Omensent: Princess Of Dragons (Book 5) (25 page)

Damion quickly dragged the dead elf back into the cottage and tossed him inside, then, once Brody returned, they set off down a cobblestone road leading north.

"Are you okay?" Damion asked Brody after the elf had a bit of time to calm down.

"I will be." Brody mumbled with an expression of misery. "I just never dreamed that my own little brother would turn out to be a blood elf." He sighed heavily. "It just proves that you can never truly know what is hidden in an elf's heart."

"You can't blame yourself for your brother's bad decisions." The huge warrior told him wisely. "He made his own choice, and lost his life because of it. And don't forget, he and his friend had just committed a cold blooded murder."

"What happened to the other elf? I forgot to ask."

"Your brother slit his throat before he could answer any questions. He tried to cut his own throat as well, but I managed to disarm him before he could do anything."

"He killed his accomplice?" Brody turned pale. "I would have never believed Adrin capable of such a thing! He was always such a happy child! I don't know what could have happened to change him so drastically!" He shook his head, and then lapsed into a brooding silence.

It was late evening, three days later, when they finally reached the outskirts of Willowdale, which turned out to be nothing more than a small village made up of a number of ornately built manor houses, all of which were surrounded by dozens of massive weeping willow trees.

"Hetta lives in a tiny shack on the opposite side of the village." Brody told them, leading them down a broad avenue which passed through the center of town. "She's a little eccentric. She's been there for over nine hundred years now. The people here in Willowdale try their best to ignore her, which seems to suit her quite nicely, although there
have
been a few incidents."

"Such as?" Raven asked curiously.

"Well, she once threw some strange powder into the faces of some boys who were tormenting her."

"That doesn't sound so bad." Shirk mumbled with a shrug.

"The powder caused instant blindness. Their eyesight never returned."

"Whoa!" The bearded bandit looked surprised. "An old lady did that?"

Brody nodded. "There was another incident involving a member of a prestigious family who insulted her in front of half of the village."

"What did she do to them?"

"Their house burned to the ground while the elf who insulted her, and his entire family, were inside sleeping."

"What made everyone suspect that she was involved?" Damion asked curiously. "Fires occasionally happen. It could have just as easily been an accident."

"How many houses that were built out of stone have you seen burn to the ground?" Brody asked the huge warrior pointedly. "The fire burned so hot that it reduced the very stone to liquid." He snorted. "Needless to say, there was very little left of the family to bury, but since no one saw her anywhere near the manor house the night of the fire, there was no proof that Hetta was involved. She has always been the main suspect, however."

They finally arrived at a tiny little shack that was located about a mile outside of the village, just as the sun began to set below the horizon.

"She lives here?" Raven asked, staring at the tiny house with a doubtful expression. "It looks abandoned."

The shabby little house did indeed look abandoned. The mortar used to hold the stone walls together were cracked and beginning to crumble, and the windows had all been broken out and boarded over. The main beam supporting tall peaking roof was sagging, allowing large portions of slate to fall away and exposing the rotten planks beneath. The crude door leading into the hovel was old and rotted, and was hanging crooked on its rusty hinges.

"It looks like she's moved on." Shirk grumbled with a sigh. "I guess we're going to have to try and track her down."

The crude door suddenly slammed open, and a plump little elven woman shuffled out with an angry expression. "Who you people?" She demanded in a shrill voice. "Why are you here?" The tiny little elven woman looked impossibly old, with long white hair, and piercing blue eyes which peered at the companions through a mass of sagging wrinkles. She was dressed in a grey dress that reached her knees, and she wore a thick woolen shawl draped across her shoulders to ward off the evening chill. "I don't like visitors." She snarled at them angrily. "Most folk around here know that by now."

"We have come a long way to see you, Hetta." Brody told the elderly elven woman. "We were hoping that we could speak with you."

"I don't care how far you have traveled. You can just turn around and..." She stopped as her eyes fell upon Damion, who was still perched atop Storm. "Ah, the Dragon Lord!" She smiled, revealing a mouthful of rotten teeth. "I had been wondering when you would finally arrive!"

