Shooter's Eye
Chapter 1: The Way Station
The man in black fled across the desert and the gunslinger followed.
The desert was a flat hardpan that baked beneath the heat of the sun as it began to dip towards the horizon. The gunslinger trailed after the sun, walking down what may have once been a road but was now little more than the faded memory of one. As the gunslinger followed after the man in black, it seemed to be sheer willpower that kept him moving forward, as by this point he stumbled more than he walked.
The gunslinger was a tall man, his dark skin backing under the glare of the sun. His black hair was cut close to his scalp, the strands standing roughly as tall as the stubble that graced the lower half of his face. He wore a homespun shirt that had once been dyed, but the color had faded to a sort of non-white during his travels. Along with the shirt, the gunslinger sported a pair of faded denim jeans, the cuffs of which covered the tops of his scuffed black boots. A red bandana hung loosely around his neck while a black duster clung to his frame, the end of which was fraying and caked in dirt. A pair of leather ammo belts crisscrossed around his waist, holding up the holsters that sat at his hips. In the holsters were a pair of large six-shooters made from heavy iron with worn, sandalwood grips. A black strap crossed over his chest, holding up a black bag that sat near the small of his back. He looked out at the world with a pair of steely blue eyes and though he appeared on the cusp of middle age, there was something about the gunslinger's weathered face that made him seem unfathomingly older.
The gunslinger stumbled his way down the ghost of the road, his water canteen banging hollowly against his hip while his throat felt as dry as the surrounding desert. As he went, his eyes squinted against the glaring sun, trying to focus on anything in the endless wasteland stretching out before him. To his surprise, they found something.
Perhaps a mile or so down the forgotten road from where the gunslinger was sat a structure. At first, all the gunslinger could tell was that it was a short, squat building, wider than it was tall. As he drew closer, however, the gunslinger realized that the structure could only be a way station, a rest stop for travelers back when carriages use to make their way across the desert.
Back before the world had moved on.
As the gunslinger drew closer to the way station, he was able to make out the finer details of the structure. Most of it had been bleached white by the desert sun, though he could make out a few flecks of red paint that still clung to places. The most noticeable feature of the way station was the canopy that reached out from the front part of the structure supported by a pair of metal columns, creating a shaded area that the carriages would have stopped under while visiting the station. Directly between the columns was a pair of pumps with long rubber hose attachments. As the gunslinger continued down the road, he was able to see that at the front of the canopy was the faded remains of a triangle symbol, along with letters that spelled out the word "Citgo."
The gunslinger did not know what this meant.
As the gunslinger came within a quarter mile of the way station, he saw something that gave him pause. Just outside the main structure, beneath the shade of the canopy was the remains of a campfire, one that he judged had been lit the night before. Standing in the road, the gunslinger swept his steely eyes over the way station, looking for any other signs of life. He found it when he spotted some movement near the entrance to the building. Looking in the that direction, the gunslinger's heart sped up as he spotted a figure crouched in the doorway.
The man in black. He had finally caught up to him.
Attempting to run, but doing little more than stumble drunkenly towards the way station, the gunslinger reached down and drew one of his revolvers with practiced ease, leveling it at the figure still crouched in the doorway.
"I've got you!" the gunslinger declared, his parched throat causing his deep voice to come out scratched, "I've got you dead to rights!"
As the gunslinger stumbled to a stop beneath the shade of the way station's canopy, his eyes adjusted to the change in light and the gunslinger realized something.
The person in front of him was not, in fact, the man in black.
It was a boy.
He was an older boy, old enough to be someone's apprentice, with tanned skin, brown hair and a skinny frame. He wore an olive green, button down shirt that looked like it has seen better days, with a similarly tattered pair of brown slacks and scuffed brown shoes. He looked at the gunslinger with wide, fear-filled brown eyes.
"You're not Walter," the gunslinger mumbled before he promptly fell to the ground and passed out.
