The Murder of Uallas Eysteinn
The mist clung heavily to the crooked trees surrounding Uallas Eysteinn’s ramshackle cottage, wispy tendrils snaking through the tangled gardens. The air was rich with the scent of loam and decay, hinting at deep magic in this land. Strange fungi sprouted in the undergrowth, while ravens watched ominously from the sagging roof, awaiting their morbid feast. I hurried up the garden path, wary of twisted roots that grabbed at my feet. The door creaked open to reveal shelves bowing under leather-bound tomes, walls papered in faded floral print, the cluttered workspace of my mentor Uallas. But the room was too still, lacking the crackling energy that followed Uallas like a cloak. My unease grew.
It was a dreary Thursday morning when I arrived at Uallas’s ramshackle cottage on the edge of the village, only to find the elderly mage lying dead amidst the clutter of open books and written runes in his study. My heart seized at the dreadful sight of his body sprawled atop a faded rug, crimson robes hideously stained a deeper scarlet. The authorities were promptly summoned, having arrived before me. Although I felt a twang of sadness, my mind was sharp enough to know the cunning killer still roamed free.
Inside, the interior was dim and chaotically cluttered with the peculiar trappings of Uallas’s occult studies. Scrolls, ancient parchments, and melted candle nubs littered the tabletops, alongside jars of mysterious preserved specimens suspended in bubbling brines. Shelves sagged under countless leather-bound tomes and dusty grimoires. The floral wallpaper was faded and peeling, and every surface lay under a fine layer of dust. This was clearly the dwelling of an eccentric recluse who had delved deep into arcane arts beyond the mundane.
As I studied a particularly ominous tome bound in a cracked, leathery hide, the pallid form of Nikon emerged from the wreathing mists outside. He wore his customary black mourning suit adorned with delicate lace cuffs. His slender fingers clutched a leather journal filled with melancholy verse penned in the scattering of dark ink. Upon seeing Uallas’s body, he let out a dramatic gasp.
I narrowed my eyes at his suspiciously timely attire.
“My dear guardian, so cruelly cut down in your prime!” he lamented theatrically, already composing another woeful funeral ode under his breath. “And you, dear Liss. However, will you cope without your learned mentor?”
I suppressed an urge to roll my eyes. Nikon never missed a chance to indulge in melancholy dramatics. Though he and Uallas had often quarreled bitterly, Nikon relied on the old mage for room and board. Perhaps he was more distraught about losing his provider than his mentor.
Unlike myself, Nikon was no dedicated apprentice. He dabbled in magic but spent more time lying to himself into thinking he can be famous or trying to perfect card tricks to impress barmaids. We were as different as dawn and dusk. Still, I softened at his effusive eulogizing.
Inspector Gregory was a dour, walrus-mustached fellow who surveyed Nikon with flinty eyes. He occasionally scribbled notes in a small moleskin notebook, pausing only to brush the crumbs of his pocketed breakfast scone from his woolen vest.
“So, Nikon, you were the deceased’s ward, were you not? How did you and Uallas get along lately?” he asked pointedly. “Let’s hear again where you were when the murder occurred.”
Nikon drew himself upright, clearly offended by the implied accusation. “How many more times must I tell you? Inspector, surely you cannot believe I, his most favored ward, could be capable of such a heinous crime? The notion is utterly absurd.” He speared the policeman with an imperious glare. “As I already informed you, I was merely out gathering mushrooms for healing tinctures this morning, as the local merchant can readily attest.”
The Inspector raised a bushy eyebrow skeptically. “Mushrooms? In this beastly fog? How exceedingly peculiar.” He scrutinized Nikon’s damp attire more closely. “And how might you explain that suspicious reddish stain upon your coat sleeve there? It appears almost like blood.”
Nikon’s already pale face blanched whiter still at the observation. He glanced down at the stain on his lace cuff and stammered, “Oh, that? Surely just a scratch I acquired from a thorn bush. It’s nothing whatsoever to do with poor Uallas, I assure you.”
Nikon cast me a long glare when I swayed slightly, suddenly feeling lightheaded.
The Inspector merely snorted in reply. “A scratch from a thorn bush that manages to bleed so profusely? I think not. I believe you had best come along with me back to the village, Master Nikon. You have some further explaining to do.” With that, he grabbed Nikon firmly by the arm and turned to where I still stood motionless nearby.
“And you, Miss Liss? Please remind me - you were the deceased’s protégé and apprentice, were you not? Would you be so kind as to tell me precisely where you were when this murder transpired?” His tone made it clear this was not merely a friendly request.
I met his gaze evenly, hoping my face did not betray my racing thoughts. “Of course, Inspector. I was studying quietly all morning at the local library, researching ancient runes for my lessons, just as I do most days. The head librarian saw me there until I left around noon. I arrived here only shortly before you.”