"You knew that I was coming?" The huge warrior asked her in surprise.

"The spirits of my ancestors revealed to me that some day you would appear to speak with old Hetta." The old witch told him mysteriously. "I am to reveal certain truths to you to help you with your quest." She gestured for them to follow, then shuffled back towards the door. "Come along, all of you. We shall eat, and then I shall reveal to you certain truths that shall help guide you along your path."

"I'm not so sure about this." Shirk grumbled quietly as they followed the old elven woman into her shack. "Are we sure that we can trust her?"

"Don't you worry about old Hetta trying to hurt you." The elven woman called back to Shirk. "Hetta is here to help you, not bring you harm."

"See?" Damion smiled as he ducked through the doorway and entered the shack. "We have nothing to worry about."

Shirk rolled his eyes, but remained silent.

The interior of the shack was just as disheveled as its exterior, causing everyone to exchange doubtful looks.

"This way, everyone." Hetta called, shuffling down a rickety looking set of stairs.

They followed her down the stairs, and suddenly found themselves in a spacious, well appointed chamber which had been decorated in a rich wood paneling that covered the walls and ceiling, giving the chamber a warm, homey feel. A small, but soft looking bed had been placed against one wall, not far from the fireplace, which had been sheathed in a smoky grey marble that reflected the light from the numerous sconces which lined the walls. A long bookcase stuffed full of books and scrolls lined the wall opposite the bed, while a heavy looking stone table that was covered in beakers and vials filled with strangely colored liquids and odd looking creatures dominated the center of the room, causing the companions to stop and stare in fascination.

"It kind of reminds me of Damarius's workshop back in Sevria." Raven murmured, staring at a beaker filled with a deep red liquid that was producing a large amount of pleasant smelling steam.

"This is some place you have here, Hetta." Brody complimented the old woman. "It's not exactly what I expected to find when I first saw your place."

"You mean that little hovel upstairs?" Hetta cackled in amusement. "That's just to keep people from coming around and bothering me. Who wants to spend their time with a crazy old hag who lives in a run down old shack, right?" She gestured to a table on the far side of the room. "Go ahead and seat yourselves. I have a stew cooking that should be just about ready." She hurried over to the fireplace while the companions settled down around the table, then she returned with a large pot of steaming stew, the smell of which set their stomachs to growling. "Had I known that today was the day that you would finally visit old Hetta, I would have prepared a feast." The old woman told Damion as she ladled the stew into bowls which she passed among the companions.

"This is really quite good!" Damion complimented Hetta through a mouthful of stew.

"Thank you, Dragon Lord." The old woman smiled happily. "It's been a while since I cooked for anyone other than myself." She quickly rummaged around in a nearby cabinet and produced a bottle of wine, which she poured into goblets and passed among the others. "So," She sighed, settling down in her own chair and turning her gaze to Damion. "I'm guessing that you're here about the followers of Hetris."

"We are." The huge warrior nodded, unsurprised by her seemingly unnatural knowledge of him and his reasons for being on the island. "Queen Serena requested our aid in the struggle against the blood elves, and we were told that several elves who turned out to be followers of Hetris came here to visit you not long before revealing their true natures."

"That is true." The old woman nodded. "A large number of elves have been coming to see old Hetta, especially in last few months. Many of them have asked about stories of the time before we came to this island, when the blood elves and Petra's faithful fought for supremacy of our ancient homeland of Elhenia."

"What stories were they interested in?" Brody asked with a frown.

"They were mainly interested in stories of Bevian and Brovian, the elven brothers who were granted amazing abilities by the god Hetris in return for carrying out His orders." The old woman frowned. "The brothers were fearsome warriors who led the blood elves to numerous victories over Petra's faithful, and spread terror throughout Elhenia. In return for their deeds, Hetris granted them the ability to change their facial features with a mere thought, allowing them to become two of the greatest assassins that have ever lived."

