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

by Theophilus Monroe

  “Why would he do that?” I asked. “I mean, if your soul is aligned with mine, as mine is with the Blade. If he killed me, he’d kill you, too.”

  Layla nodded. “But Hector doesn’t know that. And even if he did, it wouldn’t stop him.”

  “If he is hoping to be with you and be the chosen one himself?”

  “Hector doesn’t love me. He loves the idea of being a hero for all of elfkind. Trust me, if he learns our souls are aligned, it will only confirm the basis for the prophecy. Knowing Hector, if he can’t have me, he’ll assume no one should be able to. I’m afraid if we tell him the truth, it would only make things worse.”

  I sighed. “Guy sounds like a total prick.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “What did you ever see in him? Before, I mean?”

  Layla shrugged. “When you’re betrothed, it doesn’t matter what your heart wants.”

  “You’re saying you never loved him. And he never loved you?”

  She shook her head. “I never loved him, and Hector has never loved anyone more than himself.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Layla showed me her phone. “I think we should go.”

  What she had found was an advertisement for the Renaissance festival. I’d been once or twice. It wasn’t my cup of tea. Not to mention, Renaissance festivals had recently become a hotbed for those who belonged to the Cult of the Elven Gate. It made sense. Elf ears, along with faerie wings, had long been a staple at those fairs, long before the cult came to prominence. I’m not sure why. I mean, if what Layla had told me was true, the elves were long gone before the Renaissance. Of course, historical accuracy was secondary. Most regular attendees at the festival were “larpers,” live-action role players. Still, I suspected the Elven Gate folks had something to do with Layla’s desire to attend.

  “Does this have something to do with that cult?” I asked.

  “Maybe,” Layla said. “I was just thinking that if we could convince them who I was, they might be willing to offer us protection when Hector attacks.”

  I bit my lip. Most of the people who attended these things weren’t actual knights. A lot of them were theatrically-inclined individuals, people who tended more toward the nerdy than the athletic. Not the hiring pool one would normally dive into if looking for a bodyguard. “I don’t know. I mean, they do have deep-fried Twinkies and large turkey legs. I’m not sure the people there will be much help if Hector comes after us, but if you want to go, we will.”

  “Call it a date,” Layla said, leaning over and kissing me on the cheek. “And we don’t need much help. I can handle Hector. What we need are eyes.”

  “And ears?” I asked.

  “I was afraid to say it,” Layla said, nodding at Agnus, who had curled up to bathe in a patch of sunlight on the carpet a few feet in front of my living room window. “It felt like it was inviting an elf joke.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past Agnus. But I wouldn’t joke about that. Besides, the ears are kind of sexy, if I’m honest.”

  Layla cocked her head. “Really?”

  I shrugged. “Sure, why not? I mean, maybe they’re just out of the ordinary from a human perspective. A little exotic. I don’t know. But I like them.”

  Layla smirked, then tucked her hair behind her ears. “In that case, I’ll use that to my advantage.”

  I laughed.

  We purchased tickets online. You’d be surprised how expensive those dumb festivals are. I mean, the whole point of a Renaissance festival is playing like we’re going back in time. I half-wondered if they’d be willing to barter for the price of the tickets. Not that I had a lot to offer, but without a steady income from the church and without having had much chance to focus on finding gainful employment, it wasn’t clear how much longer I’d be able to keep up with the bills.

  I checked the payment options on the website. Unfortunately, “two goats and a pig” wasn’t listed. Not like I had those either, but given my current predicament, I figured acquiring farm animals might be easier than trying to get a satisfactory job. I mean, who wants a job, anyway?

  So I bought the tickets on credit.

  Yeah, I’d regret it later. Credit card debt sucked, but it was not as bad as being homeless. It seemed lame and embarrassing to tell Layla I couldn’t afford a couple of festival tickets.

  We took turns petting Agnus before heading out the door. Yeah, he’d come with us on a lot of adventures lately, but bringing a cat to a Renaissance festival?

