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

by Theophilus Monroe

  “Seems relevant to what’s happening now,” Layla said, stuffing her face with another bite of her Reuben.

  I nodded. “Something I need to remember. By the way, it’s hot when you talk with your mouth full.”

  Layla winked as she chomped her food. “Sorry. Human customs are different. Besides, this Reuben is amazing.”

  “Told you,” I said. “Customs be damned.”

  I took a giant bite of my Reuben. My stomach was grateful that it wasn’t another Twinkie, and so was I.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I lay in bed, my arm around Layla. It had been years since I’d shared a bed with a woman. Even my ex-wife and I had slept in separate beds after our first year or two of marriage. And before that, most of the time, the only thing that ever happened in our bed was sleep.

  Despite my desires, nothing tantalizing was happening tonight either.

  We were both so exhausted by the day that we crashed. Still, I couldn’t sleep. I was as tired as I could be, but worries about Agnus kept swirling around my mind. How could I wait until the next full moon to make this exchange? Layla said he’d be treated well. It was elf custom to honor all living creatures, humans and elven giants excepted.

  Still, I held onto Layla as if my life depended on it. In a real way, I suppose it did. And in an even more real way, since her soul was connected to mine, her life depended on me. I’d love to say we enjoyed a night of passion and ecstasy in the thrall of one another’s embrace, but at the moment, what we both needed was safety and security. We provided that for each other even while the world, and my cat’s life, weighed on us.

  But eventually, the comfort of holding her overcame my racing thoughts. Few things can do that when your mind is churning in the middle of the night. This had to be something special.

  We spent the morning attempting to meditate and practice yoga.

  Layla twisted herself up like a pretzel, performed the hottest-looking vinyasa imaginable, and had perfect balance while standing on one foot while the other was in the air.

  I barely lifted one foot off the ground, and I was wobbling like a lineman in stilettos.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I like watching you do this.”

  “Of course you do,” Layla winked. “And you’ll get there, too. It takes practice.”

  I laughed. “I don’t know how practicing falling on my ass will ever make me flexible.”

  “You have to clear your mind. Ioga is as much about the mind as the body.”

  “’Ioga?’” I asked.

  “It’s what we call it in elvish.”

  “It sounds similar to yoga,” I said. “How is that possible?”

  “The ancients traveled more than is sometimes assumed. Before our people left Earth, there were many encounters between the druids and the yogis. We shared some of our practices.”

  I nodded. “That makes sense.”

  “Look,” Layla said. “The same discipline you need to be able to stand on one foot, to eventually stand on your hands, or put your leg behind your head—”

  “I’m not interested in ever accomplishing that last part,” I said. “I don’t see the point.”

  Layla put her hands on her hips. “Caspar, just listen to what I’m trying to say.”

  “Sorry,” I said. I wasn’t trying to be an ass. But I suppose, like a lot of men, and women, for that matter, I tend to avoid things I’m not good at. I was trying to cover my embarrassment with snark, and she saw right through it.

  “The particular movements aren’t what’s important. It’s a mind-over-matter thing. Think about it. When you flew through the trees, were you focusing on your body?”

  I shook my head. “Not really, I just saw myself doing it, and it happened.”

  Layla nodded. “Magic interfaces with the mind and the body. That’s what Awen is about; it envelops your entire being. Body and soul together, if you think in those categories.”

  I chuckled. “I think flying is easier than standing on one leg.”

  “Only because you can visualize that. Let me guess, you’ve fantasized about flying for years, haven’t you?”

  “Duh,” I said. “Ever since I watched those Christopher Reeves’ Superman movies growing up.”

  “Never saw them,” Layla said. “But I know about Superman, so I get it. I’m guessing you haven’t spent a lot of time imagining yourself in a handstand scorpion.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What in the world is that?”

  Layla smirked as she lowered herself in a handstand, then put her back in a reverse arch, her spine on the concave side of her bend until her feet rested on top of her head. “This is a handstand scorpion.”

  I shook my head. “No, I’ve never pictured myself doing that. But I’m going to forever picture you doing it. You know, just in case I get lonely at night.”

  Layla grinned. “You can do it, Caspar.”

  “I’d break my back!” I protested.

  “Not if you practiced enough.”

  “I don’t even know how to start practicing that.”

  “Sit down,” Layla said, gesturing at a spot on the floor.

  I rolled my eyes. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Just do it, Caspar.” Her voice took on a stern tone. She was getting tired of my cynicism.

  I nodded, and without saying a word, sat down cross-legged.

  “Close your eyes. Just like when we were in the park.”

  I nodded and closed my eyes.

  “Now picture yourself doing it. Visualize it and take hold of Awen.”

  I took a deep breath. Picturing myself like that, particularly with my rotund belly sticking out, was not nearly as pretty as when Layla did it. Still, I tried to imagine it. I inhaled deeply. I exhaled. A tingle came over my body.

  “Now, open your eyes,” Layla said.

