by Rachel Burge
The man in the psychic tent . . . When I touched his coat I sensed shifting sands, someone who couldn’t be trusted, someone who enjoys tangling people up in cruel games. That’s why Mum couldn’t draw him; he can change his face whenever he likes. Loki – shapeshifter and master manipulator. He’s the uninvited guest.
I clench my fists. ‘What do you want with me?’
‘Come now. You could at least try to enter into the spirit of things. Besides, it’s Odin who brought you here. He’s the one who chose you.’
‘Chose me for what?’
‘As his player, of course.’ Loki pulls a mock shocked face. ‘What, he didn’t tell you? It must have slipped his mind, but then he is rather busy and I suppose you don’t feature that highly in his priorities.’
The words burrow under my skin, even though I know not to believe a thing he says. After the sacrifices I’ve made to water the tree, the sacrifices my ancestors have made, I can’t bear to think that I mean nothing to Odin. But if he really did bring me here, why isn’t he the one talking to me?
Loki grins, as if pleased to see the confusion on my face. I clench my jaw and stare at him. ‘A player to do what exactly?’
‘Oh, I do love a wager!’ He pauses for dramatic effect then frowns. ‘He really hasn’t told you any of this, has he? Strange, I thought you would have meant more to him. In that case, allow me to enlighten you.’
He turns to his right and walks out of the mirror, reappearing in the next a moment later, his long green coat and head bizarrely elongated. ‘You know, it was Odin who first came across this place. He found it on one of his little wanders.’ He laughs and adds, ‘Now I think about it, I suppose he would be taken with a travelling circus.’ He paces back and his image returns to normal. ‘I couldn’t understand the appeal at first. Mortals play-acting at being gods!’ He leans towards the glass, his face earnest. ‘But the more I came here, the more I felt its pull. Yes, it’s just a few tatty tents in a field, but there is magic in the old myths. Who among us doesn’t want our name to be remembered, our stories to live on?’
I hate agreeing with him, but I know exactly what he means. I’ve felt the same magic too. There was something wonderful about seeing my ancestors’ history brought to life. I couldn’t have looked away from the performance, even if I’d tried.
He moves again, his coat gliding across several mirrors. I spin around and he appears in the glass behind me. ‘One day I noticed that I didn’t feature in their performances. There was a Loki mask but no one wore it. Why? Because years ago they did one of my stories and there happened to be a fire. Odin nearly laughed his beard off when he told me. He said I am usually to blame when things go wrong, so I shouldn’t hold it against them for holding me responsible.’ He presses his lips together and they turn as pale as the scars around them. ‘Yes, Odin found it most amusing.’
He forces a smile. ‘So when the circus finally performed one of my myths, the story of Baldur no less . . . Well, let’s just say I got a little excited. Odin thought it best I leave, no doubt jealous I had been included for once. I refused and he offered me a wager, and here we both are.’
I blink at him, trying to make sense of things. Karl said a fire burned down the big top years ago. His father thought Loki was behind it, but he was wrong. It wasn’t doing performances with the Trickster that brought bad luck, it was keeping him out.
Loki’s image fills the glass as he leans close and whispers. ‘Odin bets that a mere mortal can unmask Nina’s killer by the time the last visitor leaves tonight.’
A lump lodges in my throat. I’ve been dragged here to take part in some game? I don’t want to believe it, and yet something in the pit of my belly tells me it’s true.
When I don’t say anything, he whispers, ‘Haven’t you wondered why Nina appears different to the rest of the dead?’
I stare at him, afraid of the answer.
‘Odin sent her to the cabin to haunt you. And in case that wasn’t enough to get you here, he gave your mum visions of the circus.’
If Loki is telling the truth, then Odin must have a good reason for wanting me here. He must need my help. I don’t like the idea of being manipulated, but at the same time I feel a flicker of pride at the thought of being chosen.
‘What do you mean, I have to unmask Nina’s killer?’
Loki grins. ‘Get her killer to confess to the old circus manager Karl, and I will go.’
