THERE'S A NEW POLITICAL POWERHOUSE IN TOWN

By Gena McGuiness

The ongoing power struggle between father Lionel Luthor and son Lex has been as subtle as, oh, the 1989 meteor shower. Well, cast your eyes to the heavens, and look out for falling rocks because Lex is using his money and influence to help defeat Mayor William Tate in Smallville's upcoming election. And who has been Mayor Tate's biggest contributor? Lionel Luthor, of course--an alliance many have questioned over the years, but one that has proven beneficial to Smallville's economy.

Environmental and historical preservation groups have often blasted Mayor Tate for relaxing the city's zoning ordinances, but the mayor's pro big business and development platform would seem to be in line with Lex Luthor's interests. So why oppose Mayor Tate? When asked whom exactly does Lex Luthor plan to support, the elusive businessman stated, "Smallville is changing, and it needs a mayor with fresh ideas and a new perspective on the town's future. A mayor free from the influences of large, established corporations and interested in allowing small businesses to flourish. Who that is? [Shrugs] Time brings all mysteries to light." Ads opposing Tate's bid for a fourth term are expected to begin airing on local cable stations next week.

Is this just a need to be contrary to father Lionel? Or is Lex trying to create his own political infrastructure? When asked, the senior Luthor commented, "Let's just say I wouldn't expect anything less from my son."

EZRA SMALL AND THE YEAR
IT RAINED FIRE
Part III

By Christopher James Beppo

As Smallville History Month draws to a close, the Ledger presents the final installment of "Ezra Small and the Year It Rained Fire," an account that was compiled from various source materials, including surviving fragments of Ezra Small's personal journal, in the McDaniel Collection at the Lowell County Historical Society, Edge City, Kansas. Part I and Part II may be found in the archives.

Huddled in the corner of the unfinished foundation of Creekside Foundry, Ezra Small counted the minutes until sunup. It felt like days had passed since he lost consciousness after his harrowing escape from the Windigo. Nothing moved in the forest outside Ezra's four artificial walls. No moon rose to illuminate his bleak surroundings. It was just Ezra and one million stars shining impassively down from the clear November night sky.

Ezra doubted that there were any encampments near this part of the woods. He had no idea how far he had run. But he remembered feeling as if the wolf were urging him onwards to this place. You couldn't have led me to a bright, warm Kawatche compound, could you?, he thought ruefully. As if in answer, a pair of green eyes appeared in the darkness on the other end of the structure. His lupine companion had returned.

Although he had dropped his gun during the chase and was now as vulnerable as an injured rabbit, Ezra felt nothing but peace emanating from across the expanse. He smiled slightly, realizing that the eyes he had seen encircling his tent at night were not threatening him; they were guarding him--protecting him from the Windigo. He was filled with remorse for injuring the lead wolf in his misguided panic.

The presence of the black wolf gave him such solace that he finally began to drift off. Through heavily lidded eyes, he saw the shadowy outline of the wolf move forward and hesitate. What's the matter, friend? That was the last conscious thought Ezra had before a massive hand silently clamped onto his neck from behind and lifted him five feet into the air in a split second.

Ezra flailed madly as he was spun around and found himself staring into the glistening, bottomless eyes of the Windigo. Neither of them made a sound. Ezra looked down the length of the beast's hairy arms at its huge, heaving chest and pillar legs. His eyes bulged as the hands tightened around his neck, and his feet beat futilely against the Windigo's belly. Giving him a swift shake like a rag doll, the Windigo locked eyes with Ezra, his hot, putrid breath blowing back the trapper's hair.

At that moment, Ezra convulsed and arched his back as if being electrocuted. An observer (if he hadn't already run screaming from the premises) would have seen Ezra's body go limp. Ezra had lost all physical feeling. But he was far from dead.

Images filled Ezra's helpless mind, jamming his brain. He felt himself running through the forest, his vantage point 12 feet in the air, moving faster than seemed possible, his powerful lungs drawing in the cool air in huge gulps. Trees whipped by in a blur. Reaching the edge of a large, glassy lake, he leapt off a rock outcropping.

He floated weightlessly, tumbling through space and time, drifting down, down, consciousness slowly slipping away. Bizarre, foggy-edged visions approached and receded like landscapes seen from a swiftly moving coach.

A crying girl...a golden eagle swathed in blue...a cluster of snakes surrounding a vulnerable man...a grotesque flower opening...two brothers locked in mortal combat...a baked, decomposing field...a spinning globe...a proud, impassive lion...a world disintegrating in hellish green flames...a kiss to end all kisses...a dying man's pleading face...a trio of ominous black-garbed figures...a violent rush of wind...a regal swan waiting expectantly...

Ezra felt his senses overloading. He struggled to block out the disturbing hallucinations and sensations, but they continued to assault him until the final image came slowly into focus. It was a stream of fire so blinding that it
overwhelmed Ezra. He felt himself falling, flailing until he hit the hard ground with a crushing thud. The flashes of light continued to penetrate his brain.
The Windigo had dropped him and was now bellowing at the sky. Immobilized by pain and shock on the floor of the foundry, Ezra felt the ground shake as the Windigo stamped and beat his chest, wailing with befuddlement and fear. Finally, Ezra realized why he could see his surroundings clearly. The trance state had become reality.

