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

by Theophilus Monroe

  I shook my head. “That doesn’t sound any better.”

  The boy coughed in his hand. “Sorry, it’s nothing like that. I don’t think. Just royal customs and whatnot. Everyone wants the king’s blessing.”

  “Have you had his blessing?” I asked.

  “Not yet, sir. Though he said that the day he grants it, I shall become a man.”

  I snorted. “Is this your first year larping?”

  The boy shook his head. “Second year. I’m a veteran.”

  “Of course you are,” I said. “But you might want to do a little brushing up on life in medieval times before next year’s festival. Just a suggestion.”

  “Says the man who showed up here in plain clothes with an elf. You’re just here to humor her. If you’d dressed as a knight, trust me, the ladies can’t resist a knight, especially when you’re the bad boy knight.”

  “That’s your ploy? You’re doing this to get girls?”

  “Duh, why else would I dress up like this? I look ridiculous.”

  I snorted and patted the kid on the back. “You know, if you want to get girls, you should just be yourself.”

  “How many girls have you gotten, sir?” the boy asked.

  I bit my lip. “I was married once, and I had girlfriends before. Plus, there’s the elf.”

  “The king said you were a preacher, right?” the boy asked.

  I nodded. “I was.”

  The boy gestured at a man walking past. He was dressed as a friar in a long brown robe and had a tonsure. Yes, the haircut with the ring of hair around the head and a big bald spot in the middle. “That’s what you should be.”

  “I’m not cutting my hair like that.”

  “Dude, the chicks here really dig it. The monks get all the ladies.”

  I cocked my head. “Thanks for the advice, but I think my elf likes me just the way I am, full head of hair and all.”

  “You could always join the Black Knight! We could pillage together!”

  “The next time I’m in the mood for a good pillaging, I’ll hit you up.” I smiled.

  “Sounds like a blast!” the kid said.

  “Of course it does. I mean, who doesn’t enjoy a good pillaging from time to time? You haven’t lived until you’ve pillaged a few villages.”

  “I concur!” the Black Knight said as he nodded matter-of-factly.

  I pulled out my phone to check the time.

  “Put that away! They’ll accuse you of witchcraft.”

  I rolled my eyes. “The guy at the entrance already did.”

  “That was a warning. If they think ye be a witch…”

  I glanced at a guillotine they’d set up in the distance. “I suppose that’s where they’d take me?”

  The Black Knight turned and looked. “No, that’s where they cut up the watermelons. If ye be a witch, your fate will be at the stake.”

  “They pretend to burn witches at the stake here?”

  “Not exactly,” the boy said. “They tie you to the stake and throw water balloons at you. It’s almost as bad.”

  I put away my phone. “Of course it is. Thanks for the warning. I’ll try to minimize my use of witchy devices.”

  The boy nodded and slapped me on the arm. “Very well, friend. Happy pillaging.”

  I chuckled. “Happy pillaging to you, too.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  How many fried Twinkies can a man eat before keeling over dead? More than ten. Not the best way to spend my money, what little I had of it, all things considered. And based on the way my stomach was beginning to turn, I’d be regretting it sooner rather than later. But they were delicious.

  The more I wandered the Faire, though, the more I grew to appreciate the allure of the whole thing. Yes, it was a little ridiculous to see grown men and women dressing up as people from another time, but there was a quaintness to it all, even the lack of authenticity. There were generators at some of the booths. The deep frier necessary to produce the historically inappropriate Twinkies required electricity. But for the most part, interference from the modern world was kept to a minimum.

  While it was a little silly, it was relaxing touring the exhibits and speaking to the men and women who practiced dead arts, made pottery, and presumably, did a bit of blacksmithing, if the blacksmith wasn’t busy playing the king at the moment.

  I wasn’t about to take the prepubescent Black Knight’s advice and shave my head into a tonsure anytime soon, but I did see the appeal. The modern world was a hectic place. It was stressful. The festival provided these people with an escape.

