by Rachel Burge
She sobs and rocks back and forth, gently patting Sandrine’s body like she doesn’t know what to do. ‘It’s OK, sweetheart, help is coming. It’s OK.’
Stig is bent over as if he’s trying not to throw up. I want to go to him, but my legs are so shaky I’m not sure I can move. Sandrine’s body lies on the walkway, her feathered mask soaked red.
Stig points a trembling finger. ‘Her eyes.’
I cover my mouth, not wanting it to be true. Behind the mask are two bloody pits.
A member of the crew and someone from security thump down the walkway and suddenly I’m pushed back. ‘Call an ambulance!’ ‘Get a blanket, keep her warm!’
Another man in a security jacket heads over to us and Stig straightens and shakes his head. ‘She did it to herself. She . . .’ He bends over again and the world starts to spin. The man is speaking to me but his words are muffled and slow. My head feels woozy and I stumble to one side. The security man beckons me over but I don’t have time to be questioned.
I turn and run, my boots pounding the walkway in time to the thud of my heart. I have to find Karl and Ulva, I have to make her confess. The jester appears before me and I skid to a stop. He holds out his finger and then brings his hand to his ear, gesturing for me to listen. I glance around but there is only the sound of drumming and the cheers of the crowd. And then a terrified scream cuts through the night, followed by shouting and a stampede of feet. This isn’t battle music played over the speakers. This is raw and real life.
The joker grins. ‘It looks like the last visitor will be leaving soon.’ A torrent of people streams towards me. Panicked cries fill the air as bodies jostle and push. I jump off the walkway and they charge past me, yelling and shoving. A swirling tide of dread washes over me. I’m running out of time.
The enormous fire giant strides up the path and I blink, unable to believe my eyes. His long wooden arms are aflame. He veers and stumbles, a towering inferno on legs, and people below scream and dash to avoid him. His burning arms flail like windmills, catching the string of lights that hang between the big top and other tents. He keeps walking, the lights tangled around him. Electric cables fizz and spark, writhing and jumping like snakes. Bulbs explode with a pop and shatter of glass. People shriek and cover their ears. Above them the lights go out one by one, leaving only the harsh glare of the floodlights.
A woman stops to catch her breath and I rush over. ‘What’s happening down there?’ I ask. Her face is streaked with ash and it looks like she’s been crying. She gasps and points to the bag on her shoulder. I open it for her and she pulls out a blue inhaler. She takes a few puffs then holds her breath a moment. ‘The performers turned on each other. Fighting, and the fire giant . . .’ She shakes her head and draws another desperate breath. ‘He was setting fire to people. A man with sackcloth over his face, his head went up in flames!’
I start to ask more but she hurries back into the crowd. It’s the masks, it has to be. Loki has gone too far. The masks aren’t just bringing out the worst qualities of the gods in people, they’re starting to possess them. The ringmaster said that Surt, the giant, started the battle at Ragnarok by setting fire to the world. The masks are making the performers act out the actual story. That’s why the man who plays Thor was thumping someone in the field earlier, why the man who plays Loki was stirring up trouble in the costume-change area, why Hel was so angry when I bumped into her. The actors are turning into the gods they portray. Loki is using the masks to make the place destroy itself.
A whoosh and bang sounds to my right and I spin around. The giant lies sprawled across the walkway, the tent next to him ablaze. Flames jump and crackle along the canvas at frightening speed. Panicked visitors cough and cover their mouths. The Chinese knife-throwers lift up the rope that lines the walkway and people duck under it and run into the dark caravan field, where they shiver and huddle together in groups.
Oskar paces up and down in his fluorescent jacket, holding a megaphone. He coughs into it and then takes a moment before shouting, ‘Do not run! I repeat, do not run! Make your way to the exit if safe to do so, or cross into the caravan field! Emergency services have been called. I repeat, do not run!’ His voice falters over the last few words, and he shakes his head as if determined to compose himself. He lifts the megaphone and says a few lines in Norwegian before repeating the message in English.
I shiver and look all around. Lots of people have already left the site. How long will it be before the last visitor goes?
