing, but thankfully no blizzard.
About an hour later, they found the robot. He had been operating a large orange vehicle, which they later learned was called a snow-plow. The plow pulled up in front of Dandelo’s hut, blasting music from a speaker at the top. He came out and introduced himself as William, D-746541-M, Maintenance Robot, Many Other Functions. Dandelo had called him Stuttering Bill, because the robot had a fried circuit somewhere inside, causing him to stutter, and Dandelo had forbidden him from fixing it. With Dandelo gone, they suggested that Bill fix his stuttering, to which he gratefully complied.
Although he resembled a certain robot that used to reside in Calla Bryn Sturgis, it soon became clear that this robot was much friendlier. For one thing, the robot displayed genuine relief at seeing Patrick free from Dandelo. Additionally, he was eager to help them with anything they needed.
They eventually piled into Bill’s plow, and were taken to a hut on the very edge of the White Lands. This trip had taken just a day and a half. Once there, Bill regretfully informed them that he may go no further. He did, however, offer them a truck that could take them all the way to the Tower. He assured them that it was easy enough to use and that they could arrive at the Tower by mid-morning the next day. They both found this to be a fine idea, so Cuthbert asked Bill to show him how to work it.
--------------------
They resumed their journey with Cuthbert controlling the truck. Under his seat, Roland found a box containing several of the discs that Bill had called ceedees. Music was stored on them. The robot had played some to keep them entertained on their way to the hut. Roland raised the box up for Cuthbert and Patrick to see and asked if they wanted music.
“Yeah, why not? Put one in the little slot, like the robot did.”
"Well, which one should I put in? Pick one", he said, shoving the box toward Cuthbert.
"Since I'm busy trying to maneuver this large machine, I will leave the choice of music up to you, do it please ya.”
Roland then reached back to push the box in Patrick's direction. "What about you Patrick? Would you like to choose?"
Patrick shook his head and waved Roland off. He was busy drawing.
"Just pick one, sweetheart. Quit trying to hand the task off to someone else. Look for one that calls to ya."
So he did just that. His digging hand found one that momentarily stole his breath. The fottergraf (that was how he always thought of it, despite having learned that the word is actually photograph) on the cover showed four gunslingers, dressed in the fashion with which Roland was very familiar. He had trouble reading the words on the cover, but he thought the first one was ‘Eagles’. At first glance, Roland had mistaken the four men as himself, Cuthbert, Jamie DeCurry, and Alain Johns. He almost instantly realized that this wasn't the case, but the similarities were eerie. He pushed the disc in.
They listened to several of the musical discs on their way, but it was this one that Roland liked the best. For the songs on that disc were undoubtedly written about gunslingers. It seemed to him that whoever had written those songs, had seen Gilead, as it was in his youth. It disheartened him to know that they would eventually need to leave the truck behind and he would likely never hear those songs again.
-----------------
Once the Tower started to come into view, Cuthbert suggested that they stop the truck and walk the last bit. Roland thought it was a good idea--he found that he wasn’t quite ready to arrive. He needed more time to convince his brain that he was really about to see the very thing he had dedicated most of his life to. His heart was beating wildly and he felt light-headed. But no, that wasn’t quite right--not light-headed, just light. As if everything that had troubled his mind since setting out on his quest ceased to matter. Even so, he was daunted.
As they got closer, that feeling of lightness persisted. Roland reached his hand toward Cuthbert’s, almost timidly. Cuthbert immediately took it and grasped it firmly. Despite the fact that Cuthbert was using his bad hand, his grip was so tight that Roland’s bones started to hurt. He didn’t mind. It kept him grounded. He felt a light touch on his other hand--the two fingered one--and saw Patrick looking at him, trying to smile. He took his hand, careful not to crush it like he and Cuthbert were currently doing to each other’s hands.
Hand in hand they approached the Tower. With only the field of roses lying between them and the tall, enigmatic building, Roland realized he could hear voices singing. Beautiful, tantalizing voices. But they were faint. Much fainter than they would have been had he come when he had originally meant to, this he instinctively knew. Still, he held onto Cuthbert and Patrick, his anchors.
“It’s---” Roland started, but at that moment, a great shriek floated to them on the breeze.
“GUNSLINGERS!” screamed the Crimson King. “NOW YOU DIE!”
This piercing screech was punctuated by a whistling sound, thin at first and then growing. Roland recognized it for what it was and his instincts were quick as ever, as were Cuthbert’s. They both took off, pulling Patrick along with them by their joined hands, and found cover behind a heap of stones. They watched as something golden flew through the air. It flew past the stonepile pyramid they were using as cover and then reversed direction, racing toward them. Roland shot it out of the air. After a blinding flash, it was gone.
