PRAISE FOR STEPHEN KING’S THE DARK TOWER THE DARK TOWER VII “Pure storytelling An absorbing, constantly surprising novel filled with true narrative magic An archetypal quest fantasy distinguished by its uniquely Western flavor, its emotional complexity and its sheer imaginative reach The series as a whole—and this final volume in particular—is filled with brilliantly rendered set pieces, cataclysmic encounters, and moments of desolating tragedy King holds it all together through sheer narrative muscle and his absolute commitment to his slowly unfolding—and deeply personal—vision The Dark Tower is a humane, visionary epic and a true magnum opus It will be around for a very long time.” —The Washington Post “A tale of epic proportions [and] brilliant complexity Those who have faithfully journeyed alongside Roland, Eddie, Susannah, Jake, and Oy will find their loyalty richly rewarded King has certainly reached the top of his game.” —Publishers Weekly “Stunning cataclysmic His writing is as powerful as ever.” —Bookmarks Magazine “Plenty of action and quite a few unforeseen bombshells.” —Booklist The Dark Tower VII: The Dark Tower is also available from Simon & Schuster Audio MORE ACCLAIM FOR STEPHEN KING’S INCREDIBLE DARK TOWER NOVELS “The Dark Tower series is King’s masterpiece.” —The Florida Times-Union (Jacksonville) “Equal parts Western, high fantasy, horror and science fiction, the series is one of the wildest pastiches ever put between covers All through the series there are references and tips of the hat to iconic works of pop culture, including J.R.R Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy, films like The Seven Samurai or the spaghetti Westerns popularized by Clint Eastwood, and even L Frank Baum’s Oz books King brilliantly juggles all the plot elements.” —The Denver Post “The suspense master takes readers right over the edge.” —Bangor Daily News “Draws to a feverish, page-turning ending.” —Boston Globe “He’s done it again Stephen King is no ordinary wordsmith.” —Philadelphia Inquirer BE SURE TO READ THESE BESTSELLERS BY STEPHEN KING FROM A BUICK “Vintage King [He] knows how to jolt his readers.” —USA Today “Terrific entertainment Goes down like a shot of moonshine, hot and clean.” —Publishers Weekly EVERYTHING’S EVENTUAL “Bear[s] the King trademark of creative energy and imagination.” —The Richmond Times -Dispatch “Well-crafted, nuanced stories.” —The Washington Post DREAMCATCHER “King writes more fluently than ever with simple, unexpected grace.” —The New York Times “A tour de force [with] more passages of power and imagination than some writers produce in a lifetime [An] entertaining must-read.” —Chicago Tribune HEARTS IN ATLANTIS “This is wonderful fiction [King’s] take on the ’60s—including the effects of Vietnam—is scarily accurate.” —Entertainment Weekly Thank you for purchasing this Scribner Books eBook Sign up for our newsletter and receive special offers, access to bonus content, and info on the latest new releases and other great eBooks from Scribner Books and Simon & Schuster CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP or visit us online to sign up at eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com CONTENTS PART ONE: THE LITTLE RED KING DAN-TETE I: CALLAHAN AND THE VAMPIRES II: LIFTED ON THE WAVE III: EDDIE MAKES A CALL IV: DAN-TETE V: IN THE JUNGLE, THE MIGHTY JUNGLE VI: ON TURTLEBACK LANE VII: REUNION PART TWO: BLUE HEAVEN DEVAR-TOI I: THE DEVAR-TETE II: THE WATCHER III: THE SHINING WIRE IV: THE DOOR INTO THUNDERCLAP V: STEEK-TETE VI: THE MASTER OF BLUE HEAVEN VII: KA-SHUME VIII: NOTES FROM THE GINGERBREAD HOUSE IX: TRACKS ON THE PATH X: THE LAST PALAVER (SHEEMIE’S DREAM) XI: THE ATTACK ON ALGUL SIENTO XII: THE TET BREAKS PART THREE: IN THIS HAZE OF GREEN AND GOLD VES’-KA GAN I: MRS TASSENBAUM DRIVES SOUTH II: VES’-KA 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 ODD’S LANE VI: PATRICK DANVILLE PART FIVE: THE SCARLET FIELD OF CAN’-KA 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” AUTHOR’S NOTE ABOUT STEPHEN KING APPENDIX ROBERT BROWNING “CHILDE ROLAND TO THE DARK TOWER CAME” I My first thought was, he lied in every word, That hoary cripple, with malicious eye Askance to watch the workings of his lie On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford Suppression of the glee, that pursed and scored Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby II What else should he be set for, with his staff? What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare All travellers who might find him posted there, And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laugh Would break, what crutch ’gin write my epitaph For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare III If at his counsel I should turn aside Into that ominous tract which, all agree, Hides the Dark Tower Yet acquiescingly I did turn as he pointed, neither pride Nor hope rekindling at the end descried, So much as gladness that some end might be IV For, what with my whole world-wide wandering, What with my search drawn out through years, my