Three Dogma Night (The Elven Prophecy Book 3)

by Theophilus Monroe

  Hopefully, I wouldn’t extinguish it completely.

  One of the tongues of fire landed on my arm.

  It hurt like hell.

  I slapped at it, extinguishing it almost immediately.

  When I’d fought the water elemental, it wasn’t like all of the water was the elemental. It wasn’t its essence. Otherwise, I would have peed it out. But the elemental had gathered water, even as I did by wielding its power. If the elemental could survive in the globe without oxygen, maybe it would be able to withstand water, too.

  Might be another thing if the elemental spirits collided inside me, but I’d worry about that if or when I managed to subdue it. I focused my water powers.

  A giant glob of water formed over my head in the middle of the stone circle.

  I forced it to the ceiling, and a deluge of water, not like rain but rather a giant canopy of water, crashed down on the whole room.

  People screamed.

  Apparently, getting wet was more frightening than the notion of the building burning down.

  One by one, the flames went out, all but one.

  “Just you and me, buddy,” I said as I stepped up to the single flame.

  It grew.

  It expanded and enveloped my body. It hurt!

  But I wasn’t burning.

  I inhaled, and the flames leaped into my mouth.

  I’ve never had issues with heartburn, so I was not sure if that was what I was feeling.

  But the inside of my chest was hot, like I’d just swallowed a ghost pepper.

  I exhaled, and steam poured out of my mouth.

  Water meeting fire produces steam.

  I pressed my lips together.

  The room fell silent.

  Had I extinguished it? Had the water spirit inside me killed the fire elemental?

  I recalled that sensation. That burn, could I draw it out?

  I sensed the cool power of water and pushed it to one side of my body, then I felt the warmth. It was there!

  I extended my arms, my palms turned up.

  A ball of water appeared in my left hand.

  A ball of fire exploded into my right.

  The room erupted in cheers.

  I closed my palms, and the magic of both elements disappeared.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Conquering fire had been surprisingly easy. It was surprising because I had expected it would be harder to beat than water. Fire just seemed scarier. Weird, because drowning is just as frightening as the prospect of burning to death, but flames are more frightening if only because fire spreads. One drop of water spilled on the carpet won’t do much of anything. A single spark can catch and engulf a house or worse.

  It was going to be another short night. Aerin had said these trials had to take place at night, but come on. It gets dark well before eleven.

  I wasn’t tired. A twelve-hour midday nap tends to do that for you, even though I had wielded multiple forms of magic. For some reason, it didn’t take the toll on me that absorbing all that water had the night before. If anything, I felt invigorated.

  Church used to mean an early Sunday morning, but since we’d started going to the gym so early, Sunday mornings felt like sleeping in.

  “Up for a game of Twister before bed?” I asked.

  “Twister” was code for something else.

  Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge.

  Layla knew what I meant.

  Sure, I probably should have worked on my morning sermon, but I’d picked one from Pentecost five years ago. I figured the whole tongues of fire thing would be ironic. I was the only one who’d get the joke. The rest of the church would probably wonder why I was preaching Pentecost out of season.

  Our denomination had a prescribed set of readings for every Sunday, a lectionary. The idea was that with everyone hearing the same Scriptures, it was like all Christians would be hearing the same Word. Well, those who were part of our church. A way of affirming our unity—the mystic reality of the church that transcends time and space.

  Yeah, cool thought. No one attending on Sunday cared, so I wasn’t going to feel bad about selecting an out-of-season homily for the day. It was just too fitting.

  On Pentecost, tongues of fire had descended upon the twelve; they had already replaced Judas at that point. Then, three thousand folks who heard them proclaiming the gospel got baptized in one day.

  That was fire and water, just like me. The correlation was too good to pass up.

  Layla and I had our fun. For once, both of us won, which wasn’t a guarantee. Sometimes I won, and she was left insisting on an instant rematch. Not that I was ever opposed to that, but you know, Twister can be exhausting. I’d need a good fifteen minutes or so to prepare. I mean, I’d only played Twister with two women in my entire life.

  Well, excluding those I couldn’t remember from my drinking days. Those three or twenty women didn’t count. What happened in the stupor stayed in the stupor.

  Besides, I’d asked for forgiveness for all I did or might have done.

  Before Layla and after my divorce, I was a born-again virgin. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

  A Twister virgin, that is. Obviously.

  Of course, our game was interrupted. Agnus had figured out how to open doors when he was a kitten. I’d intended to get a lock on my bedroom door, but until Layla, I hadn’t had any reason to keep him out, so I’d forgotten about it.

  Before I could hear him talk, it hadn’t even occurred to me that I’d ever need to. Something about being able to communicate with my cat made all sorts of things most people wouldn’t think twice about doing in front of their pets seem oddly awkward.

  Agnus leaped, grabbed the doorknob with his front paws, and swung his body to turn the knob. The door popped open, and he pushed it the rest of the way with his forehead after he dropped back to the floor.