“Sneetches,” Roland grunted. “Just like the ones used by the Wolves during the fight for the Calla.”
Looking through the far seeing device, Cuthbert saw the Crimson King on a balcony, two levels up from the base of the Tower. A crate, which must hold his ammunition supply, lay at his feet. Cuthbert passed the device to Roland so that he could get a look.
The Crimson King would continue to throw sneetches, but Roland wasn’t too worried. With both him and Cuthbert here, he was confident they could shoot anything out of the air, unless he could throw twenty five at a time. And Roland thought there was a good chance he didn’t even have that many. Even if he did, he wouldn’t want to run through his supply so quickly.
Unfortunately though, they were stuck.
Meanwhile, Patrick apparently had been using this time to draw the Crimson King. He had a pretty good portrait going, but he needed the far-seeing instrument to get the details right. He tugged on Roland’s sleeve. When Roland looked over, he pointed at his drawing and then at the instrument.
“No Patrick, now is not the time for drawing, do ya not see it?” Roland shouted, shooting another sneetch out of the air.
Patrick made a desperate sound and pointed emphatically at the bag in which Cuthbert stored the erasers. When Roland still didn’t understand, he pointed at the Crimson King, then at the sketchpad, and then made furious erasing motions. He cycled around these gestures waiting for it to click.
“The erasers!” Cuthbert, who had always been good at making connections, shouted in realization. He was thinking of something strange that had happened on their way here. They had stopped to eat and elected to stay inside the truck. Outside the windows, they had seen a herd of bannock. Patrick quickly got to work and produced a breath-taking drawing of them. It was astounding in its accuracy, except he had drawn them about five to ten miles closer. When Cuthbert glanced from the drawing back out to the herd, he thought for a moment that he was losing his mind--for it seemed that the bannock were that close after all. Cuthbert’s eyes had always been sharp so perhaps he should’ve questioned this lapse a little more, but he chalked it up to his eyes being tired from staring out the wide front window of the truck for hours on end. “Dandelo removed the erasers! I knew there had to be a reason for it! It was in his best interest. Wasn’t it, Patrick?”
Patrick nodded enthusiastically and once again pointed at Cuthbert’s bag. Cuthbert quickly pulled out what the boy needed and told Roland to give him the far-seeing tool.
Roland, in his stress, still wasn’t following. “What does he need it for?”
“To see, Roland, what else?” Cuthbert said impatiently. Now that he understood what the boy had been trying to say, he was anxious for Patrick to get started. “He needs to get this drawing just right. Because drawing isn’t his only talent, he can also erase. Not just from the paper, but from existence. Isn’t that right, Patrick?”
Patrick nodded and reached once again for the instrument which Roland finally handed over. “Are you sure?” Roland asked. The fact that they had never tested this ability worried him. But it made a strange bit of sense. Roland had been invested with the power of drawing people into the universe. Was it so hard to believe that Patrick could draw things into existence with his sketchpad? And if he could draw, mayhap he could also erase. “What if it doesn’t work?”
“Well, then we’re fucked,” Cuthbert said, laughing. “Let the boy try.”
-----------------
Patrick worked slowly, understanding that every line needed to be perfect. While he worked, the Crimson King periodically called out to them, trying to coax them into breaking cover. Cuthbert called back tauntingly and Roland shot the sneetches thrown their way.
When Patrick finally showed them the picture, they were astounded. They’d seen his work and had known his talent, but this was something else entirely. It looked as though the Crimson King was going to jump right off the page.
As amazing as the picture was, all three of them knew that something wasn’t quite right.
“It’s the eyes,” Roland said. “Something with the eyes.”
Patrick nodded frantically. Yes, the eyes, he thought, but what’s wrong with them?
They sat there, staring at the drawing and trying to figure it out. The longer they sat, the more stressed they became. Roland felt his heart sink. He knew he wouldn’t be able to figure it out. The singing voices from the Tower were starting to get louder and he couldn’t think straight.
So close, Roland thought, To think we came all this way just to meet our deaths.
Patrick pulled at his sleeve once again, and then pointed at the road. Pointing back the way they had come.
Roland shook his head wearily. “To retreat would do us no good, Pat. Once we break cover, he’ll use whatever else he has. He has something. I’m sure of it.”
“Yes,” Cuthbert agreed, “And whatever it is our weapons won’t be able to stop it.”
