of the reeds out from under the pillow and had begun to nibble on
it when a cold voice said, 'So - Big Sister was right. Ye've been
keeping secrets.'
Roland's heart seemed to stop dead in his chest. He looked around
and saw Sister Coquina getting to her feet. She had crept in while
he was dozing and hidden under the bed on his right side to watch
him. 'Where did ye get that?' she asked. 'Was it 'He got it from me.'
Coquina whirled about. Jenna was walking down the aisle towards
them. Her habit was gone. She still wore her wimple with its
foreheadfringe of bells, but its hem rested on the shoulders of a
simple checkered shirt. Below this she wore jeans and scuffed
desert boots. She had something in her hands. It was too dark for
Roland to be sure, but he thought
YOU,' Sister Coquina whispered with infinite hate. 'When I tell
Big Sister -
`you'll tell no one anything,' Roland said.
If he had planned his escape from the slings which entangled him,
he no doubt would have made a bad business of it, but, as always,
the gunslinger did best when he thought least. His arms were free
in a moment; so was his left leg. His right caught at the ankle,
however, twisting, hanging him up with his shoulders on the bed
and his leg in the air.
Coquina turned on him, hissing like a cat. Her lips pulled back
from teeth that were needle-sharp. She rushed at him, her fingers
splayed. The nails at the ends of them looked sharp and ragged.
Roland clasped the medallion and shoved it out towards her. She
recoiled from it, still hissing, and whirled back to Sister Jenna in a
flare of white skirt. 'I'll do for ye, ye interfering trull!' she cried in a
low, harsh voice.
Roland struggled to free his leg and couldn't. It was firmly caught,
the shitting sling actually wrapped around the ankle somehow, like
a noose.
Jenna raised her hands, and he saw he had been right: it was his
revolvers she had brought, holstered and hanging from the two old
gunbelts he had worn out of Gilead after the last burning.
'Shoot her, Jenna! Shoot her!'
Instead, still holding the holstered guns up, Jenna shook her head
as she had on the day when Roland had persuaded her to push back
her wimple so he could see her hair. The bells rang with a
sharpness that seemed to go into the gunslinger's head like a spike.
The Dark Bells. The sigil of their ka-tet. What
The sound of the doctor-bugs rose to a shrill, reedy scream that
was eerily like the sound of the bells Jenna wore. Nothing sweet
about them now. Sister Coquina's hands faltered on their way to
Jenna's throat; Jenna herself had not so much as flinched or blinked
her eyes.
'No,' Coquina whispered. 'You can't!'
'I have,' Jenna said, and Roland saw the bugs. Descending from the
legs of the bearded man, he'd observed a battalion. What he saw
coming from the shadows now was an army to end all armies; had
they been men instead of insects, there might have been more than
all the men who had ever carried arms in the long and bloody
history of World.
Yet the sight of them advancing down the boards of the aisle was
what Roland would always remember, nor what would haunt his
dream for a year or more; it was the way they coated the beds.
These were turning black two by two on both sides of the aisle,
like pairs of dim rectangular lights going out.
Coquina shrieked and began to shake her own head, to ring her
bells. The sound they made was thin and pointless compared to the
sharp ringing of the Dark Bells.
Still the bugs marched on, darkening the floor, blacking out the be
Jenna darted past the shrieking Sister Coquina, dropped Roland's
beside him, then yanked the twisted sling straight with one hard p
Roland slid his leg free.
'Come,' she said. 'I've started them, but staying them could be a
different thing.'
Now Sister Coquina's shrieks were not of horror but of pain. The
bugs had found her.
'Don't look,' Jenna said, helping Roland to his feet. He thought that
never in his life had he been so glad to be upon them. 'Come. We
mu be quick - she'll rouse the others. I've put your boots and
clothes aside the path that leads away from here - I carried as much
as I could. How ye? Are ye strong?'
'Thanks to you.' How long he would stay strong Roland didn't
know... and right now it wasn't a question that mattered. He saw
Jenna snatch up two of the reeds - in his struggle to escape the
slings, they had scattered all over the head of the bed - and then
they were hurrying up the aisle, away from the bugs and from
Sister Coquina, whose cries were now failing.
Roland buckled on his guns and tied them down without breaking
stride.
They passed only three beds on each side before reaching the flap
of the tent . . . and it was a tent, he saw, not a vast pavilion. The
silk walls and ceiling were fraying canvas, thin enough to let in the
light of a threequarters Kissing Moon. And the beds weren't beds
at all, but only a double row of shabby cots.
He turned and saw a black, writhing hump on the floor where
Sister Coquina had been. At the sight of her, Roland was struck by
an unpleasant thought.
'I forgot John Norman's medallion!' A keen sense of regret - almost
of mourning - went through him like wind.
Jenna reached into the pocket of her jeans and brought it out. It
glimmered in the moonlight.
'I picked it up off the floor.'
He didn't know which made him gladder - the sight of the
medallion or the sight of it in her hand. It meant she wasn't like the
others.
Then, as if to dispel that notion before it got too firm a hold on
him, she said: 'Take it, Roland - I can hold it no more.' And, as he
took it, he saw unmistakable marks of charring on her fingers.
He took her hand and kissed each burn.
'Thankee-sai,' she said, and he saw she was crying. 'Thankee, dear.
To be kissed so is lovely, worth every pain. Now . . .'
Roland saw her eyes shift, and followed them. Here were bobbing
lights descending a rocky path. Beyond them he saw the building
where the Little Sisters had been living - not a convent but a ruined
hacienda that looked a thousand years old. There were three
candles; as they drew closer, Roland saw that there were only three
sisters. Mary wasn't among them.
He drew his guns.
'Oooo, it's a gunslinger-man he is!' Louise.
'A scary man!' Michela.
'And he's found his ladylove as well as his shooters!' Tamra.
'His slut-whore!' Louise.
Laughing angrily. Not afraid ... at least, not of his weapons.
'Put them away,' Jenna told him, and when she looked, saw that he
already had.
The others, meanwhile, had drawn closer.
'Ooo, see, she cries!' Tamra.
'Doffed her habit, she has!' Michela. 'Perhaps it's her broken vows
she cries for.'
'Why such tears, pretty?' Louise.
'Because he kissed my fingers where they were burned,' Jenna said.
'I've never been kissed before. It made me cry.'
'Ooooo!'
'Luv-ly!'
'Next he'll stick his thing in her! Even luv-lier!'
Jenna bore their japes with no sign of anger. When they were done,
she said: 'I'm going with him. Stand aside.'
They gaped at her, counterfeit laughter disappearing in shock.
'No!' Louise whispered. 'Are ye mad? Ye know what'll happen!'
'No, and neither do you,' Jenna said. 'Besides, I care not.' She half-
turned and held her hand out to the mouth of the ancient hospital
tent. It was a faded olive-drab in the moonlight, with an old red
cross drawn on its roof.