Oblivion held the gunslinger fast for a time, and he lost all sense of thought and purpose. Eventually, the gunslinger's mind recollected itself and his eyes slowly opened. The first thing the gunslinger noticed was that his throat was no longer dry, feeling instead as though he had recently drank, a sensation that the gunslinger had all but forgotten. The next thing the gunslinger noticed was that night had fallen, though the glittering stars were hidden by the way station's canopy. The final thing the gunslinger noticed was the fire that was burning a few feet away. The warmth of the fire battled the now cool desert air and on the other side of the dancing flames the gunslinger could see the boy watching cautiously.
"I'm not dead," the gunslinger observed.
"You seemed thirsty," the boy spoke up, his voice light and painted with an accent the gunslinger recognized from somewhere in his past, "I gave you some water while you were out."
"I was thirsty," the gunslinger confirmed with a nod, "Thank you."
The boy nodded in reply.
"What is your name, boy?" the gunslinger questioned.
"Miguel," the boy answered.
"We are well met, Miguel," the gunslinger stated as he pulled himself up into a seated position, "I am Roland. Do you dwell here?"
"I uh, I suppose I do," Miguel answered uncertainty, "For now, at least."
"I do not understand you," Roland stated as his brow furrowed.
"I'm not from here," Miguel clarified.
"How did you come to dwell here?" Roland questioned.
"It is….It is a long story," Miguel said uncertainty.
"I can assure you that mine is longer still," Roland replied, before motioning for Miguel to go on, "Let us palather."
"What?" Miguel questioned in confusion.
"Talk," Roland clarified.
"Well, I've been living with my father in Memphis," Miguel began before pausing as he noticed Roland's brow furrowing, "Memphis, Tennessee? You must have heard of it, it can't be to far from here."
"I am not familiar with this place," Roland admitted.
"How can you not be, I can't have come that far," Miguel mused more to himself than to Roland, "We're still in the RSA, aren't we?"
"I have never heard of any RSA," Roland answered.
"The RSA?" Miguel repeated, looking at Roland in complete bafflement, "The Reunified States of America?"
Roland's blank, uncomprehending face spoke volumes.
"Perhaps if you tell me more of your story, Miguel," Roland suggested, "Maybe then, things will become clearer."
Miguel nodded in agreement, a troubled expression on his face.
"I was exploring the wreck of an old riverboat near town with some friends," Miguel explained, "People said it used to be a hideout for bandits who had left their treasure there or that it was haunted. We didn't find any treasure or ghosts though."
"What did you find?" Roland prompted.
"First, there was just a feeling," Miguel explained as he wrapped his arms around himself despite the heat coming off of the fire, "A feeling that something was….wrong. That we shouldn't have been there. My friends wanted to leave right then, but something made me want to stay."
"What happened next?" Roland urged.
"We explored the riverboat for awhile until we started hearing this sound," Miguel explained, "It was this high-pitched whining noise, it's hard to explain. Like a sheet of metal crying out in pain."
Remembering the noise caused the hairs on the back of Miguel's neck to stand on end.
"It was at that point that my friends decided they had had enough, but I didn't leave with them," Miguel continued, "I couldn't. I don't know what it was but I felt something pulling me towards that noise, despite how horrible it was. Sometimes, I swear I could hear a voice talking to me, calling my name."
Roland's stony demeanor continued to betray nothing but something in the back of Miguel's mind told him that the gunslinger knew more than he was letting on.
"Eventually, I came to the largest room at the center of the ship's top deck," Miguel went on, "The noise was so loud that I was worried I was going to lose my mind. But then, I saw it."
"What was it?" Roland asked.
"It's hard to describe," Miguel said, his brow furrowed as he tired to suss out how to put what he was thinking into words, "It was as if someone had torn a hole in the air itself. Like the air was a curtain and someone had ripped a piece of it open. Does that make any sense?"
"It does," Roland replied with a nod, "I have seen something like it before."
"You….You have?" Miguel questioned in shock.
"I am sure that the phenomenon has many names but I know it as a thinny," Roland elaborated.
"A thinny?" Miguel parroted, the word tasting strange on his tongue.
"You say true," Roland confirmed with a nod, "A thinny is a place where the fabric of reality has worn thin, much like the curtain of which you previously spoke. Thin enough that it has torn, opening a doorway to….somewhere else."