Patrick shook his head furiously. His hair flung back and forth with the force of it. He was helpless to do anything but keep pointing, frustrated that they weren’t getting him. He grabbed Cuthbert by the arm, tightening his grip until his fingernails pushed into the gunslingers flesh through his layers of clothing. He jabbed his fingers one again toward the road. Only, it wasn’t the road he was pointing at.
"The roses!" Cuthbert cried out as understanding washed over him, "Aye, of course! He is the Crimson King after all. Roland, he needs the red from the roses!"
Patrick nodded with tears in his eyes, grateful to finally be understood in this crucial moment.
"Bert, cover me!" Roland shouted and ran for the roses.
As he ran, he heard the approaching whine of another sneetch, but he wasn’t perturbed. His beloved was covering him and he trusted no one more with his life. Just a beat later, the sneetch was blown apart by Cuthbert’s bullet.
Roland went to the closest rose, closed his bad hand around it and wrapped his good one on top. He started pulling frantically, thorns biting into his skin. With nothing to protect his hands from the rose, enormous pain washed over him, but paid it no heed. He pulled and pulled until the rose eventually came loose, roots and all, and then raced back to Patrick.
Once he handed the rose over to the boy, Cuthbert carefully took Roland's bad hand and examined it. Roland paid no attention to this; he was busy watching Patrick get to work on creating color for his drawing. He watched as Patrick placed some of the petals in his mouth, chewed them into paste, and spat the paste into his palm.
"Oh, love, your poor hand," Cuthbert said.
Roland looked down to see that in addition to mangling his palm, the thorns had taken one of his remaining fingers (Eddie would later joke that Roland would forever "hang loose", referencing a hand gesture from his world).
"I'll live," Roland responded, starting to pull his hand away. "Stay focused on yon Red King, if it would please ya."
When Cuthbert relinquished his mutilated hand, Patrick took it. He swiped up some of the blood and mixed it into the rose-paste, creating the perfect shade for the Red King’s eyes.
They watched as Patrick filled in the eyes of his drawing, ever so delicately. Cuthbert found that he had to look away for a moment. With the red being added, the daemon looked a little too realistic for comfort. Once done, Patrick sat up straight with a confident look in his eye. Then, he broke into an enormous, sunny grin. This time, when Patrick showed them the picture, they knew it would work.
As if to confirm this, the Crimson King started screaming once again.
“WHAT’S THEE DOING? EEEEEEE! EEEEEEEE! STOP! IT BURNS! IT BURRRRNS! EEEEEEEEEEEE!”
Cuthbert produced the eraser and held it out to Patrick. “Go on, Patrick, make him gone. Stop his everlasting caterwauling. For he’s starting to get on my nerves, so he is.”
“Yes,” Roland said. “Make him gone.” And for a wonder, Patrick did.
When Patrick was finished, there was nothing left of The Crimson King but his eyes, both on page and in reality.
-----------------
They approached the Tower just before sunset, as Roland had always seen it in his dreams.
And even now, after all this time, it was difficult to resist the pull. He was grateful to have Cuthbert here, holding his good hand and reminding him of everything he gained by giving up his life’s goal. Everything he would lose if he gave in to temptation.
All he had to do was look at Cuthbert’s bright, smiling face to drive out the beguiling voices coming from the Tower. Cuthbert, he who was lost and then found. His beloved, his person, who now wore the Horn of Eld on his belt. As he had done before, for ka had come full circle.
“It’s beautiful,” Cuthbert said.
“It’s awful,” Roland replied, trying desperately to believe his own words. “Let us take our leave and be done with it, for all times.” He turned and moved toward Patrick, who stood a few steps behind them.
“Wait,” Cuthbert said, “There’s something we need to do first.” He stepped closer, as close as he dared, and Roland, still holding his hand, came with him. The two of them walked among the roses, tethered to each other. As they walked, Cuthbert started to cry the names of their friends, loved ones, and ka-mates.
“We come in the name of Robert Allgood, he of Gilead!
“We come in the name of Grace Allgood, she of Gilead!
“We come in the name of Cortland Andrus, he of Gilead!
“We come in the name of Alain Johns, he of Gilead!
“We come in the name of Jamie DeCurry, he of Gilead!
“We come in the name of Aileen Ritter, she of Gilead!
“We come in the name of Thomas Whitman, he of Gilead!
“We come in the name of Wallace Vannay, he of Gilead!
“We come in the name of Abel Vannay the Wise, he of Gilead!
“We come in the name of Sheemie Ruiz, he of Mejis!
“We come in the name of Patrick Danville, son of Sonia!
