Three Dogma Night (The Elven Prophecy Book 3)

by Theophilus Monroe

  I nodded. “I get it. But if things don’t go as planned…”

  “I will let him know,” Ensley said, suddenly appearing on Brag’mok’s shoulder.

  The giant grunted. “I will come if I must.”

  I said, “If things don’t go as we planned, Brag’mok, you will be the last hope of our resistance. You’ll be the only one left who can provide information to the government—the only one who has ever faced the elven legion in war. You’ll be needed. If things are not going well, you must promise me you will not come to our rescue.”

  Brag’mok stood up and nodded.

  “And you’ll have to take care of Agnus for me.”

  “The cat?” Brag’mok asked.

  I nodded. “He thinks he’s self-sufficient, but he needs a lot of help.”

  “A big ask,” Brag’mok said. “I mean, take care of a cat? You mustn’t fail, Caspar, for the sake of the world. And my sanity!”

  I chucked. “So that’s a yes? You’ll take Agnus?”

  “Just don’t fail,” Brag’mok said, eyeing Agnus as he strutted across the room. He looked like he expected everyone to lay down palm branches and sing his praises as he walked.

  “I’m not planning on it,” I said, smiling.

  Aerin walked over and took me by the arm. Again, I felt that sensation. Lord, I hoped I wouldn’t be overwhelmed by lust every time we made skin-to-skin contact forever. Aerin had said it would fade eventually, or maybe I’d just get used to it. If I pitched a tent every time she touched me, it would be more than a little embarrassing.

  Aerin pulled me to the side where no one else could hear us speak. “Come, husband. It is time to come to our wife’s aid.”

  Our wife? I shook my head. Those words didn’t sit well, but I knew what she meant. “You watching her location on my phone, Aerin?”

  She nodded. “A strange place where they’ve settled. Based on the map, is this a park in the middle of the city?”

  I nodded, assuming she meant Forest Park, but that was not where they had taken Layla.

  I snorted. “Pruitt-Igoe.”

  “Who is that?” Aerin asked.

  “It’s a long story," I said. “But not a lot of people go into those woods without a death wish.”

  Pruitt-Igoe was a failed public housing initiative from the fifties and sixties. Giant high rises that, at the time, politicians had argued would solve the homeless and low-income problems in the city.

  The government had funded the project. Nearly all of the initial applicants were African Americans, but accepting a home in Pruitt-Igoe came with several restrictions. Single mothers were given priority over married couples. Sounded reasonable, right? Until you realized that so many people were so desperate at the time for a place to live, for a chance at a better life, that it would divide families. Then, once the facilities were built and the apartments were filled, the government didn’t fund its maintenance. Folks were off the streets. Out of sight, out of mind. That meant fewer government resources. The place fell into disrepair. Resentment against the system built, crime rates soared, and barely a decade after the place was built, it was demolished.

  And no one had dared build anything on the property since.

  Sure, there had been a few attempts, developers who took an interest in the area. However, every effort had failed, leaving it an urban jungle, overgrown with trees and foliage, in what had become one of the most dangerous and impoverished areas of St. Louis.

  From time to time, gangs moved into the area. Bodies were often found there. Rarely did the police do much about it. They treated it like the armpit of the city. If they caught you there, they’d assume you were up to no good. It probably wouldn’t end well for you, no matter what your intentions were.

  And now, Brightborn and the elven legion had set up camp at Pruitt-Igoe.

  Another outsider with aspirations to make things what they thought was better, but I doubted Brightborn intended to do anything with the land. He was using it as cover, a place where few would look.

  I’d been to the perimeter of Pruitt-Igoe, but I’d never gone into it.

  It was a land stained with blood. While the authorities and the government treated it as a cursed place, for many of the locals, it was a sacred site, a constant and ever-present memorial.

  I couldn’t begin to understand the pain and history that place represented to members of the surrounding community, but I could listen.