A lady pushing a disabled teenage boy struggles with his wheelchair. The fire giant’s legs are blocking the path; she can’t get the wheels over them. I run over and drag what remains of the half-burnt stilts to one side and she mutters a ‘thank you’ with tears in her eyes. Members of the crew yell at one another and someone points a fire extinguisher at the giant, dousing the man inside with white foam. He screams and writhes on the ground, and the smell of burning flesh and charcoal makes me feel sick. I cover my nose and someone grabs my arm.
A blast of hot air hits me like a wall.
‘The tent is coming down!’
The man’s voice yells again and I’m dragged backwards. Above me, a massive section of canvas flaps like the sail of a ship. Flames flicker at its edge, turning the night sky orange. The wind whips it away and it snaps and crackles before landing on another tent. Sparks instantly catch and turn to flames. The whole place is burning down.
Panic courses through me. I run in one direction and then stop, unsure which way to go. Maybe Karl is down in the field trying to stop whatever’s happening. I turn and fight against the flow of people. Among the fleeing visitors are pale-faced Valkyries and bedraggled dwarves and elves. A huge man wearing antlers helps a heavily pregnant woman stagger down the path. An elf girl is crying hysterically and he wraps his other arm around her and sweeps her along too.
The ground is slick with mud and ice and my boots slide around beneath me. A man lies on the slope at the entrance to the field, receiving mouth-to-mouth from the Russian lady, who is wearing tiny antlers on her head and has fringing over her eyes. At first I can’t believe what I’m seeing. The display area is shrouded with smoke and dotted with tiny bonfires from discarded firebrands. I can’t see clearly, but it looks like dozens of figures are fighting one another. The ravens on stilts, the Norns and frost giants stand high above the rest, picking over the smoky earth like alien creatures. In the distance the sky glows orange: it’s not just the bonfire in the ring of skulls, the Viking ship is ablaze too.
The speakers are pumping out music, only now they play eerie instrumental sounds suitable for the aftermath of an apocalypse – the end of Ragnarok. Abandoned handbags and phones stick out from the churned-up snow. There’s even a boot. The sound of fighting drifts out from the field and somewhere nearby a man groans. I swallow a tear and wipe my nose on my sleeve. I thought I could do this. I thought I could save the circus and make Odin proud of me, but I couldn’t. I’ve failed.
A figure limps towards me through the smog. Karl’s head is bleeding, his face weary. He sees the flames and the thick plume of smoke behind me and makes a muffled choking sound. ‘The tents . . . are they on fire?’ I nod and tears fill his eyes. ‘Nei!’ he mumbles in Norwegian, and then swallows before saying, ‘Please, I am ready to listen to you.’
28
HE TRICKED ME
K
arl nods without saying a word, his expression tight and anxious. His eyes flash with doubt when I tell him about the wager again, but the tremor in his voice makes me think he’s not sure what he believes any more. ‘So we need to make Ulva confess?’
‘Yes. I know it sounds crazy, but –’
He waves away my concerns. ‘I think I saw her by the ring of skulls.’
I peer into the smoky display area and hesitate, not sure I can face the dead. Karl coughs and wipes his mouth, then says, ‘Not that way. It’s not safe.’ We turn right and trudge around the edge of the field. I’m grateful for
the bright floodlights.
Karl doesn’t try to make conversation, seemingly lost in his own dark thoughts, and I don’t either. I don’t want to think about what’s happening out there in the smoke and chaos and I can’t bear telling him about Sandrine. The image of her lying there like a broken bird brings a sob to my throat. I have to stop more people getting hurt, but how? How can human beings be anything but powerless against the gods? A hot, nauseous feeling comes over me and I glance towards the slope. The woman is still giving the man first aid, which means the last visitor hasn’t left. I can’t give up.
When we get to the Viking ship, Karl gestures at me to stay back. A dense wall of flame roars into the sky, the heat ferocious. A wooden shield crashes down in a hail of sparks and the head of the dragon looks like it will be next. I cough on black smoke, my eyes stinging, and hold my arm up in front of my face.
We walk a little further, then he points. ‘There!’
