Читать книгу Stewards of the White Circle: Calm Before the Storm - JT MDiv Brewer - Страница 9

Anna Dawn Hamlyn opened the door on her second day of work at the Biology Building, to find the room filled with the smell of fresh paint. A sound of something metal grating against the floor was coming from Omega's office.

“Dr. Omega?” she queried, dropping her purse on the computer desk and stepping questioningly toward the commotion. “Is that you? Is everything all right?”

“Anna Dawn, yes it is me, no need for concern,” his voice came out the door, sounding almost apologetic.

She poked her head in and couldn't believe what she saw: the renowned Dr. James Omega, perched atop a six-foot ladder, painting the tiny office white!

“What ... are ... you ... doing?” she stuttered.

“The walls were gray. I like white,” he explained over his shoulder as he stretched to hit a corner, just so. He stopped to rub his nose with his sleeve. “Perhaps you can tell me, Anna Dawn, why is it your nose starts to itch the very moment you cannot scratch it? There must be some scientific explanation.”

Anna Dawn put her hands on her hips. “There is; the Universal Law of Prickly Nose Hairs—-basically the same thing that makes you sneeze just when a boy you particularly wanted to impress is puckering up to kiss you good night. You do realize we have work crews to do that. Professors don't paint walls.”

Omega cocked an eyebrow. “By deductive reasoning, then, either I am not a professor or these are not walls. Even more likely,” he pointed to his paint-spattered oxford shirt, “I am not painting them, but myself. What is his name?”

Anna Dawn looked perplexed. “Who?”

“The boy you sneezed on whom you wanted to impress ... if you do not mind my asking.”

“Oh,” she looked at her toes. “He doesn't exist. Just an imaginary friend. By that I mean there are currently no men in my life. Don't you remember I told you they are preparing another office for you? I'm sure they'll paint it whatever color you prefer.”

Omega shook his head. “I do not need, nor do I want, another office. This will do nicely, especially now that I have some ownership in it. As to the other, I do not believe you for a moment. Surely, an attractive girl like you has a whole string of young men lined up at her door.”

Anna Dawn folded her arms and leaned her hip against the door. “This is beginning to sound like an interrogation coming from someone I have only just met.”

“Ah,” Omega rubbed his nose on his sleeve again. “I am sorry, lass. I have a tendency to skip preliminaries with people I like and get right to the ‘up close and personal’ stage. It is a fault I am working on. Forgive me.”

She thought about that. “You're forgiven. Now get down ... please. If you're not happy with the color of this office, I'll just call maintenance and put in a work order.”

Omega smiled, but refilling his brush, turned his back on her to begin anew. “If I wait for a work order to come through, I will have to wait for eternity. Look at this. Look what I have accomplished, all by myself. Two walls in thirty minutes.”

She looked at him oddly, but admiringly. It was plain he was not about to budge and this was one argument she was not going to win. “Not bad,” she said, conceding defeat, and walked away.

“By the way, there is something for you on your desk,” Omega said resuming his work. “Nothing big. Just a thank you for the nice welcome yesterday, the clean office and all. I appreciated it.”

A myriad of thoughts were clicking through her mind as she left Omega and closed the door to his office behind her. This was one strange, hard-to-read, but very intriguing, person she worked for. Certainly, no schmerk.

Maybe all celebrities seem a little odd to the rest of us, she figured, and walked briskly back to her desk. What she found when she got there, wrapped in a cone of newspaper, was a sprig of wild, dawn-pink roses.

From the torrid darkness of Hell into the cool darkness of a clear Earthen night, the spirit creature so recently dispossessed from its seven hundred year prison held desperately to the hand of its powerful Master. They flew beneath a curtain of stars over desert and mountain, through clouds pearly in moonlight and above a black ocean with foamy crests rising and falling below, all in the midst of a heartbeat, all in the space of a thought. In this flight, sense of direction and true passage of time was confused; but the spirit sensed they had covered a vast distance and perhaps, passed into another age.

Looking down, it could see strange buildings, higher than could be imagined, seeming to challenge the sky itself. Palatial structures were crowded shoulder to shoulder and lit with thousands of square eyes, while around their feet scurried small hard-shelled beasts, also with lighted eyes and bright red, blinking tails. The beasts were charging madly along a grid of pathways in seeming chaos and the shade could make no sense of it. Their bleating sounds grew louder as the spirit and its Master came nearer the ground. It was dizzying, fascinating, but too much to take in. The spirit squinted in confusion and tried to hold its free hand over its ear to block out their insistent braying.

Gratefully, within a short time, the Great One brought them 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 in. It, too, was to have this power! Suddenly, a hunger to wield it almost overcame the terror, and the feeling burned in its bowels like a hot ember. How it wanted to be able to do this! Someday, it promised itself, it would.

“I feel your desire, Servant, ripe and hot as a sire with a whore. Sweet, is it not? Such thirst for power is good. It motivates us to perform our duty; knowing when all is done, we will obtain our reward. But you must know there are rules concerning these powers and you must learn them well. Foremost in the Binding is this: you cannot go where you are not invited. Obtain permission any way you like, but there must be, however obtained, permission granted. Remember that! It is important!”

“I will remember, Lord,” the spirit whimpered. “Please, now, please release me!”

The Master ignored the entreaty. “You must not take this lightly! There are certain immutable Laws we must all obey. Yes, even I. My kingdom is a realm of order and for a reason. Without law, there is chaos; and, with chaos, there is no obedience; and, if there is no obedience, there is no power. Therefore, you shall be taught the Laws which pertain to your powers and will be expected to obey them. Know this, if you bend a Law, you will suffer a corrective punishment. If you break a Law, you will be cut off and destroyed. The man who last wore this body broke a law. Do you understand?”

By now the distraught spirit could barely function, but somehow forced itself to respond. “I understand, Lord. Please, please…”

“Know this also,” the Master continued increasing rather than slacking his vise over his captive’s will, “this body is not to be abused. You will take very good care of it.”

“Yes, of course, Lord. Please release me.”

The Great Lord hid a chuckle of amusement with a cough. “Patience. This skin will fit you better and better the longer you wear it. And after you’ve become adjusted to it and are ready for more, I will visit you again. I will teach you how to exit and enter this mortal frame at will. It is, after all, merely a physical apparatus with which to work in a physical world. Think of this body as a vehicle, my son, a miraculous vehicle.” The Great One paused, tapping his chin. “Think of it as … a Lamborghini. Yes, that’s it! Think of it as a Lamborghini.”

The spirit quailed, confused. “A what, Lord?”

“Never mind,” the Master huffed. “Just remember, this is no small gift you are being given. Take care of it. Appreciate it.”

“Of course, Lord, of course.”

“Good. Well then, now that’s settled, let's put you in the driver’s seat and take it out for a ride, shall we?”