  And in one respect, I agreed with the sentiment that the government wasn’t going to solve this problem. Not the President, not General Breeland, not the senators.

  “Are you ready, Naayak?” Aerin asked.

  I nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  I don’t believe in ghosts. I used to watch Ghost Hunters and other paranormal investigation shows. Like a lot of people, I was sucked into them. The show never provided any conclusive proof of the existence of ghosts, but they did provide enough documentary evidence of unexplained phenomena that I was at the very least, curiously open to the possibility. The one thing I did know was that thousands of people had experiences they were convinced were the result of hauntings.

  Walking into the Pruitt-Igoe woods with my new powers now coursing through me, I couldn't deny that something there was bringing the element of aether to the forefront of my consciousness.

  I don’t know if ghosts were the reason, but these were bloodstained lands. There was negative energy here that I couldn’t ignore. Anger. Rage. Betrayal. Were these my emotions stirring in my mind, or the emotions of those who’d once called this place home?

  Probably both.

  Aerin gripped the hilt of her sword. The fire that enchanted her blade produced a gold-red glow that illuminated our steps.

  Where were the elves? Where was Layla? We knew she was there. Most likely, Fred and Brightborn were too.

  But the rest of the legion? Given the size of the area and the number of legionnaires I’d seen, a significant number of them were elsewhere.

  Surely they knew we were there. How couldn’t they?

  One thing we knew for certain. As predicted, they hadn’t executed Layla. If they had, we’d be dead, too.

  I glanced at my phone. Layla wasn’t far. At least, her phone wasn’t. There was always the chance they’d dumped her phone in these woods and set us up.

  The elves wouldn’t know what to do with the technology, but Fred did.

  A violet glow formed about twenty feet ahead of us.

  Aerin and I exchanged glances and nodded.

  When Fred appeared, we were ready.

  “Welcome,” he said. “We’ve been expecting you.”

  I cocked my head. “Expecting us? You aren’t here to kill us?”

  Fred grinned. “Oh, I want to, but His and Her Highness would prefer to see you delivered alive.”

  I cocked my head. “Alive? But why?”

  “It is not my place to question our king’s will, pretender.”

  “Pretender?” I asked.

  “False messiah,” Fred said. “I presume the king would prefer you to admit your fraud than make a martyr of you.”

  “He is no pretender, Fred,” Aerin said. “You were there. You saw how he subdued the elements.”

  “A fine show. A convincing display of power for those gullible enough to believe that a human could fulfill an elven prophecy.”

  “I married Aerin,” I said. “Surely he must know that defies their prophecy. Why does he need me to admit it?”

  “Again,” Fred said, “it's not my place to question my Lord’s will. You would do well to follow my example.”

  I snorted. “I’m half-inclined to take you out here and now after what you did to Layla.”

  “What do you care?” Fred asked. “You married the drow!”

  I shook my head. “Doesn’t mean I want to see her harmed or killed.”

  “Those artifacts, entrusted to the drow for centuries, were not yours to take,” Aerin growl
ed.

  Fred smiled and held up his hands. He had rings glowing with purple magic on each of his hands. “I agree. These artifacts are meant for the chosen one. I simply borrowed them that the king might bestow them upon the true savior.”

  “You didn’t have the right!” I shouted.

  “And you did, pretender?” Fred asked. “It seems these powers agree with me, too. Would you like another demonstration?”

  I shook my head. “Not necessary.”

  Fred nodded. “Then you’d best come with me. And lest you get any foolish ideas, know that the king has assassins posted throughout these woods. One false move, and you’ll regret it.”

  I shook my head. “You believe the king will rule this world justly? Look at what he did to his homeworld, Fred.”

  Fred stopped in his tracks and turned around. “You did that, Caspar. You forced his hand, and you nearly damned his daughter with your lies.”

  “I’m not the one who put a blade in her back,” I retorted.

