
The Dark Tower · Book V · 2003
Farmers call in gunslingers; the gunslingers arm the farmers’ wives; the robot is lying; and the priest finds himself in a novel.
Wolves of the Calla is the fifth Dark Tower novel, published in late 2003: the first King wrote after the van hit him in 1999, and the first of the final three, which arrived within ten months of each other. It is the long one in the middle of the saga, seven hundred-odd pages in which a farming town on the edge of the dark calls on four gunslingers and a billy-bumbler to stand against the riders who come once a generation for its children.
The shape is borrowed on purpose. King names Seven Samurai and The Magnificent Seven among his sources and the town is Calla Bryn Sturgis, after John Sturges: farmers hire gunmen, the gunmen arm the farmers (here the farmers’ wives, with sharpened plates), there is a traitor inside the walls, and the victory is paid for in named dead. Around that spine run two other clocks — a vacant lot in New York that must be bought before July 15, 1977, and a pregnancy that is not quite Susannah’s — and the device that joins them, todash, lets the ka-tet walk through Manhattan as ghosts.
Then the last pages turn the series inside out. Father Callahan, who walked out of ’Salem’s Lot in 1975, is handed a novel called ’Salem’s Lot, by Stephen King, and finds his life in it. Books VI and VII grow from that scene.
Tian Jaffords has three fields — River, Roadside, and Son of a Bitch, a tract that grows rocks and blisters — and he plows the last of them with his twin sister Tia in the harness, because ground that full of holes and mutie wasps is too dangerous for livestock. Tia is roont. Twenty-three years ago the Wolves rode out of Thunderclap on grey horses, took one child from nearly every pair of twins, and sent most of them back a month or two later on flatcars, simple for life, to grow into giants and die young. Most births in Calla Bryn Sturgis are twins.
Andy the Messenger Robot (Many Other Functions) — seven feet of stainless steel, blue flashing eyes, a large and meaningless smile — strolls across the field to say the Wolves will come in thirty days, and offers Tian a horoscope. At home Zalia does the arithmetic: Heddon and Hedda, about ten; Lyman and Lia, five; Aaron, a singleton, safe. Tian calls the men to the Gathering Hall, about a hundred and forty of them, and whoever holds the feather holds the floor. George Telford, a rich rancher, says to fight is to die. Then the Old Fella rises at the back: Pere Callahan, the priest with a cross cut into his forehead. Three gunslingers and an apprentice are coming down the Path of the Beam, less than a week’s ride off, and there is something under the floor of his church that may draw them. Time to stand and be true.
Five or six weeks past the Emerald City the ka-tet keeps meeting the number nineteen, and Roland lets a party of followers, a woman and a boy among them, trail along behind. One night Eddie, Jake and Oy go todash: their bodies flicker out by the fire and they stand, unseen by the crowds, on Second Avenue on May 31, 1977, the day Jake walked out of Piper School. They follow the 1977 Jake into the Manhattan Restaurant of the Mind and watch a grey Lincoln deliver Balazar, Andolini and Biondi. In the back room Eddie reads the paper Balazar waves: Sombra has paid Calvin Tower a hundred thousand dollars to keep Lot 298, Block 19, at Second Avenue and 46th, unsold until July 15, 1977. The chimes drag them home before they reach the lot.
Roland, awake, follows Susannah’s chair into the woods, as he has on other nights. At a swamp he finds it empty, her clothes on the seat; she has gone on into the water to eat frogs, leeches and a water rat, babbling in a dozen voices. He somehow knows she calls herself Mia, and that she is feeding a child she calls the chap. He says nothing. His hip hurts.
Palaver by daylight: Tower is the rose’s custodian without knowing it; Susannah’s inheritance, back in 1964, could buy the lot; they need doors. Then Callahan walks into camp — Detroit, Topeka, New York, a little town called Jerusalem’s Lot — and goes down on one knee.
“Hile, gunslinger, may we be well-met on the path.”
He weeps telling them the rest: Black Thirteen, the thirteenth bend of Maerlyn’s Rainbow, lies under his church floor, and it has come alive. His party follows him in: Overholser in a clean white Stetson, Tian in a battered sombrero, Zalia, Ben Slightman the Elder and his son Benny. Overholser treats them as drifters until Roland says charyou tree and looks at him. Over dinner he describes the raids: sixty to eighty masked riders on grey horses, with light-sticks and flying sneetches. Andy will not discuss the Wolves without a password, and cites Directive Nineteen. Roland asks for four dinner plates, Jake recites the gunslinger’s creed to its last line,
“I kill with my heart.”
and bursts all four in the air. Roland’s terms: a week to look, then a town meeting.
