Song of Susannah (The Dark Tower Series #6) (Turtleback School & Library Binding Edition)by Stephen King, Darrel Anderson
Saving the Tower depends not only on rescuing Susannah but also on securing the vacant
To give birth to her "chap," demon-mother Mia has usurped the body of Susannah Dean and used the power of Black Thirteen to transport to New York City in the summer of 1999. The city is strange to Susannah...and terrifying to the "daughter of none" who shares her body and mind.
Saving the Tower depends not only on rescuing Susannah but also on securing the vacant lot Calvin Tower owns before he loses it to the Sombra Corporation. Enlisting the aid of Manni senders, the remaining ka-tet climbs to the Doorway Cave...and discovers that magic has its own mind. It falls to the boy, the billy bumbler, and the fallen priest to find Susannah-Mia, who in a struggle to cope -- with each other and with an alien environment -- "go todash" to Castle Discordia on the border of End-World. In that forsaken place, Mia reveals her origins, her purpose, and her fierce desire to mother whatever creature the two of them have carried to term.
Eddie and Roland, meanwhile, tumble into western Maine in the summer of 1977, a world that should be idyllic but isn't. For one thing, it is real, and the bullets are flying. For another, it is inhabited by the author of a novel called Salem's Lot, a writer who turns out to be as shocked by them as they are by him.
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The Dark Tower VISong of Susannah
By Stephen King
ScibnerCopyright © 2004 Stephen King
All right reserved.
Chapter One"How long will the magic stay?"
At first no one answered Roland's question, and so he asked it again, this time looking across the living room of the rectory to where Henchick of the Manni sat with Cantab, who had married one of Henchick's numerous granddaughters. The two men were holding hands, as was the Manni way. The older man had lost a granddaughter that day, but if he grieved, the emotion did not show on his stony, composed face.
Next to Roland, holding no one's hand, silent and dreadfully white, sat Eddie Dean. Beside him, cross-legged on the floor, was Jake Chambers. He had pulled Oy into his lap, a thing Roland had never seen before and would not have believed the billy-bumbler would allow. Both Eddie and Jake were splattered with blood. That on Jake's shirt belonged to his friend Benny Slightman. That on Eddie's belonged to Margaret Eisenhart, once Margaret of Redpath, the lost granddaughter of the old patriarch. Both Eddie and Jake looked as tired as Roland felt, but he was quite sure there would be no rest for them this night. Distant, from town, came the sounds of fireworks and singing and celebration.
There was no celebration here. Benny and Margaret were dead, and Susannah was gone.
"Henchick, tell me, I beg: how long will the magic stay?"
The old man stroked his beard in a distracted fashion. "Gunslinger - Roland - I can't say. The magic of the door in that cave is beyond me. As thee must know."
"Tell me what you think. Based on what you do know."
Eddie raised his hands. They were dirty, there was blood under the nails, and they trembled. "Tell, Henchick," he said, speaking in a voice, humble and lost, that Roland had never heard before. "Tell, I beg."
Rosalita, Pere Callahan's woman of all work, came in with a tray. There were cups on it, and a carafe of steaming coffee. She, at least, had found time to change out of her bloody, dusty jeans and shirt and into a housedress, but her eyes were still shocked. They peered from her face like small animals from their burrows. She poured the coffee and passed the cups without speaking. Nor had she gotten all the blood, Roland saw as he took one of the cups. There was a streak of it on the back of her right hand. Margaret's or Benny's? He didn't know. Or much care. The Wolves had been defeated. They might or might not come again to Calla Bryn Sturgis. That was ka's business. Theirs was Susannah Dean, who had disappeared in the aftermath, taking Black Thirteen with her.
Henchick said: "Ye ask of kaven?"
"Aye, father," Roland agreed. "The persistence of magic."
Father Callahan took a cup of coffee with a nod and a distracted smile, but no word of thanks. He had spoken little since they'd come back from the cave. In his lap was a book called 'Salem's Lot, by a man of whom he had never heard. It purported to be a work of fiction, but he, Donald Callahan, was in it. He had lived in the town of which it told, had taken part in the events it recounted. He had looked on the back and on the rear flap for the author's photograph, queerly certain that he would see a version of his own face looking back at him (the way he'd looked in 1975, when these events had taken place, most likely), but there had been no picture, just a note about the book's writer that told very little. He lived in the state of Maine. He was married. He'd written one previous book, quite well reviewed, if you believed the quotations on the back.
