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Here he laid two things, the last of hisgu
UNFOUND had become FOUND.
He raised his hand as if to knock, but thedoor swung open of its own accord before he could touch it, revealing thebottom steps of an ascending spiral stairway. There was a sighing voice—Welcome,Roland, thee of Eld. It was the Tower’s voice. This edifice was not stoneat all, although it might look like stone; this was a living thing, Gan himself,likely, and the pulse he’d felt deep in his head even thousands of miles fromhere had always been Gan’s beating life-force.
Commala, gunslinger.Commala-come-come.
And wafting out came the smell of alkali,bitter as tears. The smell of… what? What, exactly? Before he could place itthe odor was gone, leaving Roland to surmise he had imagined it.
He stepped inside and the Song of theTower, which he had always heard—even in Gilead, where it had hidden inhis mother’s voice as she sang him her cradle songs—finally ceased. Therewas another sigh. The door swung shut with a boom, but he was not left inblackness. The light that remained was that of the shining spiral windows,mixed with the glow of sunset.
Stone stairs, a passage just wide enoughfor one person, ascended.
“Now comes Roland,” he called, and thewords seemed to spiral up into infinity. “Thee at the top, hear and make mewelcome if you would. If you’re my enemy, know that I come unarmed and mean noill.”
He began to climb.
Nineteen steps brought him to the firstlanding (and to each one thereafter). A door stood open here and beyond it wasa small round room. The stones of its wall were carved with thousands ofoverlapping faces. Many he knew (one was the face of Calvin Tower, peepingslyly over the top of an open book). The faces looked at him and he heard theirmurmuring.
Welcome Roland, you of the many milesand many worlds; welcome thee of Gilead, thee of Eld.
On the far side of the room was a doorflanked by dark red swags traced with gold. About six feet up from thedoor—at the exact height of his eyes—was a small round window,little bigger than an outlaw’s peekhole. There was a sweet smell, and this onehe could identify: the bag of pine sachet his mother had placed first in hiscradle, then, later, in his first real bed. It brought back those days withgreat clarity, as aromas always do; if any sense serves us as a time machine,it’s that of smell.
Then, like the bitter call of the alkali,it was gone.
The room was unfurnished, but a single itemlay on the floor. He advanced to it and picked it up. It was a small cedarclip, its bow wrapped in a bit of blue silk ribbon. He had seen such thingslong ago, in Gilead; must once have worn one himself. When the sawbones cut anewly arrived baby’s umbilical cord, separating mother from child, such a clipwas put on above the baby’s navel, where it would stay until the remainder ofthe cord fell off, and the clip with it. (The navel itself was called tet-kacan Gan.) The bit of silk on this one told that it had belonged to a boy. Agirl’s clip would have been wrapped with pink ribbon.
‘Twas my own, he thought. Heregarded it a moment longer, fascinated, then put it carefully back where ithad been. Where it belonged. When he stood up again, he saw a baby’s face
(Can this be my darling bah-bo? If yousay so, let it be so!)
among the multitude of others. It wascontorted, as if its first breath of air outside the womb had not been to itsliking, already fouled with death. Soon it would pronounce judgment on its newsituation with a squall that would echo throughout the apartments of Steven andGabrielle, causing those friends and servants who heard it to smile withrelief. (Only Marten Broadcloak would scowl.) The birthing was done, and it hadbeen a livebirth, tell Gan and all the gods thankya. There was an heir to theLine of Eld, and thus there was still the barest outside chance that theworld’s rueful shuffle toward ruin might be reversed.
Roland left that room, his sense of déjàvu stronger than ever. So was the sense that he had entered the body of Ganhimself.
He turned to the stairs and once more beganto climb.
Four
Another nineteen steps took him to thesecond landing and the second room. Here bits of cloth were scattered acrossthe circular floor. Roland had no question that they had once been an infant’sclout, torn to shreds by a certain petulant interloper, who had then gone outonto the balcony for a look back at the field of roses and found himselfbetaken. He was a creature of monumental slyness, full of evil wisdom… but inthe end he had slipped, and now he would pay forever and ever.
If it was only a look he wanted, why didhe bring his ammunition with him when he stepped out?
Because it was his only gu
My Red Father would never go unarmed,whispered the stone boy. Not once he was away from his castle. He was mad,but never that mad.
In this room was the smell of talc put onby his mother while he lay naked on a towel, fresh from his bath and playingwith his newly discovered toes. She had soothed his skin with it, singing asshe caressed him: Baby-bunting, baby dear, baby bring your basket here!
This smell too was gone as quickly as ithad come.
Roland crossed to the little window,walking among the shredded bits of diaper, and looked out. The disembodied eyessensed him and rolled over giddily to regard him. That gaze was poisonous withfury and loss.
Come out, Roland! Come out and face meone to one! Man to man! An eye for an eye, may it do ya!
“I think not,” Roland said, “for I havemore work to do. A little more, even yet.”
It was his last word to the Crimson King.Although the lunatic screamed thoughts after him, he screamed in vain, forRoland never looked back. He had more stairs to climb and more rooms toinvestigate on his way to the top.
Five
On the third landing he looked through thedoor and saw a corduroy dress that had no doubt been his when he’d been only ayear old. Among the faces on this wall he saw that of his father, but as a muchyounger man. Later on that face had become cruel—events and responsibilitieshad turned it so. But not here. Here, Steven Deschain’s eyes were those of aman looking on something that pleases him more than anything else ever has, orever could. Here Roland smelled a sweet and husky aroma he knew for the scentof his father’s shaving soap. A phantom voice whispered, Look, Gabby, lookyou! He’s smiling! Smiling at me! And he’s got a new tooth!
On the floor of the fourth room was thecollar of his first dog, Ring-A-Levio. Ringo, for short. He’d died when Rolandwas three, which was something of a gift. A boy of three was still allowed toweep for a lost pet, even a boy with the blood of Eld in his veins. Here thegunslinger that was smelled an odor that was wonderful but had no name, andknew it for the smell of the Full Earth sun in Ringo’s fur.