Who Let the Dogma Out (The Elven Prophecy Book 1)

by Theophilus Monroe

  “But if our world runs out of magic, maybe the war will end.”

  “If we have the Blade and all the magic, the war will end.”

  “Wait,” Layla said. “I thought the plan was to restore magic to New Albion, not use it to win the war.”

  Hector nodded. “Of course, we will restore magic to New Albion. Once the orcs have been stopped. That’s the only way to guarantee peace.”

  Layla sighed. “That’s not what I was told.”

  “Of course it isn’t,” Hector said. “But it makes sense, does it not? Isn’t it better that we win the war, end the war, then restore our world? All we’d be doing if we just used the Blade to recharge the world is keep the war going indefinitely.”

  I coughed into my hand as I stood there shivering. “Back to the car, please? I’m going to have to make the trek in socks now.”

  “Don’t step on any snakes!” Agnus interjected.

  “Thanks for putting that thought in my head,” I replied.

  “Why don’t you just fly back?” Hector asked.

  “I don’t know how. Before I was going on adrenaline.”

  “And focus,” Layla interjected. “You did it because you had focus. You visualized it, didn’t you?”

  I nodded. “Still, duplicating that? I suppose I could try.”

  “Shotgun!” Agnus interjected.

  I cocked my head.

  “You’re taking me with you,” Agnus said. “No way I’m walking back either.”

  “We won’t be far behind,” Hector said.

  I nodded. I suspected that the whole suggestion I fly off was to give Hector and Layla a chance to talk. There was no way to avoid it without appearing jealous and clingy. Besides, Layla and I had flirted, but that was it. We weren’t together or anything. More than that, they had elven politics to discuss, stuff that was beyond my pay grade. I mean, I’d only just learned that elves existed. I surely couldn’t understand the dynamics of the elven/orcish war.

  I reached down and picked up Agnus, then closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

  I imagined myself rising above the tree line—I figured that was a lot easier than visualizing myself dodging all the trees—and as I saw it in my mind’s eye, I felt my feet leave the ground. The wind blew through my wet hair, but in my mind’s eye, it wasn’t as cold as it should have been. It was exhilarating.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I landed in front of my car as I opened my eyes.

  The fisherman was still there, only now, he noticed. He stood there, jaw dropped, as he held what looked like a large trout in his hand.

  I waved at the man.

  He didn’t react.

  I noticed a case of beer in the woods beside him. He’d been drinking. Fishing and drinking, two things that often go hand-in-hand but probably shouldn’t. If I’d ever attempted it, I probably wouldn’t have made it off the lake, or in this case, the spring.

  “You have a ride, sir?” I asked.

  The man nodded his head. “My wife will be here to pick me up.”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

  “No, not a ghost, but you were flying.”

  I laughed. “Sir, people can’t fly. I think you’ve had a few too many. Ease up on the Coors Light until your wife arrives, won’t you?”

  The fisherman shook his head in disbelief, picked up his fishing rod, and cracked open another beer.

  He’d either think he’d imagined it in his state of inebriation, or anyone he told about what he saw wouldn’t believe him for the same reason.

  He didn’t have a phone out or anything, so there wasn’t any visual evidence. We were in the clear.

  I reached into the back of my car and found an old t-shirt. I couldn’t change my wet pants, but a dry shirt was an improvement. Not to mention, the breeze from when I flew through the trees had left my pants merely damp rather than saturated as they’d been before. Of course, my boxers were incredibly uncomfortable. I wasn’t looking forward to the long drive with wet underpants. A small price to pay, I suppose, for having just saved an entire world.

  It was a bit much to accept, honestly. I’d saved a whole world. I mean, holy shit, that was big league, but I didn’t feel special about it. If anything, the questions I’d had before had multiplied.

  Okay. I could fly, provided I used my mind’s eye to do it.

  What else could I do? Was I really this chosen one, and if so, had I just fulfilled the prophecy in total, or was there more to it? Hector and Layla seemed reluctant to share the details. All I knew was that once again, I’d unwittingly checked another box of the elven prophecy.

  What had happened to the orc? He’d just disappeared, and the water was clear enough that I would have seen him if he was resting at the bottom. But the gate between worlds wasn’t at the spring; that was just the deepest place available on the ley line where the magic could be tapped into. The gate to New Albion was supposed to be where the Meramec Spring emptied into the Mississippi at the intersection of the ley lines.

  But B’iff had gone somewhere…

  Fortunately, Layla and Hector showed up at the tree line. Hector was walking a few paces behind Layla, and from the look on her face, their conversation hadn’t gone particularly well. But how often does a conversation with an ex go smoothly? I hadn’t talked to my ex in months. The last time I spoke to her was when a debt collector called looking for her. I suppose calling her out of the blue to pass on the regards of a debt collector wasn’t the best way to get the conversation off on the right foot. I’d talked to her a total of maybe three times since she left. It never went well.

  Whatever history Layla and Hector had, it wasn’t my business. Despite that, I was more than a little curious about what he’d said that had left her with an expression that suggested she’d just taken a big bite out of a lemon.

  Agnus had already curled up in the back seat. I figured he’d hop into Layla’s lap the moment she got into the car.

