‘No. We’re just friends. Ulva is easy to talk to. She didn’t expect me to be happy, or make jokes, or entertain her. We just sat in her caravan talking and watching movies. Nina knew there was nothing between us – she just wanted me to spend all my time with her.’
I remember the chiffon scarf in the costume trailer and how Ulva desperately wants to leave the circus. I’m sure Ruth said something about her mum taking off.
‘What happened to Ulva’s mother?’ I ask.
Stig gives me a sideways glance, as if surprised by the question.
‘I touched her clothes,’ I explain.
He pushes a strand of hair behind his ears. ‘Her mum was an acrobat here. She was an alcoholic and had a lot of issues. She left when Ulva was twelve. She’s been brought up by the circus since – by Karl and Ruth and Nina and the others.’
‘But she wishes her mum would come back and take her away?’
‘She did come back. It was just after we arrived here. She asked Ulva to leave with her, but Nina stopped it from happening.’
‘How?’
‘Ulva’s mum left a note in her caravan telling her to meet by the entrance that night. If she wasn’t there, she’d know she didn’t want to go with her. Nina saw the note before Ulva did, and she took it. Later, she admitted what she’d done and tried to explain that she did it to protect her, but Ulva wouldn’t forgive her. Nina did everything she could to make it up to her. She even promised she could take the lead role and play Baldur.’
I think about the image I saw of Ulva bound and thrashing to get free. I guess that explains why she feels trapped here.
Stig shakes his head. ‘Ulva was really upset. Most of the others stayed out if it, but Ruth went crazy – screaming and shouting at Nina, saying it wasn’t her decision to make.’
I remember when I brushed Ruth’s sleeve. She was outraged on Ulva’s behalf, but there was more to it than that. The baby she left behind in Ireland must be a teenager now. I know she wants to go back and see her. Maybe she got angry because it triggered a fear in her, imagining how she would feel if someone stopped them being together. I still don’t understand why she’d feel guilty or worry that she’d contributed to Nina’s death though.
We walk the rest of the way in single file. This time the silence wraps around us like a blanket, allowing us to take refuge in our thoughts. The snowfall has eased and a murky gloom settles over the forest, wisps of fog circling the trunks like lost spirits. The world seems oddly quiet and then I realise why. When we passed this way before, the trees were full of noisy ravens. Now there’s not a single bird. It’s as if something frightened them away.
We’re almost back when we hear a shout. It’s a woman’s voice, high pitched and panicked. She’s saying something in Norwegian. I look to Stig but he shakes his head, as if her words don’t make sense. We walk faster and then a man who sounds as if he could be Nigerian yells, ‘She’s right. Look! It’s been carved into all the trunks!’
13
THE CIRCUS IS CURSED
A
dozen performers invade the forest, their horned headdresses advancing through the trees like mythical beasts. I shrink back as a huge man crashes towards us, shoving away snow-covered branches and grunting. Like the others, he wears a costume made from strips of rough hessian sacking. Antlers are fixed to his head; long tatty ropes hang down his back in a parody of hair. His forehead, eyes, nose and cheeks are completely covered by black paint, his jaw and bushy beard coated in white. He pauses a little way ahead of me and yells, ‘It’s the same here!’ At his words, ragged horned creatures approach from every direction.
Stig hurries over to the group and I follow him and push my way to the front. Four runes have been carved into a trunk, one below the other. I glance to either side of me and see that dozens of trees have the same symbols. There’s something chilling about seeing them repeated over and over. A man calls in the distance, ‘Here too!’ Another cries from the opposite direction, ‘And here! They’re all around the clearing!’ People speak over each other, some in Norwegian and others in English, their voices taut with worry.
Karl limps through the crowd and shouts above the din. ‘Hva skjer her?’ Everyone falls quiet and moves aside to let him pass. He touches the carved symbols with trembling fingers, his face pale. Suddenly the atmosphere changes, loud surprised voices replaced with hushed fear. Karl pulls a notebook from his jacket pocket, and still no one speaks. The only sound is the stirring of the wind in the treetops, as if the forest is whispering dark curses.
Oskar arrives sweaty and out of breath. He glances at the circle of faces then pushes his glasses up and peers at the trunk. ‘A few marks on a tree! Come on, back to work.’
The bearded man grunts, ‘It’s hundreds of trees, a whole ring of them right around the clearing.’ A performer wearing sackcloth with holes cut out for eyes shakes his head, his long straw-hair rustling. Next to him, a man with an animal skull fastened over his face murmurs in agreement. ‘The way they appeared from nowhere, it would have taken dozens of people working together.’ People turn and glance around, and I feel it too. There’s something out there in the gloom, something bad. A woman puts her hands on her hips. White streaks are painted on her cheeks and down her chin and she wears a string of bones around her neck. ‘It’s not natural.’
Oskar gives a nervous laugh. ‘It’s a prank. Someone will have done it during the night.’ The performers look to one another, unsure. When no one contradicts him, I step forward. ‘We walked this trail an hour ago. They weren’t here then – we would have noticed.’
Stig speaks up behind me. ‘Martha’s right. They weren’t there just now.’ He gives me a reassuring nod and a warm glow spreads in my belly. It feels like how it was before, the two of us facing the world together. A woman notices and tuts, a look of suspicion in her eyes. I glance at the faces around me, and the way they stare at Stig makes me uneasy. I don’t have to touch their clothes to know he isn’t welcome here.
Oskar turns on him. ‘You were Nina’s boyfriend, weren’t you?’ Stig drops his gaze and the circus manager continues, ‘I thought you’d run off weeks ago, and yet here you are . . . and trouble right behind you.’
Karl waves the notebook at Oskar like a preacher damning a sinner. ‘You are the one bringing trouble. Tell me, which myth were you doing just now?’
Oskar blows out a sigh. ‘You know very well, Karl.’
‘I do know. And I warned you against it. Again and again I warned you.’
Oskar raises his voice. ‘I’m sure your book of fiction is all very interesting, but the fact remains we need to rehearse.’ He turns and addresses the crowd. ‘We’ve invested a lot of money in tomorrow night, not just props and costumes but hiring extra crew and security. I’m assured that the road will open in time. If the show is a failure, we’re ruined. The circus will close. Everyone will lose their jobs. Those are the facts.’
Performers look at one another, anxiety written on their faces. Oskar smiles as if pleased his words are having the desired effect. ‘You can either stand here and listen to superstitious nonsense, or you can get back to work.’