by Rachel Burge
Ulva hurries to her caravan, her head pounding. Karl is probably calling the police right now. What if they can tell Nina was wearing a harness? She can’t keep it in her caravan; they might do a search. She could throw it away, but what if they go through the bins? The forest . . . but someone will see if she starts a fire, and the ground is too hard to dig. She’ll hide it in the undergrowth. Yes, she’ll put it somewhere no one will think to look.
Ulva enters her caravan and stashes the harness in a green carrier bag, then heads to the woods. She follows the trail for a while then turns off, going one way and then the other. There’s a broken tree that looks like it’s been hit by lightning. She stops next to it and pushes the carrier bag inside, shoving it down into the depths of the rotting trunk.
23
EVERYTHING IS ABOUT TO FALL APART
I
drop the sweatshirt and glance around the room. The bed is covered with purple cushions, the once-matching duvet cover now faded and thin. A stale sadness hangs on the air and I can almost taste the tears that have been wept here. There are no pictures or family photos in frames. The only decorations are the childish stickers that cover the wardrobe, half of them picked off to leave a sticky mess behind.
I might have a difficult relationship with Mum, but she’s always been there for me. I know she loves me and wants to protect me. It must have been so hard for Ulva when her mother left her, but it can’t have been easy when she came back either. The people here raised her; the circus is her home. Perhaps deep down she knew she was better off staying, even though it was wrong of Nina to make the decision for her.
I sigh and my breath hangs before me. It’s all such a waste. Nina thought she was doing the right thing, but she couldn’t have known that Ulva’s mum was going to let her down. One thing’s for sure though. If it weren’t for the mask, Nina would still be alive.
Ulva is out there now wearing it. She doesn’t know the power it has over her. I can’t let her hurt anyone else . . . I have to warn Stig.
I stand and then slump back down. What have I done? If Ruth tells Karl and he informs the police, then Stig might get arrested. How can I face him after the things I said, after the terrible things I thought? I wouldn’t be surprised if he never talks to me again. I chew my thumbnail as a single thought gnaws at me. How did I get it so wrong?
I get up and reach for the light switch. The room brightens and just like that it becomes clear. I’ve been using my gift to search for answers, picking and pulling at the threads, demanding to be shown what I expected to see. Grimnir’s gift is so simple that I didn’t appreciate its magnitude until now. For the cloth to reveal its truth I must empty my mind. I need to put my preconceptions aside.
I know Stig didn’t tell me the truth about things, but maybe I was too quick to judge his character. I was so fixated on the idea that he must be either good or bad that I didn’t stop to consider any in-between. He should have texted me back, but I can’t blame him for being scared after everything that happened. He hides from his problems but that doesn’t make him a bad person. He lies to protect himself, but he doesn’t deliberately set out to deceive people. Stig was right when he said, I know you want things to be black and white but sometimes they’re not. People are complicated, and so are the gods.
Even Tyr, the god of truth and justice, is capable of lying. He tricked Fenrir into wearing the magical chain in order to keep the gods safe. Tyr’s was a noble lie; he deceived the wolf to protect those he loved, just like Nina did with Ulva. Loki tricks others for his own twisted amusement. What about Odin? He’s driven by an insatiable desire for knowledge and will stop at nothing to get it, hanging himself until almost dead to discover the runes. If a few mortals are hurt in the pursuit of his ambitions, maybe it doesn’t matter that much to him.
You think you have it all worked out, don’t you? Everything black and white. Odin is good and I am bad. Loki’s right. I have been looking for easy answers. Perhaps Odin has been using my ancestors and is using me. Or maybe it’s more complicated than that. There could be reasons I don’t know, things I don’t understand. Loki wants to turn me against him, but I’m not going to fall into that trap. If I forget my idea of what Odin should be – a kindly old figure in a cloak and hat – then I won’t be disappointed.
I turn off the light then go through the living room and open the outside door. The navy-blue sky is pierced with early evening stars and I shiver to realise it will be dark soon. Loud drumming drifts on the frosty air. It’s not the music they usually play, this is wild and raucous, and then I remember the warrior women in the same costume as me – the Valkyries.
