Wolves of the Calla (The Dark Tower, Book 5)
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Soon to be a major motion picture starring Matthew McConaughey and Idris Elba
Set in a world of extraordinary circumstances, filled with stunning visual imagery and unforgettable characters, the DARK TOWER series is unlike anything you have ever read.
Here is the fifth installment, "one of the strongest entries yet in what will surely be a master storyteller's magnum opus" (Locus).
Roland Deschain and his ka-tet are bearing southeast through the forests of Mid-World on their quest for the Dark Tower. Their path takes them to the outskirts of Calla Bryn Sturgis. But beyond the tranquil farm town, the ground rises to the hulking darkness of Thunderclap, the source of a terrible affliction that is stealing the town's soul. The wolves of Thunderclap and their unspeakable depredation are coming. To resist them is to risk all, but these are odds the gunslingers are used to. Their guns, however, will not be enough....
went back to the trough to fill the cup again. All in all, they had been five of the longest hours Eddie had ever put in, and he thought he would never regard celebrity in quite the same way again. On the plus side, before finally leaving the porch and heading back to the Old Fella’s residence, Eddie reckoned they must have talked to everyone who lived in town and a good number of farmers, ranchers, cowpokes, and hired hands who lived beyond it. Word traveled fast: the outworlders were sitting
doubtfully, then shrugged. “If you say so.” “I do, sai.” “In any case, I was walking along, sipping my other beer. I was almost at Second and Forty-sixth when—” “What was there?” Jake asked eagerly. “What was on that corner in 1981?” “I don’t . . . ” Callahan began, and then he stopped. “A fence,” he said. “Quite a high one. Ten, maybe twelve feet.” “Not the one we climbed over,” Eddie said to Roland. “Not unless it grew five feet on its own.” “There was a picture on it,” Callahan said. “I
you can descend no lower unless you find a shovel and actually start to dig. Lying as he is, staring directly along the floor, the dust-bunnies look like ghostly groves of trees and the lumps of dirt look like the hills in some sterile mining country. He thinks: What is it, February? February of 1982? Something like that. Well, I tell you what. I’ll give myself one year to try and clean up my act. One year to do something—anything—to justify the risk those two guys took. If I can do something,
Ex Libris. He rummaged on one of his shelves, found a book, showed Eddie the plate in front. Eddie nodded. “No,” Tower said. “But it’d be just the thing for a guy like me, wouldn’t it?” He looked at Eddie keenly. “Why do you ask?” But Tower’s future responsibility to save a man now exploring the hidden highways of multiple Americas was a subject Eddie didn’t feel like getting into right now. He’d come as close to blowing the guy’s mind as he wanted to, and he had to get back through the unfound
said. “You’ve got an idea what to do with it, don’t you?” Eddie asked. “Perhaps,” Roland said. They started down the path to the house, including Callahan among them as naturally as breathing. “Anything to do with that old Manni guy you were talking to?” Eddie asked. “Perhaps,” Roland repeated. He looked at Callahan. “Tell me, Pere, has it ever sent you todash? You know the word, don’t you?” “I know it,” Callahan said. “Twice. Once to Mexico. A little town called Los Zapatos. And once . . .