Stephen King - The Dark Tower 5 - The Wolves of the Calla

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The Dark Tower V
Wolves of the Calla
Stephen King
ILLUSTRATED BY
Bernie Wrightson
Does not include Bernie Wrightson's 12 full-color illustrations, which will appear in the finished book.
THE DARK TOWER V:
WOLVES OF THE CALLA
The publication of Wolves of the Calla, the first of the final three books in the Dark Tower series, is the most anticipated event
in Stephen King's legendary career.
The world's bestselling author returns to his beloved Dark Tower series—an epic, inspired by The Lord of the Rings, that King
initiated more than thirty years ago. Now, Scribner and Donald M. Grant Publishers Inc. present the fifth installment of the
series in a handsome edition, complete with twelve full-color illustrations by acclaimed comic book/fantasy artist Bernie
Wrightson.
Wolves of the Calla continues the adventures of Roland, the last gunslinger and survivor of a civilized world that has "moved
on." Roland's quest is ka, an inevitable destiny—to reach and perhaps save the Dark Tower, which stands at the center of
everywhere and everywhen. This pursuit brings Roland, with the three others who've joined his quest, to Calla Bryn Sturgis, a
town in the shadow of Thunderclap, beyond which lies the Dark Tower. Before advancing, however, they must face the evil
wolves of Thunderclap, who threaten to destroy the Calla by abducting its young.
With the recent mainstream success of the Harry Potter books, Robert Jordan's The Wheel of Time, and the Lord of the Rings
film trilogy, serial fantasy is bigger than ever—and the exciting, action-packed Wolves of the Calla, delivered in a beautiful,
illustrated edition, is sure to be an enormous treat for fans both new and old.
Stephen King is the author of more than forty books, all of them worldwide bestsellers. Among his most recent are From a
Buick 8, Everything's Eventual, and Dreamcatcher. He lives in Bangor, Maine, with his wife, novelist Tabitha King.
CONTENTS
The Final Argument
Prologue: Roont
Part 1: ToDash -- Chapter I: The Face on the Water
Chapter II: New York Groove
Chapter III: Mia
Chapter IV: Palaver
Chapter V: OVERHOLSER
Chapter VI: The Way of the Eld
Chapter VII: Todash
Part Two: Telling Tales -- Chapter I: The Pavilion
Chapter II: Dry Twist
Chapter III: The Priest's Tale (New York)
Chapter IV: The Priest's Tale Continued (Highways in Hiding)
Chapter V: The Tale of Gray Dick
Chapter VI: Gran-pere's Tale
Chapter VII: Nocturne, Hunger
Chapter VIII: Took's Store; The Unfound Door
Chapter IX: The Priest's Tale Concluded (Unfound)
Part Three: The Wolves -- Chapter I: Secrets
Chapter II: The Dogan, Part I
Chapter III: The Dogan, Part 2
Chapter IV: The Pied Piper
Chapter V: The Meeting of the Folken
Chapter VI: Before the Storm
Chapter VII: The Wolves
Epilogue: The Doorway Cave
Author's Note
Author's Afterword
Copyright
Scan and Proof Notes
This book is for Frank Muller, who hears the voices in my head.
The finished book will include twelve full-color illustrations by Bernie Wrightson. A list
of the illustrations will appear on this page.
Contents - Prev / Next
The Final Argument
Wolves of the Calla is the fifth volume of a longer tale inspired by Robert Browning's
narrative poem "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came." The sixth, Song of Susannah,
will be published in 2004. The seventh and last, The Dark Tower, will be published later
that same year.
The first volume, The Gunslinger, tells how Roland Deschain of Gilead pursues and at
last catches Walter, the man in black— he who pretended friendship with Roland's father
but actually served the Crimson King in far-off End-World. Catching the half-human
Walter is for Roland a step on the way to the Dark Tower, where he hopes the quickening
destruction of Mid-World and the slow death of the Beams may be halted or even
reversed. The subtitle of this novel is RESUMPTION.
The Dark Tower is Roland's obsession, his grail, his only reason for living when we meet
him. We learn of how Marten tried, when Roland was yet a boy, to see him sent west in
disgrace, swept from the board of the great game. Roland, however, lays Marten's plans
at nines, mostly due to his choice of weapon in his manhood test.
