The Collective

silent horror, feigning sleep, as wet warmth almost immediately

spilled from him. The hand remained where it was for a moment,

the thumb rubbing up and down the wilting shaft. Then it let him

go and rose a little higher. Found the wetness pooled on his lower

belly. Giggles, soft as wind. Chiming bells. Roland opened his

eyes the tiniest crack and looked up at the ancient faces laughing

down at him in the light of their candles - glittering eyes, yellow

cheeks, hanging teeth that jutted over lower lips. Sister Michela

and sister Louise appeared to have grown goatees, but of course

that wasn't the darkness of hair but of the bearded man's blood.

Mary is hand was cupped. She passed it from Sister to Sister; each

licked from her palm in the candlelight.

Roland closed his eyes all the way and waited for them to be gone.

Eventually they were.

I'll never sleep again, he thought, and was five minutes later lost to

himself and the world.

V. Sister Mary. A Message. A Visit from Ralph.

Norman's Fate. Sister Mary Again.

When Roland awoke, it was full daylight, the silk roof overhead a

bright white and billowing in a mild breeze. The doctor-bugs were

singing contentedly. Beside him on his left, Norman was heavily

asleep with his head turned so far to one side that his stubbly cheek

rested on his shoulder.

Roland and John Norman were the only ones here. Further down

on their side of the infirmary, the bed where the bearded man had

been was empty, it's top sheet pulled up and neatly tucked in, the

pillow neatly nestled in a crisp white case. The complication of

slings in which his body had rested was gone.

Roland remembered the candles - the way their glow had

combined and streamed up in a column, illuminating the Sisters as

they gathered around the bearded man. Giggling. Their damned

bells jingling.

Now, as if summoned by his thoughts, came Sister Mary, gliding

along rapidly with Sister Louise in her wake. Louise bore a tray,

and looked nervous. Mary was frowning, obviously not in good

temper.

To be grumpy after you've fed so well? Roland thought. Fie, Sister.

She reached the gunslinger's bed and looked down at him. 'I have

little to thank ye for, sai,' she said with no preamble.

'Have I asked for your thanks?' he responded in a voice that

sounded as dusty and little-used as the pages of an old book.

She took no notice. 'Ye've made one who was only impudent and

restless with her place outright rebellious. Well, her mother was

the same way, and died of it not long after returning Jenna to her

proper Place. Raise your hand, thankless man.'

'I can't. I can't move at all.'

'Oh, cully! Haven't you heard it said "fool not your mother 'less

she's out of face"? I know pretty well what ye can and can't do.

Now raise your hand.'

Roland raised his right hand, trying to suggest more effort than it,

actually took. He thought that this morning he might be strong

enough to slip free of the slings ... but what then? Any real walking

would beyond him for hours yet, even without another dose of

'medicine' . . and behind Sister Mary, Sister Louise was taking the

cover from a fresh bowl of soup. As Roland looked at it, his

stomach rumbled.

Big Sister heard and smiled a bit. 'Even lying in bed builds an

appetite in a strong man, if it's done long enough. Wouldn't you

say so, Jason brother of John?'

'My name is James. As you well know, Sister.'

'Do I?' She laughed angrily. 'Oh, la! And if I whipped your little

sweetheart hard enough and long enough - until the blood jumped

her back like drops of sweat, let us say - should I not whip a

different name out of her? Or didn't ye trust her with it, during

your little talk?'

'Touch her and I'll kill you.'

She laughed again. Her face shimmered; her firm mouth turned

into something that looked like a dying jellyfish. 'Speak not of

killing to us cully, lest we speak of it to you.'

'Sister, if you and Jenna don't see eye to eye, why not release her

from her vows and let her go her course?'

'Such as us can never be released from our vows, nor be let go. Her

mother tried and then came back, her dying and the girl sick. Why,

it was we nursed Jenna back to health after her mother was nothing

but dirt in the breeze that blows out towards End-World, and how

little she thanks us! Besides, she bears the Dark Bells, the sigil of

our sisterhood. Of our ka-tet. Now eat - yer belly says ye're

hungry!'

Sister Louise offered the bowl, but her eyes kept drifting to the

shape the medallion made under the breast of his bed-dress. Don't

like it, do you? Roland thought, and then remembered Louise by

candlelight, the freighter's blood on her chin, her ancient eyes

eager as she leaned forward to lick his spend from Sister Mary's

hand.

He turned his head aside. 'I want nothing.'

'But ye're hungry!' Louise protested. 'If'ee don't eat, James, how

will'ee get'ee strength back?'

'Send Jenna. I'll eat what she brings.'

Sister Mary's frown was black. 'Ye'll see her no more. She's been

released from Thoughtful House only on her solemn promise to

double her time of meditation ... and to stay out of the infirmary.

Now eat, James, or whoever ye are. Take what's in the soup, or

we'll cut ye with knives and rub it in with flannel poultices. Either

way, makes no difference to us. Does it? Louise?'

'Nar,' Louise said. She still held out the bowl. Steam rose from it,

and the good smell of chicken.

'But it might make a difference to you.' Sister Mary grinned

humourlessly, baring her unnaturally large teeth. 'Flowing blood's

risky around here. The doctors don't like it. It stirs them up.'

It wasn't just the bugs that were stirred up at the sight of blood, and

Roland knew it. He also knew he had no choice in the matter of the

soup. He took the bowl from Louise and ate slowly. He would

have given much to wipe but the look of satisfaction he saw on

Sister Mary's face.

'Good,' she said after he had handed the bowl back and she had

peered inside to make sure it was completely empty. His hand

thumped back into the sling which had been rigged for it, already

too heavy to hold up. He could feel the world drawing away again.

Sister Mary leaned forward, the billowing top of her habit touching

the skin of his left shoulder. He could smell her, an aroma both

ripe and dry, and would have gagged if he'd had the strength.

'Have that foul gold thing off ye when yer strength comes back a

little - put it in the pissoir under the bed. Where it belongs. For to

be even this close to where it lies hurts my head and makes my

throat close.'

Speaking with enormous effort, Roland said: 'If you want it, take

it. How can I stop you, you bitch?'

Once more her frown turned her face into something like a

thunderhead. He thought she would have slapped him, if she had

dared touch him so close to where the medallion lay. Her ability to

touch seemed to end above his waist, however.

'I think you had better consider the matter a little more fully,' she

said. 'I can still have Jenna whipped, if I like. She bears the Dark

Bells, but I am the Big Sister. Consider that very well.'

She left. Sister Louise followed, casting one look - a strange

combination Of fright and lust - back over her shoulder.

Roland thought, I must get out of here - I must.

Instead, he drifted back to that dark place which wasn't quite sleep.

Or perhaps he did sleep, at least for a while; perhaps he dreamed.