  “You speak of justice,” Fred continued, ignoring my remark. “Look at these woods. This place, what happened here? This is the desolation that follows human notions of justice. We’ve had our chance to rule the Earth, Caspar. The age of the elves is upon us, and it shall be our salvation.”

  I just shook my head. There was no sense arguing with him. He was right. Injustices perpetrated at the hands of humans had been a plague on the world. I’d always preached a new kingdom, a kingdom represented by the resurrected Christ meant to restore true justice to the world. I did lament injustice, but Brightborn wasn’t the answer. All he’d ever known was war. All he’d ever dreamed about was power. I wasn’t going to convince Fred, though. Not about my faith, and just as surely not that the elven king wasn’t the answer.

  I simply nodded. With Aerin at my side, we followed Fred through the forest into a small clearing.

  Two thrones hewn from gold were situated in the middle of the clearing. I didn’t have a clue how he’d acquired them. Probably brought them from New Albion. He was seated on one, Layla on the other.

  I could see the pain on her face. The purple magic had spread throughout her body, covering her face in what looked like glowing varicose veins.

  I wanted to run up to her and take her hand. I wanted to hold her in my arms. It took every ounce of strength I had to hold myself back. She was spending whatever energy she had left trying to stay upright and alert.

  “Caspar Cruciger,” King Brightborn said. “This is the third time we’ve met. Tell me, what were your intentions when you followed us to this forest?”

  I shook my head. “You can’t have this world, Brightborn. I intend to stop you.”

  The king chuckled as he stood from his throne. “And Princess Nightshade. I expected better from you, considering our history.”

  “What history is he talking about, Aerin?” I asked.

  “Why don’t you tell your husband the truth, Nightshade?”

  “We don’t have a history, Brightborn,” she said. “One chance encounter, and that was a mistake.”

  “A chance encounter?” Brightborn asked. “One that lasted an entire night?”

  “What is he saying, Aerin?” I asked.

  Aerin sighed. “He came to us nearly two years ago. He insisted he’d come to forge an alliance, one meant to ensure the arrival of the chosen one.”

  “An alliance?” I asked.

  Aerin grimaced. “I agreed to marry him, but we had only one night together. We were never wed. He refused the ring at what was supposed to be our wedding, then left. This is the first time I’ve seen him since.”

  “You were foolish, Nightshade, to think I’d bind my life to yours.”

  “The custom is meant to prevent a betrayal between spouses,” Aerin said. “And in forging alliances, the custom is wise. You would not accept the ring because you intended to betray us from the start.”

  “What I intended,” Brightborn said, “was to glean information from you about the artifacts the drow guarded. And after one night of passion, you sure were willing to talk, weren’t you?”

  Aerin looked angry. “It was a grave error in judgment, Brightborn. If I had it to do it over again, I wouldn’t have told you a thing. Nor would I have indulged your sick perversions for a single night.”

  “Perversions?” I asked.

  “Don’t ask,” Aerin said. “The king is a freak.”

  “You have the artifacts, Brightborn. Why haven’t you healed Layla?” I asked.

  “Don’t think I haven’t tried,” Brightborn said before raising his scepter. “Bind the imposter!”

  I clenched my fists and gathered the power of fire. It welled up like an inferno in my chest.

  But the elves who emerged from the darkness didn’t come to me.

  They grabbed Fred!

  “Your Highness!” Fred screamed. “Please, don’t do this!”

  “Foolish human,” Brightborn said. “You’ve served your purpose.”

  “I beg you, my king! I’ve done all you’ve asked! Please!”

  The elves tied something like vines around Fred’s wrists and forced him to his knees in front of the two thrones.

  “But even with these powers, human, you were too weak to heal my daughter of the wound you inflicted.”

  “But you told me to do it! To charge the blade with my power. To strike your daughter with it, but not kill her. I did as you asked!”

  “My daughter was stricken by the Blade of Echoes,” Brightborn said. “And all the legion witnessed it.”