  Layla and I were in the throes of Twister, and Agnus was walking around the room, serenading us.

  “Bow chica bow wow! Chicca chicca chicca waaaooowww!”

  Layla and I looked at each other and laughed. I had no clue how Agnus knew the kind of music that was supposed to accompany this sort of thing.

  It struck me that I should probably check my credit card bill. Who knew what he was buying on demand when I wasn’t around?

  We had to force ourselves to tune him out, which wasn’t as difficult as you’d think.

  I was so enthralled by Layla’s near-perfect body that circus clowns could have busted into the room, juggling, and I’d have managed to ignore them.

  Until we finished. Then, of course, I’d call the police. Because what’s creepier than clowns?

  We laid in bed. I was on my back. Layla curled up next to me and put her head on my chest.

  I was at peace.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Layla was coming to church with me for the first time. I didn’t know how people would react seeing her ears. They’d assume she was a member of the Elf Gate Cult. One more thing one of my concerned members would contact my bishop Philip about.

  Of course, Philip had met Layla. I think he even suspected we lived together—a major faux pas for ministers—but he never said anything about it. I also knew Philip had been directed by the archbishop, the president of our denomination, to keep an eye on me. After my healings made the news, it became widely known that I didn’t fit the mold my denomination expected of its ministers. If anyone made a stink about my relationship with Layla? Well, if the news got to the archbishop, there wouldn’t be much Philip could do to protect me.

  At this point, though, I realized that not bringing Layla to church was just delaying the inevitable. What was I waiting for? I wasn’t ever going to break up with her. The church would either accept our relationship, or they wouldn’t. Delaying bringing her wasn’t going to change anything.

  And with the assassin out there, probably more motivated than before to take me out now that I’d completed two of the trials, I wasn’t going anywhere without her. I
t was safer that way.

  Of course, bringing her bow with her to church probably wouldn’t go over well, but we weren’t about to leave that behind. Sure, Layla was competent when it came to hand-to-hand combat, but if this was one of the elven legion’s assassins, that was his expertise.

  She was good, but not that good. Her expertise was as a marksman. If the assassin showed up, she was better suited to take him out from a distance.

  So we left early. If we got there before anyone else, she could stash her bow and quiver in my study for the duration of the service.

  It wasn’t hard to differentiate between the regular members and the influx of new attendees who’d come in the wake of the recent healings. And as people arrived, it became clear that, once again, we were going to set an attendance record.

  The regular members were now in the minority. All of them wore church-appropriate attire, most of the women in dresses, the men in suits or at least shirts and ties.

  A few of the newcomers were dressed similarly. Different folks, depending on their history with church, had different habits when it came to choosing their Sunday best. For a lot of the people who came, their best was a well-worn pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

  Fine by me.

  I don’t think God cares how we’re dressed.

  Layla took her place in the front pew. No one realized she’d come with me, but being seated in the front, she could easily move through one of the doors that led to my study and retrieve her bow if necessary.

  I simplified the service on account of all the visitors. Our typical liturgy was difficult to follow for those who hadn’t been raised with it. No one wanted to be stuck flipping back and forth between pages of a hymnal, trying to figure out where the hell we’re at the whole time they’re in church.

  Rather than go through a series of responsive readings, canticles, and pre-written doctrinally approved prayers, I began with a simple invocation and a casual extemporaneous prayer before our organist led us in singing How Great Thou Art.

  We had a short scripture reading after that, then another hymn, and then I preached.

  I printed out the sermon that I’d intended to use. I could have read it verbatim. A lot of ministers did. Heaven forbid you got some of the words wrong, that you were misunderstood, and might inadvertently communicate something that didn’t perfectly match our dogma.

  But at the moment, it felt too wooden, too cold and stoic, to simply read the homily.

  Instead, I left my manuscript on the pulpit, stepped down from the chancel, and walked among the people while I preached.

  The message was about fear and how the early Christians were transformed almost overnight by their encounter with the risen Christ. The same men who hid in locked rooms after the crucifixion were now, on Pentecost, out in public and preaching to people who’d come from all over the country on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem for the festival. Less than two months earlier, Jesus had been crucified. Now, these previously timid disciples were preaching in the open.

  Had they known what was going to happen? Did they realize the Holy Spirit was going to send fire from heaven and allow them to speak languages they’d never learned?

  God did what He had to do because no one was an outsider for these early ministers. No matter one’s tribe, or race, or language, they all heard the message of hope Peter delivered that Pentecost, and there was nothing the authorities could do to stop it.

  It hit home. We had a diverse gathering for the first time in my ministry. We couldn’t be timid or afraid because things were changing. I’d once been a timid minister too, but I’d recently been baptized with both water and fire.

  That was not something I touched on in my message, but it was on my mind. There was no place for fear any longer. I had to believe that what was foretold would be fulfilled, no matter who might threaten me for it.

  Even if it was the religious authorities. Or an elven assassin.

  I wasn’t the same person I used to be. No one who’d encountered the risen Christ in the New Testament was either.