Steven Deschain, Roland's father, sends his son and two friends (Cuthbert Allgood and
Alain Johns) to the seacoast barony of Mejis, mostly to place the boy beyond Walter's
reach. There Roland meets and falls in love with Susan Delgado, who has fallen afoul a
witch. Rhea of the Coos is jealous of the girl's beauty, and particularly dangerous because
she has obtained one of the great glass balls known as the Bends o' the Rainbow… or the
Wizard's Glasses. There are thirteen of these in all, the most powerful and dangerous
being Black Thirteen. Roland and his friends have many adventures in Mejis, and
although they escape with their lives (and the pink Bend o' the Rainbow), Susan Delgado,
the lovely girl at the window, is burned at the stake. This tale is told in the fourth volume,
Wizard and Glass. The subtitle of this novel is REGARD.
In the course of the tales of the Tower we discover that the gunslinger's world is related
to our own in fundamental and terrible ways. The first of these links is revealed when
Jake, a boy from the New York of 1977, meets Roland at a desert way station long years
after the death of Susan Delgado. There are doors between Roland's world and our own,
and one of them is death. Jake finds himself in this desert way station after being pushed
into Forty-third Street and run over by a car. The car's driver was a man named Enrico
Balazar. The pusher was a criminal sociopath named Jack Mort, Walter's representative
on the New York level of the Dark Tower.
Before Jake and Roland reach Walter, Jake dies again… this time because the gunslinger,
faced with an agonizing choice between this symbolic son and the Dark Tower, chooses
the Tower. Jake's last words before plunging into the abyss are "Go, then—there are other
worlds than these."
The final confrontation between Roland and Walter occurs near the Western Sea. In a
long night of palaver, the man in black tells Roland's future with a Tarot deck of strange
device. Three cards—the Prisoner, the Lady of Shadows, and Death ("but not for you,
gunslinger")—are especially called to Roland's attention.
The Drawing of the Three (subtitled RENEWAL) begins on the shore of the Western Sea
not long after Roland awakens from his confrontation with Walter. The exhausted
gunslinger is attacked by a horde of carnivorous "lobstrosities," and before he can escape,
he has lost two fingers of his right hand and has been seriously infected. Roland resumes
his trek along the shore of the Western Sea, although he is sick and possibly dying.
On his walk he encounters three doors standing freely on the beach. These open into New
York at three different whens. From 1987, Roland draws Eddie Dean, a prisoner of
heroin. From 1964, he draws Odetta Susannah Holmes, a woman who lost her legs when
a sociopath named Jack Mort pushed her in front of a subway train. She is the Lady of
Shadows, with a violent "other" hidden in her brain. This hidden woman, the violent and
crafty Detta Walker, is determined to kill both Roland and Eddie when the gunslinger
draws her into Mid-World.
Roland thinks that perhaps he has drawn three in just Eddie and Odetta, since Odetta is
really two personalities, yet when Odetta and Detta merge as one into Susannah (largely
thanks to Eddie Dean's love and courage), the gunslinger knows it's not so. He knows
something else, as well: he is being tormented by thoughts of Jake, the boy who spoke of
other worlds at the time of his death.
The Waste Lands, subtitled REDEMPTION, begins with a paradox: to Roland, Jake
seems both alive and dead. In the New York of the late 1970s, Jake Chambers is haunted
by the same question: alive or dead? Which is he? After killing a gigantic bear named
either Mir (so called by the old people who went in fear of it) or Shardik (by the Great
Old Ones who built it), Roland, Eddie, and Susannah backtrack the beast and discover the
Path of the Beam known as Shardik to Maturin, Bear to Turtle. There were once six of
these Beams, running between the twelve portals which mark the edges of Mid-World. At
the point where the Beams cross, at the center of Roland's world (and all worlds), stands
the Dark Tower, the nexus of all where and when.
By now Eddie and Susannah are no longer prisoners in Roland's world. In love and well
on the way to becoming gunslingers themselves, they are full participants in the quest and
follow Roland, the last seppe-sai (death-seller), along the Path of Shardik, the Way of
Maturin.
