by Rachel Burge
Stig pulls away. ‘Fy faen! If you want to know something, you only have to ask.’
‘OK. So why are you wearing new clothes?’
‘What?’
‘Answer the question.’
An injured look flashes in his eyes. ‘They were in the sale and . . . if you must know, I wanted to put the past behind me. I’ve still got Dad’s coat, but I decided it was time to stop wearing it.’
I think back to the leather trench coat he wore in the cabin. At the time I presumed the bitterness, jealousy and hate it contained came from his father. But maybe I was wrong, maybe it was all Stig. He said he’d left home because of family arguments, but now I know he broke into Mormor’s cabin because he was on the run.
A cold rage rises inside me. ‘Did you push her, thinking the harness would save her, or did you do it up wrong on purpose? Were you made to do it?’
Stig recoils as if I’d slapped him.
I search his eyes, desperately hoping that it was an accident or it wasn’t really his fault. That he will admit what he did, but say he never meant for her to die.
Some of the crew walk in our direction and he waits for them to pass, then leans towards me. His pale blue eyes drill into me, but I refuse to back down or look away.
‘Just admit it Stig. I know everyth—’
‘How could you think that of me?’ He speaks over me, his voice low and edged with danger. ‘I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but I had nothing to do with Nina’s death.’
I start to argue, but he turns and stalks away.
‘Stig!’
He keeps walking and doesn’t look back.
‘You promised to tell me the truth!’
He shakes his head and keeps going, and I clench my fists. Even if he came back, he would only make up some story. How many more lies are there, I wonder? Like a magician’s knotted handkerchief, I could pull and pull and more would come out; one long thread of lies, each more colourful than the last. I’ve been such a fool. When the draugr attacked him, I went into the rotting heart of the tree and begged Hel for his life. I couldn’t bear him dying. I risked my life to save him – a murderer and a liar.
19
YOUR WORD AGAINST HIS
‘M
artha, wait!’ Ruth appears behind me, her long auburn hair dancing wildly in the wind. She must have followed me up from the field. She watches Stig stride away then turns to me and frowns. ‘What’s going on with you two?’
I don’t answer and she gives me a coy smile. ‘You said you spent a few days together and then he left, so come on – spill. I’ll find out one way or another, so you may as well tell me everything.’ She gives me a playful nudge. ‘I am psychic, you know.’ I start to answer but then my eyes fill with tears. Ruth sees my face and her expression changes. ‘Oh, sweetheart, whatever’s wrong?’ She wipes my cheek and whispers, ‘I didn’t do your makeup for you to cry it all off.’
I mutter, ‘Sorry,’ and she folds me into a hug. ‘Come here, now.’ She smells of fresh laundry and rosemary and suddenly I have an urge to tell her everything – about Stig and Loki and the wager. And then a feeling that isn’t mine fills my heart: longing followed by choking guilt and shame. I’ve felt the same emotions in her shawl before. She desperately wants to go back to Ireland but she’s afraid. It’s so unfair. Why should she miss out on seeing her daughter grow up because of something that wasn’t her fault?
She links her arm through mine. ‘Come on, let’s go to the canteen. You look like a girl who could use a tea with ten sugars.’
I glance at the big top. If I’m going to contact Odin and ask for his help, I have to find the crooked mask. ‘Sorry, I can’t. There’s something I need to do.’
She pulls me close. ‘Oh, shush. You can spare five minutes. Something tells me you didn’t apply for the job here by chance. It’s about time you were honest with me, don’t you think?’ I try to resist but she drags me away, past the costume trailer and then into the maze of caravans. We round a corner and the white canteen tent appears, its door flapping in the breeze like an invitation.
It’s a relief to step into the warmth, and the smell of fresh coffee and frying bacon almost makes me feel hungry. Rows of trestle tables and benches fill the room and there’s a glass serving-counter at the front. A group of elves sit to my right; behind them a man with antlers bites into a sausage and chats to a woman covered in tattoos. On the other side of the tent is the mime artist in makeup I saw before. He stares out of the large window panel next to him and looks so sad I can’t imagine his face ever changing.