In the cloudless sky above him, hundreds of bright streaks slashed the night, as if multitudes of stars had escaped their moorings and were fleeing west in a brilliant mass.

To us, this is known as the Great Leonid Meteor Storm of 1833, caused by Comet Tempel-Tuttle crossing Earth's path. To the eyewitnesses of the day, who would tell the tale for the rest of their lives, it was a rain of fire that signified the coming of a great being. To plainspoken Ezra Small, it was simply the most wondrous sight he had ever seen in all his travels.

The shower increased in magnitude until almost the entire sky was in brilliant motion, shifting in great waves of luminosity. Occasionally, one fireball would shoot from the mass, leaving a bluish trail of smoke before exploding near the horizon. The meteors varied in size, some appearing as large as the full moon.

As Ezra lay wide-eyed, taking in the silent, gorgeous display, he became aware of a change in the Windigo's baying from bewilderment to agony. While the giant was blinded and stunned by nature's furious light show, the black wolf had emerged from the shadows and leapt onto its back. The beast shook violently from side to side, trying to cast off the wolf, which was now sinking its teeth into the Windigo's neck.

Screaming with rage and agony, the huge creature finally grabbed the wolf with both hands and threw it violently onto the ground a few yards away. But the wolf had achieved its valiant objective. The entire foundation trembled as the Windigo beat a terrified retreat, trailing blood from its upper body.

Minutes passed, and the awe-inspiring celestial event continued to grow. But the mortally injured wolf was looking intently across the floor at Ezra with dark, deep eyes that glowed with each flash from above. The trees cast bizarre, dancing shadows on the two prone figures facing each other.

Thank you. Ezra sent the thought to his savior.

Heed the visions. The wolf's reply entered Ezra's imagination not so much as words but as concepts or feelings. The connection seemed perfectly natural.

What was that creature? asked the pain-stricken man.

It takes many forms and is known by many names and legends. Its kind were left here ages ago. But few understand their message. The wolf calmly regarded Ezra, commanding his attention with his eyes. The gash in its side was more pronounced now, and a trickle of blood escaped its mouth.

Will I die? Ezra finally ventured.

Yes. But not tonight. You will die alone, as I will. Endeavor for greatness while you can.

With that, the exhausted wolf summoned all of his strength and rose on its tremulous legs. Ezra watched sadly as the noble animal held its head high and hobbled slowly into the trees, leaving him alone with the dreamlike spectacle unfolding overhead.

As we know from the history books, Ezra Small did indeed survive that long, matchless night. He came forth from the foundry's basement and returned to his humble dwelling by the Elbow River, from which a robust Midwestern village would someday spring. And some of Smallville's residents swear you can still feel the reverberations in the shell of the old foundry--echoes of a deadly battle, messages from an unknowable future and visions of an awesome natural event not to be repeated for 156 years.

SUMMERHOLT NEUROLOGICAL INSTITUTE PROBED


State Investigates Administrator, Studies Halted
By Angie Perez

Behind its post-modern décor and sterile stainless steel atrium, what is really going on at the Summerholt Neurological Institute? The imposing facility, which stands on the outskirts of Metropolis, claims to be a center for advanced brain research. But after recent reports of violations became public, a federal agency has terminated all government-supported clinical research at the institute.

The Metropolis district attorney's office is launching its own investigation of Dr. Lawrence Garner, Summerholt's administrator, for illegal research practices involving minors held under duress.

Dr. Garner initially stated to authorities that "there are no patients onsite, and my work is strictly devoted to parapsychology studies." However, an orderly has come forth and made a very convincing report (in exchange for immunity) that indeed there were patients at the hospital who were often restrained with leather straps "as if they were lab rats," said the unidentified employee. The orderly further commented that the ambitious Dr. Garner seemed far more interested in his test results than in the patients' well being.
As the investigation unfolds, the future of Summerholt remains uncertain. But what is clear is that Dr. Garner may not get off so lightly. Sources within the D.A.'s office say it is highly likely that he will face criminal charges.

RYAN JAMES
SUCCUMBS TO CANCER

By Kathy Romita

Pediatric patient Ryan James died yesterday afternoon at Smallville Medical Center. James was involved in an accident last year here in Smallville and stayed with Jonathan Kent's family. (Issue 64, Number 8) He later moved to Edge City to reside with his aunt, who gave up legal guardianship and presumably left Kansas. Jonathan and Martha Kent were recently granted temporary custody of the 13-year-old.

James suffered from a rapidly growing brain tumor. Famed cancer researcher Dr. Thomas Burton, who developed an experimental serum that shrinks primary brain tumors, operated on the young teen and administered the serum, but the procedure came too late. Jonathan, Martha and Clark Kent were with Ryan James when he died.

Funeral services will be held at the Kent farm on Friday with burial immediately following at the Smallville Cemetery. In lieu of flowers, please send donations to the LuthorCorp Children's Fund.