ALSO BY STEPHEN KING NOVELS Carrie Salems Lot The Shining The Stand The Dead Zone Firestarter Cujo THE DARK TOWER I The Gunslinger Christine Pet Sematary Cycle of the Werewolf The Talisman (with Peter Straub) It The Eyes of the Dragon Misery The Tommyknockers THE DARK TOWER II The Drawing of the Three THE DARK TOWER III The Waste Lands The Dark Half Needful Things Geralds Game Dolores Claiborne Insomnia Rose Madder Desperation The Green Mile THE DARK TOWER IV Wizard and Glass Bag of Bones The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon Dreamcatcher Black House (with Peter Straub) From a Buick 8 THE DARK TOWER V Wolves of the Calla THE DARK TOWER VI Song of Susannah AS RICHARD BACHMAN Rage The Long Walk Roadwork The Running Man Thinner The Regulators COLLECTIONS Night Shift Different Seasons Skeleton Crew Four Past Midnight Nightmares and Dreamscapes Hearts in Atlantis Everythings Eventual SCREENPLAYS Creepshow Cats Eye Silver Bullet Maximum Overdrive Pet Sematary Golden Years Sleepwalkers The Stand The Shining Rose Red Storm of the Century NONFICTION Danse Macabre On Writing Faithful (with Stewart ONan) Dark Towerrelated in bold THE DARK TOWER VII THE DARK TOWER STEPHEN KING ILLUSTRATED BY MICHAEL WHELAN SCRIBNER NEW YORK LONDON TORONTO SYDNEY SCRIBNER 1230 Avenue of the Americas New York, NY 10020 www.SimonandSchuster.com This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Copyright  2004 by Stephen King Illustrations copyright  2004 by Michael Whelan Maps copyright  2004 by Robin Furth All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. First Scribner trade paperback edition 2005. Originally published in hardcover by Donald M. Grant, Inc., in association with Scribner. SCRIBNER and design are trademarks of Macmillan Library Reference USA, Inc., used under license by Simon  Schuster, the publisher of this work. For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon  Schuster Special Sales 18004566798 or businesssimonandschuster.com Designed by Thomas Canty and Robert K. Weiner Text set in New Baskerville Manufactured in the United States of America 1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2 Library of Congress Control Number 2004109365 ISBN13 9781880418628 ISBN10 1880418622 ISBN13 9780743254564 (Pbk) eISBN13 9780743266796 ISBN10 0743254562 (Pbk) BAD COMPANY, by Paul Bernard Rodgers, Simon F. Kirke  1974 (renewed) WB MUSIC CORP. and BADCO MUSIC INC. All Rights Reserved. Used by Permission. Warner Bros. Publications U.S. Inc., Miami, Florida 33014 Lyric excerpt from Hurt written by Trent Reznor, copyright 1994 Leaving Hope MusicTVT Music, Inc. Administered by Leaving Hope Music, Inc. All rights reserved. Reprinted by permission. THE LION SLEEPS TONIGHT by George David Weiss, Luigi Creatore, and Hugo Peretti  1961, Renewed Abilene Music, Inc. Permission secured. All rights reserved. He who speaks without an attentive ear is mute. Therefore, Constant Reader, this final book in the Dark Tower cycle is dedicated to you. Long days and pleasant nights. Not hear? When noise was everywhere! it tolled Increasing like a bell. Names in my ears Of all the lost adventurers, my peers How such a one was strong, and such was bold, And such was fortunate, yet each of old Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years. There they stood, ranged along the hillsides, met To view the last of me, a living frame For one more picture! In a sheet of flame I saw them and I knew them all. And yet Dauntless the slughorn to my lips I set, And blew. Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came. Robert Browning Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came I was born Sixgun in my hand, behind a gun Ill make my final stand. Bad Company What have I become? My sweetest friend Everyone I know Goes away in the end You could have it all My empire of dirt I will let you down I will make you hurt Trent Reznor CONTENTS PART ONE THE LITTLE RED KING DANTETE I CALLAHAN AND THE VAMPIRES II LIFTED ON THE WAVE III EDDIE MAKES A CALL IV DANTETE V IN THE JUNGLE, THE MIGHTY JUNGLE VI ON TURTLEBACK LANE VII REUNION PART TWO BLUE HEAVEN DEVARTOI I THE DEVARTETE II THE WATCHER III THE SHINING WIRE IV THE DOOR INTO THUNDERCLAP V STEEKTETE VI THE MASTER OF BLUE HEAVEN VII KASHUME VIII NOTES FROM THE GINGERBREAD HOUSE IX TRACKS ON THE PATH X THE LAST PALAVER (SHEEMIES DREAM) XI THE ATTACK ON ALGUL SIENTO XII THE TET BREAKS PART THREE IN THIS HAZE OF GREEN AND GOLD VESKA GAN I MRS. TASSENBAUM DRIVES SOUTH II VESKA GAN III NEW YORK AGAIN (ROLAND SHOWS ID) IV FEDIC (TWO VIEWS) PART FOUR THE WHITE LANDS OF EMPATHICA DANDELO I THE THING UNDER THE CASTLE II ON BADLANDS AVENUE III THE CASTLE OF THE CRIMSON KING IV HIDES V JOE COLLINS OF ODDS LANE VI PATRICK DANVILLE PART FIVE THE SCARLET FIELD OF CANKA NO REY I THE SORE AND THE DOOR (GOODBYE, MY DEAR) II MORDRED III THE CRIMSON KING AND THE DARK TOWER EPILOGUE SUSANNAH IN NEW YORK CODA FOUND APPENDIX ROBERT BROWNING CHILDE ROLAND TO THE DARK TOWER CAME AUTHORS NOTE ILLUSTRATIONS . . . THE WHITE COMMANDS YOU! 14 COME ON THEN, YOU BASTARDS. 110 . . . WILL YOU? 174 HE REACHED FOR IT AGAIN . . . 206 BELOW THEM IN THE SEEPING LIGHT WAS THE VILLAGE. 334 HE MOVED IN BETWEEN JAKE AND EDDIE. 398 . . . THE PLACE WHERE ROLAND FINALLY STOPPED FELT MORE LIKE A CHURCH THAN A CLEARING. 494 . . . HE SAT ON HIS THRONE  . . . WHICH IS MADE OF SKULLS 622 . . . WOE TO WHOEVER HAPPENED TO BE IN HIS PATH. 654 IT WOULD NEVER OPEN AGAIN . . . 750 . . . HIS FACE WENT SLACK WITH A PECULIAR SORT OF ECSTASY . . . 782 THE DARK TOWER 814  CHAPTER I CALLAHAN AND THE VAMPIRES  ONE Pere Don Callahan had once been the Catholic priest of a town, Salems Lot had been its name, that no longer existed on any map. He didnt much care. Concepts such as reality had ceased to matter to him. This onetime priest now held a heathen object in his hand, a scrimshaw turtle made of ivory. There was a nick in its beak and a scratch in the shape of a question mark on its back, but otherwise it was a beautiful thing. Beautiful and powerful. He could feel the power in his hand like volts. How lovely it is, he whispered to the boy who stood with him. Is it the Turtle Maturin? It is, isnt it? The boy was Jake Chambers, and hed come a long loop in order to return almost to his startingplace here in Manhattan. I dont know, he said. She calls it the skldpadda, and it may help us, but it cant kill the harriers that are waiting for us in there. He nodded toward the Dixie Pig, wondering if he meant Susannah or Mia when he used that allpurpose feminine pronoun she. Once he would have said it didnt matter because the two women were so tightly wound together. Now, however, he thought it did matter, or would soon. Will you? Jake asked the Pere, meaning Will you stand. Will you fight. Will you kill. Oh yes, Callahan said calmly. He put the ivory turtle with its wise eyes and scratched back into his breast pocket with the extra shells for the gun he carried, then patted the cunningly made thing once to make sure it rode safely. Ill shoot until the bullets are gone, and if I run out of bullets before they kill me, Ill club them with the  the gunbutt. The pause was so slight Jake didnt even notice it. But in that pause, the White spoke to Father Callahan. It was a force he knew of old, even in boyhood, although there had been a few years of bad faith along the way, years when his understanding of that elemental force had first grown dim and then become lost completely. But those days were gone, the White was his again, and he told God thankya. Jake was nodding, saying something Callahan barely heard. And what Jake said didnt matter. What that other voice said the voice of something (Gan) perhaps too great to be called Goddid. The boy must go on, the voice told him. Whatever happens here, however it falls, the boy must go on. Your part in the story is almost done. His is not. They walked past a sign on a chrome post (CLOSED FOR PRIVATE FUNCTION), Jakes special friend Oy trotting between them, his head up and his muzzle wreathed in its usual toothy grin. At the top of the steps, Jake reached into the woven sack SusannahMio had brought out of Calla Bryn Sturgis and grabbed two of the platesthe Rizas. He tapped them together, nodded at the dull ringing sound, and then said Lets see yours. Callahan lifted the Ruger Jake had brought out of Calla New York, and now back into it; life is a wheel and we all say thankya. For a moment the Pere held the Rugers barrel beside his right cheek like a duelist. Then he touched his breast pocket, bulging with shells, and with the turtle. The skldpadda. Jake nodded. Once were in, we stay together. Always together, with Oy between. On three. And once we start, we never stop. Never stop. Right. Are you ready? Yes. Gods love on you, boy. And on you, Pere. One two  three. Jake opened the door and together they went into the dim light and the sweet tangy smell of roasting meat. TWO Jake went to what he was sure would be his death remembering two things Roland Deschain, his true father, had said. Battles that last five minutes spawn legends that live a thousand years. And You neednt die happy when your day comes, but you must die satisfied, for you have lived your life from beginning to end and ka is always served. Jake Chambers surveyed the Dixie Pig with a satisfied mind. THREE Also with crystal clarity. His senses were so heightened that he could smell not just roasting flesh but the rosemary with which it had been rubbed; could hear not only the calm rhythm of his breath but the tidal murmur of his blood climbing brainward on one side of his neck and descending heartward on the other. He also remembered Rolands saying that even the shortest battle, from first shot to final falling body, seemed long to those taking part. Time grew elastic; stretched to the point of vanishment. Jake had nodded as if he understood, although he hadnt. Now he did. His first thought was that there were too many of themfar, far too many. He put their number at close to a hundred, the majority certainly of the sort Pere Callahan had referred to as low men. (Some were low women, but Jake had no doubt the principle was the same.) Scattered among them, all less fleshy than the low folken and some as slender as fencing weapons, their complexions ashy and their bodies surrounded in dim blue auras, were what had to be vampires. Oy stood at Jakes heel, his small, foxy face stern, whining low in his throat. That smell of cooking meat wafting through the air was not pork. FOUR Ten feet between us any time we have ten feet to give, Pere so Jake had said out on the sidewalk, and even as they approached the matre d s platform, Callahan was drifting to Jakes right, putting the required distance between them. Jake had also told him to scream as loud as he could for as long as he could, and Callahan was opening his mouth to begin doing just that when the voice of the White spoke up inside again. Only one word, but it was enough. Skldpadda, it said. Callahan was still holding the Ruger up by his right cheek. Now he dipped into his breast pocket with his left hand. His awareness of the scene before him wasnt as hyperalert as his young companions, but he saw a great deal the orangeycrimson electric flambeaux on the walls, the candles on each table immured in glass containers of a brighter, Halloweenish orange, the gleaming napkins. To the left of the dining room was a tapestry showing knights and their ladies sitting at a long banquet table. There was a sense in hereCallahan wasnt sure exactly what provoked it, the various tells and stimuli were too subtleof people just resettling themselves after some bit of excitement a small kitchen fire, say, or an automobile accident on the street. Or a lady having a baby, Callahan thought as he closed his hand on the Turtle. Thats always good for a little pause between the appetizer and the entre. Now come Gileads kamais! shouted