Nina’s section is near the end, by the masks. The wooden floor bounces under my feet as I hurry towards it. I run the torch beam along the costumes, past the dress with rainbow netting and the white jacket, then stop when I come to a collection of catsuits. Red, blue, black, green . . . something glints and hope flickers inside me. It’s a catsuit, but this one is white, not gold.
A shaft of moonlight shines on the back wall and an eye blinks in the half-light.
I gasp and stare in disbelief. One of the masks moved. I run my gaze over the faces, my heart beating wildly. Nothing happens and I swallow, praying it was a trick of the light, even though I know it wasn’t. There was Ulva’s wolf mask that moved too, and the wooden faces of the Norns. The wind builds from a moan to a wail. I hold still and wait, afraid to look away in case it happens again. A mouth twitches and then, on the opposite side of the wall, nostrils flare. Here an eyebrow is arched; there a lip curls. All at once the masks blink into life.
Hel lifts her gaze and I shrink back. She sees me and a look of recognition passes over her grim countenance. I run for the door and turn back and see her single empty eye socket boring into me, her mouth open in a silent howl of rage.
I sit in bed with the duvet bunched around me, my chest heaving. I ran back to the caravan, barely stopping to draw breath. The bars of the electric heater blaze orange but the icy feeling inside me won’t go away. It’s not just the masks and the jester – there’s something horribly wrong about this place. Even the man in the psychic tent didn’t seem quite of this world. Maybe it’s not the circus, maybe it’s me? I recoil from the thought and remind myself that the impossible is real, magic is real. I’ve experienced too much to doubt my own mind. The people who work here might not know what’s happening, but some intuition tells me it’s connected to Nina’s death. I just have to figure it out.
I shuffle down the bed and check my phone. Still no message from Stig, despite Ruth’s tarot reading, and no missed calls from Mum. I text her asking if she’s OK, then stare at the damp-spotted ceiling. I’m sure she’s been watering the tree. She wouldn’t risk it rotting again, not after what happened last time.
If only I could go home. As much as I want to go back, I can’t risk Nina following me. Mum was so terrified before, I can’t put her through that again.
My breathing deepens and a wave of tiredness sweeps over me. A moment later I’m drifting, moving fast over the ground, caught by a sharp gust of wind . . .
The jester stands before me, holding a bunch of brightly coloured balloons. He lowers his arm and pulls them in front of me. I look, trying to decide which one to choose . . . and then the colour drains and the world becomes grey. One of the balloons rotates in the wind and I see a desperate face inside. And then another face appears – there is a person in each balloon. Mouths open and close in despair, an old woman weeps, a man covers his eyes.
The jester hands me the rope. He isn’t offering me one balloon; he wants me to take the whole bunch. I shake my head but the faces are so pitiful . . . I hold the rope, somehow knowing that they are my responsibility. Suddenly it slips through my fingers and I watch powerless as the balloons separate and sail up into the sky. I know I’ve done a terrible thing. Something I can’t take back or make right.
The jester laughs but there’s no mirth in his voice, only bitter accusation. ‘You were meant to hold on, but you let go, didn’t you?’
9
TYR LOSES HIS HAND
I
wake with a groan, my head littered with the debris of bad dreams. Foul unspeakable things washed up on the shore between sleep and waking, as if a trawler net has dragged through my worst fears and left them raw and bleeding for the gulls to pick. And then I remember the masks. That part wasn’t a nightmare, it was real.
I check the time on my phone, surprised to see it’s so late. I was awake for most of the night, tossing and turning, but I must have dropped off eventually. There’s still no word from Stig, though I’ve pretty much given up hope, but a message from Mum flashes on the screen.
Don’t worry about me. When are you coming home? x
I type a reply. Not sure, soon I hope. Miss you x
A lump comes to my throat as I realise it’s true. We haven’t always seen eye to eye, but she’s all I have. The only living link to my ancestors, and I owe it to them to make sure we do our duty as they did. Mormor died of old age after a long and mostly happy life, and I hate that her last moments were spent in anguish, knowing she had failed to persuade Mum to water the tree. But I can help put things right.
My phone pings and pings again. Mum sent several texts during the night, the first at 4 a.m.
He wears a different face whenever he likes. That’s why I can’t draw him.
Then another just after 5 a.m.
The man I’ve been drawing, he’s an unwelcome guest. Don’t let him inside, don’t bring anything of his inside. Rules mean nothing. He scares me, Martha. Please, you have to come home.
And then a few hours later.
I’m going to see the doctor today, need something to make me sleep. Reception is better at the harbour. I will call you when I come out x
My hands shake as I reread the messages. I don’t know what man she’s talking about. What scares me is the idea of her seeing a doctor.
The last time Mum stayed up all night sketching and painting we were living at home in London. It was before Dad left us. He called the doctor out and she gave Mum medication to stop her hallucinating; she persuaded her that her clothes-reading gift and everything Mormor had told her about the tree and the Norns was a delusion. That the visions of the future she kept painting couldn’t possibly be true. Mum kept my inheritance from me because she couldn’t accept that magic is real. Even now, she struggles to believe. If only she could meet the Norns herself, she would understand. Her gift, along with her duty to water the tree, is her destiny – just as it’s mine.
If Mum tells this new doctor everything, he’s not going to believe that Yggdrasil is in our garden. He’ll put her on medication like they did before, or hospitalise her. Dad is useless; he’s not going to understand that I need to stay on the island. He’ll try to take me away. Or I’ll be left to water the tree – living in the cabin in the middle of nowhere – alone.
I dial Mum then take several deep breaths. She always gets agitated when she’s tired; if she hears panic in my voice it will only make things worse. It rings and rings. Eventually her phone beeps for me to leave a message.
‘Hi, Mum, it’s me. Are you still going to the doctor’s today? I wouldn’t tell them about the tree or, well . . . anything. They wouldn’t understand and they’ll only ask more questions. Call me when you get this. Love you.’
I hang up, then bite my thumbnail, wondering if I should call back and leave another message. It’s already gone eleven o’clock, she might be talking to the doctor right now. I shove off the covers and get out of bed, aware I have to start work in a couple of hours. I hate the idea of Mum being upset and having no one to talk to. I can’t leave her for much longer, she needs me. If only I’d found Nina’s gold catsuit last night. If it shows me how she died, I might be able to figure out what really happened to her. I’ll look in the costume trailer again, and if it’s not there I’ll ask Karl.