  My prediction was spot-on.

  “Sorry, Hector. My car doesn’t have a lot of legroom in the back seat.”

  “It’s all right,” Hector replied. “I just appreciate the ride back to the city. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I can find a place. It’s just until the next full moon.”

  I almost invited him to stay at the apartment. Of course, Layla would probably be staying there. I felt a bit rebellious because allowing her to stay with me, considering that doing so while I was still a minister was taboo even if we weren’t sleeping together. Living with a female other than one’s mother or sister outside of marriage was a big faux pas in our denomination. Some of my fellow ministers would refuse to marry couples who’d lived together before marriage. I always thought that was a bit silly. I mean, it wasn’t like the church could prevent people from sleeping together before marriage. Sharing an apartment with a member of the opposite sex wasn’t nearly as scandalous as it had once been in our society. From my perspective, while I didn’t do a ton of weddings in my church, the better answer was to simply conduct the marriage—though I did often recommend separating for a week or so before the marriage, just to prevent the wedding night from feeling like another night of Netflix and chill.

  Inviting Hector to stay without talking to Layla about it first was probably a recipe for disaster, so I kept my mouth shut and nodded. Instead, I changed the subject.

  “Do either of you have any idea where B’iff went?” I asked. “He just disappeared into the light.”

  Layla shook her head as she stroked Agnus down his back, causing his tail-end to rise slightly as she neared the end of her stroke. “We don’t know for sure. Our best guess is that he entered the ley line.”

  “When we travel between worlds,” Hector interjected, “technically speaking, our bodies dematerialize and rematerialize on the other side of the gate. I’m guessing he’ll reappear in New Albion once the gate opens again at the full moon.”

  Layla said. “We d
on’t know. He might not ever materialize. There’s a chance he was absorbed by Earth’s magic.”

  “Absorbed?” I asked. “That sounds terrifying.”

  “The magic in the ley lines,” Layla said, “is the magic of life itself. To return to the source may seem scary from this side of the afterlife, but I imagine he’s at peace.”

  “Orcs don’t get peace,” Hector said. “They have no place in the afterlife.”

  “Says who?” Layla asked.

  “The dogma,” Hector replied.

  “The same dogma that declared the chosen one must be an elf?” Layla asked. “Those dogmas were developed across the centuries through tradition. They weren’t discerned from the original scrolls.”

  “How do you know?” Hector asked. “You haven’t ever read the scrolls.”

  “Neither have you,” Layla said.

  “You’d question the dogma?” Hector asked. “Your father would be ashamed.”

  Layla took a deep breath. “I’m not questioning it. I’m simply suggesting there might be more than one possible way to interpret it. Caspar keeps fulfilling the marks of the prophecy.”

  “He hasn’t fulfilled them all,” Hector said. “This may simply be a way of testing our faith. And while I admit he’s come closer to fulfilling it than any other, there are still signs he has not fulfilled.”

  “What are these signs?” I asked, hoping Layla would finally relent and tell me.

  “We cannot say,” Hector said.

  “Yeah, I know.” I turned my key in the ignition. “If I knew all the signs, I could try to make myself fit them, and it would compromise the prophecy.”

  “Exactly,” Hector said. “At least in that respect, Layla has abided by the council of our priests.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The drive back to St. Louis was awkward. If it hadn’t been for Agnus singing “the doggone girl is mine,” the Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney duet from Jackson’s Thriller album, the whole drive probably would have been silent.

  I had to admit, while I often played the Thriller album when I was feeling nostalgic, I was impressed that Agnus had it memorized. He sang both parts, throwing his voice a little higher on Michael’s verses.

  “Doggone?” I asked, interrupting Agnus during his third time through the song. “Isn’t that a bit ironic coming from you?”

  “Ironic?” Agnus asked, taking a quick break from singing to answer my question. “That’s exactly the way I like dogs best. Gone!”

  “I do not know this song,” Hector said.

  Layla rolled her eyes. “You need education in Earth culture. Michael Jackson was the first man to walk on the moon.”

  I laughed out loud. “No, that was Neil Armstrong. Michael Jackson was the first one to do the moonwalk.”

  Layla shrugged. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

  “No,” I said, still chuckling through my words. “The moonwalk was a dance. They called it that because there’s no gravity on the moon, and the way Michael did it defied gravity. It was brilliant.”

  “Brilliant?” Agnus asked. “I could do that dance.”

  “I’d like to see that! On all four paws?” I asked.

  “I’d put Michael to shame. They’d call my dance the catwalk.”

  I smiled, calling to mind another old-time reference. “You’d do your little turn on the catwalk?”

  “I’m too sexy,” Agnus quipped back, lowering his voice a few octaves, clearly picking up on my Right Said Fred reference. “I’d shake my little tush on the catwalk.”

  I glanced at Layla. The look of confusion on her face was priceless. As lost as I’d been when she and Hector were discussing eleven politics, she was the confused one now, even though she was a supposed expert on Earth culture.

  It struck me, given Agnus’ knowledge of eighties and nineties music, I’d probably overexposed him to the music of my youth during his days as a kitten. That meant that the music of my childhood was also the music of his kittenhood.

