Völvas Were Into Some Crazy S—t!
You may have noticed that the cover of my new novel, The Snare of Vengeance, coming out July 8th, features a Viking Age magical staff. It’s a not-so-subtle nod to one of the most enigmatic figures of the time: the völva, or Norse seeress.
But what exactly was a völva, and in a world obsessed with silver and gold, why did she choose to make her staff, which does not obviously appear to be a weapon, out of iron?
What We Think We Know (And What We Don’t)
Much of our understanding of the völva derives from later Icelandic prose sagas, such as the Völsunga saga, where prophecy serves as a primary narrative catalyst. Our reliance on these texts presents a significant historiographical challenge: because they were compiled centuries after Scandinavia’s Christianization, separating authentic pre-Christian practices from medieval literary constructions is remarkably difficult.
Despite our source limitations, the textual corpus consistently portrays the völva as existing on the threshold between the living and the dead. It is an ontological boundary-crossing mirrored in the mythological poem Baldrs draumar, where Odin must perform necromancy to extract secrets from a deceased seeress, suggesting that living völvas were perceived as wielding the transcendent, unsettling authority of the afterlife.
The völva’s liminal status fuels a persistent academic debate regarding her precise socioeconomic standing within Viking Age Scandinavian society. The sagas offer a contradictory duality, portraying them either as highly respected matriarchs who received immense deference from local elites or as marginalized, solitary outcasts tolerated only because desperate chieftains required their reality-bending arts.
Ultimately, their daily life remains ambiguous to us. While archaeology confirms the physical existence of women buried with iron distaffs and psychoactive plants like henbane, the material evidence does not yet help to validate the elaborate social hierarchies detailed in the texts, leaving our modern portrait of the völva forever suspended between Iron Age history and medieval storytelling.
Staff, Wand, or Distaff?
For a long time, skeptics wondered if the völvas were merely literary devices from Saga literature. Today, the archaeological record has more or less proven they were real. Chief among the artifacts we can point to as proof of their existence are their “wands” or “staffs.”
In Old Norse, the word völva translates to “wand-bearer” or “staff-carrier.” It is a linguistic indication that these figures were, at the very least, inextricably linked to their tool of choice, if not defined by it. That tool is in and of itself somewhat of an enigma.
Wealthy Viking Age graves excavated across Scandinavia, including famous finds such as the Klinta staff in Öland, Sweden, the Fyrkat rod in Denmark, and exceptional pieces housed in Norwegian collections around Stavanger, reveal that these “wands” or “staffs” were made without exception of iron. It has been proposed that, given what we understand of their place in society and the tendency of Viking Age Scandinavians to use precious metals to signal social status, making their wands or staffs out of iron was an intentional choice. What they were communicating by that choice is not yet understood.
Even more fascinating is their shape. Historians and archaeologists have noted that they resemble distaffs used to hold unspun wool fibers. It has been proposed that, based on what we believe we understand of the Norse worldview and how magic (seiðr) appears to have been bound to the concept of weaving, völvas may have wielded their iron distaffs to symbolically unravel, twist, and reweave the cosmic threads of human destiny just as the mythical Norns sat at the roots of Yggdrasil spinning the fates of gods and men.
Of course, this is all just fancy guesswork. It could just as plausibly be that their staff served more than one purpose, including weaving.
Völvas Were Into Some Crazy S—t.
We believe we have uncovered the resting places of several of these women, and their graves are among the most bizarre in the Viking world (which is already quite strange to us). Alongside their staffs, they were buried with pouches containing exotic goods, silver coins, sacrificial animals, and an array of psychoactive plants that would land you a very long prison sentence in today’s world.
While cannabis seeds have been discovered in high-status burials like the Oseberg ship, other graves—such as the one at Fyrkat—revealed a pouch filled with hundreds of henbane (Hyoscyamus niger) seeds. When thrown onto a fire or brewed, henbane induces violent delirium, vivid hallucinations, and a distinct sensation of flight. The resulting chemically altered state might lead a person to believe they had torn open the veil of reality.
Enter Oðlaug: A Shadowy Guide for Hasting
This intoxicating blend of historical mystery, hallucinogenic ritual, and liminal lore brings me to the pages of The Snare of Vengeance (The Saga of Hasting the Avenger Book 6).
A major new character entering the crucible of Hasting’s world is a fictional völva named Oðlaug. (Yes, she is presumably the exact same Oðlaug who aided Hasting all those years ago in The Lords of the Wind—but she returns to his life with a twist.)
Playing directly into the historical concept that a völva is neither fully alive nor fully dead, Oðlaug’s presence will force Hasting to confront the literal and metaphorical ghosts of his bloody past. As he combats massive, corrupting forces in the world around him, he must undergo a journey of internal growth and self-discovery. Oðlaug serves as his harrowing spiritual anchor… and lover.
READ Book 6 ON JULY 8!
In The Snare of Vengeance, I have woven these real-world archaeological mysteries into a narrative that will push Hasting further than he has ever gone before, forcing him to face what lies beyond the veil.
The Snare of Vengeance releases on July 8th. Don’t leave your reading fate to chance—click the link below to pre-order your copy today!