  “That was not the Blade of Echoes!” I shouted. “The true blade was destroyed!”

  “So you say,” Brightborn said. “But who other than you saw it happen? The blade that struck Layla appeared to be identical to the Blade of Echoes. It was vested with magic, was it not?”

  “It is a forgery!” I shouted.

  “Lies!” King Brightborn screamed back. “You are full of nothing but lies, human!”

  I shook my head. “You and I both know the truth.”

  “What is truth?” King Brightborn asked. “If it is not witnessed, can it be truth?”

  I grunted and shook my head. “Unbelievable.”

  “Now, Caspar, or should I call you Naayak Nightshade, you must seize the artifacts from this human’s hands. You will use this power to heal my daughter so all will see that she has survived a strike by the Blade of Echoes. That they will know the truth—that Layla Brightborn is the chosen one foretold by the elven prophecy.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  “It will never work, Brightborn,” I said. “The prophecy also dictates that the chosen one should love an elven princess.”

  Brightborn snorted. “It appears that our version of the prophecy was a copy. The drow possessed the originals all this time. And in their telling of the prophecy, it was said that the chosen one must marry an elven princess.”

  “She can’t marry herself. This is preposterous.”

  “Is it?” the king asked. “That ring on my daughter’s finger. It resembles one that you, Aerin, once intended for my hand. It appears my daughter has already married an elven princess. And to think, it was meant to be a drow all along. What better way to fulfill her role as the chosen one and unite the elves as a start than by marrying into a race of elves that has been separate from us for centuries?”

  I raised my hand and showed the king my ring. “She married me, too, Brightborn.”

  “An unfortunate turn of events,” the king said. “Which is one of two reasons I haven’t killed you yet, human. I still require you to retrieve these artifacts from this pitiful human’s hands.”

  “And help you further your delusion?” I shouted.

  “You will have to kill this man,” the king said, “to retrieve the rings from him. And you’ll have to use all the elements to do it.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not a murderer!”

  King Brightborn huffed. “Says the man who killed Hector.”

  “I had no
choice!” I told him.

  “And you have no choice in the matter again,” the king said. “I could have you struck down here, where you stand.”

  “You wouldn’t!” I retorted. “It would kill Layla!”

  “I admit,” the king said calmly, “it would be most unfortunate. But I still have my legion, and your world is still ripe for the taking. It would be a loss, but such are the costs of war.”

  “Your men couldn’t strike me down even with their best effort,” I said.

  “Maybe, maybe not. But if you fight, the infection that spreads through my daughter’s body will soon claim her life, and you’ll die with her.”

  “Caspar,” Aerin said. “You must do as he asks.”

  I protested, “But I…”

  “Listen to your wife!” the king said. “Isn’t it dictated by drow custom that husbands should submit to their wives?”

  I stepped toward Fred. He looked at me with fear in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Caspar. I was wrong. Forgive me.”

  “Do it!” the king shouted.

  “I forgive you,” I told Fred. Sure, his regret was just that Brightborn had turned on him. I could have held a grudge, but I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I’d spent my whole adult life preaching forgiveness, even for those who might betray me. Forgive them, for they know not what they do. If Jesus could forgive the soldiers who were crucifying Him while they were doing it, I could forgive Fred.

  I turned to the king. “I can’t do this.”

  “You must!” Aerin interjected.

  I turned back to her. She looked at me with wide eyes. “Do you trust me, Caspar?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then trust me!” Layla said, her voice raspy. “You can do this.”

  I looked at Layla. The pain in her face was almost too much to bear. She nodded at me. I nodded back.

  “I love you,” I said.

  “I love you too, and I believe in you.”

  “What are you waiting for!” the king screamed, standing from his throne.

  “Wait!” Fred shouted, “At least allow me one last chance to speak.”

  The king grunted and sat. He stroked his chin for a moment. “Very well, let the dead man speak his last words.”