I jump down the steps and head into the site. If I’m going to save the circus and everyone in it, I have to make Ulva confess. But she’s not going to do that, not unless she sees that I have evidence. I need the harness. I know Ulva turned off the trail, but I don’t know which way she went. How am I going to find a single tree in a whole forest?
The walkways are empty apart from two security men patrolling the site. Music is coming from the big top, and I can hear the voiceover they play at the start of each performance. I have to hurry. I head to the rear door, hoping Ulva will be in the costume-change area. Maybe I can touch her clothes. The material might show me a flash of memory; some clue to reveal the direction she went. Even as the idea forms in my head, I know it’s no use. I need to see the exact route she took through the trees. I need her to take me there.
I step inside and the room is packed with performers, some putting the finishing touches to their hair and makeup and others getting dressed or lining up by the curved screen. The atmosphere is hushed but charged. It feels different to the other times I’ve been here, the anticipation fraught with worry as well as excitement.
A woman with long blonde hair is admiring herself in a floor-length mirror. She wears a short cape of brown feathers over her gown, a stunning amber necklace at her throat. I watch, transfixed by her beauty, as the man who plays Loki approaches her. He wears a long green coat and a headdress with two horns at the front, reminding me of the jester’s cap, but these are curved upwards rather than hanging down. A simple dark-green mask covers his eyes. He fingers the woman’s cape then looks at her reflection and smirks. ‘Tell me, who did you seduce to get the part of Freya?’
She smiles sweetly. ‘Why, are you jealous?’ He whispers something in her ear and she glares at him, and he laughs and walks away.
Ulva must be here somewhere. I edge around a group of dwarves and push further into the room. The seamstress adjusts the pointed ear of an elf then kneels and pins up the back of her cloak. I turn to avoid them and bump into a dressing table.
‘Look where you’re going!’ Hel is seated at a mirror, one half of her mask carved and painted white to look like a skeleton. The wooden mouth grimaces and I startle and step back, reminded of the way it howled at me in the costume trailer. Ignoring my apologies, Hel leans forward and adjusts her wig. She wears a bald cap above the dead half of her face, a cascade of black hair on the other. The wooden mask moves again, the eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and I glance around me, convinced I can’t be the only one to see it move.
The man who plays Odin walks by and Grimnir’s words echo in my head. You can see far more than you know. I cover my blind eye and Hel’s wooden face is inanimate. When I remove my hand the mask moves again. Before I can think about what this means, a shout sounds on the opposite side of the room.
The Loki actor is arguing with a performer holding a sword. Tyr steps between the two men, the model of a severed arm in his grasp. He raises it as if to keep the peace. ‘What does it matter if he hasn’t played Freyr before? As for him always turning up late, you’re mistaken.’
Loki huffs. ‘And who asked you? You’re at the centre of every disagreement in this place, telling people to calm down and stirring up a fight. Where are you when the first punch is thrown? Not lending a hand then, are you?’
A huge man dips his head
through the door, his face like thunder.
‘Talking of being late,’ scoffs Loki.
The man grunts. ‘I may be late, but I am not afraid of a fight.’ He fixes the Thor mask to his face and its wooden forehead furrows into a frown. ‘Now shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you.’ Loki shrinks back then regains his composure and spits, ‘You haven’t heard the last of this!’ He turns and walks off, shoving people out of his way as he goes.
I glance around me and people shake their heads and talk in hushed tones. The atmosphere feels sour suddenly, as if everything is about to fall apart. In Karl’s book of myths, I’m sure it mentioned the Trickster forcing his way into the hall of the gods and insulting each of them in turn. Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but it’s odd that the man who plays him seems out to cause trouble.
A group of performers comes in from the ring and my breath catches when I see Ulva, the wolf mask around her neck. I could tell her everything that’s been happening but even if she believes me, she isn’t going to hand me the evidence.