In a speaking ring not far from the Portal of the Bear, time is mended, paradox is ended,
and the real third is drawn. Jake reenters Mid-World at the end of a perilous rite where all
four—Jake, Eddie, Susannah, and Roland—remember the faces of their fathers and
acquit themselves honorably. Not long after, the quartet becomes a quintet, when Jake
befriends a billy-bumbler. Bumblers, which look like a combination of badger, raccoon,
and dog, have a limited speaking ability. Jake names his new friend Oy.
The way of the pilgrims leads them toward the city of Lud, where the degenerate
survivors of two old factions carry on an endless conflict. Before reaching the city, in the
little town of River Crossing, they meet a few ancient survivors of the old days. They
recognize Roland as a fellow survivor of those days before the world moved on, and
honor him and his companions. The Old People also tell them of a monorail train which
may still run from Lud and into the waste lands, along the Path of the Beam and toward
the Dark Tower.
Jake is frightened by this news but not surprised; before being drawn from New York, he
obtained two books from a bookstore owned by a man with the thought-provoking name
of Calvin Tower. One is a book of riddles with the answers torn out. The other, Charlie
the Choo-Choo, is a children's story with dark echoes of Mid-World. For one thing, the
word char means death in the High Speech Roland grew up speaking in Gilead.
Aunt Talitha, the matriarch of River Crossing, gives Roland a silver cross to wear, and
the travelers go their course. While crossing the dilapidated bridge which spans the River
Send, Jake is abducted by a dying (and very dangerous) outlaw named Gasher. Gasher
takes his young prisoner underground to the Tick-Tock Man, the last leader of the faction
known as the Grays.
While Roland and Oy go after Jake, Eddie and Susannah find the Cradle of Lud, where
Blaine the Mono awakes. Blaine is the last above ground tool of a vast computer system
that lies beneath Lud, and Blaine has only one remaining interest: riddles. It promises to
take the travelers to the monorail's final stop… if they can pose it a riddle it cannot solve.
Otherwise, Blaine says, their trip will end in death: charyou tree.
Roland rescues Jake, leaving the Tick-Tock Man for dead. Yet Andrew Quick is not
dead. Half-blind, hideously wounded about the face, he is rescued by a man who calls
himself Richard Fannin. Fannin, however, also identifies himself as the Ageless Stranger,
a demon of whom Roland has been warned.
The pilgrims continue their journey from the dying city of Lud, this time by monorail.
The fact that the actual mind run-ning the mono exists in computers falling farther and
farther behind them will make no difference one way or the other when the pink bullet
jumps the decaying tracks somewhere along the Path of the Beam at a speed in excess of
eight hundred miles an hour. Their one chance of survival is to pose Blaine a riddle
which the computer cannot answer.
At the beginning of Wizard and Glass, Eddie does indeed pose such a riddle, destroying
Blaine with a uniquely human weapon: illogic. The mono comes to a stop in a version of
Topeka, Kansas, which has been emptied by a disease called "superflu." As they
recommence their journey along the Path of the Beam (now on an apocalyptic version of
Interstate 70), they see disturbing signs, ALL HAIL THE CRIMSON KING, advises one.
WATCH FOR THE WALKING DUDE, advises another. And, as alert readers will
know, the Walkin Dude has a name very similar to Richard Fannin.
After telling his friends the story of Susan Delgado, Roland and his friends come to a
palace of green glass which has been constructed across 1-70, a palace that bears a strong
resemblance to the one Dorothy Gale sought in The Wizard of Oz. In the throne-room of
this great castle they encounter not Oz the Great and Terrible but the Tick-Tock Man, the
great city of Lud's final refugee. With Tick-Tock dead, the real Wizard steps forward. It's
Roland's ancient nemesis, Marten Broadcloak, known in some worlds as Randall Flagg,
in others as Richard Fannin, in others as John Farson (the Good Man). Roland and his
friends are unable to kill this apparition, who warns them one final time to give up their
quest for the Tower ("Only misfires against me, Roland, old fellow," he tells the
gunslinger), but they are able to banish him.
After a final trip into the Wizard's Glass and a final dreadful revelation—that Roland of
Gilead killed his own mother, mistaking her for the witch named Rhea—the wanderers
find themselves once more in Mid-World and once more on the Path of the Beam. They
take up their quest again, and it is here that we will find them in the first pages of Wolves
of the Calla.