Ulva is in her wolf mask, crouched over a cloaked figure on the ground. The bonfire in the ring of skulls blazes behind her, turning the sky crimson. She looks bigger, almost twice the normal size, the outline of her body dark and hazy. I wipe my eyes in disbelief. She’s still human, but it’s as if she’s been overlaid with the image of a wolf.
We run towards her and she turns her head and growls, her eyes flashing pale behind the mask. Neither of us moves or says a word. Not wanting to make any sudden movements, I whisper to Karl, ‘We need to get the mask off her.’
He steps forward and the wolf snarls viciously as Ulva springs at him, knocking him onto his back. She pins him down, her hands on his shoulders. I watch transfixed as she throws back her head and lets out a guttural howl.
‘Martha!’
The sound of my name snaps me awake. Karl shouts again and I lunge and tear the mask from Ulva’s face. At the same time he rolls over and she tumbles onto her back. She beats him with her fists, but somehow he manages to stand up, hoisting her with him. We each hold one of her arms behind her back. She thrashes and writhes and the mask falls from my hand. She’s so strong; we won’t be able to hold her for long.
‘You need to tell us what happened to Nina!’
Ulva twists her head around and glares at me, her eyes bloodshot. Without the mask, the image of the wolf has gone, but there’s still something ferocious about her.
Karl reaches into his pocket and pulls out the carrier bag with the harness inside it. Ulva sees it and goes limp, as if the fight has left her. Karl opens the bag. ‘Can you explain this, Ulva?’ She lowers her head and I’m not sure if she’s about to cry or launch another attack.
Something moves at the edge of my vision and I glance at the ground. The snout of the wolf mask snarls and I want to kick the hideous thing. Instead I pick it up, run forward and hurl it onto the bonfire. It goes up instantly, its fur fizzing and crackling around the edges before the whole thing turns to flame. Thick green smoke snakes into the sky and the image of a giant wolf’s head appears, howling and writhing as if held by invisible bonds.
Then it’s gone.
Ulva blinks as if she doesn’t know where she is. She mumbles something in Norwegian, then sees me and asks, ‘What happened?’
Karl takes her hand. ‘You don’t remember anything?’
She touches her head. ‘I remember being in the procession but . . .’
Karl picks up the bag and holds it out to her. ‘Do you remember this? Do you remember what happened to Nina?’
Ulva wails, ‘I didn’t mean to do it. We were arguing and I . . .’
Karl glances at me and back to her. ‘What did you do, Ulva?’
‘I pushed her.’ She says it as if she can barely believe it herself. ‘I killed Nina.’
Karl wraps his arms around her and kisses the top of her head. ‘Shush now, it wasn’t your fault. Everything’s going to be OK. It’s over, I promise.’
I wipe away a tear of relief. Ulva confessed. I unmasked Nina’s killer. Loki will leave the circus and no one else will get hurt.
The noise of fighting and shouting has stopped. Apart from the eerie music and the crackle of flames, the night is quiet. It’s really over. I throw my arms around Karl and Ulva and tears of relief turn to joy. I hug them and grin, realising that I did it. I won.
Ulva stares at something behind me, her eyes wide, and Karl gasps. ‘Martha, I thought that if Ulva confessed, then . . . ?’
I spin around and my body freezes. Twenty or more masked performers are standing there in a line. Their costumes are dirty and singed. Tyr’s arm drips with blood. One of the ravens has lost his wings and another his stilts. They all step forward at the same time like automatons, their eyes glowing, and I know it’s not actors behind the masks.
‘No!’ The scream comes from deep inside me. I stare at the sky and yell at the top of my voice, ‘Ulva confessed. I won!’
Slow clapping sounds behind me and I turn and see the jester. ‘Did you?’ he laughs.
I stare at him and hate twists inside me. All this is his fault.
And then I realise. Loki is the one I need to unmask. He caused Nina’s death, just as surely as he caused the death of Odin and Frigg’s son. He tricked the blind god Hodr into throwing a spear made from mistletoe, knowing it was the one thing that could kill Baldur. He manipulated things from behind the scenes. I was never going to win the wager, because that would mean getting Loki to confess.
‘He tricked me.’
Karl glances at me. ‘Who tricked you?’
