The black-and-gold big top shines like a beacon under the floodlights. I want to run to it, but there’s no way to know how many of the dead are out there and I don’t want to draw their attention. I could go to my caravan but there’s no point. I can’t hide until morning; I need to unmask Nina’s killer before the last visitor leaves tonight.
My nose and ears tingle from the cold as I scan the maze of vehicles. It’s only been thirty minutes since I came this way, yet it seems so much darker now; the velvet-black sky studded with stars. Gathering my courage, I tighten my grip around the handle of the carrier bag. The dead didn’t see me in the forest. If there are more, I will just move past them.
A cold gloomy mist hangs over the field. All the performers and crew are on the main site. There’s not a single light from any of the caravan windows, no sound of a radio or flickering TV. The canteen tent is dark and closed up, its white canvas walls billowing like a monster wheezing its last breath.
I make my way between the vehicles, walking quickly, then glance down and gasp. An arm is sticking out from under a caravan, its fingers opening and closing. I hurry past it and a young boy, no older than eight, appears before me. He’s wearing shorts and I can see that one of his legs is mangled, a shard of white bone sticking out. His face is convulsed in pain and there are tear tracks on his cheeks. I look down as he hops forward, then falls over, just missing me.
I cover my mouth, knowing there’s nothing I can do to help, then turn and go a different way. The shadows are empty and I breathe a sigh of relief. A few more minutes and I will be under the floodlights. I walk a little further, and an old lady steps through the side of a caravan. She’s naked and has long white hair down to her waist, covering her pot belly. I watch as she sinks into the ground, just as a man appears, his spine curved so badly he’s almost bent double.
I edge past him and rush on. I’m halfway there now. Only a little further and I’ll reach the trailers. Something flickers in the corner of my eye and I spin around. A swirl of black mist rises from the ground and forms into the shape of a man. He has a thick hairy chest and wears a woman’s dress and ripped tights. His face is smeared with lipstick and he sucks the thumb of one hand. A plastic doll hangs from the other. I swallow hard and step back, desperately hoping he doesn’t see me.
I turn and nearly bump into an overweight man in a hospital gown, standing with his back to me. Another figure appears and I force myself to lower my gaze. I just need to move slowly. I edge my way around them and a toddler with long tangled hair races around the side of a caravan. Our eyes lock and we stare at one another. She reaches out as if she wants me to pick her up, her dark eyes huge in her head, and a chill runs through me. I put a finger to my lips, my heart thudding in my ears, desperately hoping the others won’t notice me.
The man in the hospital gown turns around. He lunges to grab me and I duck away. More figures approach from my left but I don’t stop to look. I move fast, running now, past the last few caravans. I get to the costume trailer then stop and cry out. Dozens of dead are between me and the walkway. Shadowy shapes race across the field from every direction, swarming in a great rolling fog. There are too many. I’m not going to make it.
The glow of a lamp post flickers in the distance, not bright but better than nothing. I race to it then bend over and gasp for breath. The dead surround me on every side, the light keeping them from reaching me. An unnatural cold emanates from them; even from ten paces away I can feel the icy chill on my skin. Some open their mouth in a scream, others shout or sob. I can’t hear their words but the wind roars with sorrow.
The way they jump and snatch reminds me of the restless souls I saw at the tree. I scan their black eyes and something shrinks inside me. It’s not hate or rage I see in their faces but desperation. It’s like they’re drowning and I am the rope. I slump against the post and my eyes fill with tears. Why didn’t I do as Hel asked? I should have made sure all the dead got back. I should have given my life rather than abandon them.
Even if I can’t help the dead, maybe I can save the circus from Loki. The floodlights aren’t far away; it wouldn’t take long to run. I glance over my shoulder and there are even more figures than before, all grabbing at me. There’s no way I can get through.
Long minutes pass and I feel myself growing weaker, the cold leeching the life out of me. Everyone is in the big top watching the performance; it could be ages before someone comes this way. I don’t know how long I can last.
I need to call Mum. The last time we spoke she was afraid something was watching her at the tree – but she has to water it, the dead can’t be allowed to escape again. My teeth are chattering and my hands tremble as I pull out my phone. I expect to hear a recording telling me to leave a message, but she answers and her voice brings a sob to my throat.
‘Martha? What’s wrong?’
Pitiful faces crowd closer. The boy with the mangled leg crawls over the snow and reaches out his arm pleadingly. ‘Oh, Mum, I’ve done something terrible. I told you I’d got all the dead back before, but I didn’t. I dropped the rope too soon and they didn’t all make it into the tree . . . and now they’re here at the circus.’
Her voice is sharp with fear. ‘Slow down, I don’t understand. Are you in danger?’
‘I don’t know. I think . . . I think they want me to save them. I wish I could, but I can’t, Mum. I can’t.’
‘Is there somewhere safe you can go? Someone who can help you?’
‘No, I’m on my own. The light is keeping them away, but I’m so cold my feet are starting to go numb. I don’t know how long I have.’
‘Oh, Martha!’ Mum stifles a sob and then shushes me softly like she did when I was a child. I would give anything for her to hold me close and tell me everything will be all right.
‘You have to promise me you’ll water the tree, Mum. The next time you go there, try to listen. Don’t be afraid. If you meet the Norns, you’ll understand everything.’
She sniffs. ‘I promise I’ll try.’
My body sags against the pole. Mum is saying something but my thoughts are unravelling and I can’t follow the thread of her words.
‘Martha? Listen to me. You need to keep talking. You might feel sleepy but you have to stay awake. Tell me, why did you drop the rope?’
I hang my head. ‘Mormor. She was trying to protect me from the draugr. I knew she’d never leave me. I had to make sure she went to the underworld.’
‘You let go of the rope to make sure Mormor would be safe?’
‘Yes.’
‘Martha, my darling, you didn’t have time to think! You did what you did out of love. You did your best; you have to trust what was in your heart.’
Compassion spreads in my chest. I realise Mum only hid the truth about my gift and Mormor dying because she wanted to protect me. I’ve tried to understand, and now I do. I know how easy it is to make the wrong decision out of love, because I did it too.
A noise sounds behind me: footsteps on the walkway.
‘Someone’s coming, Mum. I have to go.’
‘I love you, Martha. Phone me when you can.’
‘I love you too.’
I pocket my phone and wipe the ice from my lashes, almost too afraid to hope.