It was the truth, mostly - save for the secret errand that had called me away from my studies for a brief period that morning. But in our sleepy village, I doubted any would have marked my coming and going.
The Inspector merely hmm’d, unsatisfied. He was right - Uallas had been a stern, secretive man. We often concealed things to avoid his temper. I harbored no ill will, yet Uallas was no saint.
Before the Inspector could press further, a timid voice rang out.
“Pardon me, Miss Liss? Might I have a quick word?”
I turned to see the pale form of Tuesday emerge quietly from behind a moth-eaten tapestry. As the local herbalist, she had a knack for materializing unseen that paired suspiciously well with her perpetually pale complexion.
The Inspector waved her off - he had already questioned her. Yet Tuesday knew the real reason for my absence that morning. She had helped me gather some rare ingredients Uallas had urgently required for a potent brew.
“Tuesday? What are you doing here?” I asked casually, hoping none detected my surprise at her sudden presence.
Tuesday glanced around nervously before motioning me closer. “Apologies for startling you. I only wanted to ensure you were alright,” she whispered. “But I cannot speak freely at the moment...”
She subtly flicked her eyes across the room. I followed her gaze to see none other than raven-haired Marigold lounging gracefully amidst the clutter. Before her lay the unmistakable Rune Stones of Virginius All-Seeing, used by ancient seers to glimpse fate itself. While we stood surrounded by the grisly scene, Marigold seemed utterly unperturbed. Her fingers danced over the stones as if conducting a routine reading at a garden party rather than a fresh murder site.
I tensed at the sight of her. Marigold was a cunning illusionist who delighted in sowing mischief. She knew secrets that could aid or destroy others on a whim. Whatever she gleaned from those stones could prove invaluable...or dangerous in the wrong hands.
And I was sure those Rune Stones belonged to Dallas.
Noticing us, Marigold flashed a cheeky grin. “Liss, darling! My condolences on this nasty business.” Her tone feigned sympathy, but her eyes glinted with barely concealed delight at the unfolding drama. “I thought to attempt contacting poor Uallas’s spirit, to see if the runes might offer any insight into this ugly business.”
Her melodic tone belied the absurdity of holding a séance amidst such grim turmoil. I stared wordlessly, suspicions swirling. What had she hoped to glean from this impromptu casting? And how long had she been here, unnoticed? Was she just trying to steal our belongings?
“Where were you this morning, Marigold?” I demanded. “Did you notice anything odd near the cottage?”
A wry smile touched her lips. “You’re wise to doubt me too. But I was home brewing tinctures while Uallas met his fate. Trafficking in secrets was more his pastime than mine.”
Her deflection rang hollow. I moved to swipe the runes, but Tuesday steadied my arm.
“Violence will not avail us now,” she whispered. “Marigold knows more than she lets on. We must be cunning.”
At this, Marigold patted the floor invitingly. “Come Tuesday, let’s see what we might learn together.” Tuesday laughed nervously but casting me a worried look, slowly settled beside her. They soon fell into hushed conversation, heads bent in mirrored curtains of ebony and auburn. Their secretive whispers gave me a prickle of unease. There was more at work here than met the eye.
I didn’t want to be curious but I could not help myself. Uallas usually did not let me touch those Runes. They were one of his most prized possessions. I lingered near the whispered conversation, straining to overhear.
“...the stones speak of betrayal by someone close,” Marigold murmured. “The Mooncrossed with Dagger signifies a plot hatched in secret to bring harm.”
Tuesday nodded solemnly. “They warn of false faces too. The Mask beside the Crow points to deceit and corrupted intentions.”
I hesitated, doubtful. A hatched plan could also mean hidden wisdom. And they ignored the Yr, which combined with the Flames and Tower, warned of the coming chaos.
But they knew not the ugly rumors about Uallas himself. If the Dagger related to him, someone he misused likely sought revenge.
Yet this assumed Marigold read the stones properly, which seemed doubtful given her middling talents. I surpassed her skill, though I held my tongue for now.
“If Uallas was betrayed, the deceiver is likely still among us,” I said carefully. “We must tread with care in questioning the others. Illusions and deceit have tangled this web, but the truth will emerge in time.”
Marigold’s smile faltered slightly. My words clearly unsettled her, hinting that I saw beyond her facile deductions.
Just then, Nikon strode over, scowling. “Don’t let me interrupt your little séance,” he said acidly. He clasped his hands on my back as he noticed me staring numbly at the rune stones.
“You need a break,” Nikon chided.
I mumbled vaguely. “Why do you care for me so?”
Nikon rolled his eyes before fixing Marigold with a piercing look. “Did those stones reveal the one responsible for Uallas’s demise?” His tone dripped suspicion.
Marigold smiled coolly. “As a matter of fact, the runes point to a deceiver - someone Uallas clashed with.”
“Wait—” Tuesday and I exclaimed together, the same thought clicking.
