“To the very end.”
“Yes. To the very end.”
“No matter what.” Eddie looked at him with love and hate and all the aching dearness of one man’s dying hopeless helpless reach for another man’s mind and will and need.
The wind made the trees moan.
“You sound like Henry, man.” Eddie had begun to cry himself. He didn’t want to. He hated to cry. “He had a tower, too, only it wasn’t dark. Remember me telling you about Henry’s
tower? We were brothers, and I guess we were gunslingers. We had this White Tower, and
he asked me to go after it with him the only way he could ask, so I saddled up, because he
was my brother, you dig it? We got there, too. Found the White Tower. But it was poison. It
killed him. It would have killed me. You saw me. You saved more than my life. You saved
my fuckin soul.”
Eddie held Roland and kissed his cheek. Tasted his tears.
“So what? Saddle up again? Go on and meet the man again?”
The gunslinger said not a word.
“I mean, we haven’t seen many people, but I know they’re up ahead, and whenever there’s
a Tower involved, there’s a man. You wait for the man because you gotta meet the man, and
in the end money talks and bullshit walks, or maybe here it’s bullets instead of bucks that
do the talking. So is that it? Saddle up? Go to meet the man? Because if it’s just a replay of
the same old shitstorm, you two should have left me for the lobsters.” Eddie looked at him
with dark-ringed eyes. “I been dirty, man. If I found out anything, it’s that I don’t want to die dirty.”
“It’s not the same.”
“No? You gonna tell me you’re not hooked?”
Roland said nothing.
“Who’s gonna come through some magic door and save you, man? Do you know? I do. No one. You drew all you could draw. Only thing you can draw from now on is a fucking gun,
because that’s all you got left. Just like Balazar.”
Roland said nothing.
“You want to know the only thing my brother ever had to teach me?” His voice was
hitching and thick with tears.
“Yes,” the gunslinger said. He leaned forward, his eyes intent upon Eddie’s eyes.
“He taught me if you kill what you love, you’re damned.”
“I am damned already,” Roland said calmly. “But per- haps even the damned may be
saved.”
“Are you going to get all of us killed?”
Roland said nothing.
Eddie seized the rags of Roland’s shirt. “Are you going to get her killed?”
“We all die in time,” the gunslinger said. “It’s not just the world that moves on.” He looked squarely at Eddie, his faded blue eyes almost the color of slate in this light. “But we will be magnificent.” He paused. “There’s more than a world to win, Eddie. I would not risk you and her—I would not have allowed the boy to die—if that was all there was.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Everything there is,” the gunslinger said calmly. “We are going to go, Eddie. We are going to fight. We are going to be hurt. And in the end we will stand.”
Now it was Eddie who said nothing. He could think of nothing to say.
Roland gently grasped Eddie’s arm. “Even the damned love,” he said.
5
Eddie eventually slept beside Susannah, the third Roland had drawn to make a new three,
but Roland sat awake and listened to voices in the night while the wind dried the tears on
his cheeks.
Damnation?
Salvation?
The Tower.
He would come to the Dark Tower and there he would sing their names; there he would
sing their names; there he would sing all their names.
The sun stained the east a dusky rose, and at last Roland, no longer the last gunslinger but
one of the last three, slept and dreamed his angry dreams through which there ran only that
one soothing blue thread:
There I will sing all their names!
AFTERWORD
This completes the second of six or seven books which make up a long tale called The Dark Tower. The third, The Waste Lands, details half of the quest of Roland, Eddie, and Susannah to reach the Tower; the fourth, Wizard and Glass, tells of an enchantment and a seduction but mostly of those things which befell Roland before his readers first met him
upon the trail of the man in black.
My surprise at the acceptance of the first volume of this work, which is not at all like the
stories for which I am best known, is exceeded only by my gratitude to those who have read
it and liked it. This work seems to be my own Tower, you know; these people haunt me,
Roland most of all. Do I really know what that Tower is, and what awaits Roland there
(should he reach it, and you must prepare yourself for the very real possibility that he will
not be the one to do so)? Yes . . . and no. All I know is that the tale has called to me again
and again over a period of seventeen years. This longer second volume, still leaves many
questions unanswered and the sto- ry’s climax far in the future, but I feel that it is a much
more complete volume than the first.
And the Tower is closer.
Stephen King December 1st, 1986
STEPHEN KING, the world’s bestselling
novelist, is the author of more than thirty books, most
recently Desperation, Rose Madder, Insomnia, and The
Green Mile.His four volumes in the Dark Tower
series, including The Gunslinger, The Waste Lands,
and the latest, Wizard and Glass, are all available in
Plume trade paperback editions. He lives in Bangor,
Maine, with his wife, novelist Tabitha King.