hope Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope With that obstreperous joy success would bring, I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring My heart made, finding failure in its scope V As when a sick man very near to death Seems dead indeed, and feels begin and end The tears and takes the farewell of each friend, And hears one bid the other go, draw breath Freelier outside, (‘since all is o’er,’ he saith ‘And the blow fallen no grieving can amend;’) VI When some discuss if near the other graves Be room enough for this, and when a day Suits best for carrying the corpse away, With care about the banners, scarves and staves And still the man hears all, and only craves He may not shame such tender love and stay VII Thus, I had so long suffered in this quest, Heard failure prophesied so oft, been writ So many times among ‘The Band’ to wit, The knights who to the Dark Tower’s search addressed Their steps—that just to fail as they, seemed best, And all the doubt was now—should I be fit? VIII So, quiet as despair I turned from him, That hateful cripple, out of his highway Into the path he pointed All the day Had been a dreary one at best, and dim Was settling to its close, yet shot one grim Red leer to see the plain catch its estray IX For mark! No sooner was I fairly found Pledged to the plain, after a pace or two, Than, pausing to throw backwards a last view O’er the safe road, ’twas gone; grey plain all round: Nothing but plain to the horizon’s bound I might go on, naught else remained to X So on I went I think I never saw Such starved ignoble nature; nothing throve: For flowers—as well expect a cedar grove! But cockle, spurge, according to their law Might propagate their kind with none to awe, You’d think; a burr had been a treasure trove XI No! penury, inertness and grimace, In some strange sort, were the land’s portion ‘See Or shut your eyes,’ said Nature peevishly, ‘It nothing skills: I cannot help my case: ’Tis the Last Judgement’s fire must cure this place Calcine its clods and set my prisoners free.’ XII If there pushed any ragged thistle-stalk Above its mates, the head was chopped, the bents Were jealous else What made those holes and rents In the dock’s harsh swarth leaves, bruised as to baulk All hope of greenness? ’tis a brute must walk Pashing their life out, with a brute’s intents XIII As for the grass, it grew as scant as hair In leprosy; thin dry blades pricked the mud Which underneath looked kneaded up with blood One stiff blind horse, his every bone a-stare, Stood stupefied, however he came there: Thrust out past service from the devil’s stud! XIV Alive? he might be dead for aught I know, With that red gaunt and colloped neck a-strain And shut eyes underneath the rusty mane; Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe; I never saw a brute I hated so; He must be wicked to deserve such pain XV I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart, As a man calls for wine before he fights, I asked one draught of earlier, happier sights, Ere fitly I could hope to play my part Think first, fight afterwards, the soldier’s art: One taste of the old time sets all to rights XVI Not it! I fancied Cuthbert’s reddening face Beneath its garniture of curly gold, Dear fellow, till I almost felt him fold An arm to mine to fix me to the place, The way he used Alas, one night’s disgrace! Out went my heart’s new fire and left it cold XVII Giles then, the soul of honour—there he stands Frank as ten years ago when knighted first, What honest man should dare (he said) he durst Good—but the scene shifts—faugh! what hangman hands Pin to his breast a parchment? His own bands Read it Poor traitor, spit upon and curst! XVIII Better this present than a past like that: Back therefore to my darkening path again! No sound, no sight as far as eye could strain Will the night send a howlet or a bat? I asked: when something on the dismal flat Came to arrest my thoughts and change their train XIX A sudden little river crossed my path As unexpected as a serpent comes No sluggish tide congenial to the glooms; This, as it frothed by, might have been a bath For the fiend’s glowing hoof—to see the wrath Of its black eddy bespate with flakes and spumes XX So petty yet so spiteful! All along, Low scrubby alders kneeled down over it; Drenched willows flung them headlong in a fit Of mute despair, a suicidal throng: The river which had done them all the wrong, Whate’er that was, rolled by, deterred no whit XXI Which, while I forded—good saints, how I feared To set my foot upon a dead man’s cheek, Each step, or feel the spear I thrust to seek For hollows, tangled in his hair or beard! —It may have been a water-rat I speared, But, ugh! it sounded like a baby’s shriek XXII Glad was I when I reached the other bank Now for a better country Vain presage! Who were the strugglers, what war did they wage, Whose savage trample thus could pad the dank Soil to a plash? Toads in a poisoned tank Or wild cats in a red-hot iron cage— XXIII The fight must so have seemed in that fell cirque, What penned