The Crooked Mask

  CONTENTS

  1. More than just stories

  2. Masked creatures parade

  3. You can’t trust anyone

  4. Grimnir the Masked One

  5. A seat at the table

  6. It’s not the Stig I know

  7. Baldur dreams of his death

  8. An eye blinks in the half-light

  9. Tyr loses his hand

  10. Stig isn’t here because he misses me

  11. An audience of the dead

  12. I could really use a friend

  13. The circus is cursed

  14. Her death was no accident

  15. An unwelcome guest

  16. I’m done hiding from him

  17. A puppet of the gods

  18. One long thread of lies

  19. Your word against his

  20. Will you pay the price?

  21. Something I didn’t see before

  22. A ferocious rage overtakes her

  23. Everything is about to fall apart

  24. The dead surround me

  25. Fetters will burst and the wolf run free

  26. Smoke and chaos

  27. The whole place is burning

  28. He tricked me

  29. I go with him

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Books by Rachel Burge

  Copyright

  This book is dedicated to Loki, trickster and master manipulator, and to Odin, he who has many names: Grimnir the Masked One, Ofner (opener), the one who breathed life into the first humans, and Svafner (closer), the gatherer of lost souls.

  Dear Stig,

  If you’re reading this I guess that means you came back to the island. I waited as long as I could, but you said you’d only be gone for a few days and it’s been three weeks, so I’m not sure what to think. I tried calling, but maybe something happened to your phone.

  There’s no easy way to tell you this, but the day you left I saw Nina’s ghost through the cabin window. I recognised her from the photo you showed me and I’m sure it was her. If you went to visit her in hospital like you said, then you will already know, but if not I’m sorry.

  I tried telling you at the time, but you seemed so defensive when I asked about her. I know things ended badly between you and you don’t like talking about it, but I can’t help feeling there’s something you’re not telling me. If there is, please – I need to know.

  Nina has been terrorising the cabin, slamming doors and making things fly across the room. Mum’s nerves can’t take it. She’s in a bad way and her visions have started again. This time she’s drawing pictures of me at a circus. That’s how I got the idea. I have to do something to make it stop, so I’m going to the place where Nina had her accident. There must be something she wants me to do. If I can figure it out, maybe she’ll leave me alone.

  I hope you’re doing OK, anyway. Some days it’s hard to believe everything that happened, and I wonder if the nightmares will ever stop, but I guess it’s the same for you. I realise we haven’t known each other long, but after everything we went through I hoped we’d always have each other to talk to. It’s OK if you’ve changed your mind about things. I’ll understand. Just call me, please.

  Martha x

  P.S. Gandalf is sitting by me and keeps whining and licking my hand. He says he misses you.

  P.P.S. Please take care of Mum if you can. I’m worried about leaving her alone in the cabin.

  1

  MORE THAN JUST STORIES

  A

  t first there are only fir trees and then the circus appears: dripping with snow and glistening in the half-light, as strange and beautiful as a newborn fairy tale. I push away a wet spruce branch and step into the clearing. The black-and-gold striped big top thrusts its way into the sky, grazing the dark clouds above and dwarfing the smaller tents that surround it. At its pinnacle a tiny black flag whips and snaps on the wind.

  I check my phone and my stomach tightens with anxiety – still no message from Mum – then I trudge towards the site entrance. The archway stands alone in a field of snow, no railings or fence to either side of it, arbitrary and incongruous like a portal to another world. Carved across the top are the words ‘Circus of Myth & Mayhem’ in letters a metre high, the black-and-gold paint flecked and peeling as if ravaged by countless winters. A grey-chested raven swoops onto the sign, landing heavily, and my breath catches as it winks its beady eye then flaps away with a caw.

  When I step beneath the wooden arch I see that the walls are etched with hundreds of runes. Running my hands over them, I walk through and take a lungful of air that is thick with silence and wood smoke. Just passing through an entrance has no real significance, I know, yet somehow it feels different on this side: the wind crueller and the sky darker.

