The Dark Tower (Dark Tower Series #7)
Creating "true narrative magic" (The Washington Post) at every revelatory turn, Stephen King surpasses all expectation in the stunning final volume of his seven-part epic masterwork. Entwining stories and worlds from a vast and complex canvas, here is the conclusion readers have long awaited—breathtakingly imaginative, boldly visionary, and wholly entertaining.

Roland Deschain and his ka-tet have journeyed together and apart, scattered far and wide across multilayered worlds of wheres and whens. The destinies of Roland, Susannah, Jake, Father Callahan, Oy, and Eddie are bound in the Dark Tower itself, which now pulls them ever closer to their own endings and beginnings...and into a maelstrom of emotion, violence, and discovery.
1100741301
The Dark Tower (Dark Tower Series #7)
Creating "true narrative magic" (The Washington Post) at every revelatory turn, Stephen King surpasses all expectation in the stunning final volume of his seven-part epic masterwork. Entwining stories and worlds from a vast and complex canvas, here is the conclusion readers have long awaited—breathtakingly imaginative, boldly visionary, and wholly entertaining.

Roland Deschain and his ka-tet have journeyed together and apart, scattered far and wide across multilayered worlds of wheres and whens. The destinies of Roland, Susannah, Jake, Father Callahan, Oy, and Eddie are bound in the Dark Tower itself, which now pulls them ever closer to their own endings and beginnings...and into a maelstrom of emotion, violence, and discovery.
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The Dark Tower (Dark Tower Series #7)

The Dark Tower (Dark Tower Series #7)

The Dark Tower (Dark Tower Series #7)

The Dark Tower (Dark Tower Series #7)

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Overview

Creating "true narrative magic" (The Washington Post) at every revelatory turn, Stephen King surpasses all expectation in the stunning final volume of his seven-part epic masterwork. Entwining stories and worlds from a vast and complex canvas, here is the conclusion readers have long awaited—breathtakingly imaginative, boldly visionary, and wholly entertaining.

Roland Deschain and his ka-tet have journeyed together and apart, scattered far and wide across multilayered worlds of wheres and whens. The destinies of Roland, Susannah, Jake, Father Callahan, Oy, and Eddie are bound in the Dark Tower itself, which now pulls them ever closer to their own endings and beginnings...and into a maelstrom of emotion, violence, and discovery.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780743254564
Publisher: Scribner
Publication date: 11/01/2005
Series: Dark Tower Series
Edition description: Reprint
Pages: 864
Sales rank: 13,118
Product dimensions: 5.40(w) x 8.30(h) x 2.00(d)
Lexile: 930L (what's this?)

About the Author

About The Author
Stephen King is the author of more than sixty books, all of them worldwide bestsellers. His recent work includes the short story collection You Like It Darker, Holly (a New York Times Notable Book of 2023), Fairy Tale, Billy Summers, If It Bleeds, The Institute, Elevation, The Outsider, Sleeping Beauties (cowritten with his son Owen King), and the Bill Hodges trilogy: End of Watch, Finders Keepers, and Mr. Mercedes (an Edgar Award winner for Best Novel and a television series streaming on Peacock). His novel 11/22/63 was named a top ten book of 2011 by The New York Times Book Review and won the Los Angeles Times Book Prize for Mystery/Thriller. His epic works The Dark Tower, It, Pet Sematary, Doctor Sleep, and Firestarter are the basis for major motion pictures, with It now the highest-grossing horror film of all time. He is the recipient of the 2020 Audio Publishers Association Lifetime Achievement Award, the 2018 PEN America Literary Service Award, the 2014 National Medal of Arts, and the 2003 National Book Foundation Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters. He lives in Bangor, Maine, with his wife, novelist Tabitha King.

Hometown:

Bangor, Maine

Date of Birth:

September 21, 1947

Place of Birth:

Portland, Maine

Education:

B.S., University of Maine at Orono, 1970

Read an Excerpt

The Dark Tower VII


By Stephen King

Scribner

Copyright © 2004 Stephen King
All right reserved.

ISBN: 1-880418-62-2


Chapter One

Callahan and the Vampires

ONE

Pere Don Callahan had once been the Catholic priest of a town, 'Salem's Lot had been its name, that no longer existed on any map. He didn't 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, isn't it?"

The boy was Jake Chambers, and he'd come a long loop in order to return almost to his starting-place here in Manhattan. "I don't know," he said. "She calls it the skoldpadda, and it may help us, but it can't 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 all-purpose feminine pronoun she. Once he would have said it didn't 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 youkill.

"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. "I'll shoot until the bullets are gone, and if I run out of bullets before they kill me, I'll club them with the ... the gun-butt."