"The greater the magic, the longer it persists," Cantab said, and then looked at Henchick questioningly.
"Aye," Henchick said. "Magic and glammer, both are one, and they do unroll from the back." He paused. "From the past, do'ee ken."
"This door opened on many places and many times in the world my friends came from," Roland said. "I would open it again, but just on the last two. The most recent two. Can that be done?"
They waited as Henchick and Cantab considered. The Manni were great travelers. If anyone knew, if anyone could do what Roland wanted - what they all wanted - it would be these folk.
Cantab leaned deferentially toward the old man, the dinh of Calla Redpath. He whispered. Henchick listened, his face expressionless, then turned Cantab's head with one gnarled old hand and whispered back.
Eddie shifted, and Roland felt him getting ready to break loose, perhaps to begin shouting. He put a restraining hand on Eddie's shoulder, and Eddie subsided. For the time being, at least.
The whispered consultation went on for perhaps five minutes while the others waited. The sounds of celebration in the distance were difficult for Roland to take; God knew how they must make Eddie feel.
At last Henchick patted Cantab's cheek with his hand and turned to Roland.
"We think this may be done," he said.
"Thank God," Eddie muttered. Then, louder: "Thank God! Let's go up there. We can meet you on the East Road -"
Both of the bearded men were shaking their heads, Henchick with a kind of stern sorrow, Cantab with a look that was almost horror.
"We'll not go up to the Cave of the Voices in the dark," Henchick said.
"We have to!" Eddie burst out. "You don't understand! It's not just a question of how long the magic will or won't last, it's a question of time on the other side! It goes faster over there, and once it's gone, it's gone! Christ, Susannah could be having that baby right now, and if it's some kind of cannibal -"
"Listen to me, young fellow," Henchick said, "and hear me very well, I beg. The day is nigh gone."
This was true. Never in Roland's experience had a day run so quickly through his fingers. There had been the battle with the Wolves early, not long after dawn, then celebration there on the road for the victory and sorrow for their losses (which had been amazingly small, as things had fallen). Then had come the realization that Susannah was gone, the trek to the cave, their discoveries there. By the time they'd gotten back to the East Road battlefield, it had been past noon. Most of the townsfolk had left, bearing their saved children home in triumph. Henchick had agreed willingly enough to this palaver, but by the time they'd gotten back to the rectory, the sun had been on the wrong side of the sky.
We're going to get a night's rest, after all, Roland thought, and didn't know whether to be glad or disappointed. He could use sleep; that much he did know.
"I listen and hear," Eddie said, but Roland's hand was still on his shoulder, and he could feel the younger man trembling.
"Even were we willing to go, we couldn't persuade enough of the others to come wi' us," Henchick said.
"You're their dinh -"
"Aye, so you call it, and so I suppose I am, although it isn't our word, ye ken. In most things they'd follow me, and they know the debt they owe your ka-tet out of this day's work and would say thank ya any way they could. But they wouldn't go up that path and into that haunted place after dark." Henchick was shaking his head slowly and with great certainty. "No - that they will not do.
"Listen, young man. Cantab and I can be back at Redpath Kra-ten well before full dark. There we'll call our menfolk to the Tempa, which is to us as the Meeting Hall is to the forgetful folk." He glanced briefly at Callahan. "Say pardon, Pere, if the term offends ye."
Callahan nodded absently without looking up from the book, which he was turning over and over in his hands. It had been covered in protective plastic, as valuable first editions often are. The price lightly penciled on the flyleaf was $950. Some young man's second novel. He wondered what made it so valuable. If they ran into the book's owner, a man named Calvin Tower, he would surely ask. And that would only be the start of his questioning.
"We'll explain what it is ye want, and ask for volunteers. Of the sixty-eight men of Redpath Kra-ten, I believe all but four or five will agree to help - to blend their forces together. It will make powerful khef. Is that what ye call it? Khef? The sharing?"
"Yes," Roland said. "The sharing of water, we say."
"You couldn't fit anywhere that number of men in the mouth of that cave," Jake said. "Not even if half of them sat on the other half's shoulders."
"No need," Henchick said. "We'll put the most powerful inside - what we call the senders. The others can line up along the path, linked hand to hand and bob to bob. They'll be there before the sun goes rooftop tomorrow. I set my watch and warrant on it."