Suddenly an idea comes to me. I don’t like tricking her, but if I’m going to win this wager I need to be clever. I walk over and look her in the eye. ‘I know what you’ve done. I know where you’ve hidden the harness.’
24
THE DEAD SURROUND ME
U
lva’s eyes flash dark. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
She moves to walk past me and I block her way. ‘I know you didn’t mean to do it, but you have to tell the truth. You can come with me and tell Karl what you’ve done, or I will take the harness to him and call the police.’
‘You’re lying. You don’t have it!’
The wolf mask glares at me with empty eyes, the fur on its snout bristling. Ignoring it, I lift my gaze to Ulva’s face.
‘After you pushed Nina, you took the harness and went to your caravan. You put it in a green carrier bag then went into the forest.’
‘How did you . . . ?’
‘I’m psychic, remember.’
She shoves me aside and goes out, just as I hoped she would. I stand inside the doorway, careful to stay out of view. After a couple of minutes I hurry along the walkway, the icy wind whipping my hair into my face. I know where she entered the forest from touching her sweatshirt. She followed the trail I walked with Stig.
At the end of the path, I step into the snow and dash from one caravan to the next, making sure to keep out of sight. When I reach the edge of the clearing, I stop and shiver. It’s darker among the trees, dark enough for the dead to form. I push away a heavy spruce branch and a raven caws in warning. The forest is thick with gloom; tall grey trunks creaking and groaning in the wind. I can’t see her. Panic rises inside me. Where is she?
A flash of blonde hair moves up ahead and I let out a sigh. Stillness hangs in the air, as if the forest is holding its breath. I follow in her footsteps, a thick carpet of snow and pine needles crunching beneath my boots. A pale face looms out from behind a trunk, and I spin to my left. Another face appears, and another, sprouting like mushrooms in the darkness.
I press my back against a tree and try to steady my breathing. When I look again there are more shadowy figures. A woman holding a baby is slumped against a tree trunk, her long hair hanging down, half her body dissolved into the bark. A raven lands on a branch then hops clean through her shoulder. I turn around and an old man stumbles aimlessly. They aren’t doing anything. They’re lost. Desperate souls doomed to wander the earth because I didn’t get them back into Yggdrasil, because I didn’t return them to the underworld.
Loki has rounded them up and brought them here, the same way he brought the dead to fight at Ragnarok. To spite me, but also to make me face up to what I’ve done. He said I’m no better than anyone else, I think only of myself, and he’s right. My throat tightens and I fight a tear. I can’t blame the dead if they want to hurt me, but I can’t stand here feeling sorry for myself either. Whatever happens, I need to follow Ulva. I have to win this wager.
I step out from my hiding place and shadowy shapes flit through the undergrowth: men, women and children, all with empty black eyes. None of them seem to be aware of one another or their surroundings. I think about the dead in the big top and a shudder runs through me. I felt so cold and weak when one of them swiped its hand through me, and I don’t have the light of the caravan to run to now. Before, it took just one of them to notice me, and then they all turned and stared. When the woman on the steps saw me, it was after I’d looked into her eyes. Maybe if I keep my gaze down, the dead won’t pay me any attention.
The moon glints from behind a cloud and I catch a glimpse of Ulva hurrying below. She must have taken a turning off the path. I trudge along the trail and spot a gap in the trees. The ground is steep and twisted with roots. I grab a branch for support then stumble and slide down, stopping myself before I reach the bottom of a hollow.
Ulva stands in the middle of it, a shaft of silver falling on her like a spotlight. Shadowy figures writhe and weave around her. Massed together, the dead look like wisps of mist in the moonlight. Ulva glances in my direction and I crouch behind a trunk and watch as she pushes away a clump of hanging vines and approaches a decaying tree stump. She plunges her hand inside and pulls out a bag. After checking it, she shoves it back, perhaps thinking it’s safest to leave it where it is. After all, if I knew where the harness was, I would have taken it.
I need to get off the path; she’s going to come back this way at any moment. I stand up to go when a shadowy woman crawls towards me. She rushes forward on her knees and I turn my head and dive into the undergrowth, brambles scratching my face. The woman creeps away and I let out a sigh.
