Wolves of the Calla - Stephen King [70]
Meanwhile, Roland was making the impatient little finger-twirling gesture with which Eddie had become so familiar. Come on, folks, it said, day’s wasting.
“No telling for sure what they are,” Overholser said. “They look like men, but they wear masks.”
“Wolf-masks,” Susannah said.
“Aye, lady, wolf-masks, gray as their horses.”
“Do you say all come on gray horses?” Roland asked.
The silence was briefer this time, but Eddie still felt that sense of khef and ka-tet, minds consulting via something so elemental it couldn’t even rightly be called telepathy; it was more elemental than telepathy.
“Yer-bugger!” Overholser said, a slang term that seemed to mean You bet your ass, don’t insult me by asking again. “All on gray horses. They wear gray pants that look like skin. Black boots with cruel big steel spurs. Green cloaks and hoods. And the masks. We know they’re masks because they’ve been found left behind. They look like steel but rot in the sun like flesh, buggerdly things.”
“Ah.”
Overholser gave him a rather insulting head-cocked-to-one side look, the sort that asked Are you foolish or just slow? Then Slightman said: “Their horses ride like the wind. Some have ta’en one babby before the saddle and another behind.”
“Do you say so?” Roland asked.
Slightman nodded emphatically. “Tell gods thankee.” He saw Callahan again make the sign of the cross in the air and sighed. “Beg pardon, Old Fella.”
Callahan shrugged. “You were here before I was. Call on all the gods you like, so long as you know I think they’re false.”
“And they come out of Thunderclap,” Roland said, ignoring this last.
“Aye,” Overholser said. “You can see where it lies over that way about a hundred wheels.” He pointed southeast. “For we come out of the woods on the last height of land before the Crescent. Ye can see all the Eastern Plain from there, and beyond it a great darkness, like a rain cloud on the horizon. ’Tis said, Roland, that in the far long ago, you could see mountains over there.”
“Like the Rockies from Nebraska,” Jake breathed.
Overholser glanced at him. “Beg pardon, Jake-soh?”
“Nothing,” Jake said, and gave the big farmer a small, embarrassed smile. Eddie, meanwhile, filed away what Overholser had called him. Not sai but soh. Just something else that was interesting.
“We’ve heard of Thunderclap,” Roland said. His voice was somehow terrifying in its lack of emotion, and when Eddie felt Susannah’s hand creep into his, he was glad of it.
“ ’Tis a land of vampires, boggarts, and taheen, so the stories say,” Zalia told them. Her voice was thin, on the verge of trembling. “Of course the stories are old—”
“The stories are true,” Callahan said. His own voice was harsh, but Eddie heard the fear in it. Heard it very well. “There are vampires—other things as well, very likely—and Thunderclap’s their nest. We might speak more of this another time, gunslinger, if it does ya. For now, only hear me, I beg: of vampires I know a good deal. I don’t know if the Wolves take the Calla’s children to them—I rather think not—but yes, there are vampires.”
“Why do you speak as if I doubt?” Roland asked.
Callahan’s eyes dropped. “Because many do. I did myself. I doubted much and…” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, and when he finished, it was almost in a whisper. “…and it was my undoing.”
Roland sat quiet for several moments, hunkered on the soles of his ancient boots with his arms wrapped around his bony knees, rocking back and forth a little. Then, to Overholser: “What o’ the clock do they come?”
“When they took Welland, my brother, it was morning,” the farmer said. “Breakfast not far past. I remember, because Welland asked our Ma if he could take his cup of coffee into the cellar with him. But last time…the time they come and took Tian’s sister and Zalia’s brother and so many others…”
“I lost two nieces and a nephew,” Slightman the Elder said.
“That time wasn’t long after the noon-bell from the Gathering Hall. We know the day because Andy knows the