an excited, nervous voice. Not a human one, of that Callahan was almost positive. It was too buzzy to be human. Callahan saw what appeared to be some sort of monstrous birdhuman hybrid standing at the far end of the room. It wore straightleg jeans and a plain white shirt, but the head rising from that shirt was painted with sleek feathers of dark yellow. Its eyes looked like drops of liquid tar. Get them! this horridly ridiculous thing shouted, and brushed aside a napkin. Beneath it was some sort of weapon. Callahan supposed it was a gun, but it looked like the sort you saw on Star Trek. What did they call them? Phasers? Stunners? It didnt matter. Callahan had a far better weapon, and wanted to make sure they all saw it. He swept the placesettings and the glass container with the candle in it from the nearest table, then snatched away the tablecloth like a magician doing a trick. The last thing he wanted to do was to trip over a swatch of linen at the crucial moment. Then, with a nimbleness he wouldnt have believed even a week ago, he stepped onto one of the chairs and from the chair to the tabletop. Once on the table, he lifted the skldpadda with his fingers supporting the turtles flat undershell, giving them all a good look at it. I could croon something, he thought. Maybe Moonlight Becomes You or I Left My Heart in San Francisco. At that point they had been inside the Dixie Pig for exactly thirtyfour seconds. FIVE High school teachers faced with a large group of students in study hall or a school assembly will tell you that teenagers, even when freshly showered and groomed, reek of the hormones which their bodies are so busy manufacturing. Any group of people under stress emits a similar stink, and Jake, with his senses tuned to the most exquisite pitch, smelled it here. When they passed the matre d s stand (Blackmail Central, his Dad liked to call such stations), the smell of the Dixie Pigs diners had been faint, the smell of people coming back to normal after some sort of dustup. But when the birdcreature in the far corner shouted, Jake had smelled the patrons more strongly. It was a metallic aroma, enough like blood to incite his temper and his emotions. Yes, he saw Tweety Bird knock aside the napkin on his table; yes, he saw the weapon beneath; yes, he understood that Callahan, standing on the table, was an easy shot. That was of far less concern to Jake than the mobilizing weapon that was Tweety Birds mouth. Jake was drawing back his right arm, meaning to fling the first of his nineteen plates and amputate the head in which that mouth resided, when Callahan raised the turtle. It wont work, not in here, Jake thought, but even before the idea had been completely articulated in his mind, he understood it was working. He knew by the smell of them. The aggressiveness went out of it. And the few who had begun to rise from their tablesthe red holes in the foreheads of the low people gaping, the blue auras of the vampires seeming to pull in and intensifysat back down again, and hard, as if they had suddenly lost command of their muscles. Get them, those are the ones Sayre Then Tweety stopped talking. His left handif you could call such an ugly talon a handtouched the butt of his hightech gun and then fell away. The brilliance seemed to leave his eyes. Theyre the ones Sayre  SSSayre  Another pause. Then the birdthing said, Oh sai, what is the lovely thing that you hold? You know what it is, Callahan said. Jake was moving and Callahan, mindful of what the boy gunslinger had told him outsideMake sure that every time I look on my right, I see your facestepped back down from the table to move with him, still holding the turtle high. He could almost taste the rooms silence, but But there was another room. Rough laughter and hoarse, carousing yellsa party from the sound of it, and close by. On the left. From behind the tapestry showing the knights and their ladies at dinner. Something going on back there, Callahan thought, and probably not Elks Poker Night. He heard Oy breathing fast and low through his perpetual grin, a perfect little engine. And something else. A harsh rattling sound with a low and rapid clicking beneath. The combination set Callahans teeth on edge and made his skin feel cold. Something was hiding under the tables. Oy saw the advancing insects first and froze like a dog on point, one paw raised and his snout thrust forward. For a moment the only part of him to move was the dark and velvety skin of his muzzle, first twitching back to reveal the clenched needles of his teeth, then relaxing to hide them, then twitching back again. The bugs came on. Whatever they were, the Turtle Maturin upraised in the Peres hand meant nothing to them. A fat guy wearing a tuxedo with plaid lapels spoke weakly, almost questioningly, to the birdthing They werent to come any further than here, Meiman, nor to leave. We were told  Oy lunged forward, a growl coming through his clamped teeth. It was a decidedly unOylike sound, reminding Callahan of a comicstrip balloon Arrrrrr! No! Jake shouted, alarmed. No, Oy! At the sound of the boys shout, the yells and laughter from behind the tapestry abruptly ceased, as if the folken back there had suddenly become aware that something had changed in the front room. Oy took no notice of Jakes cry. He crunched three of the bugs in rapid succession, the crackle of their breaking carapaces gruesomely clear in the new stillness. He made no attempt to eat them but simply tossed the corpses, each the size of a mouse, into the air with a snap of the neck and a grinning release of the jaws. And the others retreated back under the tables. He was made for this, Callahan thought. Perhaps once in the longago all bumblers were. Made for it the way some breeds of terrier are made to A hoarse shout from behind the tapestry interrupted these thoughts Humes! one voice cried, and then a second Kahumes! Callahan had an absurd impulse to yell Gesundheit! Before he could yell that or anything else, Rolands voice suddenly filled his head. SIX Jake, go. The boy turned toward Pere Callahan, bewildered. He was walking with his arms crossed, ready to fling the Rizas at the first low man or woman who moved. Oy had returned to his heel, although he was swinging his head ceaselessly from side to side and his eyes were bright with the prospect of more prey. We go together, Jake said. Theyre buffaloed, Pere! And were close! They took her through here  this room and then through the kitchen Callahan paid no attention. Still holding the turtle high (as one might hold a lantern in a deep cave), he had turned toward the tapestry. The silence from behind it was far more terrible than the shouts and feverish, gargling laughter. It was silence like a pointed weapon. And the boy had stopped. Go while you can, Callahan said, striving for calmness. Catch up to her if you can. This is the command of your dinh. This is also the will of the White. But you cant Go, Jake! The low men and women in the Dixie Pig, whether in thrall to the skldpadda or not, murmured uneasily at the sound of that shout, and well they might have, for it was not Callahans voice coming from Callahans mouth. You have this one chance and must take it! Find her! As dinh I command you! Jakes eyes flew wide at the sound of Rolands voice issuing from Callahans throat. His mouth dropped open. He looked around, dazed. In the second before the tapestry to their left was torn aside, Callahan saw its black joke, what the careless eye would first surely overlook the roast that was the banquets main entre had a human form; the knights and their ladies were eating human flesh and drinking human blood. What the tapestry showed was a cannibals communion. Then the ancient ones who had been at their own sup tore aside the obscene tapestry and burst out, shrieking through the great fangs that propped their deformed mouths forever open. Their eyes were as black as blindness, the skin of their cheeks and browseven the backs of their handstumorous with wild teeth. Like the vampires in the dining room, they were surrounded with auras, but these were of a poisoned violet so dark it was almost black. Some sort of ichor dribbled from the corners of their eyes and mouths. They were gibbering and several were laughing seeming not to create the sounds but rather to snatch them out of the air like something that could be rent alive. And Callahan knew them. Of course he did. Had he not been sent hence by one of their number? Here were the true vampires, the Type Ones, kept like a secret and now loosed on the intruders. The turtle he held up did not slow them in the slightest. Callahan saw Jake staring, pale, eyes shiny with horror and bulging from their sockets, all purpose forgotten at the sight of these freaks. Without knowing what was going to come out of his mouth until he heard it, Callahan shouted Theyll kill Oy first! Theyll kill him in front of you and drink his blood! Oy barked at the sound of his name. Jakes eyes seemed to clear at the sound, but Callahan had no time to follow the boys fortunes further. Turtle wont stop them, but at least its holding the others back. Bullets wont stop them, but With a sense of dj vuand why not, he had lived all this before in the home of a boy named Mark PetrieCallahan dipped into the open front of his shirt and brought out the cross he wore there. It clicked against the butt of the Ruger and then hung below it. The cross was lit with a brilliant bluishwhite glare. The two ancient things in the lead had been about to grab him and draw him into their midst. Now they drew back instead, shrieking with pain. Callahan saw the surface of their skin sizzle and begin to liquefy. The sight of it filled him with savage happiness. Get back from me! he shouted. The power of God commands you! The power of Christ commands you! The ka of MidWorld commands you! The power of the White commands you! One of them darted forward nevertheless, a deformed skeleton in an ancient, mossencrusted dinner suit. Around its neck it wore some sort of ancient award  the Cross of Malta, perhaps? It swiped one of its longnailed hands at the crucifix Callahan was holding out. He jerked it down at the last second, and the vampires claw passed an inch above it. Callahan lunged forward without thought and drove the tip of the cross into the yellow parchment of the things forehead. The gold crucifix went in like a redhot skewer into butter. The thing in the rusty dinner suit let out a liquid cry of pained dismay and stumbled backward. Callahan pulled his cross back. For one moment, before the elderly monster clapped its claws to its brow, Callahan saw the hole his cross had made. Then a thick, curdy, yellow stuff began to spill through the ancient ones fingers. Its knees unhinged and it tumbled to the floor between two tables. Its mates shrank away from it, screaming with outrage. The things face was already collapsing inward beneath its twisted hands. Its aura whiffed out like a candle and then there was nothing but a puddle of yellow, liquefying flesh spilling like vomit from the sleeves of its jacket and the legs of its pants. Callahan strode briskly toward the others. His fear was gone. The shadow of shame that had hung over him ever since Barlow had taken his cross and broken it was also gone. Free at last, he thought. Free at last, great God Almighty, Im free at last. Then I believe this is redemption. And its good, isnt it? Quite good, indeed. Hrow it aside! one of them cried, its hands held up to shield its face. Nasty bauble of the heepGod, hrow it aside if you dare! Nasty bauble of the sheepGod, indeed. If so, why do you cringe? Against Barlow he had not dared answer this challenge, and it had been his undoing. In the Dixie Pig, Callahan turned the cross toward the thing which had dared to speak. I neednt stake my faith on the challenge of such a thing as you, sai, he said, his words ringing clearly