‘Who’s there?’ calls Ulva.
I hold still, barely daring to breathe.
I wait until I hear her walk past me, then risk a glance her way. She clambers up the bank and heads along the trail. Once the forest has swallowed her up, I go to the tree and reach inside.
I hurry through the forest, keeping my gaze down and side-stepping the dead, and emerge into the clearing with the carrier bag in my hand. The floodlights are on and the tents and walkways are bathed in bright light. My shoulders drop with relief. If I can make it through the caravan field, I’ll be safe.
Karl knows there’s something strange happening at the circus. If I give him the harness, there’s a chance he will believe me. When Ulva is faced with the evidence, hopefully she will confess. Karl will know what to do; I’ll make him understand it was the mask and not her fault.
The black-and-gold big top shines like a beacon under the floodlights. I want to run to it, but there’s no way to know how many of the dead are out there and I don’t want to draw their attention. I could go to my caravan but there’s no point. I can’t hide until morning; I need to unmask Nina’s killer before the last visitor leaves tonight.
My nose and ears tingle from the cold as I scan the maze of vehicles. It’s only been thirty minutes since I came this way, yet it seems so much darker now; the velvet-black sky studded with stars. Gathering my courage, I tighten my grip around the handle of the carrier bag. The dead didn’t see me in the forest. If there are more, I will just move past them.
A cold gloomy mist hangs over the field. All the performers and crew are on the main site. There’s not a single light from any of the caravan windows, no sound of a radio or flickering TV. The canteen tent is dark and closed up, its white canvas walls billowing like a monster wheezing its last breath.
I make my way between the vehicles, walking quickly, then glance down and gasp. An arm is sticking out from under a caravan, its fingers opening and closing. I hurry past it and a young boy, no older than eight, appears before me. He’s wearing shorts and I can see that one of his legs is mangled, a shard of white bone sticking out. His face is convulsed in pain and there are tear tracks on his cheeks. I look down as he hops forward, then falls over, just missing me.
I cover my mouth, knowing there’s nothing I
can do to help, then turn and go a different way. The shadows are empty and I breathe a sigh of relief. A few more minutes and I will be under the floodlights. I walk a little further, and an old lady steps through the side of a caravan. She’s naked and has long white hair down to her waist, covering her pot belly. I watch as she sinks into the ground, just as a man appears, his spine curved so badly he’s almost bent double.
I edge past him and rush on. I’m halfway there now. Only a little further and I’ll reach the trailers. Something flickers in the corner of my eye and I spin around. A swirl of black mist rises from the ground and forms into the shape of a man. He has a thick hairy chest and wears a woman’s dress and ripped tights. His face is smeared with lipstick and he sucks the thumb of one hand. A plastic doll hangs from the other. I swallow hard and step back, desperately hoping he doesn’t see me.
I turn and nearly bump into an overweight man in a hospital gown, standing with his back to me. Another figure appears and I force myself to lower my gaze. I just need to move slowly. I edge my way around them and a toddler with long tangled hair races around the side of a caravan. Our eyes lock and we stare at one another. She reaches out as if she wants me to pick her up, her dark eyes huge in her head, and a chill runs through me. I put a finger to my lips, my heart thudding in my ears, desperately hoping the others won’t notice me.
The man in the hospital gown turns around. He lunges to grab me and I duck away. More figures approach from my left but I don’t stop to look. I move fast, running now, past the last few caravans. I get to the costume trailer then stop and cry out. Dozens of dead are between me and the walkway. Shadowy shapes race across the field from every direction, swarming in a great rolling fog. There are too many. I’m not going to make it.
The glow of a lamp post flickers in the distance, not bright but better than nothing. I race to it then bend over and gasp for breath. The dead surround me on every side, the light keeping them from reaching me. An unnatural cold emanates from them; even from ten paces away I can feel the icy chill on my skin. Some open their mouth in a scream, others shout or sob. I can’t hear their words but the wind roars with sorrow.