Then the whole ka-tet goes todash, to a New York where the paper says June 2, and Susannah comes running to Roland on legs and feet. The vagrant dead wander Second Avenue. One poster on the lot’s fence now names a Susannah-Mio, a Dixie Pig, and a year, ‘99. Susannah will not go in. The three who do kneel weeping round the rose as it opens and sings; Eddie hears a jagged note in the song, and Roland says it is sick. Outside the fence Susannah loses seven minutes and her new legs: Mia has come out to look around. Jake carries back a crumpled pink bowling bag that reads “Nothing but strikes at Mid-World Lanes” — and Roland knows what it is for.
From the forest’s edge they see the town, the Devar-Tete Whye, palms, rice, desert, and the dark wall of Thunderclap standing on the eastern sky like weather. At the Pavilion the four of them bow and name their lines — Roland of Gilead, son of Steven, the Line of Eld; the ka-tet of Nineteen; Jake, prompted, the ka-tet of the Ninety and Nine — and Oy stands up on his hind legs, bows, and brings down the house. Roland hands his gun to Susannah, asks the folken the old questions, and then, in place of the last one, dances the commala, faster and faster on a hip that already hurts, and dives off the stage into the crowd. That night at the log church Eddie feels the ball under the floor like a weight, and Callahan will not begin his story.
“Mine is no story for starlight.”
In the morning Roland wakes in pain from hip to ankle: the dry twist, and he privately gives himself under a year. Rosalita Munoz, Callahan’s housekeeper, treats him with rock-cat oil and asks him to save the children whatever the big bugs decide. Picking pokeberries, Roland tells Eddie that Susannah is pregnant by the demon of the speaking ring in The Waste Lands; Eddie accepts it, and that they will not tell her yet for fear of waking Mia.
The priest tells his tale in installments. Jerusalem’s Lot, 1975: the vampire Barlow, the crucifix glowing in Callahan’s hand and then going dark, Barlow snapping its arms and forcing him to drink from an opened throat; the church door that burns his hand; a bus to New York. New York, 1975 and ‘76: Home, a wet shelter two blocks from the vacant lot; the blue light he can now see around vampires. One of them feeds on his friend Lupe, infecting him with the disease that will kill him, and Callahan starts killing them, one with a meat cleaver. Then come graffiti about a man with a burned hand and lost-pet posters that are really about him, the work of low men in long yellow coats: soldiers of the Crimson King. For years he hides on the highways between Americas, ducking red-and-white Cadillacs. In 1981 the Hitler Brothers carve the cross into his forehead; two strangers, one wearing an EX LIBRIS ring, run them off. Detroit, December 19, 1983: a room of low men and vampires and a man named Richard Sayre; Callahan goes out the window, wakes at the Way Station in Roland’s desert, takes Black Thirteen from Walter’s hands, and falls through a door into the Cave of Voices, where the Manni find him. Partway through the telling he takes Roland alone into the church, lifts the boards before the altar and folds back the linen from a box of black ghostwood carved with a rose, a stone and a door. Roland will take it: soon.
Between sittings the Calla shows its cards. At the Rocking B, with twenty-three days left, Margaret Eisenhart tells the legend of Lady Oriza, who beheaded the outlaw Gray Dick at her own table with a sharpened plate, and shows Roland the Calla’s version: twelve inches of blue titanium, honed all round but the grip, whistling in flight. She names Zalia Jaffords, Sarey Adams and Rosalita as throwers. On the Jaffords porch at dusk Gran-pere Jamie tells how he, Pokey Slidell, and Eamon and Molly Doolin stood in the road against four Wolves: Molly’s plate took one in the neck, a light-stick took her arm, and afterward Jamie crawled to the dead Wolf, smelled rot, and pulled its mask. What he saw he whispers to Eddie in nineteen words. That night Oy leads Jake to a bluff from which he watches Ben Slightman confer with Andy, then ride east toward nothing but Thunderclap. Roland climbs with Henchick, eighty and breathing easy, to the cave: the pit at the back speaks in the voices of his past, and before it stands a door that was not there until Callahan came, freestanding, marked unfound, a rose etched in its crystal knob. Without the ball the knob will not turn. The priest’s tale ends, and Susannah tells the ka-tet she thinks she is pregnant.
Roland takes the pregnancy to Callahan and asks whether Rosalita could end it; Callahan refuses in horror. Eddie passes on the nineteen words, and Roland fixes on the detail that matters: grey horses all of one shade. Machines. Susannah takes to the Oriza as if born to it and throws eight plates in under three seconds; Eisenhart will stand, and promises a curse if Margaret dies; Took and Overholser will not. Jake notices Slightman’s spectacles and keeps quiet for Benny’s sake. Andy says ten days; Roland calls the meeting for six days out.