in the room. He had forced the old ones back almost to the archway through which they had come. Great dark tumors had appeared on the hands and faces of those in front, eating into the paper of their ancient skin like acid. And Id never throw away such an old friend in any case. But put it away? Aye, if you like. And he dropped it back into his shirt. Several of the vampires lunged forward immediately, their fangchoked mouths twisting in what might have been grins. Callahan held his hands out toward them. The fingers (and the barrel of the Ruger) glowed, as if they had been dipped into blue fire. The eyes of the turtle had likewise filled with light; its shell shone. Stand away from me! Callahan cried. The power of God and the White commands you! SEVEN When the terrible shaman turned to face the Grandfathers, Meiman of the taheen felt the Turtles awful, lovely glammer lessen a bit. He saw that the boy was gone, and that filled him with dismay, yet at least hed gone further in rather than slipping out, so that might still be all right. But if the boy found the door to Fedic and used it, Meiman might find himself in very bad trouble, indeed. For Sayre answered to Walter o Dim, and Walter answered only to the Crimson King himself. Never mind. One thing at a time. Settle the shamans hash first. Turn the Grandfathers loose on him. Then go after the boy, perhaps shouting that his friend wanted him after all, that might work Meiman (the Canaryman to Mia, Tweety Bird to Jake) crept forward, grasping Andrewthe fat man in the tux with the plaid lapelswith one hand and Andrews even fatter jilly with the other. He gestured at Callahans turned back. Tirana shook her head vehemently. Meiman opened his beak and hissed at her. She shrank away from him. Detta Walker had already gotten her fingers into the mask Tirana wore and it hung in shreds about her jaw and neck. In the middle of her forehead, a red wound opened and closed like the gill of a dying fish. Meiman turned to Andrew, released him long enough to point at the shaman, then drew the talon that served him as a hand across his feathered throat in a grimly expressive gesture. Andrew nodded and brushed away his wifes pudgy hands when they tried to restrain him. The mask of humanity was good enough to show the low man in the garish tuxedo visibly gathering his courage. Then he leaped forward with a strangled cry, seizing Callahan around the neck not with his hands but his fat forearms. At the same moment his jilly lunged and struck the ivory turtle from the Peres hand, screaming as she did so. The skldpadda tumbled to the red rug, bounced beneath one of the tables, and there (like a certain paper boat some of you may remember) passes out of this tale forever. The Grandfathers still held back, as did the Type Three vampires who had been dining in the public room, but the low men and women sensed weakness and moved in, first hesitantly, then with growing confidence. They surrounded Callahan, paused, and then fell on him in all their numbers. Let me go in Gods name! Callahan cried, but of course it did no good. Unlike the vampires, the things with the red wounds in their foreheads did not respond to the name of Callahans God. All he could do was hope Jake wouldnt stop, let alone double back; that he and Oy would go like the wind to Susannah. Save her if they could. Die with her if they could not. And kill her baby, if chance allowed. God help him, but he had been wrong about that. They should have snuffed out the babys life back in the Calla, when they had the chance. Something bit deeply into his neck. The vampires would come now, cross or no cross. Theyd fall on him like the sharks they were once they got their first whiff of his lifes blood. Help me God, give me strength, Callahan thought, and felt the strength flow into him. He rolled to his left as claws ripped into his shirt, tearing it to ribbons. For a moment his right hand was free, and the Ruger was still in it. He turned it toward the working, sweaty, hatecongested face of the fat one named Andrew and placed the barrel of the gun (bought for home protection in the longdistant past by Jakes more than a little paranoid TVexecutive father) against the soft red wound in the center of the low mans forehead. Noooo, you darent! Tirana cried, and as she reached for the gun, the front of her gown finally burst, spilling her massive breasts free. They were covered with coarse fur. Callahan pulled the trigger. The Rugers report was deafening in the dining room. Andrews head exploded like a gourd filled with blood, spraying the creatures who had been crowding in behind him. There were screams of horror and disbelief. Callahan had time to think, It wasnt supposed to be this way, was it? And Is it enough to put me in the club? Am I a gunslinger yet? Perhaps not. But there was the birdman, standing right in front of him between two tables, its beak opening and closing, its throat beating visibly with excitement. Smiling, propping himself on one elbow as blood pumped onto the carpet from his torn throat, Callahan leveled Jakes Ruger. No! Meiman cried, raising his misshapen hands to his face in an utterly fruitless gesture of protection. No, you CANT Can so, Callahan thought with childish glee, and fired again. Meiman took two stumblesteps backward, then a third. He struck a table and collapsed on top of it. Three yellow feathers hung above him on the air, seesawing lazily. Callahan heard savage howls, not of anger or fear but of hunger. The aroma of blood had finally penetrated the old ones jaded nostrils, and nothing would stop them now. So, if he didnt want to join them Pere Callahan, once Father Callahan of Salems Lot, turned the Rugers muzzle on himself. He wasted no time looking for eternity in the darkness of the barrel but placed it deep against the shelf of his chin. Hile, Roland! he said, and knew (the wave they are lifted by the wave ) that he was heard. Hile, gunslinger! His finger tightened on the trigger as the ancient monsters fell upon him. He was buried in the reek of their cold and bloodless breath, but not daunted by it. He had never felt so strong. Of all the years in his life he had been happiest when he had been a simple vagrant, not a priest but only Callahan o the Roads, and felt that soon he would be let free to resume that life and wander as he would, his duties fulfilled, and that was well. May you find your Tower, Roland, and breach it, and may you climb to the top! The teeth of his old enemies, these ancient brothers and sisters of a thing which had called itself Kurt Barlow, sank into him like stingers. Callahan felt them not at all. He was smiling as he pulled the trigger and escaped them for good. CHAPTER II LIFTED ON THE WAVE  ONE On their way out along the dirt camproad which had taken them to the writers house in the town of Bridgton, Eddie and Roland came upon an orange pickup truck with the words CENTRAL MAINE POWER MAINTENANCE painted on the sides. Nearby, a man in a yellow hardhat and an orange highvisibility vest was cutting branches that threatened the lowhanging electrical lines. And did Eddie feel something then, some gathering force? Maybe a precursor of the wave rushing down the Path of the Beam toward them? He later thought so, but couldnt say for sure. God knew hed been in a weird enough mood already, and why not? How many people got to meet their creators? Well  Stephen King hadnt created Eddie Dean, a young man whose CoOp City happened to be in Brooklyn rather than the Bronxnot yet, not in that year of 1977, but Eddie felt certain that in time King would. How else could he be here? Eddie nipped in ahead of the powertruck, got out, and asked the sweating man with the brushhog in his hands for directions to Turtleback Lane, in the town of Lovell.


The Central Maine Power guy passed on the directions willingly enough, then added If youre serious about going to Lovell today, youre gonna have to use Route 93. The Bog Road, some folks call it. He raised a hand to Eddie and shook his head like a man forestalling an argument, although Eddie had not in fact said a word since asking his original question. Its seven miles longer, I know, and jouncy as a bugger, but you cant get through East Stoneham today. Copsve got it blocked off. State Bears, local yokels, even the Oxford County Sheriffs Department. Youre kidding, Eddie said. It seemed a safe enough response. The power guy shook his head grimly. No one seems to know exactly whats up, but theres been shootinautomatic weapons, maybeand explosions. He patted the battered and sawdusty walkietalkie clipped to his belt. Ive even heard the tword once or twice this afternoon. Not sprised, either. Eddie had no idea what the tword might be, but knew Roland wanted to get going. He could feel the gunslingers impatience in his head; could almost see Rolands impatient fingertwirling gesture, the one that meant Lets go, lets go. Im talking bout terrorism, the power guy said, then lowered his voice. People dont think shit like that can happen in America, buddy, but I got news for you, it can. If not today, then sooner or later. Someones gonna blow up the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building, thats what I thinkthe rightwingers, the leftwingers, or the goddam Arabs. Too many crazy people. Eddie, who had a nodding acquaintance with ten more years of history than this fellow, nodded. Youre probably right. In any case, thanks for the info. Just tryin to save you some time. And, as Eddie opened the driversside door of John Cullums Ford sedan You been in a fight, mister? You look kinda bunged up. Also youre limping. Eddie had been in a fight, all right had been grooved in the arm and plugged in the right calf. Neither wound was serious, and in the forward rush of events he had nearly forgotten them. Now they hurt all over again. Why in Gods name had he turned down Aaron Deepneaus bottle of Percocet tablets? Yeah, he said, thats why Im going to Lovell. Guys dog bit me. He and I are going to have a talk about it. Bizarre story, didnt have much going for it in the way of plot, but he was no writer. That was Kings job. In any case, it was good enough to get him back behind the wheel of Cullums Ford Galaxie before the power guy could ask him any more questions, and Eddie reckoned that made it a success. He drove away quickly. You got directions? Roland asked. Yeah. Good. Everythings breaking at once, Eddie. We have to get to Susannah as fast as we can. Jake and Pere Callahan, too. And the babys coming, whatever it is. May have come already. Turn right when you get back out to Kansas Road, the power guy had told Eddie (Kansas as in Dorothy, Toto, and Auntie Em, everything breaking at once), and he did. That put them rolling north. The sun had gone behind the trees on their left, throwing the twolane blacktop entirely into shadow. Eddie had an almost palpable sense of time slipping through his fingers like some fabulously expensive cloth that was too smooth to grip. He stepped on the gas and Cullums old Ford, although wheezy in the valves, walked out a little. Eddie got it up to fiftyfive and pegged it there. More speed might have been possible, but Kansas Road was both twisty and badly maintained. Roland had taken a sheet of notepaper from his shirt pocket, unfolded it, and was now studying it (although Eddie doubted if the gunslinger could actually read much of the document; this worlds written words would always be mostly mystery to him). At the top of the paper, above Aaron Deepneaus rather shaky but perfectly legible handwriting (and Calvin Towers allimportant signature), was a smiling cartoon beaver and the words DAM IMPORTANT THINGS TO DO. A silly pun if ever there was one. I dont like silly questions, I wont play silly games, Eddie thought, and suddenly grinned. It was a point of view to which Roland still held, Eddie felt quite sure, notwithstanding the fact that, while