Ruth walks over to a table sagging under the weight of a silver urn and a mountain of cups, while I take a seat. A moment later she hands me a drink and sits down opposite. ‘They’re still doing breakfast if you’re hungry?’ I shake my head and try to smile, but my mind is elsewhere. I can’t stop thinking about Loki and the wager. It feels so surreal, like a nightmare I might wake up from at any minute. I can’t sit here drinking tea. I need to find that mask.
Ruth sips her drink then lowers her cup. ‘So are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to drag it out of you?’
I think back to our conversation in the psychic tent. She knows Stig took off before the police could question him a second time. Maybe I should tell her; she might be able to help. I lean forward. ‘You know how Stig disappeared before?’ Ruth arches an eyebrow and I continue. ‘He was hiding in my grandma’s cabin in Skjebne. He broke into the place and was there when I arrived.’ She gives a disapproving tut and I keep talking. ‘It was freezing and he had nowhere else to go, so I let him stay.’ I glance at the people around me. No one is paying us any attention, but I lower my voice anyway. ‘Stig lied to the police.’
Two women enter, both with masks around their necks. One wears her long blonde hair in plaits, her cheeks flushed pink, and the other is older and has cropped fair hair. She points at her shorn head and cries, ‘How could he?’ The other woman picks up a bowl of apples and murmurs, ‘I don’t know, I think it makes you look younger,’ and her companion yells and knocks the bowl away, sending the fruit bouncing across the floor.
Ruth twists in her seat. ‘What is it with people here lately?’ She rolls her eyes then turns back to me. ‘Sorry, you were saying?’
More masked performers enter. One of them wears a grey cloak. Hope jumps inside me, but then he turns around and I let out a sigh. It’s some other man, not the actor who plays Odin.
‘You said Stig lied to the police. Martha?’
Ruth waves her hand in front of my face and my attention snaps back to her.
‘Yes. He told them that Nina wasn’t wearing a harness, but she was. He did it up for her. I think he did it up wrong and then pushed her.’
Her eyes grow wide. ‘What? Did he tell you this?’
‘Not exactly. I figured it out. I confronted him, and you should have seen his face. I think he killed her.’
Ruth frowns. ‘If Nina was wearing a harness, why didn’t the police find it?’
‘Stig must have taken it. I’m guessing he was worried it might have his fingerprints and wanted to hide the evidence.’
‘You’re guessing? You can’t accuse someone of murder on a hunch, Martha.’
My shoulders slump and I stare at the table. I thought Ruth would believe me, that she might even help, but I’ve been wasting my time. I start to stand but she pulls me back down. Her bright hazel eyes search my face. ‘Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of people who don’t trust that boy – God knows why he came back, he’s about as welcome here as a wet shoe – but just because he took off doesn’t mean he’s guilty. You two were an item, weren’t you? What makes you so sure?’
I should tell her the truth about my gift. She has some psychic ability herself, and if she believes in magic, surely she will understand. I take a breath, about to explain, but she speaks first.
‘You know a verdict of accidental death is likely to be passed, and Stig, well, he’s
the type who never stays anywhere for long. He’ll move on and . . .’ She holds my gaze without blinking.
‘And?’ I ask.
‘What’s done is done.’
I stare at her in disbelief. ‘I should just let it go, is that what you’re saying? I should let him get away with it?’ The words come out louder than I intended and a girl with pointed ears looks over.
I don’t have time for this. I jump up and Ruth’s eyes flick around the room and back to me. ‘What choice do you have if it’s your word against his?’
‘That’s it, isn’t it? That’s why you’re afraid to go back to Ireland. You think people will believe your sister’s husband and not you. I know it must be hard for you, but you can’t let him get away with what he did.’
Ruth stares at me. ‘What are you talking about?’
A cold thought slithers out from the back of my mind. Maybe there’s another reason she wants to leave Nina’s death in the past. There was some mistletoe on her altar; Loki fashioned a spear from mistletoe and gave it to the blind god to kill Baldur. Maybe Ruth is the one who invited him to the circus.