  Probably not a good idea, if they’d even let him in.

  And based on the way he ignored us as we patted his tummy in the middle of his sun-bathing session, it didn’t appear that he was disappointed about missing this one.

  It was maybe a thirty-mile drive to the festival. They never have these things in the middle of the city. Nothing like the sounds of sirens, honking horns, and traffic to ruin the whole Renaissance mood.

  They had a whole row of porta-potties on the edge of the parking area.

  “You know,” I said, “if they wanted to be true to the Renaissance, they’d just have buckets for shit up and down their dirt streets.”

  Layla shook her head, again tucking her hair behind her ears. “I suppose there are limits to how far people will go for authenticity. At least here I don’t have to wear a hood or cover my ears.”

  “You don’t have to anywhere you go. Not with that cult on the rise.”

  Layla shrugged. “Problem is, if I do run into a cultist, they’ll assume I’m a member. Then they’ll start asking me who did my surgery. I can bullshit my way through it to a point, but I’d rather not be bothered.”

  I grinned. “Makes sense. I suspect you’ll have to explain that one here, too.”

  Layla nodded. “But from what I saw on their Facebook page, the leader of their cult should be here somewhere. He works here as a blacksmith. I’ve met him, but he didn’t know who I was. Maybe I can convince him I’m a real elf and get him to help.”

  I shook my head. “Even if he’s willing, do you think it’s wise? I mean, if Hector is coming after us, aren’t we just putting him in danger?”

  Layla took my hand as we walked into the Faire and flashed our digital tickets on my phone at what looked like a jester on our way in. He made a joke about how we were wielding black magic, a vague reference to my little glowing screen. I chuckled out of courtesy. “These people genuinely believe what they are doing.”

  “It’s a cult, Layla.”

  “Is it? I mean, it isn’t like what they believe is too far from the truth. It’s at least vaguely connected to fact.”

  “Aside from the whole ‘elves taking over the world’ thing,” I said.

  Layla nodded. “Nonetheless, they are committed to their cause. Is it really bad to offer someone a chance to do something meaningful with respect to what they believe? Even if their beliefs are a little askew?”

  “Even if it might put them in danger?” I asked.

  “Hector isn’t interested in killing humans, not that he’d be opposed to it. He doesn’t want the attention. They’d only be in danger if they confronted him head-on. That’s not why we need their help.”

  “We haven’t even seen Hector since we got back from the springs. The last time we did, he was still playing nice. Are we sure he’ll come after us?”

  “He’ll be coming for the Blade, Caspar. Trust me. I know my father, and Hector is loyal to him. The fact that I disagree with my father’s plan, how he wants to use the Blade, is enough for me to know he isn’t going to chance that I won’t return it to New Albion. He’s going to send Hector, even if only to enforce my obedience.”

  I shrugged. “Why don’t you just play it coy? Tell Hector yes, you disagree with the plan. But also tell him you intend to do your duty since your father is the king.”

  Layla shook her head. “I’ve known Hector all my life. He knows me too well. I’ve always been prone to push my father to his limits.”

  “Something of a rebel?�
� I asked, squeezing Layla’s hand as we continued walking.

  “Always,” Layla said through a smirk.

  “Nice ears!” a boy who couldn’t have been more than sixteen said as he took a bite out of his turkey leg.

  “Thanks!” Layla said. “I’m pretty happy with how they turned out.”

  “They look real!” the kid said, not bothering to swallow his food before speaking.

  “They do, don’t they?” Layla was smiling broadly now. “Do you happen to know where the blacksmith is?”

  The kid cocked his head. “Who wants to know?”

  “You’re a member, aren’t you?” I asked.

  The kid took another bite out of his turkey leg. “What’s it to you?”

  “That’s a yes,” I said. “So, do you know where he is?”

  The kid nodded. “Of course I do. But what’s your business with him?”