riding Blaine the Mono, their lives had been saved by a few welltimed silly questions. Eddie opened his mouth to point out that what might well turn out to be the most important document in the history of the worldmore important than the Magna Carta or the Declaration of Independence or Albert Einsteins Theory of Relativitywas headed by a dumb pun, and how did Roland like them apples? Before he could get out a single word, however, the wave struck. TWO His foot slipped off the gas pedal, and that was good. If it had stayed on, both he and Roland would surely have been injured, maybe killed. When the wave came, staying in control of John Cullums Ford Galaxie dropped all the way off Eddie Deans list of priorities. It was like that moment when the roller coaster has reached the top of its first mountain, hesitates a moment  tilts  plunges and you fall with a sudden blast of hot summer air in your face and a pressure against your chest and your stomach floating somewhere behind you. In that moment Eddie saw everything in Cullums car had come untethered and was floatingpipe ashes, two pens and a paperclip from the dashboard, Eddies dinh, and, he realized, his dinhs kamai, good old Eddie Dean. No wonder he had lost his stomach! (He wasnt aware that the car itself, which had drifted to a stop at the side of the road, was also floating, tilting lazily back and forth five or six inches above the ground like a small boat on an invisible sea.) Then the treelined country road was gone. Bridgton was gone. The world was gone. There was the sound of todash chimes, repulsive and nauseating, making him want to grit his teeth in protest  except his teeth were gone, too. THREE Like Eddie, Roland had a clear sense of being first lifted and then hung, like something that had lost its ties to Earths gravity. He heard the chimes and felt himself elevated through the wall of existence, but he understood this wasnt real todashat least not of the sort theyd experienced before. This was very likely what Vannay called aven kal, words which meant lifted on the wind or carried on the wave. Only the kal form, instead of the more usual kas, indicated a natural force of disastrous proportions not a wind but a hurricane; not a wave but a tsunami. The very Beam means to speak to you, Gabby, Vannay said in his mindGabby, the old sarcastic nickname Vannay had adopted because Steven Deschains boy was so closemouthed. His limping, brilliant tutor had stopped using it (probably at Corts insistence) the year Roland had turned eleven. You would do well to listen if it does. I will listen very well, Roland replied, and was dropped. He gagged, weightless and nauseated. More chimes. Then, suddenly, he was floating again, this time above a room filled with empty beds. One look was enough to assure him that this was where the Wolves brought the children they kidnapped from the Borderland Callas. At the far end of the room A hand grasped his arm, a thing Roland would have thought impossible in this state. He looked to his left and saw Eddie beside him, floating naked. They were both naked, their clothes left behind in the writers world. Roland had already seen what Eddie was pointing to. At the far end of the room, a pair of beds had been pushed together. A white woman lay on one of them. Her legsthe very ones Susannah had used on their todash visit to New York, Roland had no doubtwere spread wide. A woman with the head of a ratone of the taheen, he felt surebent between them. Next to the white woman was a darkskinned one whose legs ended just below the knees. Floating naked or not, nauseated or not, todash or not, Roland had never in his life been so glad to see anyone. And Eddie felt the same. Roland heard him cry out joyfully in the center of his head and reached a hand to still the younger man. He had to still him, for Susannah was looking at them, had almost certainly seen them, and if she spoke to them, he needed to hear every word she said. Because although those words would come from her mouth, it would very likely be the Beam that spoke; the Voice of the Bear or that of the Turtle. Both women wore metal hoods over their hair. A length of segmented steel hose connected them. Some kind of Vulcan mindmeld, Eddie said, once again filling the center of his head and blotting out everything else. Or maybe Hush! Roland broke in. Hush, Eddie, for your fathers sake! A man wearing a white coat seized a pair of cruellooking forceps from a tray and pushed the rathead taheen nurse aside. He bent, peering up between Mias legs and holding the forceps above his head. Standing close by, wearing a teeshirt with words of Eddie and Susannahs world on it, was a taheen with the head of a fierce brown bird. Hell sense us, Roland thought. If we stay long enough, hell surely sense us and raise the alarm. But Susannah was looking at him, the eyes below the clamp of the hood feverish. Bright with understanding. Seeing them, aye, say true. She spoke a single word, and in a moment of inexplicable but perfectly reliable intuition, Roland understood the word came not from Susannah but from Mia. Yet it was also the Voice of the Beam, a force perhaps sentient enough to understand how seriously it was threatened, and to want to protect itself. Chassit was the word Susannah spoke; he heard it in his head because they were katet and antet; he also saw it form soundlessly on her lips as she looked up toward the place where they floated, onlookers at something that was happening in some other where and when at this very moment. The hawkheaded taheen looked up, perhaps following her gaze, perhaps hearing the chimes with its preternaturally sharp ears. Then the doctor lowered his forceps and thrust them beneath Mias gown. She shrieked. Susannah shrieked with her. And as if Rolands essentially bodiless being could be pushed away by the force of those combined screams like a milkweed pod lifted and carried on a gust of October wind, the gunslinger felt himself rise violently, losing touch with this place as he went, but holding onto that one word. It brought with it a brilliant memory of his mother leaning over him as he lay in bed. In the room of many colors, this had been, the nursery, and of course now he understood the colors hed only accepted as a young boy, accepted as children barely out of their clouts accept everything with unquestioning wonder, with the unspoken assumption that its all magic. The windows of the nursery had been stained glass representing the Bends o the Rainbow, of course. He remembered his mother leaning toward him, her face pied with that lovely various light, her hood thrown back so he could trace the curve of her neck with the eye of a child (its all magic ) and the soul of a lover; he remembered thinking how he would court her and win her from his father, if she would have him; how they would marry and have children of their own and live forever in that fairytale kingdom called the AllAGlow; and how she sang to him, how Gabrielle Deschain sang to her little boy with his big eyes looking solemnly up at her from his pillow and his face already stamped with the many swimming colors of his wandering life, singing a lilting nonsense song that went like this Babybunting, babydear, Baby, bring your berries here. Chussit, chissit, chassit! Bring enough to fill your basket! Enough to fill my basket, he thought as he was flung, weightless, through darkness and the terrible sound of the todash chimes. The words werent quite nonsense but old numbers, shed told him once when he had asked. Chussit, chissit, chassit seventeen, eighteen, nineteen. Chassit is nineteen, he thought. Of course, its all nineteen. Then he and Eddie were in light again, a feversick orange light, and there were Jake and Callahan. He even saw Oy standing at Jakes left heel, his fur bushed out and his muzzle wrinkled back to show his teeth. Chussit, chissit, chassit, Roland thought as he looked at his son, a boy so small and terribly outnumbered in the dining room of the Dixie Pig. Chassit is nineteen. Enough to fill my basket. But what basket? What does it mean? FOUR Beside Kansas Road in Bridgton, John Cullums twelveyearold Ford (a hundred and six thousand on the odometer and she was just getting waamed up, Cullum liked to tell people) seesawed lazily back and forth above the soft shoulder, front tires touching down and then rising so the back tires could briefly kiss the dirt. Inside, two men who appeared not only unconscious but transparent rolled lazily with the cars motion like corpses in a sunken boat. And around them floated the debris which collects in any old car thats been hardused the ashes and pens and paperclips and the worlds oldest peanut and a penny from the back seat and pine needles from the floormats and even one of the floormats itself. In the darkness of the glove compartment, objects rattled timidly against the closed door. Someone passing would undoubtedly have been thunderstruck at the sight of all this stuffand people! people who might be dead!floating around in the car like jetsam in a space capsule. But no one did come along. Those who lived on this side of Long Lake were mostly looking across the water toward the East Stoneham side even though there was really nothing over there to see any longer. Even the smoke was almost gone. Lazily the car floated and inside it, Roland of Gilead rose slowly to the ceiling, where his neck pressed against the dirty roofliner and his legs cleared the front seat to trail out behind him. Eddie was first held in place by the wheel, but then some random sideways motion of the car slid him free and he also rose, his face slack and dreaming. A silver line of drool escaped the corner of his mouth and floated, shining and full of minuscule bubbles, beside one bloodcrusted cheek. FIVE Roland knew that Susannah had seen him, had probably seen Eddie, as well. That was why shed labored so hard to speak that single word. Jake and Callahan, however, saw neither of them. The boy and the Pere had entered the Dixie Pig, a thing that was either very brave or very foolish, and now all of their concentration was necessarily focused on what theyd found there. Foolhardy or not, Roland was fiercely proud of Jake. He saw the boy had established canda between himself and Callahan that distance (never the same in any two situations) which assures that a pair of outnumbered gunslingers cannot be killed by a single shot. Both had come ready to fight. Callahan was holding Jakes gun  and another thing, as well some sort of carving. Roland was almost sure it was a cantah, one of the little gods. The boy had Susannahs Rizas and their totesack, retrieved from only the gods knew where. The gunslinger spied a fat woman whose humanity ended at the neck. Above her trio of flabby chins, the mask shed been wearing hung in ruins. Looking at the rathead beneath, Roland suddenly understood a good many things. Some might have come clearly to him sooner, had not his attentionlike that of the boy and the Pere at this very momentbeen focused on other matters. Callahans low men, for instance. They might well be taheen, creatures neither of the Prim nor of the natural world but misbegotten things from somewhere between the two. They certainly werent the sort of beings Roland called slow mutants, for those had arisen as a result of the old ones illadvised wars and disastrous experiments. No, they might be genuine taheen, sometimes known as the third people or the cantoi, and yes, Roland should have known. How many of the taheen now served the being known as the Crimson King? Some? Many? All? If the third answer was the correct one, Roland reckoned the road to the Tower would be difficult indeed. But to look beyond the horizon was not much in the gunslingers nature, and in this case his lack of imagination was surely a blessing. SIX He saw what he needed to see. Although the cantoi  Callahans low folkhad surrounded