At the top of the Tower, the ringing stopped. A door, carved from the heart of a dying star, creaked open an inch.
"The Man in Black?" Roland asked, his voice like grinding stones. The Dark Tower
Around its base, the field of Can'-Ka No Rey was no longer filled with red roses. They had turned white, then translucent, then disappeared entirely. In their place grew teeth. Thousands of them, pushing up through the soil like jagged grave markers. At the top of the Tower, the ringing stopped
"Go then," Roland whispered, though whether he spoke to Jake, the Tower, or himself, he did not know. "There are other worlds than these." Around its base, the field of Can'-Ka No
In the high, thin air of the Borderlands, the sky had turned the color of a bruised plum. The sun was a pale, flickering candle, guttering in a draft that blew from the gaps between universes. Roland knelt by a stream that ran with silver liquid—not water, but the liquefied memories of a city that had never existed. He didn't drink. He knew the price of drinking "Used Time." "He’s coming, Roland," a voice rasped.
Roland stood, his ancient revolvers heavy against his hips. The sandalwood grips felt warm, almost humming. He looked toward the horizon, where the Dark Tower stood—a needle of impossible black stone stitching the sky to the earth.