"Somewhere else?" Miguel asked, still not fully comprehending.
"Another world, if you would," Roland elaborated, before he began to spin two of his fingers in a "go on" gesture, "Perhaps I can explain better once you've finished your tale."
"There's not much left to it," Miguel stated, "I remember walking up to the….the thinny and looking through it."
"What could you see?" Roland inquired.
"It was like I was looking out from on top of a high cliff," Miguel explained, "I could see for miles across a vast desert. Below me, water fell over a high cliff and if I leaned close enough I could feel the water spray and hear the roar of the falls over the sound of the thinny. It was beautiful."
"Then what?" Roland asked.
"Then somebody pushed me," Miguel answered.
"Pushed you?" Roland inquired, his eyebrows raising in surprise, "There was someone else there with you?"
"There must have been," Miguel confirmed with a shrug, "I must have been distracted by the thinny, which gave whoever it was the chance to sneak up behind me and push me."
"You didn't see who it was?" Roland asked, before continuing as Miguel shook his head, "Could it have been one of your friends?"
"No, whoever it was was stronger than that," Miguel answered with another shake of his head, "I think it was a man."
A pensive expression passed over Roland's features before he signaled for Miguel to continue.
"It's hard to remember everything after that," Miguel explained, "I remember falling down the waterfall, the mountain speeding past me. I was sure I was going to die. But the next thing I remember is being in the water and someone grabbing me before dragging me out. Then, I remember someone carrying me before I fully woke up here."
"Were you alone?" Roland inquired, though he believed he already knew the answer.
Miguel was silent for a moment, and Roland could see a shiver run down the boy's spine.
"No," Miguel finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Who was there?" Roland pressed.
"A man," Miguel said, before pausing as he considered his response, "At least, I think he was. When I woke up, it was night time and he was sitting where you are now, with a fire between us."
"What did he look like?" Roland asked.
"I couldn't see much of him," Miguel explained, "He was wearing a black cloak with a hood and it was dark. I could tell that he was also wearing black robes, like those of a priest, but…."
"But what?" Roland pressed.
"He didn't seem like a priest," Miguel answered with a shrug, "He didn't seem much like a man either. There was something….wrong about him. I don't know how else to describe it."
"That's alright, Miguel," Roland assured him, a grim look on his face, "I know exactly what you mean."
"You do?" Miguel questioned in surprise.
"I believe I know of the man of whom you speak," Roland explained, "I do not believe he is entirely human either."
"You know him?" Miguel asked in surprise.
"His name is Walter O'Dim," Roland explained, "He is a magician and my enemy."
"A magician?" Miguel asked in surprise, "Are you saying he can do magic? Real magic?"
"Indeed," Roland confirmed with a nod, "That is why I'm seeking him."
"To kill him?" Miguel questioned.
"Nay, though he deserves death a thousand times over for his crimes," Roland answered, "I seek him for what he knows, for as a magician, Walter's knowledge is vast and deep."
"So you need to ask him a question?" Miguel questioned, earning a nod from Roland in reply, "About what?"
"My quest," Roland answered, "Walter knows what I need to do to get to the Dark Tower."
"What's the Dark Tower?" Miguel asked, his brow furrowing.
Roland paused as he looked out at the dark, desert night that surrounded them.
"I'm not sure," Roland admitted, "But I have sworn a solemn oath to reach the Tower and climb to its top."
Miguel said nothing to this, staying silent as Roland turned his cold blue shooter's eyes back to him.
"But I cry your pardon, Miguel," Roland said, "I have interrupted your tale. What happened between you and Walter?"
"He told me that he had saved my life," Miguel explained, "That he had pulled me out of a muddy desert river like a fish. He told me that I owed him."
"He wanted something from you," Roland surmised.
"He said I needed to wait here, until someone else came along," Miguel stated, "He said I would know what to do then. That was three days ago."
"And you've been surviving here ever since?" Roland questioned.
"It hasn't been hard," Miguel admitted with a shrug, "There's some kind of strange water pump in the back and a lot of canned food on the shelves inside the building. What is this place, anyway?"