"We'll need tonight to gather our mags and bobs, anyway," Cantab said. He was looking at Eddie apologetically, and with some fear. The young man was in terrible pain, that was clear. And he was a gunslinger. A gunslinger might strike out, and when one did, it was never blindly.
"It could be too late," Eddie said, low. He looked at Roland with his hazel eyes. They were now bloodshot and dark with exhaustion. "Tomorrow could be too late even if the magic hasn't gone away."
Roland opened his mouth and Eddie raised a finger.
"Don't say ka, Roland. If you say ka one more time, I swear my head'll explode."
Roland closed his mouth.
Eddie turned back to the two bearded men in their dark, Quakerish cloaks. "And you can't be sure the magic will stay, can you? What could be opened tonight could be closed against us forever tomorrow. Not all the magnets and plumb-bobs in Manni creation could open it."
"Aye," Henchick said. "But your woman took the magic ball with her, and whatever'ee may think, Mid-World and the Borderlands are well shed of it."
"I'd sell my soul to have it back, and in my hands," Eddie said clearly.
They all looked shocked at this, even Jake, and Roland felt a deep urge to tell Eddie he must take that back, must unsay it. There were powerful forces working against their quest for the Tower, dark ones, and Black Thirteen was their clearest sigul. What could be used could also be misused, and the bends o' the rainbow had their own malevolent glammer, Thirteen most of all. Was the sum of all, perhaps. Even if they had possessed it, Roland would have fought to keep it out of Eddie Dean's hands. In his current state of sorrowing distraction, the ball would either destroy him or make him its slave in minutes.
"A stone might drink if it had a mouth," Rosa said dryly, startling them all. "Eddie, questions of magic aside, think of the path that goes up there. Then think of five dozen men, many of them nigh as old as Henchick, one or two blind as bats, trying to climb it after dark."
"The boulder," Jake said. "Remember the boulder you have to kind of slide by, with your feet sticking out over the drop?"
Eddie nodded reluctantly. Roland could see him trying to accept what he couldn't change. Groping for sanity.
"Susannah Dean is also a gunslinger," Roland said. "Mayhap she can take care of herself a little while."
"I don't think Susannah's in charge anymore," Eddie replied, "and neither do you. It's Mia's baby, after all, and it'll be Mia at the controls until the baby - the chap - comes."
Roland had an intuition then, and like so many he'd had over the years, it turned out to be true. "She may have been in charge when they left, but she may not be able to stay in charge."
Callahan spoke at last, looking up from the book which had so stunned him. "Why not?"
"Because it's not her world," Roland said. "It's Susannah's. If they can't find a way to work together, they may die together."
Chapter TwoHenchick and Cantab went back to Manni Redpath, first to tell the gathered (and entirely male) elders about the day's work, and then to tell them what payment was required. Roland went with Rosa to her cottage. It stood up the hill from a formerly neat privy which was now mostly in ruins. Within this privy, standing useless sentinel, was what remained of Andy the Messenger Robot (many other functions). Rosalita undressed Roland slowly and completely. When he was mother-naked, she stretched beside him on her bed and rubbed him with special oils: cat-oil for his aches, a creamier, faintly perfumed blend for his most sensitive parts. They made love. They came together (the sort of physical accident fools take for fate), listening to the crackle of firecrackers from the Calla's high street and the boisterous shouts of the folken, most of them now well past tipsy, from the sound.
"Sleep," she said. "Tomorrow I see you no more. Not me, not Eisenhart or Overholser, not anyone in the Calla."
"Do you have the sight, then?" Roland asked. He sounded relaxed, even amused, but even when he had been deep in her heat and thrusting, the gnaw of Susannah had never left his mind: one of his ka-tet, and lost. Even if there had been no more than that, it would have been enough to keep him from true rest or ease.
"No," said she, "but I have feelings from time to time, like any other woman, especially about when her man is getting ready to move on."
"Is that what I am to you? Your man?"
Her gaze was both shy and steady. "For the little time ye've been here, aye, I like to think so. Do'ee call me wrong, Roland?"
He shook his head at once. It was good to be some woman's man again, if only for a short time.
She saw he meant it, and her face softened. She stroked his lean cheek. "We were well-met, Roland, were we not? Well-met in the Calla."
She touched the remains of his right hand, then his right hip. "And how are your aches?"