Jake and Callahan on all sides (the two of them hadnt even seen the duo behind them, the ones whod been guarding the doors to Sixtyfirst Street), the Pere had frozen them with the carving, just as Jake had been able to freeze and fascinate people with the key hed found in the vacant lot. A yellow taheen with the body of a man and the head of a waseau had some sort of gun near at hand but made no effort to grab it. Yet there was another problem, one Rolands eye, trained to see every possible snare and ambush, fixed upon at once. He saw the blasphemous parody of Elds Last Fellowship on the wall and understood its significance completely in the seconds before it was ripped away. And the smell not just flesh but human flesh. This too he would have understood earlier, had he had time to think about it  only life in Calla Bryn Sturgis had allowed him little time to think. In the Calla, as in a storybook, life had been one damned thing after another. Yet it was clear enough now, wasnt it? The low folk might only be taheen; a childs ogres, if it did ya. Those behind the tapestry were what Callahan had called Type One vampires and what Roland himself knew as the Grandfathers, perhaps the most gruesome and powerful survivors of the Prims longago recession. And while such as the taheen might be content to stand as they were, gawking at the sigul Callahan held up, the Grandfathers wouldnt spare it a second glance. Now clattering bugs came pouring out from under the table. They were of a sort Roland had seen before, and any doubts he might still have held about what was behind that tapestry departed at the sight of them. They were parasites, blooddrinkers, campfollowers Grandfatherfleas. Probably not dangerous while there was a bumbler present, but of course when you spied the little doctors in such numbers, the Grandfathers were never far behind. As Oy charged at the bugs, Roland of Gilead did the only thing he could think of he swam down to Callahan. Into Callahan. SEVEN Pere, I am here. Aye, Roland. What No time. GET HIM OUT OF HERE. You must. Get him out while theres still time! EIGHT And Callahan tried. The boy, of course, didnt want to go. Looking at him through the Peres eyes, Roland thought with some bitterness I should have schooled him better in betrayal. Yet all the gods know I did the best I could. Go while you can, Callahan told Jake, striving for calmness. Catch up to her if you can. This is the command of your dinh. This is also the will of the White. It should have moved him but it didnt, he still argued gods, he was nearly as bad as Eddie!and Roland could wait no longer. Pere, let me. Roland seized control without waiting for a reply. He could already feel the wave, the aven kal, beginning to recede. And the Grandfathers would come at any second. Go, Jake! he cried, using the Peres mouth and vocal cords like a loudspeaker. If he had thought about how one might do something like this, he would have been lost completely, but thinking about things had also never been his way, and he was grateful to see the boys eyes flash wide. You have this one chance and must take it! Find her! As dinh I command you! Then, as in the hospital ward with Susannah, he felt himself once more tossed upward like something without weight, blown out of Callahans mind and body like a bit of cobweb or a fluff of dandelion thistle. For a moment he tried to flail his way back, like a swimmer trying to buck a strong current just long enough to reach the shore, but it was impossible. Roland! That was Eddies voice, and filled with dismay. Jesus, Roland, what in Gods name are those things? The tapestry had been torn aside. The creatures which rushed out were ancient and freakish, their warlock faces warped with teeth growing wild, their mouths propped open by fangs as thick as the gunslingers wrists, their wrinkled and stubbled chins slick with blood and scraps of meat. And stillgods, oh godsthe boy remained! Theyll kill Oy first! Callahan shouted, only Roland didnt think it was Callahan. He thought it was Eddie, using Callahans voice as Roland had. Somehow Eddie had found either smoother currents or more strength. Enough to get inside after Roland had been blown out. Theyll kill him in front of you and drink his blood! It was finally enough. The boy turned and fled with Oy running beside him. He cut directly in front of the waseautaheen and between two of the low folken, but none made any effort to grab him. They were still staring at the raised Turtle on Callahans palm, mesmerized. The Grandfathers paid no attention to the fleeing boy at all, as Roland had felt sure they would not. He knew from Pere Callahans story that one of the Grandfathers had come to the little town of Salems Lot where the Pere had for awhile preached. The Pere had lived through the experiencenot common for those who faced such monsters after losing their weapons and siguls of powerbut the thing had forced Callahan to drink of its tainted blood before letting him go. It had marked him for these others. Callahan was holding his crosssigul out toward them, but before Roland could see anything else, he was exhaled back into darkness. The chimes began again, all but driving him mad with their awful tintinnabulation. Somewhere, faintly, he could hear Eddie shouting. Roland reached for him in the dark, brushed Eddies arm, lost it, found his hand, and seized it. They rolled over and over, clutching each other, trying not to be separated, hoping not to be lost in the doorless dark between the worlds. CHAPTER III EDDIE MAKES A CALL  ONE Eddie returned to John Cullums old car the way hed sometimes come out of nightmares as a teenager tangled up and panting with fright, totally disoriented, not sure of who he was, let alone where. He had a second to realize that, incredible as it seemed, he and Roland were floating in each others arms like unborn twins in the womb, only this was no womb. A pen and a paperclip were drifting in front of his eyes. So was a yellow plastic case he recognized as an eighttrack tape. Dont waste your time, John, he thought. No true thread there, thats a deadend gadget if there ever was one. Something was scratching the back of his neck. Was it the domelight of John Cullums scurgy old Galaxie? By God he thought it w Then gravity reasserted itself and they fell, with meaningless objects raining down all around them. The floormat which had been floating around in the Fords cabin landed draped over the steering wheel. Eddies midsection hit the top of the front seat and air exploded out of him in a rough whoosh. Roland landed beside him, and on his bad hip. He gave a single barking cry and then began to pull himself back into the front seat. Eddie opened his mouth to speak. Before he could, Callahans voice filled his head Hile, Roland! Hile, gunslinger! How much psychic effort had it cost the Pere to speak from that other world? And behind it, faint but there, the sound of bestial, triumphant cries. Howls that were not quite words. Eddies wide and startled eyes met Rolands faded blue ones. He reached out for the gunslingers left hand, thinking Hes going. Great God, I think the Pere is going. May you find your Tower, Roland, and breach it and may you climb to the top, Eddie breathed. They were back in John Cullums car and parkedaskew but otherwise peacefully enoughat the side of Kansas Road in the shady earlyevening hours of a summers day, but what Eddie saw was the orange helllight of that restaurant that wasnt a restaurant at all but a den of cannibals. The thought that there could be such things, that people walked past their hiding place each and every day, not knowing what was inside, not feeling the greedy eyes that perhaps marked them and measured them Then, before he could think further, he cried out with pain as phantom teeth settled into his neck and cheeks and midriff; as his mouth was violently kissed by nettles and his testicles were skewered. He screamed, clawing at the air with his free hand, until Roland grabbed it and forced it down. Stop, Eddie. Stop. Theyre gone. A pause. The connection broke and the pain faded. Roland was right, of course. Unlike the Pere, they had escaped. Eddie saw that Rolands eyes were shiny with tears. Hes gone, too. The Pere. The vampires? You know, the cannibals? Did  Did they ? Eddie couldnt finish the thought. The idea of Pere Callahan as one of them was too awful to speak aloud. No, Eddie. Not at all. He Roland pulled the gun he still wore. The scrolled steel sides gleamed in the late light. He tucked the barrel deep beneath his chin for a moment, looking at Eddie as he did it. He escaped them, Eddie said. Aye, and how angry they must be. Eddie nodded, suddenly exhausted. And his wounds were aching again. No, sobbing. Good, he said. Now put that thing back where it belongs before you shoot yourself with it. And as Roland did What just happened to us? Did we go todash or was it another Beamquake? I think it was a bit of both, Roland said. Theres a thing called aven kal, which is like a tidalwave that runs along the Path of the Beam. We were lifted on it. And allowed to see what we wanted to see. Roland thought about this for a moment, then shook his head with great firmness. We saw what the Beam wanted us to see. Where it wants us to go. Roland, did you study this stuff when you were a kid? Did your old pal Vannay teach classes in  I dont know, The Anatomy of Beams and Bends o the Rainbow? Roland was smiling. Yes, I suppose that we were taught such things in both History and Summa Logicales. Logickawhat ? Roland didnt answer. He was looking out the window of Cullums car, still trying to get his breath backboth the physical and the figurative. It really wasnt that hard to do, not here; being in this part of Bridgton was like being in the neighborhood of a certain vacant lot in Manhattan. Because there was a generator near here. Not sai King, as Roland had first believed, but the potential of sai King  of what sai King might be able to create, given world enough and time. Wasnt King also being carried on aven kal, perhaps generating the very wave that lifted him? A man cant pull himself up by his own bootstraps no matter how hard he tries, Cort had lectured when Roland, Cuthbert, Alain, and Jamie had been little more than toddlers. Cort speaking in the tone of cheery selfassurance that had gradually hardened to harshness as his last group of lads grew toward their trials of manhood. But maybe about bootstraps Cort had been wrong. Maybe, under certain circumstances, a man could pull himself up by them. Or give birth to the universe from his navel, as Gan was said to have done. As a writer of stories, was King not a creator? And at bottom, wasnt creation about making something from nothingseeing the world in a grain of sand or pulling ones self up by ones own bootstraps? And what was he doing, sitting here and thinking long philosophical thoughts while two members of his tet were lost? Get this carriage going, Roland said, trying to ignore the sweet humming he could hear  whether the Voice of the Beam or the Voice of Gan the Creator, he didnt know. Weve got to get to Turtleback Lane in this town of Lovell and see if we cant find our way through to where Susannah is. And not just for Susannah, either. If Jake succeeded in eluding the monsters in the Dixie Pig, he would also head to where she lay. Of this Roland had no doubt. Eddie reached for the transmission leverdespite all its gyrations, Cullums old Galaxie had never quit runningand then his hand fell away from it. He turned and looked at Roland with a bleak eye. What ails thee, Eddie? Whatever it is, spill it quick. The babys coming nowmay have come already. Soon theyll have no more use for her! I know, Eddie said. But we cant go to Lovell. He grimaced as if what he was saying was causing him physical pain. Roland guessed it probably was. Not yet. TWO They sat quiet for a moment, listening to