  A planked walkway leads into the site. Outside the first tent is a board announcing ‘Tickets – Billetter’ in flowing gold letters. The cold bites at my cheeks as I make my way towards it and look inside. No one: just a table, a cash register and an empty chair. All around me tents billow and groan in the breeze. Tethered by dozens of ropes, the big top looks like a hot-air balloon straining to take flight. Apart from the wind and the occasional thwump of sliding snow, the world is eerily silent. The taxi driver warned me the performance had finished for today, but there must be someone here.

  I walk along the path and the back of my neck prickles, telling me I’m being watched. A figure is standing in the distance – a girl. I duck down the side of a tent and hurry towards her, about to call out, when a shiver runs down my spine. It’s her. Nina. She has short dark hair and wears a white shift dress, her legs bare. I stand frozen to the spot while she looks at me, her eyes two inky pools of black, her face devoid of emotion.

  A familiar knot of anger twists inside me. After everything Mum and I have been through, we deserve to be left in peace. We should be making a new life together on the island, helping each other come to terms with our magical heritage and mending our relationship. We should be watering the tree and making sure the dead never escape again. Instead I’m here – and all because of Stig’s ex. I only spent a few days with him, so why is she haunt-ing me, a girl I’ve never even met? Clenching my fists, I fight the urge to yell, ‘What do you want?’ but I know she wouldn’t answer me, she never does. Suddenly she’s gone and I’m left staring into space, my breath the only ghost on the air.

  A slow, steady drumbeat makes me turn my head. Faint at first and then louder, coming from inside the big top. I climb over a frayed rope and reach for the canvas door, when a deep voice sounds behind me.

  ‘Vi er stengt til i morgen.’

  A man on stilts towers over me, wearing a white top hat and a tailcoat. A band of blue is painted across his nose like a mask, making his eyes and pale eyelashes appear even more startling. Tiny crystals dot his eyebrows and twinkle in his pointed beard and long blond hair.

  The man takes several steps one way and then the other, moving all the time, and my neck aches to look up at him. He blinks at me in surprise, no doubt taking in my weird-looking eye and the scar on my cheek. For a brief moment I want to turn and hide my face, but I’ve promised myself I won’t do that any more. Holding his gaze, I snap my mouth shut and try to remember the Norwegian I’ve learned recently, but the words have gone from my mind, like someone took a drawer and emptied it out.

  He leans down and smiles. ‘The circus is closed until tomorrow.’

  I consider taking my dictionary from my rucksack, but then manage, ‘Snakker du engelsk?’

  The man laughs. ‘Of course.’

  My cheeks burn. ‘Sorry, yes, you just spoke it.’ I bite my lip, realising how stupid I must sound. ‘I’m looking for someone. Well, not looking for them. I’
m hoping to find someone who knew them.’

  The frost giant waits patiently, a bemused look on his face. He glances at my left eye, the one that’s blind, and then back to the other.

  ‘Nina. She used to work here.’

  The moment I say her name his expression changes, the playful smile replaced by a frown.

  ‘The circus is closed.’

  ‘Yes, I know. She was a trapeze artist and –’

  ‘Sorry, I can’t help you.’

  ‘What about someone called Stig? He was her boyfriend.’

  His eyes flash with suspicion. ‘He left weeks ago.’ The giant takes a few steps forward and back, then bends over and puts his hand on my shoulder. As soon as his glove touches me I feel the sharp edge of his grief. An image flashes into my mind: a cold impenetrable wall, each brick made up of anger, sadness and disbelief. Every time the press or a curious visitor asks about Nina’s death the wall grows higher. I’m not sure when the accident happened, but it seemed recent from the way Stig talked. Something about the man’s raw sadness makes me think it can only have been a few months ago at most.

  He gestures towards the road and I try to hide my disappointment. I could stand here all day and ask questions, but I know he wouldn’t answer them.

  ‘OK. Thanks anyway.’