"A way station," Roland explained, "It was a place for travelers to stop on carriage rides through the desert. But that was a long time ago. Before the world moved on."
A silence fell between the two, broken only by the crackling of the fire.
"Do you think he….Walter left me here for you to find?" Miguel questioned after a moment.
"There's not a doubt in my mind that he did," Roland answered.
"But why?" Miguel asked.
Another moment of silence.
"I have my suspicions," Roland answered.
"So, what do we do now?" Miguel inquired.
"That depends," Rolan replied, "Where did Walter go after he departed?"
"I think he went that way," Miguel answered as he pointed in the opposite direction that Roland had come from.
"He's heading towards the mountains, as I suspected," Roland mused, "In that case it seems ka has aligned our paths."
"What do you mean?" Miguel asked.
"From what you told me of your tale, it sounds as though the thinny you came through is located somewhere in those mountains," Roland explained, "I must go that way to track down Walter. It would be a small thing for me to bring you back to home, for this place is not one that you would wish to dwell in."
"Why not?" Miguel inquired, "Am I really in another world?"
"Yes," Roland answered simply, "You are in All-World, specifically in the Mohaine Desert in a place known as Mid-World."
"Are you from here?" Miguel questioned.
"No, I hail In-World, from Gilead that was," Roland explained.
"Gilead that was?" Miguel parroted in confusion.
"The last bastion of civilization," Roland elaborated, "From before the world moved on."
"You keep saying that," Miguel pointed out, "What do you mean that the world moved on?"
"My world is old, and it has started to come apart at the seems," Roland explained, "People live in squalor and despair. Mutations among beast and men are rampant. And the very machines of time and space are breaking down."
"Time and space are breaking down?" Miguel asked, "What do you mean by that?"
"Things are no longer in a fixed place, and time does not flow at the steady pace it once did," Roland explained, "Everything is prone to fluctuation."
"That….That doesn't sound possible," Miguel commented, a look of shock on his face.
"And yet, it is so," Roland replied with a shrug, "Let me ask you this, Miguel. During your time at this way station, did you notice the days passing by slower than they normally did?"
Miguel was about to answer that of course they hadn't but then he remembered something. The second day he had spent in the way station, the sun did seem to hang in the sky for an abnormally long time, only to suddenly set in what seemed like the blink of an eye.
"I see that you have," Roland observed, "As such, I'm sure you wish to return to your own world rather than linger here."
"I don't understand anything that's happening," Miguel said as he drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, "Especially why you're helping me."
"Because it's what is required of me," Roland explained.
"Because….because you're a knight, right?" Miguel questioned, "That's why you're on a quest. I've heard all sorts of stories about knights going on quests."
"I am a knight, of a sort," Roland answered with an amused smile, "But that does not encompass all that I am."
"What are you then?" Miguel asked.
"A gunslinger," Roland replied solemnly, and the word seemed to strike a chord in Miguel's very soul, "Now, I suggest you get some rest, Miguel. Our trek through the desert will not be an easy one and you will need all of your strength for it."
Miguel nodded and slid onto his side, using his arm as a pillow as he stared into the crackling fire.
"Roland?" Miguel said after a moment of silence.
"Aye?" Roland replied.
"Will we run into any other gunslingers on our way to the mountains?" Miguel inquired.
"No," Roland answered before pausing for long enough that Miguel momentarily thought that was all the gunslinger was going to say, "There are no more gunslingers."
"No more?" Miguel asked, a strange sense of melancholy falling over him at the news.
"No more," Roland parroted, his blue gaze focused on the slowly dying fire, "I am Roland Deschain, son of Steven, the last of the line of Eld, the last son of Gilhead, and the last gunslinger."
A/N: So, as you all can see, a new story has popped into my head. I'm sure many of you will be unfamiliar with the other work that I'm crossing over with the Dark Tower here. If you'd like to learn more about it, I suggest checking out the New Century series of novels and audio dramas. It's great stuff! As always, feedback and critiques are always feedback and critiques are always welcome, so please review! Later!