Heid

Berit is inspired by the Seer's prophesy and begs the wise women to take her with them.

Berit stood wrapped in her warm cloak surveying the landscape surrounding her. A thick mist lay at her feet and covered the ground as far as she could see, sitting like a pillow of cloud not more than a foot high. The wheel of the year had turned, the nights had returned and winter was looming. It wouldn’t be long before the first snowfall. Berit stood alone, curiosity had got the better of her and she wanted to see the women arrive.

The sound of hooves rumbled in the distance. As the gentle thunder of the traveller’s progress got louder the company appeared on the horizon, rising like spectres out of the mists. Most of the figures were hooded, their cloaks rippling around them, but the leading rider’s head was bare with her flame coloured hair spread around her like the dying rays of the sun at dusk. Berit guessed this must be Heid the Seer and a shiver of excitement ran through her.

Soon the visitors reached the longhouse and were helped down from their horses and welcomed inside along with their luggage. Olaf sat Heid at the head of the grand table.

He sat beside her. “I trust you’ll find everything you need. I’ve seen to all the preparations for the prophecy tomorrow.”

Heid smiled, “Thank you, and for tonight?”

Olaf nodded, “One heart from each of the farm’s animals has been prepared into a soup for you and soil lain underneath the mattress as requested. I hope your dreams are sweet tonight for we can’t take any more heartache here.”

Heid looked into his eyes, the sadness folded into the wrinkles around them. His skin was thin and his pallor pale and greying. Berit knew what Heid was thinking, this was a man who’d spent the glorious summer indoors. Grief lingered around him like a ghost.

 “I can’t change the future for you,” she said, her accent marking her out as an outsider to the town. “Listening to the land and passing on messages is all I do. Your fate is your own.”

 “I understand,” Olaf said, but his brow furrowed and his hands were shaking. “We lost many people when last winter’s snow melted. My wife and two of our servants now reside in the realms of Hel. Their deaths hit me hard.”

Heid nodded as she reached over and gripped Olaf’s hand. “How many children have you?”

“Four living”, Olaf responded, “Three boys, all men now and one girl, my fifteen year old daughter Berit.”

Berit sighed. He was living in the past; she’d looked after the homestead that summer. She was no child; she was the lady of the house.

“Then you must ensure you keep this farmstead thriving, and for that you must allow yourself to thrive. It doesn’t take a Seer to know here sits the shell of a man. You can’t allow yourself to live like a walking corpse whilst your family and neighbours run your farmstead. What kind of a man would that make you? Surely it’s far better to fall upon your sword and join Odin in Valhalla than to live and die like a broken man.”

Olaf’s eyes met Heid’s and for a moment it looked as though tears might begin to form within them, but he was interrupted by the wife of his eldest son.

“Would you like me to prepare this?” Agethe asked. She was holding a large snow white hare which was sitting docilely in her arms, its nose twitching above its cleft palette.

“No, no! That’s my companion.” Heid stood and lifted the hare into her own arms. “See, his fur is white because he travelled with me from the north. If he was from this land he would still be brown.”

Berit sat next to Heid. The table was laden with bread and meat to break the fast of the journey. Berit knew only Heid would eat the soup.

 “Why do you have to eat hearts?”

“It helps me to prophesise,” Heid explained. “I need to understand the language of the land spirits and the best way to do that is to ingest their energy. The strongest life force is found in the heart. By eating them I learn how the land wants to communicate.”

Berit was wide eyed, “That’s so clever. Could I learn to hear the land spirits if I ate hearts?”

Heid laughed, “You don’t need to eat these hearts, because this land is your home, its language is yours. Just listen and you will hear.”

“Maybe I’m not a Seer,” Berit said, her voice small and her mouth turned down at the corners. She’d certainly never heard the spirits speak to her.

“Maybe you’re not listening hard enough,” Heid corrected.

 Berit was silent for a moment, considering. What if she could learn how to foretell the future? She could have warned her mother, but her mother had been warned she just hadn’t listened. She sighed, even if she hadn’t been able to change her mother’s fate, she would at least have known how long she had left. She’d have made sure her mother taught her everything she needed to know to run the farm. After some time Berit asked, “Why do you have the hare?”

“He is my companion. He helps me dream the night before I‘m required to prophesise.”

“How long have you had him?”

“This is my first feast of the year, his first outing. We’ll be on progress travelling farmstead to farmstead throughout the winter along with the hare. He found me. His presence tells us something about the winter ahead, but we don’t know what that is as yet. Last year we were accompanied by a raven and the plague followed us as we travelled.”

The next evening neighbours from far around gathered to listen to Heid prophesise. Berit watched them prepare for the evening’s entertainment. A platform sat in the centre of the field. A high backed chair strewn with furs sat in the centre of the stage. This was where Heid now sat.

Berit’s heart beat fast as she wondered what the season might hold for them. Her father would not take bad news well. She allowed herself to hope for fatted goats and healthy deliveries of kids and for a winter that was kind but not so mild it allowed disease to settle.

Heid wore a cloak lined in fur; the oversized hood was pulled over her face. Soft fur gloves covered her hands, the mottled brown and black of the fur matched the cloak lining. Berit wondered if they had been made from the fur of a wild cat, perhaps a companion from a year gone by. Across her pinafore Heid wore a necklace of heavy blue glass beads and within her gloved hand she held a large wooden staff tipped with an amber jewel.

