“And then?” Shaken by dread greater than her comprehension, she shrank away from him. “Do you speak of your Great Intention?”
His look leaped after her, a devouring fire.
“I speak of a night far spent—of a day that is at hand. I speak of earth and water and air that shall cleave together as component parts of chaos, of heavens that shall stretch out ‘like a curtain,’ of hordes that shall put on the ‘armor of light.’ No time to call on the gods of men in my surprise. No pause for a thought of reprieve. If love generates electricity, what of hate? Hate shall be the ammunition of the great drive. A fanfare of poisoned thoughts shall open the fire. Once the lapsing fear for mortality is burned to dross, my demands shall be granted. You dare to probe the mystery of my Intention? Keep those asking eyes of yours on me, Dolores Trent. I am the mystery of Mystery Land!”
Loud he hurled this declaration into the heated air. As though spoken into some megaphone of surpassing conductive power, it reverberated away and away, down and down. At its message, lightning licked the air, to be gulped in turn by thunder. From below echoed tumult so great that the atmospheric response rumbled as from volcanic eruptions. Shrieks arose from the Hadean hordes.
His Majesty, slowing and steadying their craft as a bird holds poise, pulled the girl-soul to her feet and with her leaned to watch, first-sight, the troops rushing into formation. Soon sight of the units was cut off by slashing swords of light. A fetid gas arose from the on-rush.
In an ague of undefined terror, Dolores felt herself further shaken by the clutch on her arm; heard the Prince of the Power of the Air again give himself over to mirth.
“Fool fiends, they hear my voice and think it is That Day! Not bad for an impromptu practice drive, eh? Once all fear is drilled out of them, once their numbers are complete, once the full force of that gas is turned on—Ah, nothing and none may stand against the hate of Hell!”
Skimming the upper air toward the palace, he centered his attention on the cowering convert to his power.
“Whether you rise to the rôle in this new comedy divine for which I am considering you, depends upon yourself,” he told her. “Your first séance was one of fair success. But nerve yourself for to-night lest you fail to entertain. After what you have seen to-day, you’d not wish to fail?”
The weight of her responsibility crushed out her reply.