The pause was so slight Jake didn't 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 didn't matter. What that other voice said - the voice of something

(Gan)

perhaps too great to be called God - did.

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), Jake's 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 Susannah-Mio had brought out of Calla Bryn Sturgis and grabbed two of the plates - the 'Rizas. He tapped them together, nodded at the dull ringing sound, and then said: "Let's 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 Ruger's barrel beside his right cheek like a duelist. Then he touched his breast pocket, bulging with shells, and with the turtle. The skoldpadda.

Jake nodded. "Once we're 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. God's 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 needn't 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 Roland's 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 hadn't.

Now he did.

His first thought was that there were too many of them - far, 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 Jake's 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 maitre d's platform, Callahan was drifting to Jake's 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.

Skoldpadda, 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 wasn't as hyper-alert as his young companion's, but he saw a great deal: the orangey-crimson 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 here - Callahan wasn't sure exactly what provoked it, the various tells and stimuli were too subtle - of 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. That's always good for a little pause between the appetizer and the entree.

"Now come Gilead's ka-mais!" 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 bird-human hybrid standing at the far end of the room. It wore straight-leg 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 didn't matter. Callahan had a far better weapon, and wanted to make sure they all saw it. He swept the place-settings 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 wouldn't have believed even a week ago, he stepped onto one of the chairs and from the chair to the table-top. Once on the table, he lifted the skoldpadda with his fingers supporting the turtle's 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 thirty-four 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 maitre d's stand (Blackmail Central, his Dad liked to call such stations), the smell of the Dixie Pig's diners had been faint, the smell of people coming back to normal after some sort of dust-up. But when the bird-creature 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 Bird's 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 won't 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 tables - the red holes in the foreheads of the low people gaping, the blue auras of the vampires seeming to pull in and intensify - sat 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 hand - if you could call such an ugly talon a hand - touched the butt of his high-tech gun and then fell away. The brilliance seemed to leave his eyes. "They're the ones Sayre ... S-S-Sayre ..." Another pause. Then the bird-thing 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 outside - Make sure that every time I look on my right, I see your face - stepped back down from the table to move with him, still holding the turtle high. He could almost taste the room's silence, but -

But there was another room. Rough laughter and hoarse, carousing yells - a 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 Callahan's 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 Pere's hand meant nothing to them. A fat guy wearing a tuxedo with plaid lapels spoke weakly, almost questioningly, to the bird-thing: "They weren't 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 un-Oylike sound, reminding Callahan of a comic-strip balloon: Arrrrrr!

"No!" Jake shouted, alarmed. "No, Oy!"

At the sound of the boy's 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 Jake's 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 long-ago 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: "Ka-humes!"

Callahan had an absurd impulse to yell Gesundheit!

Before he could yell that or anything else, Roland's 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. "They're buffaloed, Pere! And we're 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 can't -"

"Go, Jake!"

The low men and women in the Dixie Pig, whether in thrall to the skoldpadda or not, murmured uneasily at the sound of that shout, and well they might have, for it was not Callahan's voice coming from Callahan's mouth.

"You have this one chance and must take it! Find her! As dinh I command you!"

Jake's eyes flew wide at the sound of Roland's voice issuing from Callahan's 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 banquet's main entree had a human form; the knights and their ladies were eating human flesh and drinking human blood.

Continues...


Excerpted from The Dark Tower VII by Stephen King Copyright © 2004 by Stephen King. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Table of Contents

The Final Argument

Prologue: Roont

Part One: Todash

I: The Face on the Water
II: New York Groove
III: Mia
IV: Palaver
V: Overholser
VI: The Way of the Eld
VII: Todash

Part Two: Telling Tales

I: The Pavilion
II: Dry Twist
III: The Priest's Tale (New York)
IV: The Priest's Tale Continued (Highways in Hiding)
V: The Tale of Gray Dick
VI: Gran-pere's Tale
VII: Nocturne, Hunger
VIII: Took's Store; The Unfound Door
IX: The Priest's Tale Concluded (Unfound)

Part Three: The Wolves

I: Secrets
II: The Dogan, Part 1
III: The Dogan, Part 2
IV: The Pied Piper
V: The Meeting of the Folken
VI: Before the Storm
VII: The Wolves

Epilogue: The Doorway Cave

Author's Note
Author's Afterword

Reading Group Guide

The Dark Tower VII: The Dark Tower Reading Group Guide from The Dark Tower: The Complete Concordance

1. Of all the books in the Dark Tower series, The Dark Tower is probably the most action-packed. What are the major crisis points within the novel? How does King create this dramatic tension? How do you think King goes about planning such a plot? Does the story line just evolve naturally from the characters he imagines?

