Darktower 4 - Wizard and Glass by King Stephen

Author:King, Stephen [King, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 0451210875
Published: 2010-06-03T04:00:00+00:00

Darktower 4 - Wizard and Glass

PART THREE

COME, REAP

CHAP?TER 1

BE?NEATH THE

huntress moon

1

True love, like any oth?er strong and ad?dict?ing drug, is bor?ing—once the tale of

en?counter and dis?cov?ery is told, kiss?es quick?ly grow stale and ca ress?es tire?some .

. . ex?cept, of course, to those who share the kiss?es, who give and take the ca?ress?es

while ev?ery sound and col?or of the world seems to deep?en and bright?en around

them. As with any oth?er strong drug, true first love is re?al?ly on?ly in?ter?est?ing to

those who have be?come its pris?on?ers.

And, as is true of any oth?er strong and ad?dict?ing drug, true first love is dan?ger?ous.

2

Some called Huntress the last moon of sum?mer; some called it the first of fall.

Whichev?er it was, it sig?naled a change in the life of the Barony. Men put out in?to

the bay wear?ing sweaters be?neath their oil?skins as the winds be?gan to turn more

and more firm?ly in?to au?tumn’s east-?west al?ley, and to sharp?en as they turned. In

the great Barony or?chards north of Ham?bry (and in small?er or?chards owned by

John Croy?don, Hen?ry Wert?ner, Jake White, and the mo?rose but wealthy Coral

Thorin), the pick?ers be?gan to ap?pear in the rows, car?ry?ing their odd, off-?kil?ter

lad?ders; they were fol lowed by horse-?drawn carts full of emp?ty bar?rels.

Down?wind of the cider-?hous?es—es?pe?cial?ly down?wind of the great Barony cider-

man?sion a mile north of Seafront—the breezy air was filled with the sweet tang of

blems be?ing pressed by the bas?ket?load. Away from the shore of the Clean Sea, the

days re?mained warm as the Huntress waxed, skies were clear day and night, but

sum?mer’s re?al heat had de?part?ed with the Ped?dler. The last cut ting of hay be?gan

and was fin?ished in the run of a week—that last one was al?ways scant, and

ranch?ers and free?hold?ers alike would curse it, scratch?ing their heads and ask?ing

them?selves why they even both?ered … but come rainy, blowsy old March, with the

bam lofts and bins rapid?ly emp?ty?ing, they al?ways knew. In the Barony’s

gar?dens—the great ones of the ranch ers, the small?er ones of the free?hold?ers, and

the tiny back?yard plots of the towns?folk—men and wom?en and chil?dren ap?peared

in their old clothes and boots, their som?breros and som?breros. They came with the

legs of their pants tied down firm?ly at the an?kles, for in the time of the Huntress,

snakes and scor?pi?ons in plen?ti?ful num?bers wan?dered east from the desert. By the

time old De?mon Moon be?gan to fat?ten, a line of rat?tlers would hang from the

hitch?ing posts of both the Trav?ellers’ Rest and the mer?can tile across the street.

Oth?er busi?ness?es would sim?ilar?ly dec?orate their hitch?ing posts, but when the prize

for the most skins was giv?en on Reap ing Day, it was al?ways the inn or the mar?ket

that won it. In the fields and gar?dens, bas?kets to pick in?to were cast along the rows

by wom?en with their hair tied up in ker?chiefs and reap-?charms hid?den in their

bo?soms. The last of the toma?toes were picked, the last of the cu?cum?bers, the last

of the corn, the last of the parey and min?go. Wait?ing be?hind them, as the days

sharp?ened and the au?tumn storms be?gan to near, would come squash, sharp?root,

pump?kins, and pota?toes.

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