by Rachel Burge
A single spotlight comes on and I wince and shield my face. A man is standing in the middle of the ring with his back to me. He wears the tailcoat, trousers and top hat of a ringmaster, all of them white. But there’s something strange about his head. It isn’t there. I blink and look again, convinced it must be an optical illusion.
My heart thumps as I make my way towards him. He doesn’t move or say a word. I step closer, wondering if I’m looking at a statue. Just a dozen paces away now.
‘Hello?’ The figure remains still. I walk around the side of him and my insides turn to ice. He’s holding a long stick with a white mask fixed to the top. Behind it is nothing. His arms and legs are normal, his hands covered with gloves, yet his body ends just before the neck. Above the collar of his jacket is only air. I step back, unease turning to dread.
The mask on the stick has a single eye-opening. The other one is solid and painted black. Unlike the one from the costume trailer, the mask before me comes down to the chin and has a mouth. Deep wrinkles surround the lips and line the forehead. It’s only a piece of wood, yet something about it terrifies me.
Suddenly the face moves. The forehead frowns and the lips pull back as a velvety voice intones, ‘A gift for a gift. Will you pay the price?’ The wood rearranges to form a new expression, the movements slow and clumsy like a clay model in an old stop-motion animation. I stare at the face, unable to believe what I’m seeing.
‘Who are you?’ I ask.
‘Grimnir.’
The words of the Odin actor echo in my head. A single name have I never had since first I walked among men. Wanderer, Wayfarer . . . Grimnir the Masked One am I.
The face changes expression, the muscles under the wood shifting and rearranging to form a frown. I swallow and nod. If I’m going to win this wager, I will need his help.
The face softens to a smile and I look down to find that Nina’s gold catsuit is in my hands. I blink at it, confused. The figure swings out its arm so that the mask looms closer. Seeing it move makes me feel queasy; the missing head is even more disturbing in profile.
The face speaks again. ‘Each day my two ravens fly through the worlds. I fear for the return of Huginn, yet more do I fear for Muninn. Memory must come first and then thought.’
A flutter of panic beats in my chest. ‘I don’t understand.’
The mask comes closer and tilts forward, so that it’s looking at the material in my hands. ‘Let the impressions surface like a memory, don’t pick and pull at them with thought. Only when your mind is empty can you remember what you know.’
Slowly I begin to understand. When I read the catsuit I grabbed the material, demanding it show me the truth. I pulled at the thread of Nina’s memory so hard it snapped. The same thing happened when I touched Ruth’s shawl in the psychic tent. Yet when I wasn’t trying I was able to read it easily. The information came to me; it surfaced in my mind like a memory.
‘I think I see.’
The mask chuckles and winks its one eye. ‘You can see far more than you know.’
I glance at my hands and the catsuit has vanished. My right hand has become a fist. I turn it over and open it, and in my palm is a round metal pin. It’s beautifully and intricately made, with a single rune in the centre. It’s shaped like a Y, but with the central stick reaching to the top of the symbol, a tree with three branches.
‘Algiz. The sign of the Valkyrie,’ explains the mask. ‘A gift for a gift and the price is danger.’
I open my mouth, a thousand questions on my lips, when a flash of white light obliterates everything.
21
SOMETHING I DIDN’T SEE BEFORE
M
y eyes open and it takes me a moment to realise where I am. I tug the mask from my face then open my palm and gasp to see the pin. I have no idea why it was given to me, but I have a feeling I know why I was shown Nina’s catsuit. It appeared just before the mask explained how to use my gift properly. There must be something else in the material I’m meant to read.
Taking a deep breath, I stand up and peer out from the tree. The ring is full of people, members of the crew dragging props across the floor and performers calling out instructions. I wait until no one is looking then walk through the tunnel and into the costume-change area. It’s empty now: the clothes rails bare and the makeup and brushes tidied away as if no one was ever there.