  “I’ve met him before,” Layla said. “Can you tell him Layla Brightborn is here to see him?”

  “I’ll let the king know of your arrival, elf,” the boy said, smacking his lips.

  I’d think he was onto her, but everyone here was larping. He didn’t think she was an elf, or did he? I mean, he was a member of the Cult of the Elven Gate.

  “The king?” Layla asked. “I was looking for the blacksmith.”

  The boy cleared his throat, then cupped his hand around his mouth. “His name is Fred, but he plays both the king and the blacksmith. Don’t tell anyone. He’s good with costumes and is hoping no one will put two and two together.”

  I grinned and nodded.

  “Got it,” Layla said.

  “Very well, m’lady and good sir,” the boy said. “If His Highness wishes to grant you an audience, he shall send for thee forthwith.”

  As the boy walked away, I turned to Layla. “You know, I bet none of these people speak proper Renaissance English.”

  Layla shrugged. “I doubt they do, but who cares? They’re having fun.”

  I chuckled. “I suppose they are.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Brightborn?” I asked. “Funny. We’ve kissed, and I didn’t even know your last name until now.”

  Layla smiled. “I suppose not. Caspar Brightborn. Kind of has a ring to it, don’t you think?”

  I almost choked on my tongue. “First, isn’t it a bit soon to be talking marriage? And second, you think I’d take your last name?”

  Layla giggled. “Well, considering we’re talking about a prophecy. Face it, preacher man. There are inevitabilities in play here. And second, yes, you’d take my last name. In our culture, it’s not the man’s name that the woman has to take. It’s the name of whoever comes from the more noble line.”

  “My family is good people,” I said. “Noble enough.”

  “But were they royal?” Layla asked.

  I shook my head. “Definitely not.”

  “And even if they were royals, they wouldn’t be on New Albion.”

  “So, even if you had ended up marrying Hector, he’d have taken your last name?”

  “Of course,” Layla said. “And that’s a good thing. Brightborn is a much nobler name than Lightstrider.”

  “His last name is Lightstrider?” I asked. “You elves have strange last names.”

  “Says the man whose last name is Cruciger.”

  I laughed. “Fair enough. I suppose at the very least, your last names are easier to pronounce.”

  “’Ello, sir!” a man said from my left side, interrupting my thought. He was attempting the worst Cockney accent I’d ever heard. I turned, and, besides being dressed to the hilt in knickers, tights, a fancy shirt, and a weird feathered hat, he had a giant cooler strapped to his body. “Care ye for a malt, good fellow?”

  “No, thank you,” I said.

  The man’s jovial face turned sour and he walked away, looking for his next mark.

  “That might be the worst attempt at that accent I’d ever heard,” I said.

  Layla grinned. “I know there are a variety of British accents, but in the many visits I’ve made to Earth and the dozen or so visits to old Albion, or Britain, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone who sounded remotely like that.”

  I laughed. “Maybe he’s just been sampling too much of his product. His tongue is frozen numb!”

  Layla grinned. “Sounded more like he had a hamster in his throat or something.”

  I cocked my head. “I don’t know if having a hamster in someone’s throat would give them a particular voice. Wouldn’t it just make them choke?”

  Layla shook her head. “That might be what you thought, back before you could hear mammals speak.”

  “So far, Agnus is the only one I’ve heard use real language. I mean, there was a mouse. He giggled an awful lot, but that was it.”

  “Not surprising. Unless an animal has a reason to have thoughts about you, chances are they’ll stay quiet. I mean, do you speak to strangers for no reason?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, sometimes. Just to be friendly.”

  Layla nodded. “And if you’d lived your whole life and no one ever understood you, would you bother even trying to make small talk with folks you didn’t know?”

  I scratched my head. “I suppose not.”

  “Agnus spoke because you and he have a relationship. You know each other, even if you couldn’t communicate with language until recently. But once animals realize you can hear them, trust me, they won’t shut up.”

  A loud trumpet blare interrupted our conversation.

