to rest on solid ground at last. The spirit wavered shakily a moment or two, testing the feel of the hard gray surface beneath its feet, trying to find its bearings. Gawking around, it saw that they were in a dark walkway between two enormous domed buildings, the perfection of which could not be fathomed. Hard as stone cliffs and taller than trees, they must be the home of gods.
“San Francisco, California, to answer your question,” the Master answered coolly, releasing his handhold on his servant. “To be more precise, we are between two import warehouses by the docks.” The Lord’s lips twisted at the corners. “Impressed?”
The spirit nodded, though it did not understand a word. Warehouses? Docks? San Fran … something.
“Please, Master, why have we come here?”
“I have something for you,” the Master spoke. “A great gift. A miracle. Look, over there, against the wall. Tell me what you see.” The Great One pointed to an indistinguishable heap on the ground a short distance away.
The spirit gave its master a questioning glance then crept forward, crab-like, squinting into the shadows. On the ground, a male human body lay face-up. Its eyes were open, staring. It did not move.
“Too late to help, I fear, Lord,” the spirit said regretfully. “I think this one is dead.”
The One True Lord laughed, but without mirth. “You amuse me, Spirit. This is it, my gift, my great miracle. This is your body now. I give it to you.”
The spirit stared in disbelief. This limp body of cold but otherwise flawless flesh … was to be his? In eagerness, the spirit crouched over the prize like a vulture over a carcass.
Upon examination, the spirit noted the body was, except for being dead, quite splendid. In spite of the strange, restrictive clothing, one could tell the muscular build was lean, the skin of handsome, tanned complexion and the hair, black, thick and glossy. The face itself, though macabre with its staring eyes, was still quite comely with sensual lips and an arrogant jaw. It was obvious this man, whoever he was, had cut an imposing figure in life.
“It is truly mine, Lord?” the spirit asked, kneeling down and running trembling fingers the length of the well-formed torso, touching the strange garments, pawing the clay-cold hands. “You are giving this body to me?”
“Yes,” the molten voice answered. “The mortal who last inhabited it was one of my servants. He obviously doesn't need it anymore. It is therefore free to be used, and use it you will, presently.”
The Great One cocked his head, admiring the body approvingly from a distance.
“It is beautiful, isn't it? That’s important, you know. Beauty is an essential element in this world. Always has been. People love it. They defer to it. Fools that they are, they even trust it. Knowing that, I have taken great pains to assure the gift I give you will present every advantage. In your new capacity, you shall have wealth, status and respect, and you shall be beautiful.”
“I do not know how to thank my Lord,” the spirit replied with appropriate appreciation. “But what do you wish me…?”
“And you shall be powerful,” the True Lord went on, ignoring the question. “There are a few tricks I can teach you on that regard, oh yes. You will be briefed on them when I feel you are ready.”
“As you say, Lord. But what…?”
“This body is my miracle,” the Great One continued, still disregarding the spirit’s contribution to the conversation. “My great work. I have remade it for you. Oh, the artistry of it! I have taken sand and created porcelain!”
The spirit nodded mutely.
“I shall pour you into this body, Spirit, as lead into a mold,” the Master said, slowly circling the lifeless, staring form on the ground. “You shall be reborn, remade in the likeness I have prepared for you. You shall walk again as flesh. You shall breathe. You shall speak. You shall even make love. Is it not marvelous? Is it not the most wonderful thing you have ever seen?”
“Certainly, Lord,” the spirit agreed eagerly. “I only wonder…”
The True Lord suddenly frowned, looking put off. He stroked his chin. “Unfortunately, my creation is not without certain shortcomings.”
“No, no,” the spirit interjected. “It is perfect!”
But the Master’s dissatisfaction settled upon him even more deeply and he shook his head. “Oh, I have assuredly improved the thing since it was vacated. It can now readily repair itself after most injuries, making it next to immortal. But the restoration process required certain … adaptations, shall we say, which have diminished some of its temporal functions. Its senses are a bit ... dulled, I’m afraid. The essence of taste, touch, pain, pleasure and so forth are there, but without the intensity you may remember from your mortality.” He clicked his tongue. “I'm truly sorry about that. It could not be helped. But no mind. Other than that, the body will function fully well as any mortal body would. There may even be some residual memories, which could be helpful.”
“It is more than I deserve, Lord,” the spirit cried, overcome. “More than I could ever hope for. If you will allow me to venture, I suppose you have some marvelous reason in mind, some mission for giving me this body?”
The Great One turned to face his servant, touching a long-nailed finger to His lips, the corners of which pulled into a facsimile of a pleasant smile.
“Why, Spirit. Do you think I offer you this gift selfishly, for my own gratification? I give it to you to bring you joy. It is my wish that all men might have joy, that all might find peace, as all may through faith and obedience to me.”
“Of course, Lord. I only meant…”
“Hush, and listen! You are in part correct. There is a task for you to perform to merit this great honor.”
The spirit bowed low. “Anything, master! My soul is yours to command.”
The Master folded his arms and looked down his nose at the subservient gesture. “Of course it is. And in case you should be inclined to forget it, you are about to experience a brief reminder. Lest pride of your newly exalted station dim your memory, let this be a lesson of the power of your Master and a reminder of where your loyalty lies.”
The tone of the Great Lord’s voice sent a foreboding chill down the spirit’s back. It looked up apprehensively.
“I will enter you now,” the Great Lord said, “to touch you with my power and enlighten your mind. Give me permission.”
“Permission, Lord? How am I to give permission to you?”
The Master’s dark eyes flashed. “Give me permission, dolt, before I smite you to ash!”
The spirit fell to its knees, trembling. “Granted, of course, of course. Anything you ask…”
“Thank you.”
A searing pain suddenly stabbed into the spirit's mind with an agony of heat and stifling power. It could not be endured! The spirit collapsed, writhing on the ground. Its breath came in painful gasps. Its brain felt as if it were melting, like copper at the forge; and into this chaos came a roaring wind through a honeycombed grotto.
“What you are experiencing, Servant,” the voice which was the wind said, “is called the Binding. This discomfort you feel now is caused by my spirit occupying the same space as yours, my mind speaking directly to yours, my essence controlling your will and the fact that I want to teach you a lesson. You are very honored, spirit, to be touched so intimately by the Master Himself.”
The spirit twisted in agony, holding its head, helpless to resist or think a thought of its own. The voice came again. “You are to have this same power when you are ready, and a mighty weapon it is. Even so, Binding is only one of the things I will teach you.”
The force that controlled the spirit was domination beyond its wildest dreams. Even through its pain the words of the master sank