the sweetly tuned hum of the Beam, a hum that sometimes became joyous voices. They sat looking into the thickening shadows in the trees, where a million faces and a million stories lurked, O can you say unfound door, can you say lost. Eddie halfexpected Roland to shout at himit wouldnt be the first timeor maybe clout him upside the head, as the gunslingers old teacher, Cort, had been wont to do when his pupils were slow or contrary. Eddie almost hoped he would. A good shot to the jaw might clear his head, by Shardik. Only muddy thinkings not the trouble and you know it, he thought. Your head is clearer than his. If it wasnt, you could let go of this world and go on hunting for your lost wife. At last Roland spoke. What is it, then? This? He bent and picked up the folded piece of paper with Aaron Deepneaus pinched handwriting on it. Roland looked at it for a moment, then flicked it into Eddies lap with a little grimace of distaste. You know how much I love her, Eddie said in a low, strained voice. You know that. Roland nodded, but without looking at him. He appeared to be staring down at his own broken and dusty boots, and the dirty floor of the passengerside footwell. Those downcast eyes, that gaze which would not turn to him whod come almost to idolize Roland of Gilead, sort of broke Eddie Deans heart. Yet he pressed on. If there had ever been room for mistakes, it was gone now. This was the endgame. Id go to her this minute if I thought it was the right thing to do. Roland, this second! But we have to finish our business in this world. Because this world is oneway. Once we leave today, July 9th, 1977, we can never come here again. We Eddie, weve been through all of this. Still not looking at him. Yes, but do you understand it? Only one bullet to shoot, one Riza to throw. Thats why we came to Bridgton in the first place! God knows I wanted to go to Turtleback Lane as soon as John Cullum told us about it, but I thought we had to see the writer, and talk to him. And I was right, wasnt I? Almost pleading now. Wasnt I? Roland looked at him at last, and Eddie was glad. This was hard enough, wretched enough, without having to bear the turnedaway, downcast gaze of his dinh. And it may not matter if we stay a little longer. If we concentrate on those two women lying together on those two beds, Rolandif we concentrate on Suze and Mia as we last saw themthen its possible we can cut into their history at that point. Isnt it? After a long, considering moment during which Eddie wasnt conscious of drawing a single breath, the gunslinger nodded. Such could not happen if on Turtleback Lane they found what the gunslinger had come to think of as an oldones door, because such doors were dedicated, and always came out at the same place. But were they to find a magic door somewhere along Turtleback Lane in Lovell, one that had been left behind when the Prim receded, then yes, they might be able to cut in where they wanted. But such doors could be tricky, too; this they had found out for themselves in the Cave of Voices, when the door there had sent Jake and Callahan to New York instead of Roland and Eddie, thereby scattering all their plans into the Land of Nineteen. What else must we do? Roland said. There was no anger in his voice, but to Eddie he sounded both tired and unsure. Whatever it is, its gonna be hard. That much I guarantee you. Eddie took the bill of sale and gazed at it as grimly as any Hamlet in the history of drama had ever stared upon the skull of poor Yorick. Then he looked back at Roland. This gives us title to the vacant lot with the rose in it. We need to get it to Moses Carver of Holmes Dental Industries. And where is he? We dont know. For that matter, Eddie, we dont even know if hes still alive. Eddie voiced a wild laugh. You say true, I say thankya! Why dont I turn us around, Roland? Ill drive us back to Stephen Kings house.


We can cadge twenty or thirty bucks off himbecause, brother, I dont know if you noticed, but we dont have a crying dime between the two of usbut more important, we can get him to write us a really good hardboiled private eye, someone who looks like Bogart and kicks ass like Clint Eastwood. Let him track down this guy Carver for us! He shook his head as if to clear it. The hum of the voices sounded sweetly in his ears, the perfect antidote to the ugly todash chimes. I mean, my wife is in bad trouble somewhere up the line, for all I know shes being eaten alive by vampires or vampire bugs, and here I sit beside a country road with a guy whose most basic skill is shooting people, trying to work out how Im going to start a fucking corporation! Slow down, Roland said. Now that he was resigned to staying in this world a little longer, he seemed calm enough. Tell me what it is you feel we need to do before we can shake the dirt of this where and when from our heels for good. So Eddie did. THREE Roland had heard a good deal of it before, but hadnt fully understood what a difficult position they were in. They owned the vacant lot on Second Avenue, yes, but their basis for ownership was a holographic document that would look mighty shaky in a court o legal, especially if the powersthatbe from the Sombra Corporation started throwing lawyers at them. Eddie wanted to get the writ of trade to Moses Carver, if he could, along with the information that his goddaughter, Odetta Holmesmissing for thirteen years by the summer of 1977was alive and well and wanted above all things for Carver to assume guardianship, not just of the vacant lot itself, but of a certain rose growing wild within its borders. Moses Carverif still alivehad to be convinced enough by what he heard to fold the socalled Tet Corporation into Holmes Industries (or viceversa). More! He had to dedicate what was left of his life (and Eddie had an idea Carver might be Aaron Deepneaus age by now) to building a corporate giant whose only real purpose was to thwart two other corporate giants, Sombra and North Central Positronics, at every turn. To strangle them if possible, and keep them from becoming a monster that would leave its destroyers track across all the dying expanse of MidWorld and mortally wound the Dark Tower itself. Maybe we should have left the writ o trade with sai Deepneau, Roland mused when he had heard Eddie through to the end. At least he could have located this Carver and sought him out and told our tale for us. No, we did right to keep it. This was one of the few things of which Eddie was completely sure. If wed left this piece of paper with Aaron Deepneau, itd be ashes in the wind by now. You believe Tower would have repented his bargain and talked his friend into destroying it? I know it, Eddie said. But even if Deepneau could stand up to his old friend going yattayattayatta in his ear for hours on endBurn it, Aaron, they coerced me and now they mean to screw me, you know it as well as I do, burn it and well call the cops on those momsers do you think Moses Carver would believe such a crazy story? Roland smiled bleakly. I dont think his belief would be an issue, Eddie. Because, think thee a moment, how much of our crazy story has Aaron Deepneau actually heard? Not enough, Eddie agreed. He closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands against them. Hard. I can only think of one person who could actually convince Moses Carver to do the things wed have to ask, and shes otherwise occupied. In the year of 99. And by then, Carvers gonna be as dead as Deepneau and maybe Tower himself. Well, what can we do without her? What will satisfy you? Eddie was thinking that perhaps Susannah could come back to 1977 without them, since she, at least, hadnt visited it yet. Well shed come here todash, but he didnt think that exactly counted. He supposed she might be barred from 1977 solely on the grounds that she was katet with him and Roland. Or some other grounds. Eddie didnt know. Reading the fine print had never been his strong point. He turned to ask Roland what he thought, but Roland spoke before he got a chance. What about our dantete? he asked. Although Eddie understood the termit meant baby god or little saviorhe did not at first understand what Roland meant by it. Then he did. Had not their Waterford dantete loaned them the very car they were sitting in, say thankya? Cullum? Is that who youre talking about, Roland? The guy with the case of autographed baseballs? You say true, Roland replied. He spoke in that dry tone which indicated not amusement but mild exasperation. Dont overwhelm me with your enthusiasm for the idea. But  you told him to go away! And he agreed to go! And how enthusiastic would you say he was about visiting his friend in Vermong? Mont, Eddie said, unable to suppress a smile. Yet, smiling or not, what he felt most strongly was dismay. He thought that ugly scraping sound he heard in his imagination was Rolands twofingered right hand, prospecting around at the very bottom of the barrel. Roland shrugged as if to say he didnt care if Cullum had spoken of going to Vermont or Barony o Garlan. Answer my question. Well  Cullum actually hadnt expressed much enthusiasm for the idea at all. He had from the very first reacted more like one of them than one of the grasseaters among whom he lived (Eddie recognized grasseaters very easily, having been one himself until Roland first kidnapped him and then began his homicidal lessons). Cullum had been clearly intrigued by the gunslingers, and curious about their business in his little town. But Roland had been very emphatic about what he wanted, and folks had a way of following his orders. Now he made a twirling motion with his right hand, his old impatient gesture. Hurry, for your fathers sake. Shit or get off the commode. I guess he really didnt want to go, Eddie said. But that doesnt mean hes still at his house in East Stoneham. He is, though. He didnt go. Eddie managed to keep his mouth from dropping open only with some effort. How can you know that? Can you touch him, is that it? Roland shook his head. Then how Ka. Ka? Ka? Just what the fuck does that mean? Rolands face was haggard and tired, the skin pale beneath his tan. Who else do we know in this part of the world? No one, but Then its him. Roland spoke flatly, as if stating some obvious fact of life for a child up is over your head, down is where your feet stick to the earth. Eddie got ready to tell him that was stupid, nothing more than rank superstition, then didnt. Putting aside Deepneau, Tower, Stephen King, and the hideous Jack Andolini, John Cullum was the only person they knew in this part of the world (or on this level of the Tower, if you preferred to think of it that way). And, after the things Eddie had seen in the last few monthshell, in the last weekwho was he to sneer at superstition? All right, Eddie said. I guess we better try it. How do we get in touch? We can phone him from Bridgton. But in a story, Roland, a minor character like John Cullum would never come in off the bench to save the day. It wouldnt be considered realistic. In life, Roland said, Im sure it happens all the time. And Eddie laughed. What the hell else could you do? It was just so perfectly Roland. FOUR BRIDGTON HIGH STREET 1 HIGHLAND LAKE 2 HARRISON 3 WATERFORD 6 SWEDEN 9 LOVELL 18 FRYEBURG 24 They had just passed this sign when Eddie said, Root around in the glovecompartment a little, Roland. See if ka or the Beam or whatever left us a little spare change for the pay phone. Glove? Do you mean this panel here? Yeah. Roland first tried to turn the chrome button on the front, then got with the program and pushed it. The inside was a mares nest that hadnt been improved by the Galaxies brief period of weightlessness. There were credit card receipts, a very old tube of what Eddie identified as toothpaste (Roland could make out the words HOLMES DENTAL on it quite clearly), a fottergraff showing a smiling little girlCullums niece, mayhapon a pony, a stick