Anxiety crashes over me. ‘And what happens if I fail?’
He ignores my question and says, ‘Do you know that an actor is finally going to play me? Now that I’ve been given a proper invitation, there’s so much fun to be had!’ He claps his hands and something jangles overhead. The troll twists and jumps on its strings, the horse rears and snaps its skeletal jaws, and the long-fingered creatures convulse.
Loki laughs and I recoil, knowing that fun for him means suffering for others. He clicks his fingers and the puppets collapse, their limp bodies swaying above me.
His voice deepens. ‘Lose the wager and I will destroy the circus. And if they cancel and refuse to tell my story, then no one’s shall be heard.’ Yellow flames flicker around the edge of the glass and consume his face as a new image appears: the big top on fire. Smoke fills the sky, dozens of masked performers lie face down in the mud, and the charred puppet that Stig destroyed crawls over them. And then I see a girl with blonde hair in the dirt, her lifeless eyes staring open. One of them is milky white and looks in the wrong direction.
Fear and adrenaline turn to rage. ‘You’re going to kill everyone at the circus, just because they didn’t include you?’
He yells at me. ‘Do you know how it feels to be kept out? To be the outsider? To have your lips sewn shut?’
‘That was a punishment for your own trickery!’
‘Was it? Or was it because I’m not afraid to speak the truth? Because I alone am willing to expose the hypocrisy of the gods?’
I bite back my arguments. I don’t know enough of his stories to judge. Perhaps his cruel games are motivated by something more than just mischief.
His eyes glisten as he rants. ‘I’ve given the gods so many gifts. If it weren’t for me, Thor wouldn’t have his hammer, Freyr would be missing his beloved boar and Odin would be without his spear. I’ve got them out of more scrapes than I care to count, and what thanks do I get? I am vilified, made the scapegoat – kept out.’
He speaks with the conviction of righteous anger, his eyes overflowing with hurt, and he’s right. I have no idea how it feels to be kept out by those who are meant to love you. But according to the stories in Karl’s book, it was Loki who got the gods into their various ‘scrapes’ in the first place.
‘What about Baldur?’
He narrows his gaze and the emotion I saw in his eyes a moment ago is gone, replaced with stony coldness. ‘Now why would you want to bring that up?’
He vanishes from the mirror and someone taps me on the shoulder. I spin around and scream. The jester is in the room behind me.
‘It’s always my failings told in the stories, have you noticed that? The others are no better than me . . . Luckily I am here to expose them for what they really are.’ He looks at my blank face and laughs. ‘You think you have it all worked out, don’t you? Everything black and white. Odin is good and I am bad.’
He circles me, the bells on his cap jingling. ‘You are nothing but a puppet to him, a player in a game. He started a whole ancestral line to task them with watering a tree. If he’s so powerful, why doesn’t he do it himself? He doesn’t care for mortals any more than I do.’
A gaping hole opens up inside me and dark thoughts rush inside. All the sacrifices my ancestors have made – surely they weren’t just being used? The women who went before me had such strength and resilience; they were given magic in exchange for watering the tree. If they mean nothing to Odin, where does that leave me?
Loki sneers. ‘The fruit doesn’t fall far from the twisted tree. You too serve
only yourself.’
I drop my head, knowing what he is going to say. I’ve done something terrible, something I can’t take back or make right.
‘Hel tasked you with saving the dead. She told you to hold the rope until every soul had returned to the underworld. But you let go. You sacrificed hundreds of souls to save one.’
Shame burns inside me. He’s right. I didn’t stop to think what would happen to the others when I dropped the rope. I thought only of making sure Mormor would be safe. I thought only of myself.
He leans into my face, his bright red mouth a parody of sadness. ‘Don’t cry. I’ve rounded them up for you.’ I shake my head, even though I know it’s true.
‘No? Then how else do you think they got here!’ He glares at me with disdain then turns his back.