“I am Cuthbert of Gilead, and I come as myself!
From here, Roland picked up the calls without a moment’s hesitation.
“We come in the name of Steven Deschain, he of Gilead!
“We come in the name of Gabrielle Deschain, she of Gilead!
“We come in the name of Hax the Cook, he of Gilead!
“We come in the name of David the Hawk, he of Gilead and the sky!
“We come in the name of Susan Delgado, she of Mejis!
“We come in the name of Pere Callahan, he of Jerusalem’s Lot, and the roads!
“We come in the name of Ted Brautigan, he of America!
“We come in the name of Dinky Earnshaw, he of America!
“We come in the name of Aunt Talitha, she of River Crossing, and I will now lay her cross here, as I was bid!
“We come in the name of Stephen King, he of Maine!
“We come in the name of Oy, the brave, he of Mid-World!
“We come in the name of Eddie Dean, he of New York!
“We come in the name of Susannah Dean, she of New York!
“We come in the name of Jake Chambers, whom I call my own true son!
“I am Roland of Gilead, and I come as myself!
“We’ve come to honor those who were lost along the way,” Cuthbert said. “Those who sacrificed their lives so that we may make it here. And those who made sacrifices of their own. But, you won’t have us. This is our stand against purpose, against fate. Against ka.” Before anything else could happen, Cuthbert tightened his grasp on Roland’s hand, turned, and fled. He ran, laughing wildly and pulling his dear one helplessly along with him, back to where Patrick stood waiting. And did he stop then? Nay. He reached out, grabbed Patrick’s hand with his free one, and kept running.
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Their journey back was much quicker than their trip out. The truck managed to take them all the way back to Tower Outpost 19, where they had originally parted ways with Stuttering Bill. They got out and found Bill at the outpost, doing maintenance on one of the vehicles. The robot was excited to see them and once again offered his help. The truck they were currently using was most likely used up, but he suggested they could switch vehicles. He offered up another truck, identical to the one they had been using. This truck, he told them, should be able to take them back the way they came. If not all the way, it would at least take them a great deal closer. Cuthbert, who had grown quite fond of the robot, offered to take him back to the Calla with them. Roland thought it was a good idea; it might be nice to have a good, friendly robot in the Calla. One that could be trusted. But alas, his programming did not allow him to go too far beyond his post.
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The truck eventually did stop working, but by then they were close enough that their trip home would only take a couple more days to walk. They didn’t bother trying to see if they could figure out a way to make it work again. They simply gathered their gunna, and resumed their journey on foot.
With them so close, Jake--who had been desperately trying to reach them through the touch-- was finally able to feel them, if only very faintly. He couldn’t tell exactly how far they were (or what state they were in), but he knew that they were both present and accounted for, which was enough to temporarily soothe his anxious mind. Neither one had been lost to the Tower, tell the Gods thankee.
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When Roland saw their family gathered on the edge of town, he surmised that someone must have seen them coming. In truth, Jake had felt them getting close and rounded up the family. In any case, Roland’s fatigue melted away at the sight of them and he quickened his pace. Cuthbert did the same.
They hastened over to where their family stood waiting, two little kiddies amongst them. Roland believed them to be the most beautiful children to have ever graced any plane of existence on any level of the Tower. Gloria and Moses. Twins, of course. What else could be expected? The wheel, in its perpetual motion, always comes back around.
Patrick, overwhelmed by the amount of people, had withdrawn. He moved to sit under a nearby tree, placing his sketchpad in front of him. Roland and Cuthbert wordlessly allowed him the space; introductions could be made later. And they would, because Patrick was now a part of their family.
Susannah sped over to them, faster than ever in the wheelchair recently gifted to her by the Sisters of Oriza. They worked together to construct it, using her old one as a model. Still fairly primitive, but it suited her needs just fine. She stopped in front of Roland and raised her arms to be lifted, to which Roland happily complied. She embraced him heartily and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She had been the most apprehensive about their trip, but had relented when they both assured her that neither would go too near, they only wanted to look. “So,” she whispered with a conspiring smile, “What did you see?”
He looked to the side and saw Cuthbert and Eddie sharing their own embrace, Oy excitedly running in circles around them. Jake and Benny, each with one of the twins in their arms, stood anxiously waiting for their turns to greet them. He turned his eyes back to the beautiful, courageous woman he currently held in his arms. His own true daughter, brought by ka and secured by love.
