The Dark Tower

“David Brinkley said King was fifty-two.You boys met him, so do the math. Could he have been fifty-two in the year of‘99?”

“You bet your purity,” Eddie said. He tossedRoland a dark, dismayed glance. “And since nineteen’s the part we keep ru

“It’s a date,” Jake said flatly. “Sure itis. Keystone Date in Keystone Year in Keystone World. The nineteenth ofsomething, in the year of 1999. Most likely a summer month, because he was outwalking.”

“It’s summer over there right now,”Susa

“Yeah, and spell dog backward, you getgod,” Eddie said, but he sounded uneasy.

“I think she’s right,” Jake said. “I thinkit’s June 19th. That’s when King gets turned into roadkill and even the chancethat he might go back to work on the Dark Tower story—ourstory—is kaput. Gan’s Beam is lost in the overload. Shardik’s Beam isleft, but it’s already eroded.” He looked at Roland, his face pale, his lipsalmost blue. “It’ll snap like a toothpick.”

“Maybe it’s happened already,” Susa

“No,” Roland said.

“How can you be sure?” she asked.

He gave her a wintry, humorless smile.“Because,” he said, “we’d no longer be here.”

Nineteen

“How can we stop it from happening?” Eddieasked. “That guy Trampas told Ted it was ka.”

“Maybe he got it wrong,” Jake said, but hisvoice was thin. Trailing. “It was only a rumor, so maybe he got it wrong. Andhey, maybe King’s got until July. Or August. Or what about September? It couldbe September, doesn’t that seem likely? September’s the 9-month, after all…”

They looked at Roland, who was now sittingwith his leg stretched out before him. “Here’s where it hurts,” he said, as ifspeaking to himself. He touched his right hip… then his ribs… last the side ofhis head. “I’ve been having headaches. Worse and worse. Saw no reason to tellyou.” He drew his diminished right hand down his right side. “This is wherehe’ll be hit. Hip smashed. Ribs busted. Head crushed. Thrown dead into theditch. Ka… and the end of ka.” His eyes cleared and he turned urgently toSusa

“June first of 1999.”

Roland nodded and looked to Jake. “And you?The same, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then to Fedic… a rest… and on toThunderclap.” He paused, thinking, then spoke four words with measuredemphasis. “There is still time.”

“But time moves faster over there—”

“And if it takes one of thosehitches—”

“Ka—”

Their words overlapped. Then they fellquiet again, looking at him again.

“We can change ka,” Roland said. “It’s beendone before. There’s always a price to pay—ka-shume, mayhap—but itcan be done.”

“How do we get there?” Eddie asked.

“There’s only one way,” Roland said.“Sheemie must send us.”

Silence in the cave, except for a distantroll of the thunder that gave this dark land its name.

“We have two jobs,” Eddie said. “The writerand the Breakers. Which comes first?”

“The writer,” Jake said. “While there’sstill time to save him.”

But Roland was shaking his head.

“Why not?” Eddie cried. “Ah, man, why not?You know how slippery time is over there! And it’s one-way! If we missthe window, we’ll never get another chance!”

“But we have to make Shardik’s Beam safe,too,” Roland said.

“Are you saying Ted and this guy Dinkywouldn’t let Sheemie help us unless we help them first?”

“No. Sheemie would do it for me, I’m sure.But suppose something happened to him while we were in the Keystone World? We’dbe stranded in 1999.”

“There’s the door on TurtlebackLane—” Eddie began.

“Even if it’s still there in 1999, Eddie,Ted told us that Shardik’s Beam has already started to bend.” Roland shook hishead. “My heart says yonder prison is the place to start. If any of you can saydifferent, I will listen, and gladly.”

They were quiet. Outside the cave, the windblew.

“We need to ask Ted before we make anyfinal decision,” Susa

“No,” Jake said.

“No!” Oy agreed. Zero surprise there; ifAke said it, you could take it to the bumbler bank, as far as Oy was concerned.

“Ask Sheemie,” Jake said. “AskSheemie what he thinks we should do.”

Slowly, Roland nodded.

Chapter IX:

Tracks on the Path

One

When Jake awoke from a night of troubleddreams, most of them set in the Dixie Pig, a thin and listless light wasseeping into the cave. In New York, that kind of light had always made him wantto skip school and spend the entire day on the sofa, reading books, watchinggame-shows on TV, and napping the afternoon away. Eddie and Susa

Jake thought about this for a moment ortwo, then got up and went outside. Oy followed along, padding quietly over thetamped dirt as Jake walked up the trail.

Two

Roland looked haggard and unwell, but hewas squatting on his hunkers, and Jake decided that if he was limber enough todo that, he was probably okay. He squatted beside the gunslinger, handsdangling loosely between his thighs. Roland glanced at him, said nothing, thenlooked back toward the prison the staff called Algul Siento and the inmatescalled the Devar-Toi. It was a brightening blur beyond and below them. Thesun—electric, atomic, whatever—wasn’t shining yet.

Oy plopped down next to Jake with a little whuffingsound, then appeared to go back to sleep. Jake wasn’t fooled.

“Hile and merry-greet-the-day,” Jake saidwhen the silence began to feel oppressive.

Roland nodded. “Merry see, merry be.” Helooked as merry as a funeral march. The gunslinger who had danced a furiouscommala by torchlight in Calla Bryn Sturgis might have been a thousand years inhis grave.

“How are you, Roland?”

“Good enough to hunker.”

“Aye, but how are you?”

Roland glanced at him, then reached intohis pocket and brought out his tobacco pouch. “Old and full of aches, as youmust know. Would you smoke?”

Jake considered, then nodded.

“They’ll be shorts,” Roland warned.“There’s plenty in my purse I was glad to have back, but not much blow-weed.”

“Save it for yourself, if you want.”

Roland smiled. “A man who can’t bear toshare his habits is a man who needs to quit them.” He rolled a pair ofcigarettes, using some sort of leaf which he tore in two, handed one to Jake,then lit them up with a match he popped alight on his thumbnail. In the still,chill air of Can Steek-Tete, the smoke hung in front of them, then rose slowly,stacking on the air. Jake thought the tobacco was hot, harsh, and stale, but hesaid no word of complaint. He liked it. He thought of all the times he’dpromised himself he wouldn’t smoke like his father did—never inlife—and now here he was, starting the habit. And with his new father’sagreement, if not approval.

Roland reached out a finger and touchedJake’s forehead… his left cheek… his nose… his chin. The last touch hurt alittle. “Pimples,” Roland said. “It’s the air of this place.” He suspected itwas emotional upset, as well—grief over the Pere—but to let Jakeknow he thought that would likely just increase the boy’s unhappiness overCallahan’s passing.