"What happened to them?" Shirk asked curiously.

"They had a falling out and turned on one another, as those who follow the God of Strife and Deception often do." The old woman shrugged. "I think it had something to do with each of them wanting to rule over the blood elves alone, though some stories say it was a woman that ultimately destroyed their brotherly bond. Either way, they ended up killing one another."

"More brothers killing brothers." Brody sighed in a sad voice, his expression one of misery.

"Indeed," Hetta agreed with a nod. "The brothers knew one another quite well, having grown up training together. Bevian concealed a dagger in one sleeve which he drove into Brovian's chest. Brovian, knowing that his brother was likely to try something underhanded, coated his blade in poison, and sliced Bevian across the face after he was stabbed. They both eventually succumbed to their wounds."

"And that is the story that the elves coming to you have wanted to hear?" Damion asked, staring thoughtfully at the old elven woman.

"Of course not!" Hetta snorted in amusement. "They wanted to know what they had to do to acquire the powers that Hetris granted to the brothers."

"And what did you tell them?"

"I told them the truth." The old witch cackled in glee. "I haven't the foggiest idea what one would have to do to find favor with Hetris, or any god, for that matter. I am a witch. I owe no allegiance to the gods. The spirits of my ancestors guide me, as they guided my mother before me, and her mother before her, and so on, since the ancient times, when elves were free from the influence of meddlesome gods."

"You shouldn't say such things." Brody told her in a reproving tone. "Our people have found peace under Petra's guidance. Look around you. Our blessed island is proof of that."

"Oh, really?" The old elven woman asked sarcastically. "If it is so peaceful, why are more and more elves being slaughtered every day? Why are elves barricading themselves in their homes, too afraid to trust their own family members in fear of being massacred?" She snorted indelicately. "The gods have been nothing but a plague on the mortal world. We would have been much better off if they had never returned, but, unfortunately,
somebody
had to go and make the Dragon God angry enough to violate the Pact of the Gods." She gave Damion a pointed look.

"I didn't really have much choice in the matter." Damion held out his hands helplessly. "It was either face Him, or allow Him to take my only child."

"Surely you cannot be saying that we are better off without the gods?" Brody asked incredulously. "Where would we have been without the guidance of our beloved Petra when the Etazk slaughtered our people and drove us from our lands?"

"We would still be in our homeland." Hetta told him in a patient tone. "Without Etaz driving His people to take over the world, the war would have never taken place. Our people would still be living in the elderwood forests as our ancestors once did, instead living in banishment on this cursed island."

"But..." Brody started, but he stopped with a sudden frown.

"Ha!" The old elven witch clapped her hands together triumphantly. "Got you there, don't I?"

The elven ambassador stared at her helplessly.

"The gods, or their various religions, I should say, are the root cause for most, if not all of the major conflicts that disrupt our world on an all too frequent basis." Hetta told them in a scholarly tone. "Whenever one of the gods are insulted, or whenever one grows ambitious and desires more followers, it is the mortals of this world who suffer. Without the gods and their petty wars and disagreements, we would all be free to follow the fate laid out for us by destiny itself, as we were before the Dragon God violated the Pact of the Gods." She sighed heavily. "Now our fates are once again in the hands of the gods, and the tapestry woven by destiny has unraveled. The entire world has been thrown into chaos, and fear once again permeates the air. All because of the gods and their petty disagreements."

"So if you didn't tell them how to make contact with Hetris, what did you tell them?" Raven asked the old witch.

"Well, I told them their futures, of course." Hetta smiled. "That is why most elves come to see old Hetta, after all. The spirits of my ancestors speak to me, and reveal details of their lives, both past and future, which I then reveal to them, for a modest price, of course."

"Didn't the spirits reveal their allegiance to Hetris?" Brody asked in a slightly sulky tone.

"It's doesn't work that way." The old witch told him tartly. "The spirits show me small snippets of their lives, which rarely reveal anything of any real significance, although occasionally they will show me more important details, usually when that person is destined to do something noteworthy."