I point but he doesn’t see the jester. Loki must be invisible to him, just as he was to Stig. My body feels heavy, all my energy gone. Loki has won. He won’t stop until everyone is dead and the whole place is destroyed. I shake my head, my voice barely a whisper. ‘It’s over.’
The performers snap their heads towards us and come closer, their masks a confusion of shades and hollows in the flickering light of the bonfire. I scan the faces of gods and animals, their eyes pale behind their masks, and know there’s no use trying to reason with them. Karl grabs Ulva’s hand and mine and we huddle close together. He pulls us into the circle of skull poles, the heat of the bonfire unbearable behind us. The performers stride forward until they’re standing between the poles. The skeletal eye sockets of dogs, stags, and rams regard us with cool disinterest as the performers step closer.
My mind spins, desperate for a way out. Perhaps I can make a bargain with Loki, or offer him something, or trick him. But how? I shuffle closer to Karl and Ulva, afraid that everything will be lost if I don’t come up with an idea soon.
The jester laughs to see us cower. ‘You humans play-act at bringing our stories to life, but you are nothing to us. We make an army win here, another lose there.’ He clicks his fingers and the performers hinge at the middle, their bodies flopping over like puppets whose strings have been cut. He waves his arm and they stand upright.
The jester walks along the line of masked actors and the heat of the bonfire makes the air shimmer around him. He stops when he comes to the man wearing a helmet and a green mask over his eyes. The bells on his cap jingle and then his appearance flickers and changes into the man with long red hair brushed back from his forehead.
He goes over to Karl and takes an elaborate bow, and the old circus manager gasps. ‘Nei! My father was right!’ He points with a trembling finger, as if he can’t believe his eyes, and I realise that for him Loki must have materialised out of thin air.
Loki shakes his head at Karl, then rolls his eyes and points at the man who plays him. One of the horns is missing from his headdress and his cloak is ripped. ‘It took you ninety years to find someone handsome enough to play me. You had all that time to come up with a decent costume and this is what you manage. And black hair . . . really?’
Karl looks at him blankly, his face frozen with fear.
‘Nothing to say for yourself? No begging or pleading? I must admit, this is turning out to be rather boring. Well then, time to finish what I started.’ Loki r
aises both arms and suddenly the wind picks up. The performers turn with a jerk to face one another and an image of Sandrine’s mutilated face flashes into my mind. And then I feel my body twist, forced to turn towards Ulva. Panic surges through me. He’s going to make us destroy one another. We’ll be made to tear each other apart. I scan the smoky field, desperately hoping to see Odin. But there’s no sign of him or anyone else. No one is coming to save us.
‘Wait. I have something to say!’ I shout.
Loki sighs. ‘Please, save yourself the trouble of trying to outsmart me. Better minds have tried over the years, and all of them failed. I am the Trickster – the master manipulator!’
I look at his smug face, desperate to think of something. I need a way to make him admit that he enchanted the masks.
And then it comes to me. Loki takes such pride in his powers of manipulation; maybe I can use his vanity against him? I call to Karl in a loud voice, ‘It wasn’t Ulva who killed Nina. I know who was really behind her death.’ Like mine, Karl’s body is held in paralysis, but his eyes swivel towards me. Loki arches an eyebrow but I pretend not to notice and carry on talking. ‘Odin. He’s the real mastermind behind this, the one pulling the strings.’
Loki stares at me in surprise and his smile drops.
I focus my attention on Karl. ‘Odin was the one who told Loki why the circus stopped performing his stories, about the fire that happened all those years ago and how your father thought he’d started it. Odin laughed and teased him, saying it’s usually his fault when things go wrong. He manipulated Loki into causing mischief, knowing he wouldn’t be able to resist. It was his idea. Loki is just a puppet, a player in his game.’
Loki strides over and my body becomes my own, released from his control. ‘Odin?’ he scoffs. ‘It was me who thought to bring the masks to life. I saw to it that the human who played Baldur would die, knowing it would sting Odin. He didn’t manipulate me into anything!’
A flash of understanding crosses Karl’s face. He turns to Loki and asks, ‘So you’re the one who killed Nina. You have just confessed, if I understand correctly?’