Ruth pushes her hair behind her ear with a trembling hand. ‘I haven’t told you about what happened in Ireland. Who have you been talking to?’
I stare at the table, a blush of shame creeping into my cheeks. Ruth has been through so much, I have no right to tell her how to feel or what to do.
‘Martha? How do you –’
‘The cloth figure in your caravan, the one wrapped in green thread. You did a spell to bind Nina. Did you put a spell on Stig too?’
A look of surprise flashes across her face. ‘How do you know about that? Ulva is the only one I told.’ She glances around the room and speaks quietly. ‘Look, I don’t see what my personal business has to do with any of this.’ She sighs then adds, ‘I will speak to Karl and tell him your suspicions about Stig. If he decides to inform the police, they’re going to need evidence.’
A movement catches my attention and I turn my head and see a girl with short dark hair outside the window. Nina. There’s something odd about the way she moves. She lifts one arm and holds it in the air and then her opposite leg hinges at the knee. She takes a clumsy step forward and I stare with cold fascination.
Ruth carries on speaking but I’m not listening. I bite my bottom lip, unease swirling within me as I walk over to the plastic window panel and look out. Nina lifts her other arm and I realise why she’s walking oddly – there are strings attached to her hands and feet, leading straight up to the sky. She takes several quick steps, her limbs bending awkwardly, and then her arms waver above her head and she tumbles down like a rag doll.
My heart bangs in my chest. I lean forward and check in both directions, the window billowing and touching my nose. Nina has gone. I glance over my shoulder and Ruth is looking at me, a bewildered expression on her face.
I turn back to the window and see a dark shape crouched on the ground, just outside the tent. Suddenly the jester stands up. His white face paint cracks and flakes as he grins at me, his red slash of a mouth pulled too wide and thin. He raises his arm, making the bells of his costume jingle. In his hand are two large wooden handles. He twists them and Nina’s head jerks into view, her arms flopping on strings. Her eyes are no longer black, but glow pale.
I scream and press my hand against the window. ‘What do you want with her? Leave her alone!’
The jester laughs and moves his fingers. This time her body sways from side to side like a pendulum. ‘Tick tock, puppet girl.’
Ruth touches my arm. ‘Martha, who are you talking to? Leave who alone?’ I point outside but she doesn’t see the jester or the ghost girl on strings. Ruth’s face fills with worry and I realise how crazy I must seem. The elves stop chatting and suddenly the room is silent and everyone is staring at me. Masked faces tilt to one side and step closer and my head swims. I have to win the wager. Odin has to help me, there’s no other way.
I turn to Ruth. ‘What time will the last visitor leave tonight?’
She blinks in surprise.
I grab her shoulder, unable to keep the panic from my voice. ‘What time will they leave? Ruth, what time?’
She touches her head. ‘The closing parade is at seven so I suppose it will be an hour or two after that. Why?’
‘Parade?’
‘At the end of the night the performers parade down to the field for the fire show.’
An image comes into my head: the big top in flames and charred puppets crawling over the earth, and my stomach clenches so hard I think I might be sick.
‘Why don’t you sit down?’ Ruth tries to lower me onto a bench but I pull away.
‘There isn’t time, I have to go.’
20
WILL YOU PAY THE PRICE?
I
hurry to the rear of the big top and peer in through the door. A dozen or so people are getting changed and doing their hair and makeup. A few of the actors are there, some of them wearing masks. I see a man wearing a grey cloak and a hat, and almost cry with relief. If I’m going to understand what’s happening and win the wager, I need Odin’s help. Right now, the mask is my only hope of contacting him.
The actor is at the back of the room, talking to a man in a long green coat. No one gives me a passing glance as I hurry to a dressing table, then sit down and do my makeup. I’m just another Valkyrie getting ready for the show. Odin runs a hand over his beard and says, ‘It always starts with me. I am Ofner, opener, the one who breathed life into the first humans, and Svafner, closer, the gatherer of lost souls.’
