“Right is might and I am right,” he cried.
“You can’t pit one will against hundreds and win,” the chief contended. “Stop a second. Realize how foolish——”
“And what is folly but a riotous expenditure of will?” At his application of the memory flash, John laughed. “This is—to will—and to have—my will,” he panted as he fought the united determination to stay him. “You witness the end—of my social ideas—my immoderate desires—my excesses—my pleasures that—have ended—in death. A laugh for—your hundreds—of wills!”
Perhaps by his rashness, perhaps by force of the wind now rousing in strength from over the Fields, the light forms of Amor and Innocentia were snatched up and borne through the ranks of the guard. At sight of their disappearance into the abyss, John’s eyes blazed like lit torches.
“Since mind is more than matter up here—since this is a world of will—let the stronger will prevail!”
From the grasp of the nearest of the patrol, he wrenched a torch-lit spear. Waving it on high, he rushed their resistance; engaged them; smote their thoughts with his thoughts. The two ushers fell back, powerless to contend against him.
“He must be a madman,” gasped the chief.
“Or a god”—his associate.
Both shook in the greatening gale. Both paled to see that the mystery Light, which had abided since their entrance into Shadow Land, was being eclipsed by Stygian clouds. So dark grew the air that they scarcely could discern the form of the man-manes outlined against the rim. But his battle-cry came back to them.
“Make way—make way for my mind!”