by Rik Hunik
Chapter 3
The transition was instantaneous. The sun lost much of its heat and brightness, as if he had put on sunglasses, and the air smelled different, still country fresh but with an underlying, pervasive hint of decay. The birch tree was there, but twisted and sagging, as though something was sucking the life force from it.
Beside the tree a path led to a small shrine about fifteen meters away. It was just a hexagonal roof on six stone columns over a stone altar with dark stains running down the sides. Roland turned away without looking too closely and followed the path in the other direction, winding through a forest of gnarled trees with sparse, dark green foliage.
Thirty or forty paces brought him to a narrow, rough, dirt road with weeds growing up between the ruts. The road to the left looked unused, but to the right were fresh tracks that might have been left by a horse drawn wagon, so he took a good look all around to familiarize himself with the location of the path and set off up the road.
A couple of hundred meters from the path Roland met a man chopping at a dying pine tree beside the path. The man, wearing a green plaid shirt, blue jeans, and steel-toed boots, looked perfectly normal. As Roland neared he ceased his efforts and said, "Hot day to be working."
"It sure is," Roland agreed as he walked past, although it wasn't all that hot.
"I reckon you're the fellow that's looking for the king."
Surprised, Roland stopped and turned around. He nodded.
"He's in the tower. You're on the right path." The woodcutter leaned on his axe and waved Roland on.
"Thanks," Roland said. As he turned away he thought he saw, from the corner of his eye, that the man's smile slipped for just a moment into a wide, black-toothed grin, and he recalled Mervin's warning to kill everybody he talked to. He drew the gun from his belt and spun around in time to see the woodcutter bringing his axe down in a lethal blow, but Roland shot him in the chest, slamming him back, sending him sprawling in the dirt.
But he retained his hold on the axe and struggled to get up. Roland aimed the gun and shot him between the eyes, making a neat, round hole. In death the black-toothed grin distorted the entire face, reminding Roland that what he'd just shot was not human. Feeling no remorse he returned to the road, walking faster now.
Soon he was out of the woods, walking beside a field of grass. A boy watching a small herd of cattle waved at him and watched intently as he approached. When Roland was about ten feet away the boy called out in a shrill voice, "The dark tower lies ahead, around the bend, on the far side of the hill."
Looking into the lad's eyes Roland saw malevolent red fires burning deep inside. He said, "Thank you," then drew the gun and shot the lad in the head as he crouched to spring. The boy fell dead to the ground, his skin darkening to a dull gray and his lips pulling back from grotesque teeth. This wasn't murder, it was self-defense, it was war, it was retribution.
The road curved around the hill and a few minutes later Roland caught his first sight of the tower where it loomed over the scattered trees under a gray, clouded sky. Built of dark brown stone, it was round, at least fifteen meters across, and five or six stories tall. Roland's steps slowed and he felt his pulse quicken as he neared the tower's fearsome shadow.
Wooden huts clustered at the base. As he passed the first a sultry voice from within whispered loudly, "Please, kind sir, you must help me."
Looking through the doorway into the dim interior of the hut Roland thought for a second that the woman was Berdine, but this girl was younger, a full-bodied teenager with long blonde hair. Her thin dress had been ripped from one shoulder and a large breast threatened to spill out.
"They beat me up. You're not one of them, you've got to help me." She sounded about to cry.
Moved by her plea, Roland stepped into the hut. The girl slipped into his arms, wrapped herself around him and pressed close, raising her lips for a kiss. Sudden passion burned unnaturally high and Roland started to kiss her, but her breath, like a whiff of graveyard dirt, jolted him back to his senses.
Roland jerked his head back, trying to push her away, but she laughed maniacally and her hands closed around his throat. With his left arm he held her at bay, weakening but not breaking her choke, while he struggled with his right hand to pull his gun out of his belt. Her fanatical strength brought her close and he saw how sharp her teeth were as she tried to bite his face.
The gun came free. Roland put it to her rib cage and pulled the trigger. The gold slug tore a hole right through her. She screamed piteously, but her hold loosened barely enough for Roland to push her off and throw her down. Gasping for breath, he shot her in the head and her screams ceased. Her skin darkened and wrinkled. How could he have found her attractive? What kind of magic was at work here?
A creaking hinge warned him. Spinning around he shot the goblin-in-human-guise who was trying to jump at him out of a closet. His second shot produced only a dull click, but the goblin was already dead.
Roland, his heart was thumping loudly, felt like he had just completed a difficult level on a military video game, but the rotten smell of the black blood spreading across the dirt floor reminded him that this was no game; this was real and he had only the one life, but he was determined to get his family back no matter what the risk.
Before he left the hut he reloaded the revolver and he kept it in his hand thereafter.
Nothing disturbed the silence as he approached the tower. A few steps led up to a heavy door of black wood. It didn't budge when he pushed it and he could find no doorknob or latch. He set out around the tower to find another way in, being sure to travel widdershins, but he found only a few small, high windows and came back to the one black door.
For the first time doubts came to him. Who was he fooling, trying to be a hero? What could he do?
In his mind he heard Ellen's laughter, saw Berdine's smile, and he knew it wasn't about being a hero, he was just here to get his family back and, having come this far, he discovered that he was willing to die trying. In a clear, confident voice he called out, "Let me in."
Roland felt not a hint of a breeze nor heard any sound, but the door opened a fraction of an inch. He hefted the gun, gripping it tightly, then forced his hand to relax before he pushed the door open far enough to reveal a wide, dark corridor, with doors on both sides.
