Song of Susannah (The Dark Tower, #6)

by Stephen King

Is that what ye call it? Khef? The sharing?” “Yes,” Roland said. “The sharing of water, we say.”

The Day of the East Road Battle passed into history (after which it would pass into myth . . . always assuming the world held together long enough for it to happen).

in the east, where the land of Thunderclap waited for them, and the Court of the Crimson King, and, at the end of End-World, the Dark Tower itself.

“Jake was just saying that if Susannah died, we’d know it,” Eddie said. “That there’d be what you call a sigul.

“Six Beams connecting twelve portals,” Jake said. “The twelve portals are at the twelve ends of the earth.

“Anger is the most useless emotion,” Henchick intoned, “destructive to the mind and hurtful of the heart.”

“Beam let go is what we think.” “What I think, too,” Roland said. “Our business grows more desperate. I’d have an end to idle talk, if it does ya. Let’s have what palaver we must have, and then get on with our business.”

“What does Kra Kammen mean?” he asked Cantab. “House of Bells?”

“House of Ghosts,”

“I am Henchick of the Manni Kra Redpath-a-Sturgis. We are far-seers and far travelers. We are sailors on ka’s wind. Would thee travel on that wind? Thee and thine?” “Aye, to where it blows.”

in front of 2 Hammarskjöld, the building the folks who worked there jokingly called the Black Tower.

The bag was pink on the other side, she thought. It changed color when we crossed, but only a little.

The little poem on the fence surrounding the vacant lot suggested that, if they’d followed his wife, it had been—SUSANNAH-MIO, DIVIDED GIRL OF MINE, the poem had said. PARKED HER RIG IN THE DIXIE PIG IN THE YEAR OF ’99.

Eddie clung to one idea: if any member of the ka-tet died—Susannah, Jake, Callahan, even Oy—he and Roland would know. If he was kidding himself about that, succumbing to some romantic fallacy, so be it.

Because this world was different. It had a resonance all the others, even his own, lacked. He felt it in every bone and every nerve.

this was the true world, the one where time always ran in a single direction.

This was the true world, the one where no roll of the dice could ever be taken back, the one closest to the Dark Tower. And they were still on the Path of the Beam.

Eddie knew his friend was right. His friend was almost always right, which was one of the few things Eddie still hated about him.

Dad-a-chum, dad-a-chee, not to worry, you’ve got the key. Keys, my specialty, Eddie thought. And then: King’s a key, isn’t he? Calla, Callahan. Crimson King, Stephen King. Is Stephen King the Crimson King of this world?

Roland nodded. “There came into my life, after years during which I wandered in the desert as solitary as any anchorite, a whining and self-involved young man whose only ambition was to continue taking a drug which did little but make him sniffle and feel sleepy. This was a posturing, selfish, loudmouthed loutkin with little to recommend him—” “But good-looking,” Eddie said. “Don’t forget that. The cat was a true sex mo-chine.” Roland looked at him, unsmiling. “If I could manage not to kill you then, Eddie of New York, you can manage not to kill Calvin Tower now.”

The rose belonged to the Tet Corporation, which was the firm of Deschain, Dean, Dean, Chambers & Oy.

maybe the big computer genius here wouldn’t be Gates; could be someone named Chin Ho Fuk, for all Eddie knew.

Long days and happy nights, or whatever it is.”

“It’s the end-game now,” Roland said. “All I’ve worked for and waited for all the long years. The end is coming. I feel it. Don’t you?”

But of course King wasn’t just close to the sound; if Eddie had it right, King was the source of the sound.

“Uh-huh,” Eddie said, and thought of asking Did you happen to see any guys in loud clothes, the sort of guys who drive flashy cars, around the time you lost it? Low men, not to put too fine a point on it? Anyone with a red mark on his or her forehead? The sort of thing that looks a little like a circle of blood? Any indications, in short, that someone stole your outline? Someone who might have an interest in making sure The Dark Tower never gets finished?

“Believe me when I tell you this,” Roland said. He spoke with great emphasis. “Killing you is the last thing we’d ever want to do, sai King. Your enemies are our enemies, and those who would help you along your way are our friends.”

“All things serve the Beam,” the writer said, and sighed. The sound was terrible in its sadness. Eddie felt his back prickle up in helpless waves of gooseflesh.

“It’s not that. I’m afraid of not being able to finish.” His voice lowered. “I’m afraid the Tower will fall and I’ll be held to blame.” “That is up to ka, not you,” Roland said. “Or me. I’ve satisfied myself on that point.

Jake Chambers This is the Truth

While you fall, I’ll let you whisper the name of my king, Black Thirteen whispered. The Crimson King.

“After we bring her out of there, Jake, am I a gunslinger?” Jake’s grin was wolfish, all his doubts and fears put behind him. “Khef, ka, and ka-tet,” he said.

In the Land of Memory, the time is always Now. In the Kingdom of Ago, the clocks tick . . . but their hands never move. There is an Unfound Door (O lost) and memory is the key which opens it.