This argument in no way summarizes the first four books of the Tower cycle; if you have
not read those books before commencing this one, I urge you to do so or to put this one
aside. These books are but parts of a single long tale, and you would do better to read
them from beginning to end rather than starting in the middle.
"Mister, we deal in lead." —Steve McQueen, in The Magnificent Seven
"First comes smiles, then lies. Last is gunfire." —Roland Deschain, of Gilead
The blood that flows through you flows through me, when I look in any mirror, it's your
face that I see.
Take my hand, lean on me,
We're almost free,
Wandering boy.
—Rodney Crowell
Resistance
Contents - Prev / Next
Prologue: Roont
ONE
Tian was blessed (though few farmers would have used such a word) with three patches:
River Field, where his family had grown rice since time out of mind; Roadside Field,
where ka-Jaffords had grown sharproot, pumpkin, and corn for those same long years and
generations; and Son of a Bitch, a thankless tract which mostly grew rocks, blisters, and
busted hopes. Tian wasn't the first Jaffords determined to make something of the twenty
acres behind the home place; his Gran-pere, perfectly sane in most other respects, had
been convinced there was gold there. Tian's Ma had been equally positive it would grow
porin, a spice of great worth. Tian's particular insanity was madrigal. Of course madrigal
would grow in Son of a Bitch. Must grow there. He'd gotten hold of a thousand seeds
(and a dear penny they had cost him) that were now hidden beneath the floorboards of his
bedroom. All that remained before planting next year was to break ground in Son of a
Bitch. This chore was easier spoken of than accomplished.
Clan Jaffords was blessed with livestock, including three mules, but a man would be mad
to try using a mule out in Son of a Bitch; the beast unlucky enough to draw such duty
would likely be lying legbroke or stung to death by noon of the first day. One of Tian's
uncles had almost met this latter fate some years before. He had come running back to the
home place, screaming at the top of his lungs and pursued by huge mutie wasps with
stingers the size of nails.
They had found the nest (well, Andy had found it; Andy wasn't bothered by wasps no
matter how big they were) and burned it with kerosene, but there might be others. And
there were holes. Yer-bugger, plenty o' them, and you couldn't burn holes, could you? No.
Son of a Bitch sat on what the old folks called "loose ground." It was consequently
possessed of almost as many holes as rocks, not to mention at least one cave that puffed
out draughts of nasty, decay-smelling air. Who knew what boggarts and speakies might
lurk down its dark throat?
And the worst holes weren't out where a man (or a mule) could see them. Not at all, sir,
never think so. The leg-breakers were always concealed in innocent-seeming nestles of
weeds and high grass. Your mule would step in, there would come a bitter crack like a
snapping branch, and then the damned thing would be lying there on the ground, teeth
bared, eyes rolling, braying its agony at the sky. Until you put it out of its misery, that
was, and stock was valuable in Calla Bryn Sturgis, even stock that wasn't precisely
threaded.
Tian therefore plowed with his sister in the traces. No reason not to. Tia was roont, hence
good for little else. She was a big girl—the roont ones often grew to prodigious size—and
she was willing, Man Jesus love her. The Old Fella had made her a Jesus-tree, what he
called a crusie-fix, and she wore it everywhere. It swung back and forth now, thumping
against her sweating skin as she pulled.
The plow was attached to her shoulders by a rawhide harness. Behind her, alternately
guiding the plow by its old iron-wood handles and his sister by the hame-traces, Tian
grunted and yanked and pushed when the blade of the plow dropped down and verged on
becoming stuck. It was the end of Full Earth but as hot as midsummer here in Son of a
Bitch; Tia's overalls were dark and damp and stuck to her long and meaty thighs. Each
time Tian tossed his head to get his hair out of his eyes, sweat flew out of the mop in a
spray.
"Gee, ye bitch!" he cried. 'Yon rock's a plow-breaker, are ye blind?"
Not blind; not deaf, either; just roont. She heaved to the left, and hard. Behind her, Tian
stumbled forward with a neck-snapping jerk and barked his shin on another rock, one he
hadn't seen and the plow had, for a wonder, missed. As he felt the first warm trickles of
blood running down to his ankle, he wondered (and not for the first time) what madness it
was that always got the Jaffordses out here. In his deepest heart he had an idea that
madrigal would sow no more than the porin had before it, although you could grow devil-
grass; yar, he could've bloomed all twenty acres with that shit, had he wanted. The trick
was to keep it out, and it was always New Earth's first chore. It—
The plow rocked to the right and then jerked forward, almost pulling his arms out of their
sockets. "Arr!" he cried. "Go easy, girl! I can't grow em back if you pull em out, can I?"