  I turn and trudge back the way I came, convinced I can feel the weight of his stare. After a few minutes I glance over my shoulder and sure enough he is watching me. I lower my head and walk a little further, hoping he will forget me. I will probably have to come back several times over the next few days and try speaking to different people. I don’t know what Nina wants, but if her death wasn’t an accident then someone here is responsible. I don’t expect it to be easy, but eventually someone will have to be willing to talk to me about her. She must be haunting me for a reason. If I can discover what happened to her, maybe it will be enough to make her leave me alone.

  I go a little further then look around again. The man bends his neck and walks into the big top, his legs moving effortlessly on stilts. Once he’s gone, I lift my hood and head back into the circus, this time turning right towards the vehicles.

  I move quickly, only stopping to catch my breath once I get past the row of closed-up food stalls and see the first caravan. There are dozens of them, along with trucks and trailers, spread out in a semicircle around one side of the clearing. They face in all directions, making a chaotic maze. The first vehicle I come to is a huge black trailer. I turn left and the smell of fresh coffee hits me, followed by frying onions. There are more signs of life: televisions flickering, the sound of a radio, people moving around inside their homes.

  A teenage girl with long blonde hair turns the corner and walks towards me. She looks about my age, and is wearing a grey cloak with an elaborate fur collar and is holding the head of a wolf under one arm. Its huge hairy snout looks alarmingly real, until I notice the cut-out eyes and realise it’s a mask.

  ‘Har du gått deg vill?’

  ‘Sorry, I don’t speak –’

  She smiles brightly. ‘Are you lost?’

  ‘I’m looking for someone. She works . . .’ I hesitate, wondering how best to ask about Nina. I don’t want to be turned away again.

  The girl strokes the wolf’s head as if she’s soothing a dangerous animal. ‘Are you here about the job?’ The ugly mask seems to eye me suspiciously and I’m about to say no, when something strange happens. A muscle twitches in the wolf’s cheek and its snout wrinkles. I can’t have seen right, it must have been the wind ruffling its fur.

  ‘Ruth interviewed the others in her tent. I’ll get her for you.’

  A prickle of alarm makes my face flush. ‘No, don’t worry. It’s OK,’ I say without thinking, then glance towards the big top flapping in the breeze. I don’t know what the job is for, but I have my gift, so hopefully I can find out by touching this woman’s clothes. Sitting an interview could be the perfect opportunity – a chance to talk to someone about the circus and the people who work here. I turn back to the girl with a smile. ‘Actually, yes. If you could just point me in the right direction.’

  Her face shows a hint of confusion, but her voice is full of warmth. ‘Sure. That’s her place there.’ She points to a tired-looking caravan with tatty pink curtains. ‘Ruth is expecting you?’

  I nod and consider asking her what she knows about the job, when the wolf’s head turns and fixes me with an empty-eyed stare. The movement is slight and barely perceptible, yet undeniable. There’s something so unsettling about it that I take a quick step back. ‘Yes. Thanks for your help.’

  The girl smiles and then leaves, and I go over to the caravan and raise my hand to knock when I hear voices inside. A man says something I can’t quite catch and then a woman speaks in an Irish accent. ‘I know you feel bad about what happened, we all do, but you can’t keep blaming yourself.’

  A jungle of plants fills the caravan window and it takes me a moment to make out the occupants through the mass of leaves. The man looks to be in his seventies and has a shock of white hair, but I can’t see the woman. He speaks in a lilting sing-song way like all Norwegians. ‘You think I’m a superstitious old fool, but they are more than just stories.’ He rubs his chin. ‘I should never have agreed to change things. That poor girl, I should have known something terrible would happen.’

  I step to one side, out of sight, and press my back against the caravan. Could they be talking about Nina? The woman raises her voice. ‘I’m the tarot reader, Karl, not you. You couldn’t have known, no one could.’

