silken ceiling.
Sister Mary spoke briefly. Roland recognized her voice, but not the
words - it was neither low speech nor the High, but some other
language entirely. One phrase stood out - can de lach, mi him en
tow - and he had no idea what it might mean.
He realized that now he could hear only the tinkle of bells - the
doctor-bugs had stilled.
'Ras me! On! On!' Sister Mary cried in a harsh, powerful voice.
The candles went out. The light which had shone through the
wings of their wimples as they gathered around the bearded man's
bed vanished, and all was darkness once more.
Roland waited for what might happen next, his skin cold. He tried
to flex his hands and feet, and could not. He had been able to move
his head perhaps fifteen degrees; otherwise he was as paralysed as
a fly neatly wrapped up and hung in a spider's web.
The low jingling of bells in the black ... and then sucking sounds.
As soon as he heard them, Roland knew he'd been waiting for
them. Some part of him had known what the Little Sisters of Eluria
were, all along.
If Roland could have raised his hands, he would have put them to
his ears to block those sounds out. As it was, he could only lie still,
listening and waiting for them to stop.
For a long time - for ever, it seemed - they did not. The women
slurped and grunted like pigs snuffling half-liquefied feed out of a
trough. There was even one resounding belch, followed by more
whispered giggles (these, ended when Sister Mary uttered a single
curt word - 'Hais!'). And once there was a low, moaning cry - from
the bearded man, Roland was quite sure. If so, it was his last on
this side of the clearing.
In time, the sound of their feeding began to taper off. As it did, the
bugs began to sing again - first hesitantly, then with more
confidence. The whispering and giggling recommenced. The
candles were re-lit. Roland was by now lying with his head turned
in the other direction. He didn't want them to know what he'd seen,
but that wasn't all; he had no urge to see more on any account. He
had seen and heard enough.
But the giggles and whispers now came his way. Roland closed his
eyes concentrating on the medallion which lay against his chest. I
don't know if it's the gold or the God, but they don't like to get too
close, John Norman had said. It was good to have such a thing to
remember as the Little Sister drew nigh, gossiping and whispering
in their strange other tongue, but the medallion seemed a thin
protection in the dark.
Faintly, at a great distance, Roland heard the cross-dog barking.
As the Sisters circled him, the gunslinger realized he could smell
them. It was a low, unpleasant odour, like spoiled meat. And what
else would they smell of, such as these?
'Such a pretty man it is.' Sister Mary. She spoke in a low,
meditative tone.
'But such an ugly sigil it wears.' Sister Tamra.