  Of course, it wasn’t historically accurate. The worst parts, due to common sense and because even medieval-esque England was subject to the laws of the state of Missouri, were left out. The food was prepared with modern sanitary standards. There were Porta-potties. Battles to the death and the burning of witches were reduced to entertainment and lacked bloodshed or torture. People willingly put themselves in the stocks for photos.

  Such occasions, I supposed, were exempt from the no-cell-phones-or-be-water-ballooned-as-a-witch-law I’d been told about.

  I found myself inadvertently attempting a British accent as I spoke to people. Bad accents were apparently contagious.

  But as much as the festival was starting to grow on me, I was getting impatient.

  Where the hell is Layla? I asked myself.

  I mean, how much could she and the fake king/blacksmith have to talk about?

  I felt a pinch on my butt.

  I turned.

  “G’day, mate!” It was Layla.

  “G’day?” I asked. “I think you have your British and Aussie accents mixed up.”

  Layla grinned widely. “I’m just messing with you.”

  I scratched my head. “I figured. What took you so long?”

  “Probably shouldn’t talk about it here. Too many curious ears.”

  I nodded. “We’ll chat about it in the car. Want a fried Twinkie before we go?”

  Layla’s face contorted in disgust. “No, thank you. I’ll pass on the guaranteed heart attack.”

  “You sure?” I asked. “I had ten of them and no chest pains yet.”

  Layla laughed. “Ten? Are you serious?”

  I shrugged. “I started and couldn’t quit. What can I say? I have an addictive personality.”

  “I hope you’re addicted to shitting, too. I see many hours on the toilet in your near future.”

  “How can you be addicted to a natural bodily function? It’s not like it’s something I can prevent.”

  “Not entirely. But if you’d cut out processed and fried foods, you’d go a long way to reducing your unnecessary bathroom time.”

  “How in the world am I ever going to beat Angry Birds if I cut back on my toilet time?” I asked.

  Layla raised one eyebrow. “Why the hell do I find you attractive, anyway?”

  I laughed and patted my pooch of a belly. “It has to be my athletic physique.”

  Layla snorted. “We’re going to have to do something about that in the near future.”

  I cocked my head. “What, you don’t love me the way I am?”

  “It isn’t that. Like I said, we’ll talk more in the car.”

  While it wasn’t a mark of the elven prophecy, at least to my knowledge, Layla was right. The sensation in my gut meant an uncomfortable episode in the bathroom was in my future. Hopefully, though, that particular part of my destiny could wait until we made it back to the apartment. Porta-potties are fine if you have to go number one. But number two? I had to do that once. Never again. I was still recovering from the trauma.

  We quickly made our way back to the car, and doing my best impersonation of a gentleman, I opened the passenger side door for Layla. She got in.

  “Thanks,” she said, cocking her head to the side. “Why’d you do that?”

  I shrugged. “I met some knights here. It reminded me that chivalry isn’t dead yet.”

  Layla snorted. “I appreciate the gesture. I
mean, I’m a helpless female who can’t handle a basic car door.”

  “Just trying to be sweet,” I told her.

  “The thought is sweet. I’m just saying, you don’t need to do that chivalrous shit for me.”

  “Elves don’t have chivalry as part of their culture?” I asked.

  “Oh, they do,” Layla said, rolling her eyes. “And it’s a lot worse than opening doors. Not that we have cars in New Albion. But pulling out our chairs before dinner, carrying us over puddles of mud, refusing to allow most women to train to fight.”

  I scrunched my brow. “But you were an exception to that rule?”

  Layla nodded as she buckled her seatbelt. I got in on my side of the car and did the same. “I think I was treated differently because the seal pertaining to the king’s daughter opened the day I was born. My father believed the need to defend myself, the need to prove myself, was more important than respecting patriarchal customs.”

  “So your father is progressive in some ways?”