  I opened them. I shrieked as I found myself standing inexplicably on my hands just before I crashed to the floor. “Damn it! Fuck this shit.”

  Layla giggled so hard she snorted. It was cute but not cute enough to compensate for my embarrassment.

  “I’m never going to be able to do it, and I don’t see the point.”

  “Oh, stop,” Layla said. “That was amazing. To get up on your hands like that, even with the aid of magic, is impressive.”

  “I didn’t visualize myself falling on my ass, but that’s still what happened.”

  “Just make sure you don’t visualize your head up your ass. I don’t want to see that.” Layla was smiling.

  “I’ll try not to do that.”

  “Good, because you have it up there half the time anyway.”

  I bit my cheek. “All right, I suppose that’s fair. In a metaphorical sense.”

  “Like I said,” Layla put her hand around my waist as I stood up from the ground, “it takes practice. And I’m impressed.”

  “This visualization stuff with magic. Are there any limits?”

  “Well, you can’t do impossible things. But within the realm of the possible, the only limit is your imagination and the ability to focus and connect to Awen. That’s why we’re doing this. So we can practice your focus.”

  I nodded. “Honestly, I’m a little nervous about starting this new job. I might need some of that visualization magic to get through it.”

  “Are you worried about being around that much alcohol?” Layla asked.

  “Sort of,” I said. “But I have to be honest. Going from a job as a minister that took eight years of education to work as a bartender is humbling.”

  “It doesn’t have to be forever,” Layla said. “And what’s the harm in a little humility? Don’t you have enough burdens on your shoulders as it is?”

  I nodded. “No doubt.”

  “Then go to work, and let the task of the day distract you from all that’s going on. If you have your mind right, it will work for you.”

  I nodded. “I think I’m going to visualize myself a raise.”

  Layla raised her eyebrow. “It’s your
first day. Remember, I said you can only visualize things that are possible, and you can’t manipulate other people with magic. You can only connect the Awen to your own body and the elements around you.”

  I smiled. “I was just joking.”

  “I know.” Layla kissed me on the cheek.

  “That’s not the kind of kiss I was visualizing at the moment.”

  “In that case,” Layla said, and she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me deeply. “Was that more like it?”

  “Better,” I said. “But I’ll have to be careful not to visualize that too much while working. I don’t want to embarrass myself.”

  Layla looked down at my waist, then a little lower.

  “Made you look,” I said.

  Layla backhanded me on the shoulder. “You’re horrible.”

  I laughed as I grabbed my jacket. “I’d better head downstairs. I don’t want to be late on my first day.”

  After showing Layla how to navigate Netflix, I made my way downstairs to the pub.

  You’d think after years of studying ancient languages and learning how to read Greek and Hebrew, learning to mix a few drinks would be child’s play.

  Okay, bad analogy.

  Children should never mix drinks.

  But you get the idea.

  Still, I was a bit intimidated by how many different drinks I’d probably have to learn.

  One would think, having once been such a heavy drinker, I’d be primed for a part-time bartending gig. Thing is, the way I drank back in the day, I didn’t mix my drinks. I found one bottle and choked it down until I blacked out. Sure, the drinks might have been more enjoyable if I’d learned to mix them properly, but my cravings were too strong to bother with anything like that.

  So, I was starting from scratch. I knew what a bottle of vodka was, what made it different from rum, and that James Bond preferred his martinis shaken, not stirred.

  I could pour a beer from the tap with precision. But it was going to take some time to memorize, not to mention get proficient at making, all the drinks I had to learn.

  Until I was ready, I’d have three hours of training every afternoon during the slowest time of the day. Then I’d spend the evenings with Layla.

  After we’d spent the morning doing yoga and whatever other form of meditation she wanted me to try, we had important things to do, more important than mastering awkward yoga poses. We had to go into the ley line again. I’d need to charge the fake Blade. That would take, according to Layla, level-five focus, the kind of mastery I’d only demonstrated when I’d realized my childhood fantasy of flying like a superhero.

  The most proficiency that Layla had ever demonstrated was level four.

  It would be a mistake to think, however, that I was more adept at working with magic than she was. The way Layla explained it, the levels of magic had more to do with the potency of the spells and the kinds of magic you had the potential to wield. A well-trained level-one sorcerer, at least back on New Albion, was more formidable than an untrained level five.

  I was a beginner, or in the world of multi-player video gaming, what someone would call a “noob.”

  Sure, I might have level-five potential. But saying someone has potential? Well, that’s what they usually say about kids who aren’t living up to what they’re capable of. “He has potential.”

  I still remembered my second-grade teacher saying that about me. I always had potential. My potential got me through high school near the top of my class, a four-year college, and the seminary.

  Now my potential was leading me into something new. Something exciting but terrifying as hell. I’m not talking about being the chosen one of an elven prophecy, although that applies, too. I‘m talking about my new job as a bartender.

  I hadn’t so much as sat at a bar stool in more than five years. I hadn’t touched a bottle in all that time, either. I had the tools at my disposal, tools from the program, that could help me with that.

