The Waste Lands (The Dark Tower #3)(61)
Eddie was silent for a long time. He was holding the last of his burritos a la Roland in one hand, but he had lost his appetite. “I think it’s the kid you met at the way station,” he said at last. “I think your old friend Jake was hanging around, watching me and Henry on the afternoon we went over to Dutch Hill. I think he followed us. Because he hears the voices, just like you, Roland. And because he’s sharing my dreams, and I’m sharing his. I think that what I remember is what’s happening now, in Jake’s when. The kid is trying to come back here. And if the key isn’t done when he makes his move—or if it’s done wrong—he’s probably going to die.”
Roland said, “Maybe he has a key of his own. Is that possible?” “Yeah, I think it is,” Eddie said, “but it isn’t enough.” He sighed and stuck the last burrito in his pocket for later. “And I don’t think he knows that.”
THEY MOVED ALONG, ROLAND and Eddie trading off on Susannah’s wheelchair. They picked the left-hand wheelrut. The chair bumped and pitched, and every now and then Eddie and Roland had to lift it over the cobbles which stuck out of the dirt here and there like old teeth. They were still making faster, easier time than they had in a week, how-ever. The ground was rising, and when Eddie looked over his shoulder he could see the forest sloping away in what looked like a series of gentle steps. Far to the northwest, he could see a ribbon of water spilling over a fractured rock face. It was, he realized with wonder, the place they had dubbed “the shooting gallery.” Now it was almost lost behind them in the haze of this dreaming summer afternoon. “Whoa down, boy!” Susannah called sharply. Eddie faced forward again just in time to keep from pushing the wheelchair into Roland. The gunslinger had stopped and was peering into the tangled bushes at the left of the road. “You keep that up, I’m gonna revoke your driver’s license,” Susannah said waspily.
Eddie ignored her. He was following Roland’s gaze. “What is it?” “One way to find out.” He turned, hoisted Susannah from her chair, ~and planted her on his hip. “Let’s all take a look.” “Put me down, big boy—I can make my way. Easier’n you boys, if you really want to know.”
As Roland gently lowered her to the grassy wheelrut, Eddie peered into the woods. The late light threw overlapping crosses of shadow, but he thought he saw what had caught Roland’s eye. It was a tall gray stone, almost completely hidden in a shag of vines and creepers.
Susannah slipped into the woods at the side of the road with eely sinuousness. Roland and Eddie followed.
“It’s a marker, isn’t it?” Susannah was propped on her hands study-ing die rectangular chunk of rock. It had once been straight, but now it leaned drunkenly to the right, like an old gravestone. “Yes. Give me my knife, Eddie.”
Eddie handed it over, then hunkered next to Susannah as the gun-slinger cut away the vines. As they fell, he could see eroded letters carved into the stone, and he knew what they said before Roland had uncovered even half of the inscription: TRAVELLER, BEYOND LIES MID-WORLD.
“WHAT DOES IT MEAN?” Susannah asked at last. Her voice was soft and awestruck; her eyes ceaselessly measured the gray stone plinth. “It means that we’re nearing the end of this first stage.” Roland’s face was solemn and thoughtful as he handed his knife back to Eddie. “I think that we’ll keep to this old coach-road now—or rather, it will keep to us. It has taken up the path of the Beam. The woods will end soon. I expect a great change.” “What is Mid-World?” Eddie asked.
“One of the large kingdoms which dominated the earth in the times before these.
A kingdom of hope and knowledge and light—the sort of things we were trying to hold onto in my land before the darkness over-took us, as well. Some day if there’s time, I’ll tell you all the old stories . . . the ones I know, at least. They form a large tapestry, one which is beautiful but very sad. “According to the old tales, a great city once stood at the edge of Mid-World—perhaps as great as your city of New York. It will be in ruins now, if it still exists at all. But there may be people … or monsters … or both. We’ll have to be on our guard.”
He reached out his two-fingered right hand and touched the inscrip-tion. “Mid-World,” he said in a low, meditative voice. “Who would have thought . . .” He trailed off.
“Well, there’s no help for it, is there?” Eddie asked. The gunslinger shook his head. “No help.” “Ka,” Susannah said suddenly, and they both looked at her.
THERE WERE TWO HOURS of daylight left, and so they moved on. The road continued southeast, along the path of the Beam, and two other overgrown roads—smaller ones—joined the one they were following. Along one side of the second were the mossy, tumbled remains of what must have once been an immense rock wall. Nearby, a dozen fat billy-bumblers sat upon the ruins, watching the pilgrims with their odd gold-ringed eyes. To Eddie they looked like a jury with hanging on its mind. The road continued to grow wider and more clearly defined. Twice they passed the shells of long-deserted buildings. The second one, Roland said, might have been a windmill. Susannah said it looked haunted. “I wouldn’t be surprised,” the gunslinger replied. His matter-of-fact tone chilled both of them. When darkness forced a halt, the trees were thinning and the breeze which had chased around tin-in all day became a light, warm wind. Ahead, the land continued to rise.