The Dark Tower

To this there was no answer, so Rolandre-holstered his gun and put out the patches of fire before they could spread.He thought of what the voice had said about Susa

The gunslinger let that thought go and wentto the tree, where the last of his ka-tet hung, impaled… but still alive. Thegold-ringed eyes looked at Roland with what might almost have been wearyamusement.

“Oy,” Roland said, stretching out his hand,knowing it might be bitten and not caring in the least. He supposed that partof him—and not a small one, either—wanted to be bitten. “Oy, we allsay thank you. I say thank you, Oy.”

The bumbler did not bite, and spoke but oneword. “Olan,” said he. Then he sighed, licked the gunslinger’s hand asingle time, hung his head down, and died.

Eleven

As dawn strengthened into the clear lightof morning, Patrick came hesitantly to where the gunslinger sat in the drystreambed, amid the roses, with Oy’s body spread across his lap like a stole.The young man made a soft, interrogative hooting sound.

“Not now, Patrick,” Roland said absently,stroking Oy’s fur. It was dense but smooth to the touch. He found it hard tobelieve that the creature beneath it had gone, in spite of the stiffeningmuscles and the tangled places where the blood had now clotted. He combed thesesmooth with his fingers as best he could. “Not now. We have all the livelongday to get there, and we’ll do fine.”

No, there was no need to hurry; no reasonwhy he should not leisurely mourn the last of his dead. There had been no doubtin the old King’s voice when he had promised that Roland should die of old agebefore he so much as touched the door in the Tower’s base. They would go, ofcourse, and Roland would study the terrain, but he knew even now that his ideaof coming to the Tower on the old monster’s blind side and then working his wayaround was not an idea at all, but a fool’s hope. There had been no doubt inthe old villain’s voice; no doubt hiding behind it, either.

And for the time being, none of thatmattered. Here was another one he had killed, and if there was consolation tobe had, it was this: Oy would be the last. Now he was alone again except forPatrick, and Roland had an idea Patrick was immune to the terrible germ thegunslinger carried, for he had never been ka-tet to begin with.

I only kill my family, Rolandthought, stroking the dead billy-bumbler.

What hurt most was remembering howunpleasantly he had spoken to Oy the day before. If’ee wanted to go withher, thee should have gone when thee had thy chance!

Had he stayed because he knew that Rolandwould need him? That when push came down to shove (it was Eddie’s phrase, ofcourse), Patrick would fail?

Why will’ee cast thy sad houken’s eyeson me now?

Because he had known it was to be his lastday, and his dying would be hard?

“I think you knew both things,” Rolandsaid, and closed his eyes so he could feel the fur beneath his hands better.“I’m so sorry I spoke to’ee so—would give the fingers on my good lefthand if I could take the words back. So I would, every one, say true.”

But here as in the Keystone World, timeonly ran one way. Done was done. There would be no taking back.

Roland would have said there was no angerleft, that every bit of it had been burned away, but when he felt the tinglingall over his skin and understood what it meant, he felt fresh fury rise in hisheart. And he felt the coldness settle into his tired but still talented hands.

Patrick was drawing him! Sittingbeneath the cottonwood just as if a brave little creature worth ten ofhim—no, a hundred!—hadn’t died in that very tree, and for both ofthem.

It’s his way, Susa

Undoubtedly all true. But the truth of itactually fed his rage instead of damping it down. He put his remaining gunaside (it lay gleaming between two of the singing roses) because having itclose to hand wouldn’t do, no, not in his current mood. Then he rose to hisfeet, meaning to give Patrick the scolding of his life, if for no other reasonthan it would make Roland feel a little bit better himself. He could alreadyhear the first words: Do you enjoy drawing those who saved your mostlyworthless life, stupid boy? Does it cheer your heart?

He was opening his mouth to begin whenPatrick put his pencil down and seized his new toy, instead. The eraser washalf-gone now, and there were no others; as well as Roland’s gun, Susa

And discovered that it was for hisown sake, after all.

Why not kill him, then? asked thesly, pulsing voice in his head. Kill him and put him out of his misery, ifthee feels so tender toward him? He and the bumbler can enter the clearingtogether. They can make a place there for you, gunslinger.

Roland shook his head and tried to smile.“Nay, Patrick, son of Sonia,” he said (for that was how Bill the robot hadcalled the boy). “Nay, I was wrong—again—and will not scold thee.But…”

He walked to where Patrick was sitting.Patrick cringed away from him with a doglike, placatory smile that made Rolandangry all over again, but he quashed the emotion easily enough this time.Patrick had loved Oy too, and this was the only way he had of dealing with hissorrow.

Little that mattered to Roland now.

He reached down and gently plucked theeraser out of the boy’s fingers. Patrick looked at him questioningly, thenreached out his empty hand, asking with his eyes that the wonderful (anduseful) new toy be given back.

“Nay,” Roland said, as gently as he could.“You made do for the gods only know how many years without ever knowing suchthings existed; you can make do the rest of this one day, I think. Mayhapthere’ll be something for you to draw—and then undraw—later on.Do’ee ken, Patrick?”

Patrick did not, but once the eraser wassafely deposited in Roland’s pocket along with the watch, he seemed to forgetabout it and just went back to his drawing.

“Put thy picture aside for a little, too,”Roland told him.

Patrick did so without argument. He pointedfirst to the cart, then to the Tower Road, and made his interrogative hootingsound.

“Aye,” Roland said, “but first we shouldsee what Mordred had for gu

Patrick was willing, and the burial didn’ttake long; the body was far smaller than the heart it had held. By mid-morningthey had begun to cover the last few miles on the long road which led to theDark Tower.