James
Loved of family, Loved of GOD
He tucked it into the top of the bed-dress again and looked back at the sleeping boy in the next bed-in it, not suspended over it. The sheet was only pulled up to the boy's ribcage, and the medallion lay on the pristine white breast of his bed-dress. The same medallion Roland now wore. Except…
Roland thought he understood, and understanding was a relief.
He looked back at the bearded man, and saw an exceedingly strange thing: the thick black line of scar across the bearded man's cheek and nose was gone. Where it had been was the pinkish-red mark of a healing wound… a cut, or perhaps a slash.
I imagined it.
No, gunslinger, Cort's voice returned. Such as you was not made to imagine. As you well know.
The little bit of movement had tired him out again… or perhaps it was the thinking which had really tired him out. The singing bugs and chiming bells combined and made something too much like a lullaby to resist. This time when Roland closed his eyes, he slept.
III. Five Sisters. Jenna. The Doctors of Eluria. The Medallion. A Promise of Silence.
When Roland awoke again, he was at first sure that he was still sleeping. Dreaming. Having a nightmare.
Once, at the time he had met and fallen in love with Susan Delgado, he had known a witch named Rhea-the first real witch of Mid-World he had ever met. It was she who had caused Susan's death, although Roland had played his own part. Now, opening his eyes and seeing Rhea not just once but five times over, he thought: This is what comes of remembering those old times. By conjuring Susan, I've conjured Rhea of the Coos, as well. Rhea and her sisters.
The five were dressed in billowing habits as white as the walls and the panels of the ceiling. Their antique crones” faces were framed in wimples just as white, their skin as grey and runnelled as droughted earth by comparison. Hanging like phylacteries from the bands of silk imprisoning their hair (if they indeed had hair) were lines of tiny bells which chimed as they moved or spoke. Upon the snowy breasts of their habits was embroidered a blood-red rose… the sigil of the Dark Tower. Seeing this, Roland thought: I am not dreaming. These harridans are real.