Bronze Age Superman

[Short short story rescued off the DC-Elseworlds Fan Fiction Yahoo!Group.]

 

Bronze Age Superman

By Scott Casper

Six generations of men had been born since Stonehenge was built when, one night, the shamans using it to monitor the Heavens saw a falling star. They divined that the gods had sent something to Earth, but this gift had fallen beyond their own lands. Stories of the falling star were quickly forgotten.

Across a sea, in the land of the Celts, a brave farmer had investigated a terrifying crash on his fields. There he found a ship like none ever built by man. It was made all of silver and was built with two bows, one on top of the other, so that it had no deck or sails. Instead, it had a door and inside that door was a baby. He gave the infant to his neighbors, a couple who had birthed no children of their own.

As the baby grew, his adoptive parents were astounded by his feats of strength. No sooner could he walk when he could lift a bench over his head with one hand! When he reached maturity, he discovered he could leap over buildings, raise tremendous weights, run faster than a horse, and that nothing less than prolonged exposure to intense heat could hurt his skin.

His parents named him Clesek. This is his story. Early, Clesek decided he must turn his titanic strength into channels that would benefit his fellow man. And so he became a Superman! Champion of the oppressed, this physical marvel swore to devote his existence to helping those in need.

The gods were pleased, but none more so than Goibhnie, the blacksmith of the gods, for Clesek was his son by a mortal woman. Though it had pained him to do so, Goibhnie had sent Clesek to live with his mother’s people after fashioning a vessel worthy of transporting a demigod. But he also knew that his son’s power would be so great, he would appear so obviously to be a Superman, that he would have difficulty living as a mortal. So he had made his son a gift -- a magical torc that, when worn around his neck, would make him appear to be a meek, ordinary mortal.

Clesek bided his time for many years before carrying out his oath, until the day the sleepy village of Columber was woke up with news of a murder.

A handsome, young potter whose work was much admired in the region was a prize every eligible maid in the village had hoped for. Two women in particular had been jealous rivals for his affection until the day the potter was found dead. One of them, Evelyn, had spoken rashly the day before to her would-be suitor, so that Evelyn was quickly suspected of the foul deed. She was brought before the village’s chieftain, an old man who, in his wisdom, decided she would be offered as a sacrifice to the gods.

Clesek was unsure of her guilt. That night, he removed his torc and leapt off into the night. She was a simple farmer’s daughter, clad in a wool tunic, skirt, and bonnet. Clesek’s clothes were much different, for his tunic, loincloth, leggings, and cape had been woven from the finest wool and dyed red and blue with berry juice. He confronted the other girl in all his immortal splendor and she was overcome by the sheer sight of him. She confessed to arranging for Evelyn and the potter to quarrel with her lies, then killing him in jealous rage when he still preferred Evelyn over her. She sobbed, overcome by her own guilt, but if she expected mercy from this Superman, she did not receive it. He grabbed her roughly, bound her wrists with rope, and gagged her mouth with a strip of cloth. He would suffer to hear no more from her, nor could he afford to do so. Evelyn was to be sacrificed at midnight, less than an hour away!

He raced through the night, carrying his prisoner under his arm, until he was nearly to the door of the chieftain’s hall. He tossed her roughly to the ground, saying, "Make yourself comfortable! I have no time to attend to it."

Superman ran up to the front door of the hall. Only the chieftain’s eldest son stood vigil at the doorway.

"What do you mean by coming this hour of the night?" he asked, indignantly.

"I must see the chieftain. It is a matter of life and death!"

"You will see him in the morning!" the son said, slamming the door and barring it.

"I’ll see him now!" Superman said, barreling through the door as if it were made of reeds instead of beechwood.

"This is forbidden! You will answer to the shamans!"

"Answer to this, will you wake your chieftain or not?"

"No! I will not!

"Then I will take YOU to him!" With one hand, Superman raised the son over his head and proceeded through the hall. He moved past empty benches, hopped over a firepit at the center of the hall, and to a door in the far wall that led to other interior rooms.

"Yes, my father’s sleeping room is back there, but do not think you will pass further!"

Superman tried the door. "It is barred!" he cried out in exasperation over these delays.

"Yes and made of stout oak! Try and knock this door down!"

Without warning, Superman grabbed the door and twisted it right off its hinges. "It was your idea!" he said, smiling at the astonished look on the man’s face.