The other man yawns. ‘Then maybe it’s time for a change.’
I glance around and notice something white on the dressing table opposite: the crooked mask. I swivel in my seat, my pulse racing. No one is watching. I stand up and go over, then quickly check about me. I feel bad about taking it, but I can give it back afterwards.
Holding it close to my leg, I head for the door, just as a group of masked gods enters. Hel and Thor and Freya stand in my way. If I push past them or ask them to move, they might notice what’s in my hand. I need another way. Behind me is the curved black screen that leads to the ring. Keeping my head down, I edge my way along it.
The tunnel is dark and I can barely see. I step through then blink and cover my eyes. A bright spotlight shines on the tree in the middle of the floor. Next to it is Odin’s throne. I keep my gaze fixed ahead as I walk towards it, determined not to look at the rows of shadowy chairs. No one is here, but something tells me the auditorium isn’t as empty as it should be.
I sit on the throne and study the mask, my fingers tracing the carved lines in the wood. It doesn’t cover the whole face, but stops just below the nose. There’s one eye-opening on the wearer’s right-hand side; the other is solid and painted black. The eyes don’t line up quite properly, making it seem crooked. I turn it over and touch the soft felt backing and the black ribbon tied to each edge. It’s understated and plain, yet there is power in its simplicity.
I don’t know what will happen if I wear it, but I have to try. A tingle of excitement runs through me. I can’t believe Odin is just using me, like Loki says. If he chose me as his player, that has to mean something, surely? I lift the mask and its cheek twitches. I startle and drop it, then take a breath and get a hold of myself. The carved face is perfectly still but something doesn’t feel right. I am too exposed here. I glance at the huge tree in the centre of the ring, and remembering how the Norns emerged from inside gives me an idea.
I pick up the mask then walk around the trunk. It looks like it’s made of papier-mâché stretched over some kind of metal frame. Tiny glass light bulbs are embedded within a fine mesh of wire that stretches across the rough bark. At the rear is an entrance, so well hidden I would have missed it if I weren’t looking closely.
I pull open the door and dots of lights flicker into life. Inside is surprisingly spacious. There are three large cushions on the floor and a pile of blankets, I suppose
so that the Norns can be comfortable while they wait to go onstage. I close the door then sit on a cushion and rest my back against the trunk. It’s easily as wide as the largest chamber of the tree in Mormor’s garden but this one has much more headroom, stretching up into the trunk. Unlike the real thing, it doesn’t smell of rotting leaves and damp earth. I pull a blanket over me then make a nest with the rest of the cushions. My shoulders drop and I take a deep breath. Maybe it’s being enclosed, but I feel safe in here.
I hold the mask to my face and immediately feel its pull: a warm surge that draws me like a magnet. I tie the ribbon at the back of my head and it fits perfectly, the painted eye sitting over my blind side. I call his name softly, singing it under my breath. Odin, Odin, Odin . . . I say it over and over until I forget all other thoughts.
Odin, Odin, Odin . . .
My eyes close and a rush of energy flows over my body like hot air from a vent. And then I’m falling, plummeting into a black hole. I can’t breathe. My feet kick and my body convulses. I need to . . . I can’t . . . I tug at the mask, but it won’t come off. My eyes roll back and everything goes black.
I’m standing at one side of the empty ring. It’s dark and I can only just make out the scuffed white barrier. There’s no tree, no throne. A sea of fog flows around my legs and I watch in wonder as shapes form in the mist before tumbling and dissolving back into swirling chaos. The lightest breeze touches my face and I lift my chin. The big top has gone, replaced by a vast black dome, clouds drifting across an endless sky.
Two ravens explode up from nowhere. Their wings beat furiously and a gust of wind blows back my hair. I raise my arm and then watch as they spiral upwards and disappear. The floor tilts and I don’t know whether it’s dropping away from me or I am rising. And then my feet lift and I’m floating. I’m actually levitating. I can feel myself expanding and drifting, the knots of my mind loosening and unravelling. What’s happening to me? Fear and hope fight inside me as I drop to the ground with a thud.