I leave the carved face where I found it, then run my fingers over the smooth wood. Maybe Odin appeared to me like that because I contacted him through the mask. He has so many names; perhaps ‘Grimnir the Masked One’ refers to him being able to change his appearance. Although he can take any form, I know he most often appears wearing a grey cloak and hat and carrying a walking staff. That’s how I pictured him: a wise old man with a beard, quick to laugh and with a twinkle in his eye.
My shoulders drop and I can’t help feeling cheated. That’s the Odin I wanted to meet. I desperately hoped for some sense of connection. I wanted comfort and reassurance, a kindly figure to guide me. Not this Grimnir. I think back to my ancestors’ journals. I’m sure they mentioned something about our path being one of growth through hardship. Perhaps I need to prove myself and win the wager before I get to meet him properly.
I glance at my face in the mirror and sigh. There’s so much I don’t understand. Is Odin using me, or did he choose me as his player because he believes in me? Deciding he must have given me the pin for a reason, I fasten it to the front of my cloak and step outside.
The walkway is heaving with visitors, wrapped up in coats and scarves, eating waffles and talking excitedly. Being around other people is a relief; I can feel my sense of reality rushing back like blood returning to my body. A gang of teenage boys laugh and push one another. One of them points and for a moment I think they’re making fun of my disfigured eye, but then I see the awe in their faces. I hold my head high and smile. To them I’m part of the show, a Valkyrie with some seriously badass makeup.
I wait for them to pass then pick my way through the crowd. A man in front is pushing a wheelchair with an elderly lady inside. He stops abruptly and I avoid bumping into him, only for a woman coming the other way to brush past me. Her duffel coat is dripping with grief. It happened months ago, but it feels like yesterday. When she went in to him that morning his little face was blue. Cot death, the doctors said. Nothing she could have done.
Tears sting my eyes and I step away, straight into the path of a man holding hands with a woman. His leather jacket speaks of lust. He spies on his neighbour through the wall. He watches him in the shower. I grit my teeth and hurry on. An old lady is addicted to shoplifting, a teenage girl cuts her thighs with a razor, a man will never forgive himself for tying up a dog and beating it. Images, emotions and memories wash over me; snatches of people’s lives, their hurts, longings, and regrets.
I stop and rub my temples, hoping it might dislodge the debris of their secrets from my head. No matter how I try, I can’t seem to control my gift. The impressions come to me when I don’t want them, yet evade me if I try too hard. I think about Grimnir’s advice and feel sure that I’m right. Nina’s catsuit must have something more to show me.
I step down from the path and trudge through the snow to Ulva’s caravan. I knock on the door. When no one answers, I try opening it but it’s locked. I walk around to the back and survey the rectangular window. If I want to read the catsuit again, I have to get inside.
A flash of movement makes me glance up. A man on ridiculously high stilts is striding towards me. His legs, torso and arms are encased in willow, his face covered by a wooden mask, cut out to look like flames and painted red. He stalks past, taking massive yet incredibly slow strides. Spindly twig fingers a metre long dangle from the ends of his arms and his hair hangs in ropes down his back, swaying as he walks. He looks like something fashioned from the forest and brought to life by dark magic. A creature stepped out of a nightmare.
I watch him head towards the big top, relieved that young chil
dren aren’t permitted tonight, and then check no one is coming before tugging at the window. The rusty catch rattles inside but doesn’t open. Looking for something to use, I spot a pile of bricks under a nearby caravan. I take one and bring it down on the window frame, hoping not to break the glass, and wincing at each loud bang.
Eventually the catch springs open. Leaning over with my stomach across the metal frame, I turn my body sideways then throw one leg inside. There’s only a flimsy curtain and I roll onto the bed. The catsuit is where I left it. Fighting the urge to grab the material, I pull out the shoebox and place it on the bed. Grimnir said to let the impressions surface in my mind and not pull at the threads with thought. I sit and take several deep breaths then close my eyes and centre myself. When I feel ready, I reach out my hand. I don’t demand anything from the material. I don’t search for answers. I wait.