No sooner had he passed through the doorway when the chieftain appeared, having been roused by all the noise. He was an old man, bald, but still strong and appeared before Superman defiantly holding a round shield and a short spear.

"What is the meaning of this?" the chieftain demanded.

"The girl, Evelyn, is to be sacrificed shortly for a death she did not cause. I have proof, the murderess herself, waiting outside to confess!"

The chieftain lowered his spear, but his son had missed Superman’s words. Returning to the main hall, he had picked up a throwing spear, and held it ready to throw at Superman’s back. "I know not what madness brought you here, but if you would cause my father woe, then I shall yet find a way to hinder you!" He continued to brandish the spear menacingly, even as Superman turned to face him and moved closer.

"Put that toy away!" Superman commanded, but even the voice of a demigod was not enough to quell the fears of an over-protective son.

"I warn you one last time!" the son shouted, then lunged forward with his spear aimed at Superman’s chest. The copper spearhead broke off and the haft of the spear was shivered from one end to the other!

"There is no time for this!" Superman said, tearing the remnants of the spear out of the son’s hands. Turning back to the chieftain, he asked, "Do you not realize? I have proof she is innocent and you can save her!"

"No, I do not understand," the chieftain said defiantly. "If the shamans have divined her guilt, then how can they be wrong?"

"What if they did not consult the gods, but trusted in your judgement of the matter instead? You are known to them to be a wise man. Is it not important to you to at least find out?"

"Yes, you are right," the chieftain agreed. "Hurry! Their shrine is distant and we may not make it in time!"

"Oh yes we will," Superman said as he scooped up the chieftain under his arm. He ran out of the building and scooped up his bound prisoner under the other arm. He began taking fantastic leaps that covered hundreds of steps at a time. His two passengers could only stare in awe and wonder. Soon they’d left the wood and thatch houses of the village behind them and even vaulted over the fence that surrounded the community. There were scattered farms beyond and, past that, thick forest as far as the eye could see. Superman’s eyesight, as sharp as an owl, allowed him to spot by moonlight the path that led into the forest to the shrine.

The shrine was in a grove deep in the forest. There was a ring of stones with one larger altarstone in the middle. Evelyn was tied to that stone and seven men in hooded robes stood around her chanting. One raised a dagger over his head just as Superman’s voice boomed for him to "Stop!" The shamans turned to see, but Superman tossed the chieftain and the murderess into the grove and fled. He left for the same reason he could not have simply come here at once with the murderess -- he could not risk the shamans recognizing his divinity. He wanted not only anonymity, but to be recognized only as a human samaritan.

The only hard part for Superman in this whole affair was the waiting -- waiting to find out if the shamans made the right decision on their own.

The next morning, Clesek tossed the wool blanket off himself and rose from his straw pallet. He shook the lice from his hair and his cap before putting it back on. He touched the magic torc at his throat, put on his cloak, and laced up his leggings. Throwing the door open on the hovel he lived in, he found a beautiful day awaited him outside. He breathed deep of the warm summer air, felt a breeze touch his face, and listened to the sounds around him.

He had chosen a spot for his hovel a short distance from the largest cluster of huts in his village. As much as he enjoyed the serenity of nature, his true purpose was to keep an eye on the people around him. He was observant and made use of his observations in his role of storyteller. While Columber had its share of hunters, gatherers, herders, farmers, and craftsmen, it was also known for its storytellers -- and this was why Clesek had chosen this particular village to live. Normally storytelling was a task for the elderly who could not otherwise work, but here the village prospered and the village elders encouraged and taught the young to spin tales and share news.

The storytellers had already been busy this morning, for the first man Clesek passed asked, "Have you heard? Evelyn is innocent!"

Clesek feigned ignorance so he could hear the whole story. He was relieved to learn that his other identity had been left out of the account. No doubt it would have embarassed the chieftain, which he did not want. In the story, the thought merely came to him in a dream to interrupt the shamans and have them try their auguries again.

That same morning, the chieftain gathered together six of the village elders to tell them the true story. A few were incredulous, a few thought it was a divine intervention, and the remainder simply marveled.

"My friends," the chieftain said after ending his tale, "I still cannot believe my senses. He was no ordinary man! Thank the gods that his purpose seems to be our weal instead of our woe!"