  Layla shook her head. “Not the word I’d use. Especially not after what I learned.”

  “What did King Fred have to say?”

  Layla took a deep breath. “Well, I now know how the Elven Gate cult got started, and their teaching isn’t entirely off-base.”

  “The idea that the elves are coming to Earth to subjugate humans?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

  Layla nodded. “They got their information from Hector. My father has been sending him here for some time without my knowledge.”

  “But why would Hector tell these people that the elven legions are coming to Earth?”

  “Because,” Layla said, turning her eyes away, “that’s my father’s plan. He doesn’t want the Blade of Echoes so he can save New Albion. He wants it so he can create a gate large enough to bring all of our people back to Earth to conquer humanity.”

  I turned my key in the ignition. “Do you think a legion of elves could conquer Earth’s armies? I mean, we have nukes.”

  Layla huffed. “You haven’t seen what magic can do in war. Sure, nuclear bombs are terrifying. But when magic is abused and used for war, and if they can draw on all of Earth’s magic, imagine hundreds of hurricanes at once, earthquakes and tsunamis, tornadoes, and hailstorms with hail the size of automobiles. Your armies wouldn’t know how to counter those.”

  “They could do that?” I asked.

  Layla nodded. “On New Albion, their magic is limited. But over the centuries, our sorcerers have grown more powerful. If they have a practically unlimited source of magic, if they can draw on Earth’s magic through the ley lines directly, there’s no telling what hell they could unleash.”

  “And you’re sure this is your father’s plan?”

  Layla nodded. “Why else would Father send Hector? He’s preparing humans who might speak up, convince other humans to simply submit to elven rule. And he’s been sending me, using me, to learn everything he could about your world. Not to merely learn if it might be safe one day for us to come home, but so he could strategize about how he might conquer the planet. And I’ve been complicit in all of it.”

  I put my hand on Layla’s shoulder. Her body quaked as she sobbed into her hands. “You didn’t know.”

  “I should have known, Caspar. Why didn’t I see it? I thought he was just trying to wipe out the orcs. He’ll do that, too. He’ll use all the magic to create a gate to move his armies to Earth, but he won’t restore New Albion. He’ll leave the orcs to fend for themselves while New Albion only becomes more hostile.”

  “And this cult leader, this Fred…he’s willing to help?”

  “He’s afraid. If Hector finds out, if we fail and my father succeeds and learns that the cult betrayed him, he thinks he’ll be the first to die.”

  “So all this was for nothing.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” I said, pulling onto the highway toward the city. “I mean, at least now we know the truth about what your father is planning. And we still have the Blade of Echoes.”

  “There’s that.” Layla was looking out through the passenger window in a daze.

  “It must be hard,” I remarked. “Going against your family like this.”

  Layla wiped at what must’ve been a tear cascading down her cheek. “I’ve been at odds with my father my whole life, but nothing like this. We’ve always believed that if push came to shove, we’d one day return to Earth. I thought he’d sent me here so I could learn the culture and teach us how we could maintain peace with humanity if necessary. But my father doesn’t want to merely live on this world. He wants to conquer it.”

  “And this Fred guy. The cult. They’re on our side?”

  Layla shrugged. “He agreed to do what he could to help.”

  “Which is what, exactly?” I asked.

  Layla took a deep breath. “Let's just say he might have an idea about how we can hide the Blade so Hector can’t get it.”

  “I don’t understand why we can’t just fight Hector off.”

  “You don’t get it. Hector is one person now. But once the full moon rises, my father will send more.”

  “If he can do that, why does he need the Blade?” I asked.

  “The gate that opens at the intersection of the ley lines can’t accommodate that many people at once. I’ve never heard of more than two or three elves or orcs making it through at any given time. Too many, and even if the full moon is still out, the gate closes.”

  “So, why doesn’t he just send two or three people every cycle until he’s amassed a full army here?”