them there, with all the plain to choose? No footprint leading to that horrid mews, None out of it Mad brewage set to work Their brains, no doubt, like galley-slaves the Turk Pits for his pastime, Christians against Jews XXIV And more than that—a furlong on—why, there! What bad use was that engine for, that wheel, Or brake, not wheel—that harrow fit to reel Men’s bodies out like silk? With all the air Of Tophet’s tool, on earth left unaware Or brought to sharpen its rusty teeth of steel XXV Then came a bit of stubbed ground, once a wood, Next a marsh it would seem, and now mere earth Desperate and done with; (so a fool finds mirth, Makes a thing and then mars it, till his mood Changes and off he goes!) within a rood— Bog, clay and rubble, sand, and stark black dearth XXVI Now blotches rankling, coloured gay and grim, Now patches where some leanness of the soil’s Broke into moss, or substances like boils; Then came some palsied oak, a cleft in him Like a distorted mouth that splits its rim Gaping at death, and dies while it recoils XXVII And just as far as ever from the end! Naught in the distance but the evening, naught To point my footstep further! At the thought, A great black bird, Apollyon’s bosom friend, Sailed past, not best his wide wing dragon-penned That brushed my cap—perchance the guide I sought XXVIII For, looking up, aware I somehow grew, ’Spite of the dusk, the plain had given place All round to mountains—with such name to grace Mere ugly heights and heaps now stolen in view How thus they had surprised me—solve it, you! How to get from them was no clearer case XXIX Yet half I seemed to recognise some trick Of mischief happened to me, God knows when— In a bad dream perhaps Here ended, then Progress this way When, in the very nick Of giving up, one time more, came a click As when a trap shuts—you’re inside the den XXX Burningly it came on me all at once, This was the place! those two hills on the right, Crouched like two bulls locked horn in horn in fight; While to the left a tall scalped mountain Dunce, Dotard, a-dozing at the very nonce, After a life spent training for the sight! XXXI What in the midst lay but the Tower itself? The round squat turret, blind as the fool’s heart, Built of brown stone, without a counterpart In the whole world The tempest’s mocking elf Points to the shipman thus the unseen shelf He strikes on, only when the timbers start XXXII Not see? because of night perhaps?—why day Came back again for that! before it left The dying sunset kindled through a cleft: The hills, like giants at a hunting, lay, Chin upon hand, to see the game at bay,— ‘Now stab and end the creature—to the heft!’ XXXIII 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 XXXIV 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 slug-horn to my lips I set, And blew ‘Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came.’ AUTHOR’S NOTE Sometimes I think I have written more about the Dark Tower books than I have written about the Dark Tower itself These related writings include the ever-growing synopsis (known by the quaint old word Argument) at the beginning of each of the first five volumes, and afterwords (most totally unnecessary and some actually embarrassing in retrospect) at the end of all the volumes Michael Whelan, the extraordinary artist who illustrated both the first volume and this last, proved himself to be no slouch as a literary critic as well when, after reading a draft of Volume Seven, he suggested— in refreshingly blunt terms—that the rather lighthearted afterword I’d put at the end was jarring and out of place I took another look at it and realized he was right The first half of that well-meant but off-key essay can now be found as an introduction to the first four volumes of the series; it’s called “On Being Nineteen.” I thought of leaving Volume Seven without any afterword at all; of letting Roland’s discovery at the top of his Tower be my last word on the matter Then I realized that I had one more thing to say, a thing that actually needed to be said It has to with my presence in my own book There’s a smarmy academic term for this—“metafiction.” I hate it I hate the pretentiousness of it I’m in the story only because I’ve known for some time now (consciously since writing Insomnia in 1995, unconsciously since temporarily losing track of Father Donald Callahan near the end of ’Salem’s Lot) that many of my fictions refer back to Roland’s world and Roland’s story Since I was the one who wrote them, it seemed logical that I was part of the gunslinger’s ka My idea was to use the Dark Tower stories as a kind of summation, a way of unifying as many of my previous stories as possible beneath the arch of some über-tale I never meant that to be pretentious (and I hope it isn’t), but only as a way of showing how life influences art (and vice-versa) I think that, if you have read these last three Dark Tower volumes, you’ll see that my talk of retirement makes more sense in this context In a sense, there’s nothing left to say now that Roland has reached his goal and