Tia turned her broad, sweaty, empty face up to a sky full of low-hanging clouds and
honked laughter. Man Jesus, but she even sounded like a donkey. Yet it was laughter,
human laughter. Tian wondered, as he sometimes couldn't help doing, if that laughter
meant anything. Did she understand some of what he was saying, or did she only respond
to his tone of voice? Did any of the roont ones—
"Good day, sai," said a loud and almost completely toneless voice from behind him. The
owner of the voice ignored Tian's scream of surprise. "Pleasant days, and may they be
long upon the earth. I am here from a goodish wander and at your service."
Tian whirled around, saw Andy standing there—all seven feet of him—and was then
almost jerked flat as his sister took another of her large lurching steps forward. The
plow's hame-traces were pulled from his hands and flew around his throat with an audible
snap. Tia, unaware of this potential disaster, took another sturdy step forward. When she
did, Tian's wind was cut off. He gave a whooping, gagging gasp and clawed at the straps.
All of this Andy watched with his usual large and meaningless smile.
Tia jerked forward again and Tian was pulled off his feet. He landed on a rock that dug
savagely into the cleft of his buttocks, but at least he could breathe again. For the
moment, anyway. Damned unlucky field! Always had been! Always would be!
Tian snatched hold of the leather strap before it could pull tight around his throat again
and yelled, "Hold, ye bitch! Whoa up if you don't want me to twist yer great and useless
tits right off the front of yer!"
Tia halted agreeably enough and looked back to see what was what. Her smile broadened.
She lifted one heavily muscled arm—it glowed with sweat—and pointed. "Andy!" she
said. "Andy's come!"
"I ain't blind," Tian said and got to his feet, rubbing his bottom. Was that part of him also
bleeding? Good Man Jesus, he had an idea it was.
"Good day, sai," Andy said to her, and tapped his metal throat three times with his three
metal fingers. "Long days and pleasant nights."
Although Tia had surely heard the standard response to this—And may you have twice the
number—a thousand times or more, all she could do was once more raise her broad
idiot's face to the sky and honk her donkey laugh. Tian felt a surprising moment of pain,
not in his arms or throat or outraged ass but in his heart. He vaguely remembered her as a
little girl: as pretty and quick as a dragonfly, as smart as ever you could wish. Then—
But before he could finish the thought, a premonition came. He felt a sinking in his heart.
The news would come while I'm out here, he thought. Out in this godforsaken patch
where nothing is well and all luck is bad. It was time, wasn't it? Overtime.
"Andy," he said.
"Yes!" Andy said, smiling. "Andy, your friend! Back from a goodish wander and at your
service. Would you like your horoscope, sai Tian? It is Full Earth. The moon is red, what
is called the Huntress Moon in Mid-World that was. A friend will call! Business affairs
prosper! You will have two ideas, one good and one bad—"
"The bad one was coming out here to turn this field," Tian said. "Never mind my goddam
horoscope, Andy. Why are you here?"
Andy's smile probably could not become troubled—he was a robot, after all, the last one
in Calla Bryn Sturgis or for miles and wheels around—but to Tian it seemed to grow
troubled, just the same. The robot looked like a young child's stick-figure of an adult,
impossibly tall and impossibly thin. His legs and arms were silvery. His head was a
stainless-steel barrel with electric eyes. His body, no more than a cylinder, was gold.
Stamped in the middle—what would have been a man's chest—was this legend:
NORTH CENTRAL POSITRONICS, LTD.
IN ASSOCIATION WITH
LaMERK INDUSTRIES
PRESENTS
ANDY
Design: MESSENGER (Many Other Functions)
Serial # DNF-44821-V-63
Why or how this silly thing had survived when all the rest of the robots were gone—gone
for generations—Tian neither knew nor cared. You were apt to see him anywhere in the
Calla (he would not venture beyond its borders) striding on his impossibly thin silver
legs, looking everywhere, occasionally clicking to himself as he stored (or perhaps
purged—who knew?) information. He sang songs, passed on gossip and rumor from one
end of town to the other—a tireless walker was Andy the Messenger Robot—and seemed
to enjoy the giving of horoscopes above all things, although there was general agreement
in the village that they meant little.