  I had transformed in ways I didn’t yet fully understand, and with three more trials awaiting me, I’d change more.

  When you’re a preacher, you generally get an idea about how well your message was received when people are shaking your hand on the way out. I knew which members just said it routinely every week.

  “Good sermon, Pastor.”

  There were others who reserved their compliments for the occasional message that struck a chord.

  For the first time in I don’t know how long, even the most conservative and reserved members expressed their appreciation.

  So did the visitors, none more than Cecil, who had his wife Shanda at his side and their daughter Grace between them. The girl was walking without so much as the aid of a cane. They didn’t shake my hand; they hugged me.

  A hug? Not used to that level of enthusiasm, but it was encouraging. Awkward, of course. Man-hugs are always a little weird. I don’t know why; maybe it’s a cultural thing. Men don’t hug each other very often.

  Only Doris regularly hugged me after service, and this Sunday was no exception.

  But as she hugged me, as we stood there at the entrance of the church, the double doors wide open, I saw him.

  Across the street, all in black, his face covered like before.

  Layla had been lurking in the church. I’d planned to introduce her as my girlfriend, but when I looked for her, I didn’t see her.

  I quickly closed and locked the door after the last person exited.

  I ran through the door to the side of the chancel and to my study.

  Layla’s bow was gone. She’d seen him too. I checked my phone. Nothing.

  I called Layla. No time for texts.

  She quickly picked up.

  “He’s here, Caspar.”

  “I know, I saw him.”

  “I’m going to try to lure him inside.”

  “Where are you, Layla?”

  “Just outside,” Layla said. “I don’t think he’s seen me. Not yet.”

  “Be careful, Layla.”

  “Just be ready, Caspar. He’s going to come after you. I’m going to try to make my way to the balcony. I’ll take him down before he gets to you. Just make sure I have a clean shot.”

  “I love you, Layla.”

  “Love you too.”

  She hung up. This was the plan. Like it or not, I was going to face the assassin in my church.

  “Ensley!” I shouted. If he was floating around nearby, he’d show up.

  He didn’t.

  Of all times for him not to be lurking around and watching. Where the hell had he gone, anyway?

  No water magic. No fire magic. Not in the church. I couldn’t target it precisely enough.

  If Layla was going to lure him inside, though, I needed to unlock the doors.

  BANG!

  The assassin kicked the door open as I made my way back to the chancel.

  In his hand was a familiar blade; it looked just like the Blade of Echoes.

  Then he charged me.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I stood there, holding Layla’s phone. I just stared at it. She’d never made it to the balcony.

  Somehow I’d managed to survive an expert assassin, but he didn’t know I’d mastered fairy portals. I didn’t know how he’d manage to get down from the Arch where I’d sent him, but I wasn’t going to waste any time.

  Layla had suspected the drow were behind it. While I didn’t know for sure they’d be there, there was only one place to look.

  I formed another portal and visualized the steps outside the former church where the Elf Gate Cult gathered, where I’d faced the first two trials.

  I used my newly acquired water magic to shoot a blast at the doors of the building. I could have used fire, I suppose, but I didn’t want to burn the place down. Water provided more than enough force to do the job.

  “Where is she?” I demanded.

  “Caspar, what a
re you…” Jag put his hand on my arm.

  I shrugged it off. “Don’t push me, Jag.”

  “I swear I’ll flood this whole damn place! Or burn it down! Burn it down and then flood it for good measure!”

  “Caspar,” Aerin said, approaching me cautiously. “What are you talking about?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Don’t pretend you don’t know. One of your little subbies here must’ve done it. No wonder he had to cover his face.”

  “Caspar,” Aerin said, “these men have been in my company since we arrived.”

  I shook my head. “You’re lying. One of them came after us. Tried to kill us. And they took Layla!”

  “It was not one of the drow, Caspar,” Aerin said. “I will not deny that she presents a peculiar challenge to me, given my intention to see the prophecy fulfilled. The drow are patient.”

  “Again, words. Things you’ve told me. How do I know anything you’ve told me is true?”

  “Caspar,” Aerin said, taking my hand. It trembled as she held it, I was that furious. “Why would I make such a move, even if I were inclined to do it, before you finished the trials?”

  I sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “I want you to succeed. I’m hoping you will prevail. This is not only your world. Do you think I want those other elves to take over our home?”

  I took a deep breath. “I suppose not, but what other explanation is there? The gate to New Albion is still shut. No one could have come or gone from there to here.”

  Aerin shook her head. “Tell me, can these elves communicate between realms even when the gate is shut?”

  I bit my lip. I remembered how Layla used to communicate with her father before she learned all he was up to. I recalled how Brag’mok used a similar crystal to keep tabs on what was happening back in New Albion. “Yeah. I mean, I’m pretty sure.”

  “And has the gate been open even once since King Brightborn discovered who you are?” Aerin asked.

  “It has,” I said, lowering my head. “You think this assassin, or whatever he was, had been here all this time?”