I hope the reader will see that by discovering the Horn of Eld, the gunslinger may finally be on the way to his own resolution Possibly even to redemption It was all about reaching the Tower, you see—mine as well as Roland’s—and that has finally been accomplished You may not like what Roland found at the top, but that’s a different matter entirely And don’t write me any angry letters about it, either, because I won’t answer them There’s nothing left to say on the subject I wasn’t exactly crazy about the ending, either, if you want to know the truth, but it’s the right ending The only ending, in fact You have to remember that I don’t make these things up, not exactly; I only write down what I see Readers will speculate on how “real” the Stephen King is who appears in these pages The answer is “not very,” although the one Roland and Eddie meet in Bridgton (Song of Susannah) is very close to the Stephen King I remember being at that time As for the Stephen King who shows up in this final volume well, let’s put it this way: my wife asked me if I would kindly not give fans of the series very precise directions to where we live or who we really are I agreed to that Not because I wanted to, exactly—part of what makes this story go, I think, is the sense of the fictional world bursting through into the real one—but because this happens to be my wife’s life as well as mine, and she should not be penalized for either loving me or living with me So I have fictionalized the geography of western Maine to a great extent, trusting readers to grasp the intent of the fiction and to understand why I treated my own part in it as I did And if you feel a need to drop in and say hello, please think again My family and I have a good deal less privacy than we used to, and I have no wish to give up any more, may it ya fine My books are my way of knowing you Let them be your way of knowing me, as well It’s enough And on behalf of Roland and all his ka-tet—now scattered, say sorry—I thank you for coming along, and sharing this adventure with me I never worked harder on a project in my life, and I know—none better, alas—that it has not been entirely successful What work of make-believe ever is? And yet for all of that, I would not give back a single minute of the time that I have lived in Roland’s where and when Those days in Mid-World and End-World were quite extraordinary Those were days when my imagination was so clear I could smell the dust and hear the creak of leather Stephen King August 21, 2003 ABOUT THE AUTHOR Photo by David King Photo by Tabitha King STEPHEN KING is the author of more than fifty books, all of them worldwide bestsellers Among his most recent are From a Buick 8, Everything’s Eventual, Hearts in Atlantis, The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon, Bag of Bones, the screenplay Storm of the Century, and The Green Mile His acclaimed nonfiction book, On Writing, was also a bestseller He lives in Bangor, Maine, with his wife, novelist Tabitha King ALSO BY STEPHEN KING NOVELS Carrie ’Salem’s 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 Gerald’s 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 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 Everything’s Eventual SCREENPLAYS Creepshow Cat’s 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 Dark Tower–related in bold We hope you enjoyed reading this Scribner eBook Sign up for our newsletter and receive special offers, access to bonus content, and info on the latest new releases and other great eBooks from Scribner and Simon & Schuster CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP or visit us online to sign up at eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com SCRIBNER, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020 www.SimonandSchuster.com This book is a work of fiction Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s 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 Front cover illustration © 2004 by Michael Whelan Originally published in hardcover in 2004 by Donald M Grant, Publisher, Inc All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever For information address Donald M Grant, Publisher, Inc., Post Office Box 187, Hampton Falls, NH 03844 ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-2452-6 ISBN-10: 1-4165-2452-5 This Scribner Books premium edition September 2006 SCRIBNER and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc Cover design by John Vairo, Jr Art by Cliff Nielson “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 Music/TVT 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 ... bombshells.” —Booklist The Dark Tower VII: The Dark Tower is also available from Simon & Schuster Audio MORE ACCLAIM FOR STEPHEN KING S INCREDIBLE DARK TOWER NOVELS The Dark Tower series is King s masterpiece.”... HEAVEN DEVAR-TOI I: THE DEVAR-TETE II: THE WATCHER III: THE SHINING WIRE IV: THE DOOR INTO THUNDERCLAP V: STEEK-TETE VI: THE MASTER OF BLUE HEAVEN VII: KA-SHUME VIII: NOTES FROM THE GINGERBREAD... 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