Roland and Eddie carry the box up to the cave in the bowling bag. Roland opens it; the chimes bite; Eddie steps through the door onto Second Avenue on June 23, 1977, and into Tower’s back room, where Andolini and Biondi are threatening to burn his first editions one by one. He beats them both down with Roland’s revolver and declares Tower under the protection of the Tet Corporation — a firm that exists from that sentence on. Tower shows him an old envelope, marked with the box’s own symbols, that names Roland Deschain of Gilead, and agrees to leave the city and sell the lot to Tet for a dollar. A bookcase comes through before the door slams. Roland, holding the box open with bullets in his ears, is grey with pain. Eddie says Slightman is the rat. Roland knew: the spectacles.
By moonlight Oy tracks the foreman’s scent across the river, Jake behind him, to a bunker called the Dogan — North Central Positronics, Outpost 16 — where some of thirty monitors watch Took’s, the church and the rectory. From a closet Jake hears Slightman and Andy report to Finli O’Tego at Algul Siento. Slightman did it to keep Benny. The rectory is bugged. As the ka-tet palavers at the Pavilion, out of the bugs’ hearing, the Calla’s children march past singing behind Andy, and Roland warns his friends to believe nothing he says at the meeting. He has a saying for it, from his father’s day:
“First comes smiles, then lies. Last is gunfire.”
That afternoon Roland sends Callahan through the door into June 24, 1977. He finds the bookstore a burnt husk and, on the lot’s fence, a zip code that resolves to East Stoneham, Maine. Roland, waiting in the cave, takes a book from Tower’s shelf with a church on the cover; it hums in his hands, and he keeps it to himself.
The Meeting of the Folken, with lightning walking in Thunderclap: twins carry in the feather, Tian opens, the folken ask aid and succor, and then Roland lies like a genius. The Wolves are the undead servants of vampires, with a soft spot over the heart; on Wolf’s Eve the twins will sleep in a tent by the Pavilion and go north by wagon; the town assumes the old Gloria mine. Telford pleads that it has all been tried before; Jake answers that it has not been tried by gunslingers; Roland allows there may be burning:
“A burned building can be replaced. A roont child cannot.”
Roland tells Slightman, privately, that the children will be hidden below the Wolves’ path. Days before, Susannah has lost three hours in the privy to Mia and told no one. On Wolf’s Eve, at six, Andy comes to the rectory for the guns Eddie promised and finds a privy with a new bolt. Eddie shoots out both eyes, locks him in, finds the password — not nineteen, not ninety-nine, but the year on the fence, 1999 — and orders him to shut down.
Dawn. Ninety-nine children — every twin, and Benny — go up the East Road in wagons. The children will really hide in the rice, with Callahan, Overholser and the other minders. The fighters go to ground in the ditch — Roland and Eddie, Susannah, Margaret Eisenhart, Zalia and Rosalita — with two hundred plates, while Jake, Benny and the Tavery twins lay a trail of ribbons, combs and toys up the path toward the mines, and Frank Tavery breaks his ankle on it. About sixty Wolves come out of the river in waves of five and six and take the bait; the trail-layers tumble into the ditch with Frank as the first riders round the bend. It is what Roland promised:
“Five minutes’ worth of blood and stupidity.”
Revolvers and the Ruger, then the plates, then the Wolves’ answer. Susannah knocks a sneetch out of the air. Margaret Eisenhart is beheaded by a light-stick; Benny climbs out of the ditch to go to her and a sneetch kills him. Jake takes nine; the last is left for Susannah, and she takes it. The folken pour up out of the rice singing. Eisenhart and Slightman come for their dead. Rosalita, who has gone looking for Susannah, finds that she and her chair are gone.
Roland, Eddie, Jake and Callahan run for the arroyo path. A mile past the fork the wheelchair lies wrecked against a rock. At the foot of the climb Eddie finds the willowgreen ring he carved her, still on its rawhide loop, and hangs it round his own neck. Farther up, where a boulder narrows the path, a three-wheeled machine sits humming beside a six-pack of Nozz-A-La one can short. Roland is limping again. In the cave Tower’s bookcase still stands; the pink bag and the box are gone; the door is dull. Roland lays it out: she took the chair as far as it would go, crawled to where a ride had been left for her, rode up, opened the box, and went through.
Then he hands Jake the book. The church on its cover is the twin of the Gathering Hall. ’Salem’s Lot, a novel by Stephen King. Callahan reads his own life in it, down to things he never told anyone, and cries out that he is a real person. Roland calls it the heart of the great mystery and says they will follow Susannah when they can. From here the author is a character in his own saga.