  “Hear ye, hear ye!” the boy we’d met before said as he held up the trumpet. “Behold, all ye citizens and whatnot. Your king, His Highness Fred the First!”

  I nudged Layla. “Fred? You’d think he could have gone by Frederick. You know, more fitting for the whole Renaissance theme.”

  Layla chuckled, but before she could finish her thought, the entourage of nerds that accompanied the king approached us.

  When the king saw Layla, a wide smile split his face. “Layla?”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Layla said, larping the best she could along with the rest.

  “What bringeth thee here to grace our domain with thy beauty?”

  Layla giggled. I gagged. The king was hitting on my girl? I mean, how in the world was I ever going to compete with a fake king?

  I bit my tongue. Layla seemed to think we needed his help.

  “I came,” Layla said, “expecting to see the blacksmith.”

  The king flashed a slight grin and cupped his hand around his mouth. “I’ve been promoted! But I still play the blacksmith on Wednesdays.”

  Layla smiled politely and nodded. “Nonetheless, is there a place where we could talk?”

  King Fred nodded, then he looked at me. “Hey, aren’t you that preacher?”

  I cocked my head. I was a little surprised that he recognized me. I mean, Holy Cross didn’t have a lot of visitors. “Well, I used to be.”

  “Used to be?” the king asked. “What happened?”

  “They kicked me out. I guess we just didn’t see eye to eye on certain things.”

  The king shook his head. “A shame. Your messages were different than the others.”

  I smiled. “Well, thank you. But when did we meet? My apologies, you don’t seem all that familiar.”

  Fred nodded. “I suppose with all the visitors you used to get, it’s not surprising. I’ve been there on a Christmas or two through the years. Family tradition.”

  “Before you started your cult?” I asked.

  Layla elbowed me in the ribs. “Don’t use that word. It’s rude.”

  “It’s okay. I understand our message is unconventional. I can see why many believe we are a cult, but I assure you, the message we carry is based on truth.”

  “I’m sure it is,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “Well, Reverend,” the king said, “it was nice to see you again.”

  The king extended his hand and Layla took it. “Come with me, m’lady.”
>
  I grunted and followed them—until a pimple-faced prat in a knight’s tabard dropped a fake sword in front of me. “Thou shalt not pass.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  Layla looked back and grinned. “Don’t worry, Casp. I’ll be back. Just try to enjoy yourself.”

  Enjoy myself. Yeah, right. I looked at the pimple-faced knight. “And you are, sir?”

  The boy withdrew his sword. “I am the infamous Black Knight!”

  “Infamous? And you’re guarding the king?” I asked.

  The kid shrugged. “They’re shorthanded on knights, and the king doesn’t do background checks.”

  “So, he doesn’t know you’re the Black Knight?”

  “He’ll find out soon enough!”

  “Probably so. I mean, since you’re willing to tell a complete stranger what you are. Tell me, Black Knight, what has made you infamous?”

  The boy stroked his face a moment. “I’ve raped and pillaged every village between here and the sea.”

  I squinted my eyes. “Every village?”

  “And every farm!”

  “You raped the farms?” I asked. “I think you need to rethink your story, Black Knight.”

  He bit his lip. “Fine. Forget the raping. I just pillaged them all. I’m the infamous Black Pillager of Antioch.”

  I bit my lip. “Of Antioch? Really? What brings you to medieval England?”

  The boy cupped his hand around his mouth. “Antioch is a part of old England, duh.”

  I shook my head. “Antioch was an ancient Greek city. It’s in present-day Turkey.”

  “Indeed, it was!” the boy said. “I was just testing you.”

  “Sure you were,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Do you know where they’re going?”

  The Black Knight shrugged. “The king has a special room where he takes a lot of women.”

  I bit my cheek. “I wish you hadn’t said that.”

  “Oh, I bet that sounded bad. No, it’s just a place where he takes the fairest of maidens in all the realm that he might bless them with his royal scepter.”