  Yeah, I know the fate of worlds was in the balance. It was such a massive burden I was practically numb to the prospect. How does one even begin to wrap his mind around something like that?

  I still couldn’t shake my worries about Agnus. How was I supposed to learn how to mix a Manhattan or a Long Island Iced Tea with so much on my mind?

  Still, all things considered, the first day went well. We started with simple drinks like rum and Coke. That was easy to remember. I just had to make sure not to use the same proportions of rum to Coke that I would have back in the day.

  I even mixed a few martinis. I was pretty proud of myself. It was a good day, but I was ready to head back upstairs to see Layla.

  “Hey, Caspar,” Donna said. “Before you take off for the evening, could you grab that guy an O’Donnell’s Stout?”

  “Sure,” I said. As I topped off the man’s pint glass, I recognized his balding head, even though his face was hung low toward the bar’s surface.

  “Matthias?” I asked, sliding him his beer.

  My former bishop looked up, shook his head in disgust, and took the beer I’d given him. “I should have known better than to choose the bar under your apartment.” He was trying hard to accentuate his words to compensate for the slur in his speech.

  I shrugged. I could smell the alcohol on his breath, which was saying something because, being in a bar, we were surrounded by it. It doesn’t take an alcoholic long to recognize another drunk. In his case, though, almost anyone could see it. His glassy eyes and dejected countenance were a dead giveaway.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  Matthias looked at me coldly. “What’s it to you?”

  I tried my best to offer a kind smile. “I’ve been through my share of shit. And while there weren’t a lot of people willing to help me through it at the time, just so you know, I’m here if you need someone to talk to who might understand.”

  Matthias huffed. As long as I’d known Matthias Flacius, even before he was the bishop of our district, he hadn’t been the sort of fellow who wore his feelings on his sleeve. I could relate to that.

  I’d never dealt with my emotions well. My emotional maturity was probably not much more advanced than the number of years I’d been sober. Yes, I was an emotional five-year-old. Not that I’d throw a temper tantrum if I didn’t get my way, but left to my own devices, without the support of my twelve-step community, I was likely to have a man-fit every bit as destructive.

  But even those fits weren’t as bad as swallowing one’s emotions and drinking them into oblivion until they became so overwhelming that the shit hit the fan.

  “I don’t need help from a heretic,” Flacius quipped.

  I just shook my head. “I’m not going to tell you what to do, Matthias. I’m just offering a friendly ear. I mean, as far as I know, the ability to listen isn’t confined to those who espouse pure doctrine.”

  Flacius rolled his eyes and downed half his glass in a single gulp. Then one more gulp, and it was gone. He reached into his pocket and grabbed his keys.

  “Matthias, you can’t drive like this. I’m just getting off work. Why don’t you let me give you a ride?”

  Flacius stared at me for about two seconds, reaffirmed his grip on his keys, and walked to the door.

  “Matthias. You can’t drive. If you go out that door with your keys in your hand, I’ll have no choice but to call the police. Is that what you want? If you don’t want to ride with me, fine. I’ll call you an Uber.”

  “You can’t tell me what to do!” Flacius shouted.

  I caught Donna out of the corner of my eye. She was sneaking up behind him. As he swung his hand through the air, holding his keys, she snatched them.

  “Give me back my keys!” Flacius clenched his fist and reared back to punch Donna.

  She dodged his sloppy right hook, snagged his wrist, and slammed him against the bar.

  “Sorry, Matthias,” I said, picking up the bar phone. “You had your chance to do the right thing.”

  My former bis
hop was arrested in front of me. How surreal was that? I felt bad for him. Yeah, he was a dick. He never understood the difference between being right and living right. I hadn’t realized he had a drinking problem until tonight.

  Watching my former bishop get taken out of the bar in handcuffs was more reminiscent of the lessons I’d learned in the past than anything else. It reminded me that we often have very narrow windows of opportunity, crossroads moments when we can either do the right thing or continue on the path we’re on.

  Matthias could have given me his keys. He could have used his embarrassment at being seen three sheets to the wind by the minister he was accusing of false doctrine as an opportunity to deal with his issues. But he decided to stay on his path, and it ended with him in handcuffs and probably with charges for attempted assault, and who knew what that would mean for his career.

  All I knew was that I had to do something. I couldn’t just sit there and wait for the problems that were looming to come to me. Yes, we had to practice. We had to make the most of the time we had. But we had to do something. It was time to act.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  As I walked into the apartment, I saw Layla in the shape of an incredibly attractive pretzel on the floor.

  “Don’t you ever get tired of doing that stuff?” I asked.

  “We all deal with stress in different ways,” Layla said. “Calm body. Calm mind. That’s what I need right now.”

  I bit my lip. “I think I’ve had enough of that for one day.”

  “How was work?” Layla asked as she returned to what was a normal human, or elvish, posture and kissed me on the cheek.

  I chuckled. “Interesting. Work went well. The bishop, the guy who used to be my boss, showed up. Got drunk. Got arrested.”