Nothing happens at first and then a familiar memory plays. Nina is climbing the rigging of the big top. She calls down, ‘It’s over, Stig! I mean it this time. I’m seeing someone else.’ She grabs the trapeze and sways outwards, twisting and turning her body before snatching the bar with her other hand. She knows she’s being reckless but she doesn’t care. She wants Stig to worry. She wants him to come up to her.
And then the fabric shows me something I didn’t see before.
Stig, standing in the ring, shouts, ‘Come down if you’re not going to wear your harness!’ He waits a moment then flaps his arms. ‘I’m not playing your crazy games!’ Nina watches him walk away and her heart falters. Surely he must know there’s no one else? She loves him. He disappears out of the big top and she climbs to a nearby metal platform and stares at the door. He’ll come back, he always does.
Someone steps into the ring and Nina grins with satisfaction. A moment later the smile drops off her face. It’s not him.
22
A FEROCIOUS RAGE OVERTAKES HER
O
f all people, it would be her. Nina sighs and decides to carry on training. It’s the only thing that calms her when she’s upset. She calls down. ‘Hey, Ulva, can you bring my harness up, please?’ If Ulva’s come to pick another fight, she may as well make herself useful.
Nina folds her arms and waits. She knows Ulva is angry, but she couldn’t bear to let her mum take her away simply to abandon her again. For all her talk of change, the woman had alcohol on her breath. Taking the letter was wrong, but Nina had to do something to make her best friend stay.
Nina sighs sadly, her self-justification crumbling. She should never have promised her the part of Baldur either, but playing the lead was Ulva’s dream. Even though Nina was willing to give up the part, deep down she knew Karl would never agree to it. She runs her hands over her gold catsuit and pride radiates through her chest. Like he said, she is the star. People come to the circus just to see her.
Nina watches Ulva pull herself up to the platform. She’s wearing her fluffy pink sweatshirt, even though it’s far too small for her now. Nina remembers the day they bought it. Karl told them to buy essentials but they spent half the money on cinema tickets and ice cream. Remembering makes her smile. Once the circus moves to a town, Nina will take her shopping again. It’s been too long since they got away and had fun.
Her gaze drops to the mask around Ulva’s neck. The thing is so huge and hairy and horrible. Why does she always have to be Fenrir? So what if her name means wolf; she should be allowed to play something else. As soon as she finishes training she’s going to speak to Karl. If he won’t let Ulva wear a different mask then Nina will refuse to perform.
She steals a glance at Ulva, unsure what kind of mood she’s in. Ever since they started practising for this new performance, she’s been strange, happy one minute and flying into a rage the next. Nina gestures to the harness and says, ‘Thanks for helping.’ Ulva smiles in reply.
Nina steps into the harness then turns her back as she’s done a hundred times before. They’ve spent so many hours training together. Ulva is improving all the time, and one day she’ll be good enough to take the lead. Nina smiles with relief, grateful that they’re talking. She hates it when they fall out. She’ll find a way to make things right between them, she always does. Stig too. She imagines him standing behind her. If he were here now, she’d throw her arms around him and kiss him.
Nina yelps. The harness is so tight it hurts. She tries to turn around, but the hands tugging the straps won’t let her move.
Ulva growls, her voice full of spite. ‘Admit it. You can’t let me be happy, can you?’
Nina drops her head. She knows what’s coming; they’ve been over it so many times.
‘If it weren’t for you, I’d be with Mum now. You think you can keep me chained here forever, but you can’t.’
Nina blows out a sigh. Chained? What is she talking about? ‘I’ve told you already. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was trying to protect you!’
Nina catches her breath, then spins around and gasps. Ulva is wearing the mask. What’s she trying to do, scare her or something? The snout of the wolf wrinkles into a snarl and Ulva’s eyes glow pale. Nina takes a shaky step back. She must be imagining it.
‘Ulva, please! You’re scaring me!’ Nina swallows, her mouth parched. She glances down at the ring, desperate for help, but there’s no one. The ground has never looked so far away, the drop so terrifying. She sees the end of the platform behind her and her stomach turns.