  The door bangs opens and my heart jumps. I duck around the side of the caravan and it shifts slightly as Karl limps down the steps. Short and slightly built, he wears a camel-coloured duffle coat with big square pockets that only accentuate his diminutive frame. He has the look of someone who’s spent his entire life outdoors: his tanned and leathery skin is creviced with wrinkles and his hair is a wind-blasted bush.

  The woman jumps down after him, her auburn locks flowing in the breeze. She wears a white crochet shawl around her shoulders, though she can’t be much older than thirty, and she’s almost a foot taller than Karl. When she lays a hand on his shoulder and smiles tenderly, I feel awkward about spying on them. ‘Why not let the new manager just get on with it? You’ve earned a rest after all these years.’

  ‘Oskar?’ Karl snorts with derision then limps away, and the woman chases after him. ‘The world doesn’t stop, you know. We need to move on!’

  I follow them, determined to speak to Ruth. She said she’s a tarot reader. If she’s looking to hire a psychic, maybe I can do more than just sit the interview: perhaps I can actually get the job. My pulse races with anxiety at the prospect. I thought I’d only need to leave Mum for a few days, but if I start working here I may have to stay longer. But then I have to do something. I can’t go home and risk Nina following me. It breaks my heart to think of Mum sobbing in fear and cowering in a corner as doors slam and crockery flies at our heads. At least if Nina is here, hopefully it means she isn’t at the cabin.

  A harsh caw sounds nearby. A raven sitting on the roof of the caravan opposite twitches its head this way and that, then caws again, more insistent this time. It flaps to a nearby branch where it watches me intently. Can I really do this? Part of me wishes I’d never had the idea, but it will be a good way to get to know the people here. If I’m one of them, they might talk to me about Nina. I have to do something to make her leave me alone, or Mum and I aren’t going to have any kind of future.

  There’s another reason to work here too. If I make friends with people, maybe I can find out about Stig. Mum was right. I was naive to let a runaway I know nothing about stay in my grandma’s cabin, especially after he’d broken into the place. But after everything that’s happened, I’m not so naive any more.

  I think back to the last few conversations we had before he left, and I’m convinced he was keeping something from me. Why else would he say Nina had recovered from the accident a
nd was fine, and then change his mind the next day? When I asked about it he got defensive and changed the subject. I don’t know where he is or why he hasn’t contacted me for the past three weeks – maybe he had no intention of coming back to the island – but if he’s hiding something or lying about what happened to Nina, this is my chance to learn why. He’s either a good person or he isn’t – and I intend to find out.

  2

  MASKED CREATURES PARADE

  I

  hurry after the tarot reader and call out, ‘Excuse me, sorry, can I talk to you, please?’

  She stops and raises her eyebrows. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I wanted to ask about the job . . . You’re looking for a psychic? I’m Martha.’

  ‘Ruth.’ She extends her arm and I notice that her wrist is covered with silver bracelets. They jangle as I shake her hand. ‘I don’t remember that name. Did you arrange an interview?’

  ‘No, a friend mentioned it to me. I thought I’d just come by.’

  ‘I see.’ She pulls her shawl tight then glances at the sky as if I might have blown in on the wind. ‘This friend of yours, is it anyone I know?’

  I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. ‘No. It was someone I met in town. I’m kind of travelling at the moment.’

  She frowns. ‘Is that so?’

  Most people see my cloudy white eye that stares in the wrong direction and the jagged scar on my cheek and quickly glance away, or they look at me with pity. Ruth does neither. I watch her expression, hoping it might soften, but it doesn’t. She has a determined face: a square jaw and lively hazel eyes, the kind that can see right into you. Something tells me this isn’t going to be as easy as I hoped. I look at my feet, worried she can tell I’m lying, but then hold my chin high and remind myself that I have an advantage. I have my gift.

  We’re standing on the wooden walkway near the big top. Drumming sounds from inside: soft, steady and hypnotic. Two Chinese girls pass by wearing matching black ballgowns, the bottoms splattered with red as if they’ve been dipped in blood. One of them has red roses in her hair and the other wears a hat with a white-handled knife tucked into the band.