He forces a smile. ‘So when the circus finally performed one of my myths, the story of Baldur no less . . . Well, let’s just say I got a little excited. Odin thought it best I leave, no doubt jealous I had been included for once. I refused and he offered me a wager, and here we both are.’
I blink at him, trying to make sense of things. Karl said a fire burned down the big top years ago. His father thought Loki was behind it, but he was wrong. It wasn’t doing performances with the Trickster that brought bad luck, it was keeping him out.
Loki’s image fills the glass as he leans close and whispers. ‘Odin bets that a mere mortal can unmask Nina’s killer by the time the last visitor leaves tonight.’
A lump lodges in my throat. I’ve been dragged here to take part in some game? I don’t want to believe it, and yet something in the pit of my belly tells me it’s true.
When I don’t say anything, he whispers, ‘Haven’t you wondered why Nina appears different to the rest of the dead?’
I stare at him, afraid of the answer.
‘Odin sent her to the cabin to haunt you. And in case that wasn’t enough to get you here, he gave your mum visions of the circus.’
If Loki is telling the truth, then Odin must have a good reason for wanting me here. He must need my help. I don’t like the idea of being manipulated, but at the same time I feel a flicker of pride at the thought of being chosen.
‘What do you mean, I have to unmask Nina’s killer?’
Loki grins. ‘Get her killer to confess to the old circus manager Karl, and I will go.’
Anxiety crashes over me. ‘And what happens if I fail?’
He ignores my question and says, ‘Do you know that an actor is finally going to play me? Now that I’ve been given a proper invitation, there’s so much fun to be had!’ He claps his hands and something jangles overhead. The troll twists and jumps on its strings, the horse rears and snaps its skeletal jaws, and the long-fingered creatures convulse.
Loki laughs and I recoil, knowing that fun for him means suffering for others. He clicks his fingers and the puppets collapse, their limp bodies swaying above me.
His voice deepens. ‘Lose the wager and I will destroy the circus. And if they cancel and refuse to tell my story, then no one’s shall be heard.’ Yellow flames flicker around the edge of the glass and consume his face as a new image appears: the big top on fire. Smoke fills the sky, dozens of masked performers lie face down in the mud, and the charred puppet that Stig destroyed crawls over them. And then I see a girl with blonde hair in the dirt, her lifeless eyes staring open. One of them is milky white and looks in the wrong direction.
Fear and adrenaline turn to rage. ‘You’re going to kill everyone at the circus, just because they didn’t include you?’
He yells at me. ‘Do you know how it feels to be kept out? To be the outsider? To have your lips sewn shut?’
‘That was a punishment for your own trickery!’
‘Was it? Or was it because I’m not afraid to speak the truth? Because I alone am willing to expose the hypocrisy of the gods?’
I bite back my arguments. I don’t know enough of his stories to judge. Perhaps his cruel games are motivated by something more than just mischief.
His eyes glisten as he rants. ‘I’ve given the gods so many gifts. If it weren’t for me, Thor wouldn’t have his hammer, Freyr would be missing his beloved boar and Odin would be without his spear. I’ve got them out of more scrapes than I care to count, and what thanks do I get? I am vilified, made the scapegoat – kept out.’
He speaks with the conviction of righteous anger, his eyes overflowing with hurt, and he’s right. I have no idea how it feels to be kept out by those who are meant to love you. But according to the stories in Karl’s book, it was Loki who got the gods into their various ‘scrapes’ in the first place.
‘What about Baldur?’
He narrows his gaze and the emotion I saw in his eyes a moment ago is gone, replaced with stony coldness. ‘Now why would you want to bring that up?’
He vanishes from the mirror and someone taps me on the shoulder. I spin around and scream. The jester is in the room behind me.
‘It’s always my failings told in the stories, have you noticed that? The others are no better than me . . . Luckily I am here to expose them for what they really are.’ He looks at my blank face and laughs. ‘You think you have it all worked out, don’t you? Everything black and white. Odin is good and I am bad.’
He circles me, the bells on his cap jingling. ‘You are nothing but a puppet to him, a player in a game. He started a whole ancestral line to task them with watering a tree. If he’s so powerful, why doesn’t he do it himself? He doesn’t care for mortals any more than I do.’
A gaping hole opens up inside me and dark thoughts rush inside. All the sacrifices my ancestors have made – surely they weren’t just being used? The women who went before me had such strength and resilience; they were given magic in exchange for watering the tree. If they mean nothing to Odin, where does that leave me?
Loki sneers. ‘The fruit doesn’t fall far from the twisted tree. You too serve only yourself.’
I drop my head, knowing what he is going to say. I’ve done something terrible, something I can’t take back or make right.
‘Hel tasked you with saving the dead. She told you to hold the rope until every soul had returned to the underworld. But you let go. You sacrificed hundreds of souls to save one.’
Shame burns inside me. He’s right. I didn’t stop to think what would happen to the others when I dropped the rope. I thought only of making sure Mormor would be safe. I thought only of myself.
He leans into my face, his bright red mouth a parody of sadness. ‘Don’t cry. I’ve rounded them up for you.’ I shake my head, even though I know it’s true.
‘No? Then how else do you think they got here!’ He glares at me with disdain then turns his back.
A moment later he spins around and opens his arms, the bells on his costume jingling. ‘Cheer up, tonight is Ragnarok! The circus is expecting me to bring a horde of the dead along and I hate to disappoint. If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s put on a show!’
He vanishes and I swallow a sob, my chest heaving. When I look in the mirror I see only my normal reflection. Who was I to dream I could be a warrior, one of Odin’s Valkyries? No. This is the real me: feeble and afraid, my eyes full of panic, mascara running down my face.
18
ONE LONG THREAD OF LIES
I
stumble outside and the walkway is empty, the crowd of performers gone. The wolf sneers down at me and I breathe in a lungful of icy air and try to clear my head. I have to stop Loki. I have to win the wager or he will destroy the circus and everyone here. But how am I going to make Stig confess to killing Nina?
Part of me wants to go and confront him, but I need time to think. How do I even know that Loki is telling the truth? He’s called the Trickster and the Sly One for a reason. Maybe there is no wager, or perhaps he wants me to make Stig confess and I’m walking into a trap. The only way to know for sure is to speak to Odin. If he really chose me as his player, then he should tell me the rules of the game.