He had one other function, however, and that meant much.
"Why are ye here, ye bag of bolts and beams? Answer me! Is it the Wolves? Are they
coming from Thunderclap?"
Tian stood there looking up into Andy's stupid smiling metal face, the sweat growing
cold on his skin, praying with all his might that the foolish thing would say no, then offer
to tell his horoscope again, or perhaps to sing "The Green Corn A-Dayo," all twenty or
thirty verses.
But all Andy said, still smiling, was: "Yes, sai."
"Christ and the Man Jesus," Tian said (he'd gotten an idea from the Old Fella that those
were two names for the same thing, but had never bothered pursuing the question). "How
long?"
"One moon of days before they arrive," Andy replied, still smiling.
"From full to full?"
"Close enough, sai."
Thirty days, then, give or take one. Thirty days to the Wolves. And there was no sense
hoping Andy was wrong. No one kenned how the robot could know they were coming
out of Thunderclap so far in advance of their arrival, but he did know. And he was never
wrong.
"Fuck you for your bad news!" Tian cried, and was furious at the waver he heard in his
own voice. "What use are you?"
"I'm sorry that the news is bad," Andy said. His guts clicked audibly, his eyes flashed a
brighter blue, and he took a step backward. "Would you not like me to tell your
horoscope? This is the end of Full Earth, a time particularly propitious for finishing old
business and meeting new people—"
"And fuck your false prophecy, too!" Tian bent, picked up a clod of earth, and threw it at
the robot A pebble buried in the clod clanged off Andy's metal hide. Tia gasped, then
began to cry. Andy backed off another step, his shadow trailing out long in Son of a Bitch
field. But his hateful, stupid smile remained.
"What about a song? I have learned an amusing one from the Manni far north of town; it
is called 'In Time of Loss, Make God Your Boss.' " From somewhere deep in Andy's guts
came the wavering honk of a pitch-pipe, followed by a ripple of piano keys. "It goes—"
Sweat rolling down his cheeks and sticking his itchy balls to his thighs. The stink-smell
of his own foolish obsession. Tia blating her stupid face at the sky. And this idiotic, bad-
news-bearing robot getting ready to sing him some sort of Manni hymn.
"Be quiet, Andy." He spoke reasonably enough, but through clamped teeth.
"Sai," the robot agreed, then fell mercifully silent.
Tian went to his bawling sister, put his arm around her, smelled the large (but not entirely
unpleasant) smell of her. No obsession there, just the smell of work and obedience. He
sighed, then began to stroke her trembling arm.
"Quit it, ye great bawling cunt," he said. The words might have been ugly but the tone
was kind in the extreme, and it was tone she responded to. She began to quiet. Her
brother stood with the flare of her hip pushing into him just below his ribcage (she was a
full foot taller), and any passing stranger would likely have stopped to look at them,
amazed by the similarity of face and the great dissimilarity of size. The resemblance, at
least, was honestly come by: they were twins.
He soothed his sister with a mixture of endearments and profanities—in the years since
she had come back roont from the east, the two modes of expression were much the same
to Tian Jaffords—and at last she ceased her weeping. And when a rustic flew across the
sky, doing loops and giving out the usual series of ugly blats, she pointed and laughed.
A feeling was rising in Tian, one so foreign to his nature that he didn't even recognize it.
"Isn't right," he said. "Nossir. By the Man Jesus and all the gods that be, it isn't." He
looked to the east, where the hills rolled away into a rising membranous darkness that
might have been clouds but wasn't. It was the edge of Thunderclap.
"Isn't right what they do to us."
摘要：

AdvanceUncorrectedProof-NotforSaleTheDarkTowerVWolvesoftheCallaStephenKingILLUSTRATEDBYBernieWrightsonDoesnotincludeBernieWrightson's12full-colorillustrations,whichwillappearinthefinishedbook.THEDARKTOWERV:WOLVESOFTHECALLAThepublicationofWolvesoftheCalla,thefirstofthefinalthreebooksintheDarkTowerser...

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