To her he wouldn't lie. "Vile."
She nodded, then took hold of his left hand, which he'd managed to keep away from the lobstrosities. "And this un?"
"Fine," he said, but he felt a deep ache. Lurking. Waiting its time to come out. What Rosalita called the dry twist.
"Roland!" said she.
Her eyes looked at him calmly. She still had hold of his left hand, touching it, culling out its secrets. "Finish your business as soon as you can."
"Is that your advice?"
"Aye, dearheart. Before your business finishes you."
Chapter ThreeEddie sat on the back porch of the rectory as midnight came and what these folk would ever after call The Day of the East Road Battle passed into history (after which it would pass into myth ... always assuming the world held together long enough for it to happen). In town the sounds of celebration had grown increasingly loud and feverish, until Eddie seriously began to wonder if they might not set the entire high street afire. And would he mind? Not a whit, say thanks and you're welcome, too.
Excerpted from The Dark Tower VI 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.
Meet the Author
Few authors have tapped into our secret fears as adeptly as Stephen King, Master of the Macabre and one of the most widely read novelists writing today. With his trademark blend of fantasy, horror, and psychological suspense, this prolific and immensely popular contemporary writer continues to remind us that evil is still a potent force in the world.
- Bangor, Maine
- Date of Birth:
- September 21, 1947
- Place of Birth:
- Portland, Maine
- B.S., University of Maine at Orono, 1970
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
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After reading two great books back to back (Wizard and Glass and Wolves of the Calla), I was extremely disappointed with Song of Susannah. What ruined it for me was when Stephen King wrote himself into the book. I was okay with the brief mention in Wolves of the Calla. It showed King had a sense of humor; however, he went too far in Song of Susannah. It cheapened the whole story line for me. Oh well, 3 out of the 6 so far have been great. Looking forward to starting the final installment. Let's see how this tale wraps up!
Great novel up until page 214 when the author writes himself into the story and decimates the whole illusion for me. Now, I am struggling to get back into the story and questioning should I read book #7? Anyone who has read the series please, comment.
I became sad thinking that this could be the beginning of the end of Roland, Eddie, Susannah and Jake. Oh, and Oy, too. Maybe I'm weird, but I read many other reviews that didn't like that King brought himself into the book (probably the same people who complained that he brought in Harry Potter references in the last...), but I loved it. Can a fantasy book really give that surreal feeling? This one did. Again, I'm having a hard time expressing my feelings about this book because it feels like one of the small pieces in a puzzle. It's starting to fill in some of the picture as a whole but not enough to really give you that "ah-ha" moment. It was like the first sip of great hot chocolate. It was delicious but not as good as the next, or the next or the next. "I deal in lead!" Roland called, and Eddie felt goose-bumps pebble his arms. man... I have goose-bumps too..
I've been hooked on the Dark Tower series since my first stumbling upon them, which was quite by accident honestly. I'm not an avid King reader, but these books, these characters, and this story have trapped me from the first line and I've been following Roland faithfully ever since. He and the ka-tet haunt my very dreams! While 'Song of Susannah' was a great book, fantastically written and not one iota of disappointment do I have (not to mention that I finished it within a mere two days after my purchase), my only complaint is that I wished it longer. I'm not ready for the end yet. I'm terrified to read the final tale yet ka calls me to it, and I know I will obey.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying it wasn't great. It was. I just think it could've been spliced in half and spread back and forth, instead of being an installment on it's own. But cliffhanger, definitely. But far too short to really rave about.
Many mysteries are revealed in this book and many more are created. I enjoyed many of the ideas in this book which I first saw in Neverending Story. People often complain about stories being too predictable, but mr. King is anything but predictable which is why the Dark Tower series is such a unique and enjoyable experience. The drama heats up to a fever pitch by the end of this book and ends in a cliff-hanger with many more questions left to be answered in the final novel.
I have wanted to read the Dark Tower series for years and these books just get better and better.
I have come to the Dark Tower series late in life. I have enjoyed fantasy and science fiction for many years, but I have always shied away from King because I am not a fan of the horror genre. But the Tower draws me. Song of Susannah is the scariest, and one of the most interesting of the series so far. King continues to amaze me by how he mixes the worlds of the Tower and brings in pop culture references. I don't think it would be a good choice for someone just getting into the series. That reader would be better off starting at the beginning. I'm looking forward to the next book.