A moment later he spins around and opens his arms, the bells on his costume jingling. ‘Cheer up, tonight is Ragnarok! The circus is expecting me to bring a horde of the dead along and I hate to disappoint. If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s put on a show!’
He vanishes and I swallow a sob, my chest heaving. When I look in the mirror I see only my normal reflection. Who was I to dream I could be a warrior, one of Odin’s Valkyries? No. This is the real me: feeble and afraid, my eyes full of panic, mascara running down my face.
18
ONE LONG THREAD OF LIES
I
stumble outside and the walkway is empty, the crowd of performers gone. The wolf sneers down at me and I breathe in a lungful of icy air and try to clear my head. I have to stop Loki. I have to win the wager or he will destroy the circus and everyone here. But how am I going to make Stig confess to killing Nina?
Part of me wants to go and confront him, but I need time to think. How do I even know that Loki is telling the truth? He’s called the Trickster and the Sly One for a reason. Maybe there is no wager, or perhaps he wants me to make Stig confess and I’m walking into a trap. The only way to know for sure is to speak to Odin. If he really chose me as his player, then he should tell me the rules of the game.
I walk around the side of a tent and stop when I reach the costume trailer. I need a connection to Odin – perhaps something in Karl’s notebook would help. A raven lands on the handle of the trailer door and twitches its head. It caws then flies away and I think about the last time I was in there. When I held Odin’s mask to my face it tried to pull me closer. Hel was angry with me, and Sandrine said wearing her falcon mask gave her dreams that she could fly. What if the masks provide a link to the gods and creatures they portray?
I climb the steps to the trailer and open the door. The end wall is empty apart from a single golden face: Baldur. Of course, the actors will be getting ready for tonight’s show, they will have the masks. Karl said that no one would play the part now that Nina has gone. That must be why it’s still here. There is something desperately sad about the beautiful golden face shining alone in the darkness, and I have a sudden feeling it might be the key to everything.
I turn and jump down the steps. If I want to find the crooked mask, I need to find the man who plays Odin. The performers said Karl was dismantling the floodlights. If everyone is in the field trying to stop him, maybe that’s where he’ll be.
I make my way to the end of the walkway and scan the expanse of snow. Thick mist swirls over the ground and it takes a moment to see them. Around forty costumed performers are gathered around the circle of skull poles, just beyond the Viking ship. Those on stilts congregate at the back, including the three Norns, the ravens, and the frost giant I met on the first day. I walk over and there are more people I recognise: Sandrine in her feathered mask, the Chinese knife-throwers in their ballgowns, along with Oskar, Ruth and Ulva. I don’t see Stig, or the actor who plays Odin. Most of the people are wearing masks so I can’t see their expressions, but I can sense their anxiety. It rolls off them, heavy and cold like the fog.
I find a gap among the leather-clad Valkyries all wearing the same costume as me and push to the front. Karl stands alone in the middle of the circle, a look of cornered prey about him. He gives me a pleading look, as if hoping I’ve come to persuade the others, but there’s nothing I can do. If they don’t tell Loki’s story, he’s promised that no one’s shall be heard.
A man wearing antlers addresses the crowd. ‘Karl is right. There have been too many changes. We’ve always been family friendly, that’s what we’re about. This new fire show we’re doing, not allowing children to enter and hiring security staff, it’s a mistake. I say we call it off.’
A muffled voice croaks, ‘We can’t cancel, people have paid. The circus will go bust!’ I look over my shoulder and a raven flaps his winged arms and twitches his head, his grey beak moving from side to side. There’s something almost too bird-like about its movements and I have a feeling that I’m not looking at a man dressed up. Could it be that the figure standing next to me isn’t entirely human? I glance over to the Norns. They crowd close to one another and whisper in hushed tones, their raspy voices alarmingly familiar. I stare at their crude masks, covered with clumps of earth and moss, a mass of twisted twigs stretched across the top. The cheek of one twitches and another frowns. Even though I’ve seen their masks move before, it’s still unnerving. I’m watching in wonder when an old woman touches my arm, startling me.
