Wolves of the Calla

'God be thanked,' he said.

Roland went to him and took the hand that had made the cross. 'Put one on me,' he said.

Callahan looked at him, uncomprehending.

Roland nodded to Vaughn Eisenhart. 'That one promised I'd leave town with his curse on me if harm came to his wife.'

He could have said more, but there was no need. Callahan understood, and signed the cross on Roland's brow. The fingernail trailed a warmth behind it that Roland felt a long time. And although Eisenhart never kept his promise, the gunslinger was never sorry that he'd asked the Pere for that extra bit of protection.

TWENTY

What followed was a confused jubilee there on the East Road, mingled with grief for the two who had fallen. Yet even the grief had a joyful light shining through it. No one seemed to feel that the losses were in any way equal to the gains. And Eddie supposed that was true. If it wasn't your wife or your son who had fallen, that was.

The singing from town drew closer. Now they could see rising dust. In the road, men and women embraced. Someone tried to take Margaret Eisenhart's head away from her husband, who for the time being refused to let it go.

Eddie drifted over to Jake.

'Never saw Star Wars, did you?' he asked.

'No, told you. I was going to, but-'

'You left too soon. I know. Those things they were swinging-Jake, they were from that movie.'

'You sure?'

'Yes. And the Wolves…Jake, the Wolves themselves…'

Jake was nodding, very slowly. Now they could see the people from town. The newcomers saw the children-all the children, still here and still safe-and raised a cheer. Those in the forefront began to run. 'I know.'

'Do you?' Eddie asked. His eyes were almost pleading. 'Do you really? Because… man, it's so crazy -'

Jake looked at the heaped Wolves. The green hoods. The gray leggings. The black boots. The snarling, decomposing faces. Eddie had already pulled one of those rotting metal faces away and looked at what was beneath it. Nothing but smooth metal, plus lenses that served as eyes, a round mesh grille that doubtless served as a nose, two sprouted microphones at the temples for ears. No, all the personality these things had was in the masks and clothing they wore.

'Crazy or not, I know what they are, Eddie. Or where they come from, at least. Marvel Comics.'

A look of sublime relief filled Eddie's face. He bent and kissed Jake on the cheek. A ghost of a smile touched the boy's mouth. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

'The Spider-Man books,' Eddie said. 'When I was a kid I couldn't get enough of those things.'

'I didn't buy em myself,' Jake said, 'but Timmy Mucci down at Mid-Town Lanes used to have a terrible jones for the Marvel mags. Spider-Man, The Fantastic Four, The Incredible Hulk, Captain America, all of em. These guys…'

'They look like Dr. Doom,' Eddie said.

'Yeah,' Jake said. 'It's not exact, I'm sure the masks were modified to make them look a little more like wolves, but otherwise… same green hoods, same green cloaks. Yeah, Dr. Doom.'

'And the sneetches,' Eddie said. 'Have you ever heard of Harry Potter?'

'I don't think so. Have you?'

'No, and I'll tell you why. Because the sneetches are from the future. Maybe from some Marvel comic book that'll come out in 1990 or 1995. Do you see what I'm saying?'

Jake nodded.

'It's all nineteen, isn't it?'

'Yeah,' Jake said. 'Nineteen, ninety-nine, and nineteen-ninety-nine.'

Eddie glanced around. 'Where's Suze?'

'Probably went after her chair,' Jake said. But before either of them could explore the question of Susannah Dean's whereabouts any further (and by then it was probably too late, anyway), the first of the folken from town arrived. Eddie and Jake were swept into a wild, impromptu celebration-hugged, kissed, shaken by the hand, laughed over, wept over, thanked and thanked and thanked.

TWENTY-ONE

Ten minutes after the main body of the townsfolk arrived, Rosalita reluctantly approached Roland. The gunslinger was extremely glad to see her. Eben Took had taken him by the arms and was telling him-over and over again, endlessly, it seemed- how wrong he and Telford had been, how utterly and completely wrong, and how when Roland and his ka-tet were ready to move on, Eben Took would outfit them from stem to stern and not a penny would they pay.

'Roland!' Rosa said.

Roland excused himself and took her by the arm, leading her a little way up the road. The Wolves had been scattered everywhere and were now being mercilessly looted of their possessions by the laughing, deliriously happy folken. Stragglers were arriving every minute.

'Rosa, what is it?'

'It's your lady,' Rosa said. 'Susannah.'

'What of her?' Roland asked. Frowning, he looked around. He didn't see Susannah, couldn't remember when he had last seen her. When he'd given Jake the cigarette? That long ago? He thought so. 'Where is she?'

'That's just it,' Rosa said. 'I don't know. So I peeked into the waggon she came in, thinking that perhaps she'd gone in there to rest. That perhaps she felt faint or gut-sick, do ya. But she's not there. And Roland… her chair is gone.'

'Gods!' Roland snarled, and slammed his fist against his leg. 'Oh, gods!'

Rosalita took a step back from him, alarmed.

'Where's Eddie?' Roland asked.

She pointed. Eddie was so deep in a cluster of admiring men and women that Roland didn't think he would have seen him, but for the child riding on his shoulders; it was Heddon Jaffords, an enormous grin on his face.

'Are you sure you want to disturb him?' Rosa asked timidly. 'May be she's just gone off a bit, to pull herself back together.'

Gone off a bit, Roland thought. He could feel a blackness filling his heart. His sinking heart. She'd gone off a bit, all right. And he knew who had stepped in to take her place. Their attention had wandered in the aftermath of the fight…Jake's grief… the congratulations of the folken… the confusion and the joy and the singing… but that was no excuse.

'Gunslingers!' he roared, and the jubilant crowd quieted at once. Had he cared to look, he could have seen the fear that lay just beneath their relief and adulation. It would not have been new to him; they were always afraid of those who came wearing the hard calibers. What they wanted of such when the shooting was done was to give them a final meal, perhaps a final gratitude-fuck, then send them on their way and pick up their own peaceful farming-tools once more.

Well, Roland thought, we'll be going soon enough. In fact, one of us has gone already. Gods!

'Gunslingers, to me! To me!'

Eddie reached Roland first. He looked around. 'Where's Susannah?' he asked.

Roland pointed into the stony wasteland of bluffs and arroyos, then elevated his finger until it was pointing at a black hole just below the skyline. 'I think there,' he said.

All the color had drained out of Eddie Dean's face. 'That's Doorway Cave you're pointing at,' he said. 'Isn't it?'

Roland nodded.

'But the ball… Black Thirteen… she wouldn't even go near it when it was in Callahan's church-'

'No,' Roland said. 'Susannah wouldn't. But she's not in charge anymore.'

'Mia?' Jake asked.

'Yes.' Roland studied the high hole with his faded eyes. 'Mia's gone to have her baby. She's gone to have her chap.'

'No,' Eddie said. His hands wandered out and took hold of Roland's shirt. Around them, the folken stood silently, watching. 'Roland, say no.'

'We'll go after her and hope we're not too late,' Roland said.

But in his heart, he knew they already were.