“Could it be Madadh?” Tuesday asked. “He and Uallas have clashed violently before.”
I nodded grimly. The runes hinted at ugly truths about Uallas himself - that he perhaps played a role in his grim fate. Long had there been whispers of his shady dealings and double-crosses. It seemed he had sorely misjudged how far someone was willing to retaliate.
Nikon looked pensively between us all. “If true, this Madadh may try silencing us as well, to keep his misdeeds hidden.”
I met his gaze. “We will need proof before making accusations,” I said carefully. “But whoever the deceiver, the truth cannot stay buried for long. We must step lightly, for a dangerous game is now afoot.”
Nikon gave a curt nod. He disliked me, I was sure of it, but we were united in this resolve.
Marigold pursed her lips. “Their last encounter nearly came to blows. Uallas provoked him greatly.”
I shivered, recalling Madadh’s fiery rage when he had burst in earlier, promising to incinerate the culprit. The runes painted Uallas as a deeply flawed man who spun a tangled web of enemies. One of them had clearly struck the fatal blow.
Before tensions could escalate further, footsteps echoed down the hall, heralding the inspector’s approach. Gripping a singed scrap of fabric, the inspector burst into the room with all the subtlety of an enraged bull.
“Going somewhere, Nikon?” he barked, grabbing the pallid youth’s slender wrist.
Nikon recoiled theatrically. “Unhand me, sir! I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“This says otherwise.” The inspector brandished the cloth fragment under Nikon’s nose.
Nikon scrutinized it with a magician’s keen eye, then scoffed. “That belongs to my uncle Madadh, not me. Note the phoenix crest - the mark of House Yr.”
I craned my neck, glimpsing the ornate insignia stitched into the fabric. Madadh had worn such a crest earlier when questioned.
The inspector scowled, bushy mustache bristling. “Madadh, eh? Where’s he lurking then?”
Tuesday shook her head. “He left after you questioned him earlier...”
“A likely story! He must have returned to finish the job.” The inspector’s gravelly voice allowed no contradiction.
I gasped despite myself. Nikon looked positively gleeful at Madadh’s accusation. Clearly no love was lost between those two.
“I always suspected that lunatic’s involvement,” Nikon declared with relish. “We must find him at once!”
I wavered, unconvinced. Madadh had seemed forthright, not the murderous type. The scrap of cloth felt too neat, too convenient, like it was planted. But the inspector and Nikon seemed dead set on their culprit.
The inspector continued, “Until we locate Madadh, no one leaves town. I’ll organize a search party.” He eyed us sharply. “Stay out of trouble. The killer may not be finished.”
Tuesday sidled over to me while the inspector continued grilling Nikon. “Inspector Gregory means well, but sometimes I fear he is too rushed. It is as if he’s out of his depth,” she fretted. Tuesday wrung her hands fretfully as she stood near the hearth. Shadows flickered across her delicate features, wavering with the firelight.
“I wish I could aid more, but my mind’s a tangle,” she confessed mournfully. “If only I knew some tonic to clear it...”
I covered her restless fingers with my own. “Your compassion alone helps more than you know. We shall find a way through this fog.”
Tuesday offered a tight, grateful smile before hiding sudden tears. My attempt at comfort had clearly overwhelmed her.
“There is more work ahead,” I said gently. “If we wish to uncover the full truth, we must seek it ourselves.”
Tuesday didn’t respond, but I knew she agreed. With the inspector’s restrictions, our movements would be limited. Yet Madadh was not the sole culprit here. Uallas’ secrets ran deeper than one man’s payback.
After the inspector left, a heaviness settled over us. But as I met Tuesday’s eyes, I saw resolve mirrored there. We would not let obstructions or danger deter us. Too much was at stake.
Uallas was neither a hero nor a villain, but a complex soul. We owed it to his memory to illuminate what shadows had consumed him. By wits and courage, we would unravel this web, no matter where it led. Justice would be done.
The hour had grown late. As everyone else prepared to take their leave, I paused, steadying myself on the banister. Nikon caught my arm, his fingertips lingering.
“Careful now,” he said. “Can’t have you bruising that sharp mind along with your knees.”
I chuckled tiredly. “My wits feel battered regardless.”
Nikon searched my face, my expression solemn. “You drive yourself hard sometimes, Liss. But perhaps that’s why...” He trailed off, glancing away. After a supportive shoulder squeeze, he headed inside.
I wondered at his unfinished thought, but exhaustion muddled my thoughts. Puzzles would keep till the morrow.
Alone on the steps, I resolved to use this time to quietly investigate. Madadh, Marigold, Nikon - all held pieces of the puzzle. I had to assemble the full picture while shadows still gathered.
The mysteries around Uallas would not rest easily. But I was determined to unveil the truth, no matter how dark or difficult it proved. For honor’s sake, the deceiver’s mask must be stripped away. The hunt for answers had only just begun.