  Technically, though, I came of age during the era of nineties alternative. Michael did the moonwalk a few years before I was born. Of course, when Right Said Fred released I’m too Sexy, I was only seven. I had no idea what the song meant at the time, but that never stopped me from singing it in my bedroom mirror using the cardboard tube of a toilet paper roll as a microphone.

  Our little intermission did nothing to dissuade Agnus from resuming his serenade. It was no surprise that the moment we parked outside my apartment, Hector was out of the car faster than a one-legged man in a butt-kicking competition.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow,” Hector said. “But if you haven’t spoken to your father by then, I will have to report the status of the mission.”

  “Understood,” Layla said, holding Agnus in her arms as she bumped the passenger door with her hip to close it.

  “Does he have a place to stay?” I asked.

  Layla stared at me blankly. “You don’t want him to stay with us. Trust me.”

  “I got the impression he doesn’t care for me too much.”

  “It’s not that,” Layla said. “Elves are raised with a history of humans, a history of our ancestry, that doesn’t cast your kind in the best of light. I mean, when push came to shove, he asked you to come help take out B’iff, didn’t he?”

  I nodded. “I suppose there’s that.”

  “Doesn’t mean he liked it. Even when I’ve returned from my visitations on Earth trying to cast humanity in the best light possible, by the time my reports were summarized and passed along to the elven public, little was left that could be considered praiseworthy.”

  “My kind?” I asked.

  “I don’t mean to be offensive. I’m just saying that Hector, like all of the elven world, was raised with certain prejudices about humans. That isn’t something he is likely to overcome after one successful mission, no matter how essential your help might have been.”

  “So now you’re defending him?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

  “Not at all. Hector is an asshole, but he means well. He’s one of my father’s most trusted generals. It’s why my father sent him to keep an eye on me.”

  “Sounds to me like your father doesn’t trust you.”

  “He’s an asshole too,” Layla said. “Don’t get me wrong. He’s my dad. He’s my king, too. But he doesn’t trust that I can get the job done. I’m not just talking about this job. Any job I’m sent on, even though I can handle myself in combat against any male warrior. I’ve bested Hector in hand-to-hand combat more times than I can count.”

  “Then why does he doubt you?” I asked.

  Layla shrugged. “He thinks I’m soft.”

  “Because you’re a woman?” I asked.

  Layla nodded. “That’s part of it. And because I’m consistently emphasizing the goodness of humanity, despite all your people’s failings. You’re destroying your planet. For Dad, things are black and white.”

  I snorted. “He isn’t wrong. But you’d think he’d do well to take a look in the mirror if all you say about what he’s done, how the wars have ravaged your planet, is true.”

  “My dad doesn’t see it that way, unfortunately.” Layla handed Agnus to me.

  “Hey! What are you doing?” Agnus protested.

  “Would you rather I try to carry you and the knife at the same time?” Layla asked.

  Agnus said, “Ok. You have a point.”

  I scratched Agnus behind the ears as I carried him up to the apartment with me.

  Layla followed close behind. I closed and locked the door.

  Layla pulled the blue crystal from her pocket. “Is there a place where I can call my father? I don’t care if you hear, but he’ll ask me to make sure no one’s in the room when I contact him.”

  I nodded. “Can I get you something to drink before you make the call?”

  “I don’t suppose you have any wine, do you?” Layla asked, smirking.

  “Of course not,” I said. “But I have soda.”<
br />
  “Gross.”

  “Water, then?”

  Layla nodded. “That’ll do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I didn’t try to eavesdrop on Layla’s conversation with her father. I couldn’t say the same thing for Agnus, who listened at the door to my bedroom, where I told her she could go to make the call.

  “She doesn’t sound happy,” he said.

  I shook my head. “She wasn’t happy when Hector told her the plan was to use the Blade to defeat the orcs.”

  “She just told him that you’ve now fulfilled four of the seven marks of the prophecy.”

  “Did she say which four?” I asked.

  Agnus shook his head. “She’s trying to convince him to trust the prophecy. If you’re the chosen one, she told him, recharging New Albion’s ley lines made more sense than trying to use it to defeat their enemies.”

  “I’m guessing her father still isn’t buying that I’m the chosen one,” I said. Not like I could blame him. I mean, I didn’t even know Layla’s father. Besides that, I wasn’t entirely convinced I fulfilled this prophecy either. I mean, say that some druid who helped bring the elves to New Albion made a prophecy. How many humans have been cut by the Blade of Echoes to know if humans, generally, could survive it? And if so, how many humans had a chance to wield magic? It might not be that I was a chosen one at all, but only the first human who happened to get stabbed by the right blade to start the domino of other inevitable fulfillments going. Maybe the original druid prophet knew that all it would take was a benevolent human to become the one they hoped could somehow save them if that was what this chosen one was supposed to do. I mean, as a Christian preacher, I assumed salvation motifs that maybe didn’t fit it all what the elves had set their hopes on.

  Still, chosen one or not, I was still a little giddy because I had developed the ability to fly. How cool was that? I mean, really? All my childhood fantasies about becoming a superhero were seemingly coming true.