2. What do Jake and Callahan find in the Dixie Pig? In what ways do the forces of the Outer Dark mock the White? Since the Crimson King is also descended from Arthur Eld, is there some hidden significance in this mockery? If so, what does this say about the nature of the White? What about the nature of the Tower?

3. How does Pere Callahan’s death, at the beginning of The Dark Tower, refer back to his experiences in ’Salem’s Lot? What does this say about Callahan’s ka?

4. What is an aven kal? How is it similar to, or different from, todash?

5. What kind of “walk-in” do Eddie and Roland meet along Route 7 in Lovell? How did this creature enter our world? What connection does King make between walk-ins, the Prim, and the creative imagination?

6. What is the difference between a magical door, which links worlds, and a mechanical one? Where do the different types come from? Is one aligned with the White and one with the Outer Dark? Can such simple labels be put on them? Why?

7. The Breaker prison in Thunderclap is known as the Devar-Toi to the prisoners and Algul Siento to the can-toi and taheen guards. How do these two names express different perspectives on the duties being performed there?

8. The three Breakers who initially aid Roland, Eddie, Susannah, and Jake all come from other places in King’s fiction—either from earlier parts of the Dark Tower series or from other stories or novels. Where do these characters come from? Why does King choose these characters? What does this say about the Dark Tower itself, and about the interconnectedness of the “Stephen King Universe”?

9. To describe Pimli Prentiss, Master of the Devar-Toi, Stephen King compares him to Jim Jones, the leader of the People’s Temple in Guyana, who convinced his followers to commit mass suicide. What effect does this have upon us? Is King making a wider social statement when he draws this comparison?

10. What is ka-shume? How does this force manifest in the ka of our ka-tet? Can a person escape ka-shume?

11. Although it has its own stark beauty, Roland’s world has been devastated by mutations, plagues, and ruinous technology. Now that you’ve finished the series, how do you think Mid-World relates to our world? Does the company North Central Positronics have any symbolic significance? Is King commenting on contemporary culture? If so, what is he saying? Is his vision completely positive, completely negative, or something in between?

12. In the final two books of the Dark Tower series, King enters the tale directly. In fact, at one point King calls himself the deus ex machina, or the “god out of a machine.” What is your reaction to King’s appearance in the Dark Tower series? What place does the fictional Stephen King have in the Dark Tower universe? What about the real Stephen King?

13. According to the people of the Tet Corporation, there is a direct link between the Dark Tower series and King’s other fiction. What is it? Do you view King’s various novels as pieces of a giant jigsaw puzzle, with the Dark Tower novels at the center? Why or why not? If you don’t see King’s fiction in this way (or if you haven’t read many of King’s other books), think about any King films you’ve seen, or any episodes of his various TV series. Are there any themes that seem to repeat?

14. What are the can-toi? What are the taheen? How are they the same and how are they different? King compares the taheen to the monstrous figures found in Hieronymus Bosch’s famous triptych, The Garden of Earthly Delights, painted circa AD 1500. Take a look at this painting. (It’s fairly easy to find. Just type Hieronymus Bosch, and Garden of Earthly Delights, into your search engine.) As you will see, when the triptych is closed, its outer shutters depict the creation of the world. When the triptych is open, the left panel depicts Adam and Eve and the earthly paradise, the center panel illustrates the world engaged in sinful pleasures, and the right panel (where our taheenlike creatures appear) represents Hell. How are King’s creations similar to these painted figures? By drawing this comparison, what other, unspoken comments is King making about End-World, the Devar-Toi, and the Crimson King?

15. At the beginning of The Dark Tower, Jake reflects upon one of Roland’s sayings. According to our gunslinger, “You needn’t 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.” What does this statement mean? Do you agree or disagree with the philosophy it expresses? Take a look at each member of Roland’s ka-tet: Eddie, Susannah, Jake, Oy, Callahan, and even Roland himself. Do any or all of them remain true to this vision?

16. At the beginning of Wolves of the Calla, Stephen King includes a section entitled “The Final Argument.” According to this introductory piece, each of the seven novels of the Dark Tower series has a subtitle. Moving, in order, from The Gunslinger to Song of Susannah, these subtitles are “Resumption,” “Renewal,” “Redemption,” “Regard,” “Resistance,” and “Reproduction.” In terms of Roland’s quest, what is the meaning of each of these subtitles?

17. Although each of the first six novels of the Dark Tower series has a singleword subtitle, The Dark Tower (the final book of the series) has a four-word subtitle. It is “Reproduction, Revelation, Redemption, Resumption.” How does this subtitle reflect the action of the novel? How does it interact with the subtitles of the previous novels? If you sit and contemplate the meaning of each of the words in The Dark Tower’s subtitle, does it affect your interpretation of the novel’s ending? How does it affect your interpretation of Roland’s quest?

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