The Vikings weren’t strangers to the mystical. They believed runes held magical potential, rituals could unveil the future, and songs, called Galdr, could even whip up a storm or two. But while rune magic often fell under the purview of men, like the legendary runemaster Egill Skallagrimsson, a different kind of magic, known as Seiðr, belonged to the women – the Völva.
Seiðr, meaning “to bind” or “cord/rope,” hinted at the manipulative nature of this magic. The Vikings believed it originated with the Vanir gods, a more chaotic and nature-aligned bunch compared to the orderly Aesir gods of Asgard. These two clans, after a brief but dramatic war, exchanged hostages, leading to the Vanir gods Njord, Freyr, and Freyja taking up residence among the Aesir. And they brought Seiðr with them.
Odin, the ever-thirsty god of knowledge, couldn’t resist learning this new magic from Freyja. He even mastered it, despite Loki’s cheeky jabs about its feminine nature. While Odin clearly didn’t mind, this little exchange highlights the perception of Seiðr as primarily a woman’s domain.
So, what exactly made a Völva? The name itself translates to “wand-wed,” suggesting a close relationship with a staff. However, this wasn’t your typical Harry Potter wand, but a distaff, a tool used in spinning, a traditionally female task. This connection reinforces the feminine association of Seiðr and links it to the Norns, the Norse fates who spun the threads of destiny at the base of the world tree, Yggdrasil. Imagine the Völva as skilled weavers, subtly influencing those threads to bring about change.
Prophecy was a cornerstone of a Völva’s power. Think of them as the mystical weather forecasters of their time, predicting futures and offering guidance. But they didn’t stop at telling fortunes. Historical whispers suggest they also dabbled in raising storms, conjuring love spells, inflicting sleep-paralyzing nightmares, messing with memories, and even healing. They achieved these feats primarily through chanting magical incantations, a practice reminiscent of modern-day Wiccan traditions.
A fascinating tale involving the god Thor illustrates the Völva’s power and the precarious nature of their magic. After a brawl with the giant Hrungnir, Thor found himself with a rather unwelcome souvenir – a rock lodged in his skull. He sought help from the Völva Groa, who began chanting an enchantment to dislodge the stubborn stone. Just as the spell began to work, Thor, in a moment of excitement, mentioned Groa’s husband, whom she believed dead. This emotional jolt caused Groa to lose her focus, the spell was broken, and Thor was left with a permanent headache – and a reminder of the delicate balance required in wielding such potent magic.
While revered for their abilities, the Völva lived on the fringes of society. They were nomads, travelling from settlement to settlement, offering their services in exchange for hospitality. Imagine them as mystical consultants, welcomed into halls and granted access to people of all social standings. They were respected, even revered, but always maintained a certain ‘otherness.’
One particularly detailed account of a Völva is found in the Saga of Erik the Red. It tells the story of Thorbjorg, a wandering Völva in Greenland. The saga meticulously describes her attire – a floor-length blue or black cloak adorned with precious stones, a jewel-encrusted wand, a dazzling crystal necklace (perhaps echoing Freyja’s legendary Brisingamen), and a pouch brimming with magical tools. This opulent attire suggests wealth and status, while her lambskin hood, calfskin slippers, and wildcat fur gloves hint at a life on the road.
Upon arrival at Erik’s hall, Thorbjorg was treated with utmost respect. She was served a special meal of goat’s milk and an assortment of animal hearts (a delicacy reserved for important guests), and provided with a luxurious goose-down pillowed seat from which to conduct her rituals.
The saga also highlights the collaborative nature of Seiðr. Thorbjorg required a chorus of women to chant alongside her, their voices acting as a conduit to a trance-like state, a bridge between the mortal and divine realms. This is where her magic truly flourished. Interestingly, the only woman who knew the necessary chants was Gudrid, a recent convert to Christianity. Initially hesitant, she eventually agreed, highlighting the enduring power and allure of the old ways.
The story of Thorbjorg is beautifully complemented by archaeological evidence. The 9th-century burial of a woman at Fyrkat in Oland, Sweden, provides a tangible glimpse into the life of a Völva. This woman was laid to rest in a horse-drawn carriage, a symbol of high social standing. She wore a vibrant blue and red dress threaded with gold, echoing the description in the Saga of Erik the Red.
Alongside her lay a magnificent iron wand, over 80 centimeters long, adorned with bronze details. Other intriguing artifacts included a silver amulet shaped like a chair (possibly representing the seat from which prophecies were delivered), a silver brooch containing toxic white lead powder (potentially used in rituals), a purse filled with hallucinogenic henbane seeds, bowls, animal bones, and other ritualistic objects. This burial paints a vivid picture of a powerful and respected woman, deeply connected to the practice of Seiðr.
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The Völva’s influence even extended to the divine realm. The Völuspá, meaning “prophecies of the Völva,” is a cornerstone of Norse mythology. In this epic poem, Odin summons a powerful Völva from the underworld to share her wisdom. She recounts the entire history of the cosmos, from its creation to the prophesied events of Ragnarök, the apocalyptic twilight of the gods. This poem emphasizes the profound respect the gods themselves held for the Völva and their insight into the workings of fate.
Sadly, the rise of Christianity cast a long shadow over the Völva. By the 13th century, Nordic laws outlawed practices associated with Seiðr, including the carrying of wands. The once revered women of magic were forced into the shadows, their knowledge and traditions slowly fading from memory.
However, the legacy of the Völva endures. Their stories, whispered through sagas and unearthed from ancient graves, offer a glimpse into a fascinating world where magic intertwined with everyday life. They remind us of the power of women, the allure of the unknown, and the enduring human fascination with destiny and the forces that shape our world. So, the next time you think of witches, remember the Völva – the wand-wielding, prophecy-spinning women of the Viking Age who navigated the threads of fate and left an indelible mark on Norse mythology and history. They were more than just witches; they were the keepers of wisdom, the voices of prophecy, and the embodiment of a magical world now lost to time.