She wears tiny white antlers on her head, and beneath it a band of fringed leather so that I can’t see her eyes. She pats my arm and speaks with a Russian accent. ‘Don’t worry, the circus has been going for a hundred years and it will go for a hundred more.’ Her costume brushes me and I sense deep love tethering her to this place. The people here are her family, this is her home.
I do my best to smile but my chest is so tight I can hardly breathe. It’s foretold that Loki will bring about Ragnarok, the end of the world, and tonight the circus is going to re-enact it. He killed Baldur, the most beloved of the gods, and he said himself that he doesn’t care about humans. Loki is clever and scheming; the master manipulator. If there really is a wager, I’m going to need Odin’s help. I don’t know if the crooked mask will allow me to contact him, but right now it’s my best hope.
Mumbles of disagreement turn to anger and suddenly everyone is arguing. I turn to the woman and shout over the noise, ‘Have you seen the actor who plays Odin?’ She shrugs and I ask the Valkyries behind me, but they haven’t seen him. A group of antlered men look at me blankly, and then the guy with tattoos who was arguing with Stig comes over. He speaks loudly, as if he wants everyone to hear. ‘That boy you’re with, he’s trouble.’
‘Stig?’
He touches his finger first to his left cheek and then to the right one. ‘He has two faces.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘His last girlfriend died. He has a temper, ask anyone here.’
Before I can say anything, he turns and walks away. I stare into the crowd of performers, my heart racing. Part of me was hoping I’d made a mistake when I read Nina’s catsuit, but the evidence is undeniable. The reason he ignored my messages and then suddenly showed up, the reason people here don’t trust him. I want to go after the boy and ask him what he knows, but there’s no time. I have to find the crooked mask.
I call up to the raven performers behind me, ‘The man who plays Odin, have you seen him?’ The bird-men take a few steps one way and then the other, their feathers fluttering in the breeze. One of them twitches its head. ‘Have you tried the costume-change in the big top?’ The other nods, his beak moving up and down. ‘Yes, try there.’
I thank them and hurry towards the tents. The walkways are busy now: performers are moving large wire structures, and crew in black jackets are carrying lengths of cable and unlit firebrands. Oskar shouts at someone and sends another member of the crew back the way they came. He looks determined and in control, despite the chaos around him.
I turn the corner and stop. Stig is there. For a moment I wonder if it’s another trick, but something about the anxious look in his eyes tells me
it’s really him.
‘Martha! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’ He glances at my costume. ‘You look amazing. It suits you, being a Valkyrie.’
I wrap my arms around myself and stare at the ground.
‘What is it, are you still sick?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘You don’t look fine. You look like you’ve been crying. What’s wrong? Maybe I can help?’ When I don’t say anything, he asks, ‘Is it Loki? Or Nina – have you seen her again?’
He’s trying to find out how much I know, wondering if I’ve figured out how she died. I lift my head and make myself look him in the eye. ‘The guy you were arguing with – Nina’s ex – did they get back together? Is that what happened? You found out and lost your temper?’
‘No. Nina wasn’t interested in him.’ Stig gives me a strange look as if he’s just realised what I said. ‘What do you mean, is that what happened?’
‘So what were you arguing about with him?’ He doesn’t answer and I keep talking. ‘He thinks you had something to do with Nina’s death, doesn’t he?’
Stig drops his gaze.
I tighten my jaw, wishing he would tell me the truth. ‘I touched the catsuit that Nina was wearing when she died. I saw her last memories. I know she was wearing a harness.’
Stig’s face is a mask of confusion. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘So you didn’t climb the rigging and take it up to her?’
‘No! I told you. We argued and then I left. What is this?’
He’s so good at this – lying. I grab his arm and he frowns in surprise. The impressions from his jacket are weak and fleeting: apprehension, confusion and a residue of guilt. I search for a deeper emotion or memory stained into the material but there’s nothing. Of course, that’s why he bought new clothes. He knows how my gift works and that things have to be worn a while to absorb a person’s memories. Why buy new things unless to deceive me?