Clesek was summoned to the home of the Eldest Storyteller. Clesek respected this man as a mentor, so he entered the man’s home with his head bowed in respect.

"You wanted to see me?" Clesek asked.

"Yes, come in," the old man said. "Sit beside me, Clesek, and hear me well. Have you ever heard of Superman?"

"What?"

"I know, it is strange to name a man thus, but this man defies any other naming. I have heard tales, local tales, of a man with gigantic strength."

"How do you know he is not a god walking among men?"

"His concerns do not seem to be like those of other gods. He comes and goes, intervening in the lives of ordinary men and women for their better. Yet, well could he be a god whose purposes are masked from us. Is that not often the way with deities as well? No one will be able to say until this Superman’s story has been told. Would that I could carry out this one last task, but I am old and it hurts too much to walk about and see what must be seen. Clesek, I ask of you to find this man’s tale and tell it to all."

"I would carry you from door to door if I thought it would not pain you," Clesek said. "If any man can find the story of this Superman, it would be a storyteller who had apprenticed to you."

"Bless you, my son," the old storyteller said.

Clesek left his side agonizing over the hard decision he had made. There would always be some people to whom he wished to tell his great secret, but no one who learned his secret would be able to look upon him as a mortal again. As much as he wanted to tell the Eldest Storyteller his secret, he was sickened by the thought of his mentor prostrating himself before a demigod revealed, and so he said nothing.

Perhaps...perhaps just the tales of his deeds would be enough. To do that, he would need to know what the other storytellers knew. So he went in search of one. There was another, wandering storyteller who had been frequenting the village square lately. Clesek went to ask him what he had heard.

"A man who spends his days doing good deeds for others?" the storyteller spoke. "I wonder if there can ever be such a man."

"Why do you say that?" Clesek asked. "Have you not seen a man help his neighbor before?"

"I have traveled far and wide. I have seen a man help himself to his neighbor’s livestock. I have seen a man help his neighbor to impress a girl."

"You have seen no goodness lately?"

"None. Indeed, just minutes ago I saw a man beating his wife --"

"Where?"

"The house over yonder, by the tilting oak..."

Before he was done speaking, Clesek was running in that direction. He ducked behind a hut and, making sure he was out of sight of everyone, he tore off his enchanted torc that concealed his true nature. Then with one mighty leap he soared over two shacks and the old, tilted oak tree, landing right in front of the hut he wanted. His keen hearing had picked up the sobbing in mid-air.

Tearing aside the curtain over the doorway, he saw a local man he knew (but not well) standing over his wife with a switch in his hand. She was lying there in the dirt, shielding her face, her body wracked with sobbing.

"Hold!" Superman commanded.

Though Superman’s countenance beamed with charisma such as only an immortal might possess, so enraged was the husband that he was able to defy Superman.

"What do you want?" he asked. "Do not interfere in my affairs!"

"Interferring is mild compared to the treatment you deserve! It is not a woman now that you face!" Angry, Superman tossed the husband into the back wall of the hut. It was a careless gesture, producing a hole in the thin mottle and daub structure.

The husband rushed back, swinging his switch. It broke against Superman’s forehead without so much as making him flinch. This shook the man’s confidence enough that he began talking again.

"She asked for it! I need a son to help me in the fields, but she can’t give me one!"

"Did you think that it may be you who have offended the gods in some way and punished you with a barren wife?"

The husband visibly recoiled at that suggestion.

"If the gods have found fault in you, then you will find your strongest blows are now no more effectual than raindrops."

"You lie!"

"Try me."

The husband quickly rummaged through his things and produced a copper knife. "I will show you your lie with a cut across your throat!" But the dull blade bent in half against Superman’s skin. The husband, shocked, began to faint, but Superman caught him.

"Take your fattest lamb at once to the shamen," Superman instructed him. "Only by sacrifice can you atone to the gods. And, if the gods forgive you, perhaps this poor woman may yet find it in her heart to do the same."

Superman helped the wife to her feet just as he heard the voices of men approaching. He raced outside and, seeing he still had a moment before he would be seen, slipped his magic torc around his neck to conceal his divine form.

Two neighbors came running into sight. "What is going on here?" one of them asked.

"Hello!" Clesek called out to them. "I arrived just now to find a husband and wife who have been paid a visit by Superman!"