of what he first took for explosive (Eddie said it was a road flare, for emergencies), a magazine that appeared to be called YANKME  and a cigarbox. Roland couldnt quite make out the word on this, although he thought it might be trolls. He showed the box to Eddie, whose eyes lit up. That says TOLLS, he said. Maybe youre right about Cullum and ka. Open it up, Roland, do it please ya. The child who had given this box as a gift had crafted a loving (and rather clumsy) catch on the front to hold it closed. Roland slipped the catch, opened the box, and showed Eddie a great many silver coins. Is it enough to call sai Cullums house? Yeah, Eddie said. Looks like enough to call Fairbanks, Alaska. It wont help us a bit, though, if Cullums on the road to Vermont. FIVE The Bridgton town square was bounded by a drug store and a pizzajoint on one side; a movie theater (The Magic Lantern) and a department store (Renys) on the other. Between the theater and the department store was a little plaza equipped with benches and three pay phones. Eddie swept through Cullums box of tollchange and gave Roland six dollars in quarters. I want you to go over there, he said, pointing at the drug store, and get me a tin of aspirin. Will you know it when you see it? Astin. Ill know it. The smallest size they have is what I want, because six bucks really isnt much money. Then go next door, to that place that says Bridgton Pizza and Sandwiches. If youve still got at least sixteen of those moneycoins left, tell them you want a hoagie. Roland nodded, which wasnt good enough for Eddie. Let me hear you say it. Hoggie. Hoagie. HOOGgie. Ho Eddie quit. Roland, let me hear you say poorboy. Poor boy. Good. If you have at least sixteen quarters left, ask for a poorboy. Can you say lots of mayo? Lots of mayo. Yeah. If you have less than sixteen, ask for a salami and cheese sandwich. Sandwich, not a popkin. Salommy sanditch. Close enough. And dont say anything else unless you absolutely have to. Roland nodded. Eddie was right, it would be better if he did not speak. People only had to look at him to know, in their secret hearts, that he wasnt from these parts. They also had a tendency to step away from him. Better he not exacerbate that. The gunslinger dropped a hand to his left hip as he turned toward the street, an old habit that paid no comfort this time; both revolvers were in the trunk of Cullums Galaxie, wrapped in their cartridge belts. Before he could get going again, Eddie grabbed his shoulder. The gunslinger swung round, eyebrows raised, faded eyes on his friend. We have a saying in our world, Rolandwe say soandso was grasping at straws. And what does it mean? This, Eddie said bleakly. What were doing. Wish me good luck, fella. Roland nodded. Aye, so I do. Both of us. He began to turn away and Eddie called him back again. This time Roland wore an expression of faint impatience. Dont get killed crossing the street, Eddie said, and then briefly mimicked Cullums way of speaking. Summah folksre thickern ticks on a dog. And theyre not ridin hosses. Make your call, Eddie, Roland said, and then crossed Bridgtons high street with slow confidence, walking in the same rolling gait that had taken him across a thousand other high streets in a thousand small towns. Eddie watched him, then turned to the telephone and consulted the directions. After that he lifted the receiver and dialed the number for Directory Assistance. SIX He didnt go, the gunslinger had said, speaking of John Cullum with flat certainty. And why? Because Cullum was the end of the line, there was no one else for them to call. Roland of Gileads damned old ka, in other words. After a brief wait, the Directory Assistance operator coughed up Cullums number. Eddie tried to memorize it hed always been good at remembering numbers, Henry had sometimes called him Little Einstein  but this time he couldnt be confident of his ability. Something seemed to have happened either to his thinking processes in general (which he didnt believe) or to his ability to remember certain artifacts of this world (which he sort of did). As he asked for the number a second time  and wrote it in the gathered dust on the phone kiosks little ledgeEddie found himself wondering if hed still be able to read a novel, or follow the plot of a movie from the succession of images on a screen. He rather doubted it. And what did it matter? The Magic Lantern next door was showing Star Wars, and Eddie thought that if he made it to the end of his lifes path and into the clearing without another look at Luke Skywalker and another listen to Darth Vaders noisy breathing, hed still be pretty much okay. Thanks, maam, he told the operator, and was about to dial again when there was a series of explosions behind him. Eddie whirled, heartrate spiking, right hand dipping, expecting to see Wolves, or harriers, or maybe that son of a bitch Flagg What he saw was a convertible filled with laughing, goofyfaced high school boys with sunburned cheeks. One of them had just tossed out a string of firecrackers left over from the Fourth of Julywhat kids their age in Calla Bryn Sturgis would have called bangers. If Id had a gun on my hip, I might have shot a couple of those bucks, Eddie thought. You want to talk goofy, start with that. Yes. Well. And maybe he might not have. Either way, he had to admit the possibility that he was no longer exactly safe in the more civilized quarters. Live with it, Eddie murmured, then added the great sage and eminent junkies favorite advice for lifes little problems Deal. He dialed John Cullums number on the oldfashioned rotary phone, and when a robot voiceBlaine the Monos greatgreatgreatgreatgreatgrandmother, mayhap  asked him to deposit ninety cents, Eddie dropped in a buck. What the hell, he was saving the world. The phone rang once  rang twice  and was picked up! John! Eddie almost yelled. Good fucking deal! John, this is But the voice on the other end was already speaking. As a child of the late eighties, Eddie knew this did not bode well. have reached John Cullum of Cullum Caretakin and Camp Checkin, said Cullums voice in its familiar slow Yankee drawl. I gut called away kinda sudden, dontcha know, and cant say with any degree a certainty just when Ill be back. If this inconveniences ya, I beg paaadn, but you cn call Gary Crowell, at 9265555, or Junior Barker, at 9294211. Eddies initial dismay had departeddepaaaated, Cullum himself would have saidright around the time the mans wavery recorded voice was telling Eddie that he, Cullum, couldnt say with any degree of certainty when hed be back. Because Cullum was right there, in his hobbity little cottage on the western shore of Keywadin Pond, either sitting on his overstuffed hobbity sofa or in one of the two similarly overstuffed hobbity chairs. Sitting there and monitoring messages on his nodoubtclunky midseventies answering machine. And Eddie knew this because  well  Because he just knew. The primitive recording couldnt completely hide the sly humor that had crept into Cullums voice by the end of the message. Coss, if youre still set on talkin to nobody but yours truly, you cn leave me a message at the beep. Keep it short. The final word came out shawt. Eddie waited for the beep and then said, Its Eddie Dean, John. I know youre there, and I think youve been waiting for my call. Dont ask me why I think that, because I dont really know, but There was a loud click in Eddies ear, and then Cullums voicehis live voicesaid, Hello there, son, you takin good care of my car? For a moment Eddie was too bemused to reply, for Cullums Downeast accent had turned the question into something quite different You takin good care of my ka? Boy? Cullum asked, suddenly concerned. You still on the wire? Yeah, Eddie said, and so are you. I thought you were going to Vermont, John. Well, I tell you what. This place aint seen a day this excitin probly since South Stoneham Shoe burnt down in 1923. The copsve gut all the ruds out of town blocked off. Eddie was sure they were letting folks through the roadblocks if they could show proper identification, but he ignored that issue in favor of something else. Want to tell me you couldnt find your way out of that town without seeing a single cop, if it suited your fancy? There was a brief pause. In it, Eddie became aware of someone at his elbow. He didnt turn to look; it was Roland. Who else in this world would smellsubtly but unquestionablyof another world? Oh, well, Cullum said at last. Maybe I do know a woods road or two that come out over in Lovell. Its been a dry summer, n I guess I could get mtruck up em. One or two? Well, say three or four. A pause, which Eddie didnt break. He was having too much fun. Five or six, Cullum amended, and Eddie chose not to respond to this, either. Eight, Cullum said at last, and when Eddie laughed, Cullum joined in. Whats on your mind, son? Eddie glanced at Roland, who was holding out a tin of aspirin between the two remaining fingers of his right hand. Eddie took it gratefully. I want you to come over to Lovell, he said to Cullum. Seems like we might have a little more palavering to do, after all. Ayuh, and it seems like I musta known it, Cullum said, although it was never right up on the top of my mind; up there I kep thinkin Ill be gettin on the road to Montpelier soon, and still I kep findin one more thing and one more thing to do around here. If youda called five minutes ago, you woulda gotten a busyI us on the phone to Charlie Beemer. It was his wife n sisterinlaw that got killed in the market, dont you know. And then I thought, What the hell, Ill just give the whole place a good sweep before I put my gear in the back of the truck and go. Nothin up on top is what Im sayin, but down underneath I guess I been waitin for your call ever since I got back here. Wherell you be? Turtleback Lane? Eddie popped open the aspirin tin and looked greedily at the little lineup of tablets. Once a junkie, always a junkie, he reckoned. Even when it came to this stuff. Ayuh, he said, with his tongue only partly in his cheek; he had become quite the mimic of regional dialects since meeting Roland on a Delta jet descending into Kennedy Airport. You said that lane was nothing but a twomile loop off Route 7, didnt you? So I did. Some very nice homes along Turtleback. A brief, reflective pause. And a lot of em for sale. Theres been quite a number of walkins in that part of the world just lately. As I may have also mentioned. Such things make folks nervous, and rich folks, at least, cn afford to get away from what makes it haad to sleep at night. Eddie could wait no longer; he took three of the aspirin and tossed them into his mouth, relishing the bitter taste as they dissolved on his tongue. Bad as the pain currently was, he would have borne twice as much if he could have heard from Susannah. But she was quiet. He had an idea that the line of communication between them, chancy at best, had ceased to exist with the coming of Mias damned baby. You boys might want to keep your shootin irons close at hand if youre headed over to Turtleback in Lovell, Cullum said. As for me, I think Ill just toss mshotgun in mtruck before I set sail. Why not? Eddie agreed. You want to look for your car along the loop, okay? Youll find it. Ayuh, that old Galaxies haad to miss, Cullum agreed. Tell me somethin, son. Im not goin to Vmont, but I gut a feelin you mean to send me somewhere, if I agree to go. You mind tellin me where? Eddie thought that Mark Twain might elect to call the next chapter of John Cullums no doubt colorful life A Maine Yankee in the Crimson Kings Court, but elected not to say so. Have you ever been to New York City? Gorry, yes. Had a fortyeighthour pass there, when I was in the Army. The final word came out in a ridiculously flat drawl. Went to Radio City Music Hall and the Empire State Buildin, that much I remember. Musta made a few other tourist stops, though, because