Nina steps forward and holds out her arms, gabbling now. ‘I’ll help you find your mum. We’ll track her down together. If you want to leave, I’ll help you. I promise.’ Even as she speaks, she knows it’s no use. It’s not her friend in there. It’s something else.
Ulva shoves her.
For one sickening moment she teeters on the edge of the platform, her hands grasping at empty air. Her heart stops and then she’s falling. Panic explodes inside her. The harness . . . the cable will pull taut and save her.
But it doesn’t. Her body slips through the straps and her neck jolts, excruciating pain radiating into her shoulder and arm. She dangles, gasping for breath. Choking. She grabs at her throat. Her head pounds with impossible pressure. She’s going to pass out. She’s going to . . . The strap gives and she plummets, hitting the ground with a thud. A flash of white-hot pain, and then nothing.
I drop the catsuit and tears are flowing down my face. Poor Nina. The panic and fear she felt, the pain. I saw and felt every detail so clearly it was like reliving my own memory. My shoulders slump and I bite my lip. How could I have got it so wrong before? Nina only wished that it was Stig behind her, doing up her harness. And I thought . . . I bury my face in my hands. He was telling the truth.
Ulva pushed Nina. She didn’t mean to kill her, but she did.
How am I going to make her confess? And then I remember the harness. If I confront her with the evidence, perhaps she will admit everything. I need to find the sweatshirt she was wearing when she took it. I open the wardrobe and scan the rail. It’s not there.
I drag her clothes from the shelves, dropping them into a heap on the floor. There’s something pink and fleecy. I reach out to grab it, hungry for answers, and then force myself to be patient. Closing my eyes, I sit down and draw a deep breath. It takes me longer this time, there are so many thoughts and emotions racing inside me, but eventually my head clears.
Feeling calmer, I pick up the sweatshirt. I don’t ask the material for anything, I don’t search for answers. I wait. Eventually an image forms and I see the world through Ulva’s eyes. She lifts the wolf mask to her face, acting more from instinct than thought. As soon as she looks through it, a green haze obscures her vision and a ferocious rage overtakes her. She sees Nina’s mouth is moving but her words are a murmur.
Ulva’s throat aches with bitter tears. All she knows is that the person she loved best in the world tricked her. The person she trusted most betrayed her. It hurts so much, it’s like someone has driven a knife into her heart. She clenches her fists and her whole bod
y shakes. She tries to fight it, but the urge for violence is so strong it blocks out all thought.
Nina steps closer, her arms outstretched, and Ulva shoves her.
A swish, a snap and a thud.
Ulva hears the noise then lifts her head and sniffs. At first she doesn’t understand where Nina has gone. She peers over the edge of the platform, unable to grasp what she’s seeing. Nina’s body is caught in her harness, swinging from side to side. She summons every ounce of human reasoning she has left and pulls off the mask. The green fog lifts and her mind spins with sickening realisation.
Ulva climbs down the rigging and Nina drops past her, landing on the floor with a bang. One of her legs is at an awkward angle, her face clammy and white. ‘Nina!’ Ulva races over, her mind shattering into a million pieces. There’s no blood, so maybe she’s still alive. Ulva takes a hasty step back, all the energy draining from her, and stares at her trembling hands as if they don’t belong to her. She didn’t do this. She can’t have.
Nina’s harness is lying next to her on the ground. It should have saved her. Why didn’t it save her? Ulva tries to remember doing it up. She was so angry and distracted; she must have fastened it wrong. Ulva covers her mouth with her hand and rocks back and forth. This can’t be happening. She loves Nina! She didn’t do this, she can’t have, but who’s going to believe her? They’ll think she did it on purpose; everyone will hate her. Ulva picks up the harness. If no one finds it then it will seem like Nina was training without one. She shoves the harness under her sweatshirt and runs out to find help.
Karl is limping along the path, his head down. Ulva ducks into the hall of mirrors and watches him. He hasn’t seen her. He wanders into the big top and she sobs with relief. He’ll find Nina and call an ambulance. Maybe she will be OK. Please, please, let her be OK.