To Tian’s right, those who had carried the feather shuffled a bit uneasily. In ordinary circumstances, one set of twins was plenty to take the opopanax feather; in most cases, people knew well in advance what was up, and carrying the feather was nothing but a formality. This time (it had been Margaret Eisenhart’s idea), three sets of twins had gone together with the hallowed feather, carrying it from town to smallhold to ranch to farm in a bucka driven by Cantab, who sat unusually silent and songless up front, clucking along a matched set of brown mules that needed precious little help from the likes of him. Oldest at twenty-three were the Haggengood twins, born the year of the last Wolf-raid (and ugly as sin by the lights of most folks, although precious hard workers, say thankya). Next came the Tavery twins, those beautiful map-drawing town brats. Last (and youngest, although eldest of Tian’s brood) came Heddon and Hedda. And it was Hedda who got him going. Tian caught her eye and saw that his good (although plain-faced) daughter had sensed her father’s fright and was on the verge of tears herself.

Eddie and Jake weren’t the only ones who heard the voices of others in their heads; Tian now heard the voice of his Gran-pere. Not as Jamie was now, doddering and nearly toothless, but as he had been twenty years before: old but still capable of clouting you over the River Road if you sassed back or dawdled over a hard pull. Jamie Jaffords who had once stood against the Wolves. This Tian had from time to time doubted, but he doubted it no longer. Because Roland believed.

Garn, then!snarled the voice in his mind. What is it fashes and diddles thee s’slow, oafing? ’Tis nobbut to say his name and stand aside, ennit? Then fer good or nis, ye can let him do a’rest.

Still Tian looked out over the silent crowd a moment longer, their bulk hemmed in tonight by torches that didn’t change—for this was no party—but only glared a steady orange. Because he wanted to say something, perhaps needed to say something. If only to acknowledge that he was partly to credit for this. For good or for nis.

In the eastern darkness, lightning fired off silent explosions.

Roland, standing with his arms folded like the Pere, caught Tian’s eye and nodded slightly to him. Even by warm torchlight, the gunslinger’s blue gaze was cold. Almost as cold as Andy’s. Yet it was all the encouragement Tian needed.

He took the feather and held it before him. Even the crowd’s breathing seemed to still. Somewhere far overtown, a rustie cawed as if to hold back the night.