“Nothing that was worth a damn,” he responded with a smile, matching her conspiring tone. He was surprised to find that he meant every word. Cuthbert had been right (as he often was, Roland could admit). Having seen it and turned away from it, Roland felt no urge to go back. It felt as though a spell had been broken. He gave Susannah one last squeeze and placed her back down in her chair.
Next came Jake with Gloria in his arms. The bright, goofy grin on Jake’s face temporarily returned him to the kid of eleven that Roland had first met in the desert. Since that initial meeting, Jake had bravely faced many trials and hardships, much more than a kid his age should. Roland felt contrite about much of it, but he was never regretful that they had been brought together.
“Hile father,” Jake said, fist to forehead, trying to sound casual and missing it by a long shot. He’d missed them both too much.
“Hile son,” Roland said. Then, dropping the formalities, he pulled his boy close and hugged him tightly, minding the sma’ one between them.
“Boppa, Boppa!” Gloria babbled, reaching her chubby little hands towards Roland. At just under two years old, this was the closest she could get to ‘Papa’.
Roland squeezed Jake once more and then took Gloria from him. Jake was happy to hand her over. It satisfied his heart to know that Roland had once again come back--had definitively chosen his family over the Tower. A small part of his mind, the part that stubbornly remembered Roland letting him drop in the mountains, had been nervous. But that was all over and he’d never have to wonder again where his father’s loyalties lie. There was one thing he was confused about, though.
“Who’s the kid with the sketchpad?” Jake asked. He had seen him walking into town with them, but he’d actually been aware of him even before that. While reaching out for Roland and Cuthbert, he’d briefly touched the mind of the boy. He sensed that he could’ve established communication with him--he was strong in the touch, like Jake--but the kid was shy.
“That’s Patrick, we met him on our way. You’ll meet him in a little bit. He’s not used to seeing so many people,” Roland said. “And he’s no kid. I believe he’s older than you. As unfathomable as it is to me, you’re no kid either.” Roland looked down at Gloria and started gently bouncing her in his arms. Looking at her restored his hope for his world. This bah-bo would never have to go through tribulations such as those Jake and Patrick had gone through. With Susannah and Eddie for parents and Jake for an uncle, Gloria and Moses were just about the luckiest babbies in the world.
He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of his husband approaching.
“Let’s go see Papa,” Cuthbert cooed. Roland looked up to see Cuthbert, now with Moses in his arms, making his way over so that they could each greet the other twin.
“Gramp!” Gloria screeched, reaching for Cuthbert. They carefully swapped twins. Once the babbies were satisfied with their greetings, they wanted to be put down to toddle freely in the grass.
As he was putting Moses down, Roland felt something brush up against his leg. Roland smiled, knowing who had come to greet him.
“Olan!”
Roland knelt down to face Oy. “Why, hello, Oy. It’s good to see you, fella,” He said, stroking the bumbler’s fur. As he was petting Oy, Eddie knelt down next to him.
“Glad you made it back, ol’ long tall and ugly,” Eddie said, and hugged his father. When he pulled away, he nodded his head toward the others. “Check out the newlyweds.”
After their initial greetings, Jake and Benny seemed to have fallen back into their own little world, as was typical. The newlyweds, Eddie had said, and Roland still thought of them as such, though they had been married for over two years now. Their wedding had been a joyous occasion for the whole town. One of their own had been getting married to a gunslinger--one from the very group that helped free their town from a vicious cycle, saving their kiddies from unthinkable horrors. If anyone had had a negative word to say about it, they were drowned out by the enthusiastic support.
To come back to such a wonderful group of beings replenished Roland’s soul. And the fact that Susannah and Eddie not only allowed, but actually encouraged their children to regard both Roland and Cuthbert as grandparents? Never did he think a life could be so fulfilling.
Roland and Cuthbert’s eyes met over the group of their gathered loved ones. Roland could tell from the look on his husband’s face that they were thinking the same thoughts. That this life was more than the likes of them deserved, but they would not let that stop them from enjoying it. When Roland first started his quest--the true start, in the desert--he never could’ve predicted where his life would end up. Somehow, with the odds stacked against him, he wound up with three strong, brave people who regarded him as father, two wonderful grandchildren, a loving and fiercely protective billy-bumbler, and a beautiful husband who he endlessly adored. They’d never had a wedding, but in these days, ceremonies weren’t necessary. Let the young ones have all the joy of such occasions. For them, it was enough to express their devotion through small, every-day gestures. They had both been to Na’ar and back and knew that their love would withstand anything.
All thoughts of the Dark Tower dissolved from Roland’s mind, never to return. For nothing the Tower had to offer could have compared to this. Never in life.