  “Probably because doing that would leave us vulnerable to the orcs in New Albion. If he’s going to move the kingdom here, he has to do it all at once. Leave with everyone before the orcs realize what happened.”

  I nodded. “Makes sense. But even so, what’s the worst that would happen? We fight off Hector now. Two or three more come after us next.”

  “Hector is a general. He’s an adept warrior, but he’s not an assassin. I can handle Hector, but the elven assassins are virtually unstoppable, and they won’t think twice about killing you to get to me. To get the Blade. Trust me, if he starts sending them after us, the Blade won’t be safe.”

  “And you and Fred have a plan to hide the Blade?” I asked.

  Layla nodded. “It’s a long shot, but no matter what happens, you know how to find the Blade.”

  “I do,” I said. “But why are you talking like I might have to look for it on my own? I’ve got you, don’t I?”

  Layla grinned as she reached over and grabbed my hand. “Of course you do. I’m just thinking out loud. You know, just in case.”

  “How sure are you that we can trust this Fred character?” I asked. It seemed to me that the leader of a cult that Hector founded was a prime candidate for playing double-agent.

  “His loyalty to Hector comes from fear and a belief that the elven invasion is inevitable. I show up and give him a reason to believe that submitting to elven rule might not be the only future for him and his followers, and he thinks maybe it’s not inevitable. I’ll just say I’m banking on the notion that he’d prefer we succeed than not.”

  “He might prefer we succeed, but does he believe we can? That’s what all this hinges on, it seems to me. If he doesn’t believe we will succeed, he’s just as likely to play it safe and do whatever he thinks will put him in the better graces of Hector and, therefore, your father.” I nodded.

  I’d have to trust that Layla knew what she was doing. She’d already made it clear that she had no interest in traditional chivalry. I was quite sure that mansplaining wasn’t going to rub her the right way either.

  So I bit my tongue. She had a plan, and who was I to think I knew better?

  I didn’t know Hector. Hell, I hadn’t even known elves existed until a few days ago, much less a whole kingdom of them biding their time on another world so they could return to conquer Earth.

  I glanced at Layla as I accelerated dow
n the interstate. Damn, it seemed like she got more beautiful every time I looked at her. She had feelings for me, too. I shook my head in disbelief at the thought. Not that I’m an ugly guy. I’m not. I think, trying to be as objective as possible, I’m on the handsome side, but I’m no Brad Pitt or Ryan Reynolds or whoever the hell women think is hot these days. And technically, I was unemployed. Educated, but without a job. Most human women would run for the hills. Though, truth be told, my chances might be better than they were when I was a minister.

  In those days, if I bothered flirting with women, the moment they found out I was a minister, their impression of me changed. No longer was I a doable dude who was kind of cute and seemed to have his shit together. It was like they quickly re-sorted me from their potentially interesting pile of dudes to the pile that held the friends of their parents.

  I’m not saying there aren’t women who dig ministers. There are some women, even married women, who get hot for a preacher. Some are obsessed with the idea of being a PW (preacher’s wife). Others, lacking affection at home, misinterpret the care and concern a minister shows as something else. It’s more common than you’d think.

  It also made me reluctant to date again after my marriage failed. How could I be sure what a woman’s motives were? I’m not generally a cynical person, but I suppose the painful divorce left me a little gun-shy in the romance department.

  But now Layla was here. Was she interested in me for me, or was it the allure of being the chosen one? Did I care? I mean, she was hot, and I didn’t have to worry about getting in trouble with the church anymore. Sure, technically they were still investigating me, but that was just a formality. One thing I knew was whatever was about to happen, it was going to come on us like fire in a kiln. If there was anything between Layla and me, it would be tested. If she loved me for myself, I’d find out.

  And if I was honest, I needed to find out what it was that I liked about her. It was more than her hot body and gorgeous complexion, though I did appreciate all her assets. There was something about her I found damn near irresistible.