I lost thirty dollars out of mwallet and a couple of months later I got diagnosed with a pretty fine case of the clap. This time youll be too busy to catch the clap. Bring your credit cards. I know you have some, because I got a look at the receipts in your glovecompartment. He felt an almost insane urge to draw the last word out, make it compaaaaaatment. Mess in there, ennit? Cullum asked equably. Ayuh, looks like what was left when the dog chewed the shoes. See you in Lovell, John. Eddie hung up. He looked at the bag Roland was carrying and lifted his eyebrows. Its a poorboy sanditch, Roland said. With lots of mayo, whatever that is. Id want a sauce that didnt look quite so much like come, myself, but may it do ya fine. Eddie rolled his eyes. Gosh, thats a real appetitebuilder. Do you say so? Eddie had to remind himself once more that Roland had almost no sense of humor. I do, I do. Come on. I can eat my comeandcheese sandwich while I drive. Also, we need to talk about how were going to handle this. SEVEN The way to handle it, both agreed, was to tell John Cullum as much of their tale as they thought his credulity (and sanity) could stand. Then, if all went well, they would entrust him with the vital bill of sale and send him to Aaron Deepneau. With strict orders to make sure he spoke to Deepneau apart from the not entirely trustworthy Calvin Tower. Cullum and Deepneau can work together to track Moses Carver down, Eddie said, and I think I can give Cullum enough information about Suzeprivate stuffto convince Carver that shes still alive. After that, though  well, a lot depends on how convincing those two guys can be. And how eager they are to work for the Tet Corporation in their sunset years. Hey, they may surprise us! I cant see Cullum in a suit and tie, but traveling around the country and throwing monkeywrenches in Sombras business? He considered, head cocked, then nodded with a smile. Yeah. I can see that pretty well. Susannahs godfather is apt to be an old codger himself, Roland observed. Just one of a different color. Such fellows often speak their own language when theyre antet. And mayhap I can give John Cullum something that will help convince Carver to throw in with us. A sigul? Yes. Eddie was intrigued. What kind? But before Roland could answer, they saw something that made Eddie stomp on the brakepedal. They were in Lovell now, and on Route 7. Ahead of them, staggering unsteadily along the shoulder, was an old man with snarled and straggly white hair. He wore a clumsy wrap of dirty cloth that could by no means be called a robe. His scrawny arms and legs were whipped with scratches. There were sores on them as well, burning a dull red. His feet were bare, and equipped with ugly and dangerouslooking yellow talons instead of toes. Clasped under one arm was a splintery wooden object that might have been a broken lyre. Eddie thought no one could have looked more out of place on this road, where the only pedestrians they had seen so far were seriouslooking exercisers, obviously from away, looking ever so puttogether in their nylon jogging shorts, baseball hats, and teeshirts (one joggers shirt bore the legend DONT SHOOT THE TOURISTS). The thing that had been trudging along the berm of Route 7 turned toward them, and Eddie let out an involuntary cry of horror. Its eyes bled together above the bridge of its nose, reminding him of a doubleyolked egg in a frypan. A fang depended from one nostril like a bone booger. Yet somehow worst of all was the dull green glow that baked out from the creatures face. It was as if its skin had been painted with some sort of thin fluorescent gruel. It saw them and immediately dashed into the woods, dropping its splintered lyre behind. Christ! Eddie screamed. If that was a walkin, he hoped never to see another. Stop, Eddie! Roland shouted, then braced the heel of one hand against the dashboard as Cullums old Ford slid to a dusty halt close to where the thing had vanished. Open the backhold, Roland said as he opened the door. Get my widowmaker. Roland, were in kind of a hurry here, and Turtleback Lanes still three miles north. I really think we ought to Shut your fools mouth and get it! Roland roared, then ran to the edge of the woods. He drew a deep breath, and when he shouted after the rogue creature, his voice sent gooseflesh racing up Eddies arms. He had heard Roland speak so once or twice before, but in between it was easy to forget that the blood of a King ran in his veins. He spoke several phrases Eddie could not understand, then one he could So come forth, ye Child of Roderick, ye spoiled, ye lost, and make your bow before me, Roland, son of Steven, of the Line of Eld! For a moment there was nothing. Eddie opened the Fords trunk and brought Roland his gun. Roland strapped it on without so much as a glance at Eddie, let alone a word of thanks. Perhaps thirty seconds went by. Eddie opened his mouth to speak. Before he could, the dusty roadside foliage began to shake. A moment or two later, the misbegotten thing reappeared. It staggered with its head lowered. On the front of its robe was a large wet patch. Eddie could smell the reek of a sick things urine, wild and strong. Yet it made a knee and raised one misshapen hand to its forehead, a doomed gesture of fealty that made Eddie feel like weeping. Hile, Roland of Gilead, Roland of Eld! Will you show me some sigul, dear? In a town called River Crossing, an old woman who called herself Aunt Talitha had given Roland a silver cross on a finelink silver chain. Hed worn it around his neck ever since. Now he reached into his shirt and showed it to the kneeling creaturea slow mutie dying of radiation sickness, Eddie was quite sureand the thing gave a cracked cry of wonder. Wouldee have peace at the end of your course, thou Child of Roderick? Wouldee have the peace of the clearing? Aye, my dear, it said, sobbing, then added a great deal more in some gibberish tongue Eddie couldnt understand. Eddie looked both ways along Route 7, expecting to see trafficthis was the height of the summer season, after allbut spied nothing in either direction. For the moment, at least, their luck still held. How many of you are there in these parts? Roland asked, interrupting the walkin. As he spoke, he drew his revolver and raised that old engine of death until it lay against his shirt. The Child of Roderick tossed its hand at the horizon without looking up. Delah, gunslinger, he said, for here the worlds are thin, say anro con fa; seysey desene fanno billet cobair can. I Chevin devar dan do. Because I felt sat for dem. Cantoi, cantah, can Discordia, aven la cam mah can. Maymi? Iffin lah vainen, eth How many dan devar ? It thought about Rolands question, then spread its fingers (there were ten, Eddie noted) five times. Fifty. Although fifty of what, Eddie didnt know. And Discordia? Roland asked sharply. Do you truly say so? Oh aye, so says me, Chevin of Chayven, son of Hamil, minstrel of the South Plains that were once my home. Say the name of the town that stands near Castle Discordia and Ill release you. Ah, gunslinger, all there are dead. I think not. Say it. Fedic! screamed Chevin of Chayven, a wandering musica who could never have suspected its life would end in such a far, strange placenot the plains of MidWorld but the mountains of western Maine. It suddenly raised its horrid, glowing face to Roland. It spread its arms wide, like something which has been crucified. Fedic on the far side of Thunderclap, on the Path of the Beam! On V Shardik, V Maturin, the Road to the Dark T Rolands revolver spoke a single time. The bullet took the kneeling thing in the center of its forehead, completing the ruin of its ruined face. As it was flung backward, Eddie saw its flesh turn to greenish smoke as ephemeral as a hornets wing. For a moment Eddie could see Chevin of Chayvens floating teeth like a ghostly ring of coral, and then they were gone. Roland dropped his revolver back into his holster, then pronged the two remaining fingers of his right hand and drew them downward in front of his face, a benedictory gesture if Eddie had ever seen one. Give you peace, Roland said. Then he unbuckled his gunbelt and began to roll the weapon into it once more. Roland, was that  was it a slow mutant? Aye, I suppose youd say so, poor old thing. But the Rodericks are from beyond any lands I ever knew, although before the world moved on they gave their grace to Arthur Eld. He turned to Eddie, his blue eyes burning in his tired face. Fedic is where Mia has gone to have her baby, I have no doubt. Where shes taken Susannah. By the last castle. We must backtrack to Thunderclap eventually, but Fedics where we need to go first. Its good to know. He said he felt sad for someone. Who? Roland only shook his head, not answering Eddies question. A CocaCola truck blasted by, and thunder rumbled in the far west. Fedic o the Discordia, the gunslinger murmured instead. Fedic o the Red Death. If we can save Susannahand Jake well backtrack toward the Callas. But well return when our business there is done. And when we turn southeast again  What? Eddie asked uneasily. What then, Roland? Then theres no stopping until we reach the Tower. He held out his hands, watched them tremble minutely. Then he looked up at Eddie. His face was tired but unafraid. I have never been so close. I hear all my lost friends and their lost fathers whispering to me. They whisper on the Towers very breath. Eddie looked at Roland for a minute, fascinated and frightened, and then broke the mood with an almost physical effort. Well, he said, moving back toward the drivers door of the Ford, if any of those voices tells you what to say to Cullum the best way to convince him of what we wantbe sure to let me know. Eddie got in the car and closed the door before Roland could reply. In his minds eye he kept seeing Roland leveling his big revolver. Saw him aiming it at the kneeling figure and pulling the trigger. This was the man he called both dinh and friend. But could he say with any certainty that Roland wouldnt do the same thing to him  or Suze  or Jake if his heart told him it would take him closer to his Tower? He could not. And yet he would go on with him. Would have gone on even if hed been sure in his heartoh, God forbid!that Susannah was dead. Because he had to. Because Roland had become a good deal more to him than his dinh or his friend. My father, Eddie murmured under his breath just before Roland opened the passenger door and climbed in. Did you speak, Eddie? Roland asked. Yes, Eddie said. Just a little farther. My very words. Roland nodded. Eddie dropped the transmission back into Drive and got the Ford rolling toward Turtleback Lane. Still in the distancebut a little closer than beforethunder rumbled again. CHAPTER IV DANTETE  ONE As the babys time neared, Susannah Dean looked around, once more counting her enemies as Roland had taught her. You must never draw, hed said, until you know how many are against you, or youve satisfied yourself that you can never know, or youve decided its your day to die. She wished she didnt also have to cope with the terrible thoughtinvading helmet on her head, but whatever that thing was, it didnt seem concerned with Susannahs effort to count those present at the arrival of Mias chap. And that was good. There was Sayre, the man in charge. The low man, with one of those red spots pulsing in the center of his forehead. There was Scowther, the doctor between Mias legs, getting ready to officiate at the delivery. Sayre had roughed the doc up when Scowther had displayed a little too much arrogance, but probably not enough to interfere with his efficiency. There were five other low men in addition to Sayre, but shed only picked out two names. The one with the bulldog jowls and the heavy, sloping gut was Haber. Next to Haber was a birdthing with the brown feathered head and vicious beebee eyes of a hawk.