The Ivory and the Horn by Charles de Lint

Author:Charles de Lint [De Lint, Charles]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0812534085
Publisher: TOR
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

3

It’s cold for a September night, colder still on the rooftop where I crouch, and the wind can find me so easily, but I don’t feel the chill.

I used to laugh at the comic books Annie would read, all those impossibly proportioned characters running around in their long underwear, but I don’t laugh anymore. The costumes make perfect sense now. My bodysuit has a slick black weave with enough give to let me move freely, but nothing that’ll catch on a cornice or in someone’s grip. The Thinsulate lining keeps me warm, even below zero. Black gloves, lined hood and runners complete the outfit. Makes me look like one of those B-movie ninjas, but I don’t care. It gets the job done.

I draw the line at a cape.

I never read superhero comics when I was a kid—not because they seemed such a guy thing, but because I just couldn’t believe in them. I had the same questions for Superman as I did for God: If he was so powerful, why didn’t he deal with some real problems? Why didn’t he stop wars, feed the starving in Ethiopia, cure cancer? At least God had the Church to do His PR work for Him—if you can buy their reasoning, they have any number of explanations ranging from how the troubles of this life build character to that inarguable catchall, “God’s will.” And the crap in this life sure makes heaven look good.

When I was growing up, the writers and artists of Superman never even tried to deal with the problem. And since they didn’t, I could only see Superman as a monster, not a hero. I couldn’t believe his battles with criminals, superpowered geniuses and the like.

I never believed in God either.

If my business wasn’t so serious, I’d have to laugh to see myself wearing this getup now, climbing walls like a spider, all my senses heightened; faster, stronger, and more agile than a person has any right to be. It’s like—remember the story of Gwion, when he’s stirring Cerridwen’s potion and it bubbles up and scorches him? He licks off those three drops, and suddenly he pan understand the languages of animals and birds, he has all this understanding of the connections that make up the world, and he can change his shape into anything he wants—which proves useful when Cerridwen goes after him.

That’s pretty well the way it is for me, except that I can’t change my shape. What I’ve got are the abilities of the totem-heads the anima wore when they came to me. I just wish my fairy godmothers had made me a little smarter while they were at it. Then I wouldn’t be in this mess.

I think I’ve figured out where they came from. I used to work for The Newford Examiner—I guess that makes me more like Superman than the Bat-guy, isn’t that another laugh? And I guess I just blew any chance of maintaining a secret identity by revealing that much. Not that it matters. I was always pretty much a loner until I met Annie, and then most of our friends were hers.

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