Wizard and Glass (The Dark Tower, #4)

by Stephen King

As with any other strong drug, true first love is really only interesting to those who have become its prisoners. And, as is true of any other strong and addicting drug, true first love is dangerous.

There is a sense—inarticulate but very much there—that things have gone amiss this season. It is the closing of the year; it is also the closing of the peace. For it is here, in the sleepy Out-World Barony of Mejis, that Mid-World’s last great conflict will shortly begin; it is from here that the blood will begin to flow. In two years, no more, the world as it has been will be swept away. It starts here. From its field of roses, the Dark Tower cries out in its beast’s voice. Time is a face on the water.

“Roland . . .” Cuthbert began. Roland turned, one hand on the horn of his horse’s saddle. Cuthbert licked his lips, and for a moment Alain didn’t think he would be able to ask. If you don’t I will, Alain thought . . . but Bert managed, bringing the words out in a rush. “What did you see?” “Much,” Roland said. “I saw much, but most of it is already fading out of my mind, the way dreams do when you wake up. What I do remember I’ll tell you as we ride. You must know, because it changes everything. We’re going back to Gilead, but not for long.” “Where after that?” Alain asked, mounting. “West. In search of the Dark Tower. If we survive today, that is. Come on. Let’s take those tankers.”

“There is no Tower, Roland,” Cuthbert said patiently. “I don’t know what you saw in that glass ball, but there is no Tower. Well, as a symbol, I suppose—like Arthur’s Cup, or the Cross of the man-Jesus—but not as a real thing, a real building—” “Yes,” Roland said. “It’s real.” They looked at him uncertainly, and saw no doubt on his face. “It’s real, and our fathers know. Beyond the dark land—I can’t remember its name now, it’s one of the things I’ve lost—is End-World, and in End-World stands the Dark Tower. Its existence is the great secret our fathers keep; it’s what has held them together as ka-tet across all the years of the world’s decline. When we return to Gilead—if we return, and I now think we will—I’ll tell them what I’ve seen, and they’ll confirm what I say.”

“You saw all that in the glass?” Alain asked in an awe-hushed voice. “I saw much.” “But not Susan Delgado,” Cuthbert said. “No. When we finish with yonder men and she finishes with Mejis, her part in our ka-tet ends. Inside the ball, I was given a choice: Susan, and my life as her husband and father of the child she now carries . . . or the Tower.” Roland wiped his face with a shaking hand. “I would choose Susan in an instant, if not for one thing: the Tower is crumbling, and if it falls, everything we know will be swept away. There will be chaos beyond our imagining. We must go . . . and we will go.” Above his young and unlined cheeks, below his young and unlined brow, were the ancient killer’s eyes that Eddie Dean would first glimpse in the mirror of an airliner’s bathroom. But now they swam with childish tears. There was nothing childish in his voice, however. “I choose the Tower. I must. Let her live a good life and long with someone else—she will, in time. As for me, I choose the Tower.”

In the distance, the thinny warbled its endless song. Jake suddenly ran ahead to a parked camper. A note had been left under the wiper blade on the driver’s side. By standing on his toes, he was just able to reach it. He scanned it, frowning. “What does it say?” Eddie asked. Jake handed it over. Eddie looked, then passed it to Susannah, who read it in turn and gave it to Roland. He looked, then shook his head. “I can make out only a few words—old woman, dark man. What does the rest say? Read it to me.” Jake took it back. “ ‘The old woman from the dreams is in Nebraska. Her name is Abagail.’ ” He paused. “Then, down here, it says, ‘The dark man is in the west. Maybe Vegas.’ ”

“In the west,” Roland said. “Dark man, Dark Tower, and always in the west.” “Nebraska’s west of here, too,” Susannah said hesitantly. “I don’t know if that matters, this Abagail person, but . . .” “I think she’s part of another story,” Roland said. “But a story close to this one,” Eddie put in. “Next door, maybe. Close enough to swap sugar for salt . . . or start arguments.” “I’m sure you’re right,” Roland said, “and we may have business with the ‘old woman’ and the ‘dark man’ yet . . . but today our business is east. Come on.” They began walking again.

“No,” Roland said. He began to smile, and as his smile broadened, that of the man sitting on the throne began to falter. “You can enchant my guns, those of this world, I reckon,” he said. “Roland, I don’t know what you’re thinking of, laddie, but I warn you not to—” “Not to cross Oz the Great? Oz the Powerful? But I think I will, Marten . . . or Maerlyn . . . or whoever you call yourself now . . .” “Flagg, actually,” the man on the throne said.