The attendants knelt in a semi circle around Heid. Each woman had a pillow of hen’s feathers beneath her knees but these were hidden in amongst the foot of mist across the land. To the gathered audience the women looked like they were kneeling on mist. Behind the attendants stood Olaf’s family and servants, along with the inhabitants of the neighbouring farms. Berit knew her father was paying Heid and her companions substantially; it was a great honour to be the landowner who hosted the Prophecy. What Heid told them tonight would be spoken about for the rest of the winter.

As Heid raised her staff, the women took their cue and beat upon the earth with their palms. The eldest of the company stood and lowered the hood from her head. Her hair was white and red markings had been painted onto her face. The old woman began to sing. Heid moaned. Berit shuddered, the haunting melody giving her goose pimples. It echoed through her as though it had entered her soul and become a part of it. She tried to hear the words but they were lost, either in another language or simply sounds that had no form or purpose other than beauty.

The women began to sway as they sang, harmonising with the white haired woman. In the background the goats bleated and the horses whinnied.

Berit was lost in the song. Her eyes began to close, not quite dreaming but not quite awake. Images formed in her mind. She saw the snow white hare, its eyes glinting in the moonlight. It was beckoning to her. In her mind’s eye she held onto its neck, riding on its back. Berit and her hare journeyed to the coast where a whale sat on the beach. It moaned, giving birth to a pile of golden coins before turning into a long ship and welcoming her father aboard. Berit saw herself running, running to get on board the ship. It sailed away before she could reach it. The Berit in her mind turned to look back at the shore. The goddess Freyja called to her. She handed her a cloak lined with cat fur and a blue glass necklace.

The images faded, Berit was coming back to consciousness.

 “You will find your place with your own people,” Freyja’s voice echoed.

The singing had stopped. Heid was speaking.

“Thank you Fulla for your song. The shadows are lifted. The land has spoken.” She lifted the cloak from her head “This is a rich land, it can provide for you all. Olaf, the alliances you’ve made have brought much prosperity. The marriages you make for your remaining bachelor sons will bring even more fruitfulness. But they won’t bring you joy. Your wit and generosity pleases all but you. But don’t fear dear Olaf, you will smile again. Once you leave this land.”

Berit gasped. Had Heid looked straight into her own dream? She scratched her head. It wasn’t Heid who’d seen her vision, but she who’d shared Heid’s. She had truly listened and she had heard.

*****

There was much cheering and singing in the main hall. The household feasted. Berit took to her bed in the building next door. She pulled the furs around her. Had this visit changed her future? She’d assumed she would be a wife, wearing the keys of Frigga on her belt. As the only daughter of the farmstead she was already managing the household stores and finances, as best as she could that was. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the noise.

A voice echoed outside. “Has Berit turned in for the evening?” It was her sister in law Agethe, Grum’s wife.

Grum answered, “No she’s speaking to the Seer.”

Berit pulled the fur over her head, but she could still hear.

“Any news on when she’ll have her own farmstead? I’m not doing anything here, she won’t ask me to help. I can see she’s struggling.”

Grum let out his breath with a whistle, “I hear you. It’s tough watching things fall into chaos. We’ve a long winter ahead. But no, there’s not likely to be any news. Father is stalling. He’s had suggestions from everyone. She’s a clever girl, and quick thinking, she could have her pick of husbands.”

“He’s got to get on with it. He needs to start negotiating.”

“Aye, but he can’t bring himself to eat at the moment, how can he travel? The boys need wives too.”

Agethe huffed “It will all have to go on hold now winter is here. He’s running out of wealth and yet has three children sitting here eating rather than forming allegiances for him.”

Berit shivered. Yesterday she’d been desperate for a husband, for adventure. Her own farmstead in a new land! Now she wasn’t so sure. No longer was she prepared to sit and wait for the keys of Frigga, now she wanted to embrace the necklace of Freyja. Berit had never been the quiet and studious type. Adventure bubbled in her soul; it was a trait she’d inherited from her father.

*****

Berit had slept so soundly that night, she almost missed the departure of Heid and her entourage.

“Think of me this winter,” she heard a woman’s voice call, “that’ll keep your bed warm.”

Berit stirred, were they leaving already?

“Who will take the hare?” She heard Heid ask, but the reply was muffled as the women hurried away from the buildings.

Berit threw the covers off and grabbed her cloak. Wrapping it around herself and tugging her boots on, she hurried outside. It was going to be a long and harsh winter. Grief crept around every corner like a ghost and they only just had enough supplies to survive.

Berit ran out, cloak flying in the wind. “Oh take me with you, please! I can see. I’m a Seer! I belong with you.”

Heid was already seated on her horse, her luggage strapped behind her. She threw her head back and laughed.

“I’m serious,” Berit pleaded. “You were right, I can see the future and I know mine lies with you. I’m not a wife and mother; I’m a wanderer, a free woman who lives with her pack.”

Heid gripped the horse’s mane and swung herself down. She stood before Berit and took her hands in her own. Despite the chill in the air, Heid’s hands were hot, warming Berit’s as though they held the very essence of fire within them. 

“I have no doubt you will lead this life, but not today. One day you’ll ride alongside me, but not this year.”

Heid’s hands were gnarled and wrinkled, betraying her age. Berit stared at them open mouthed. Heid’s face held onto its youthful plumpness and her green eyes glittered like jewels. Was Heid older than her mother had been? Berit’s eyes slipped down to Heid’s bosom, still round and high, and her trim waist. Berit’s mother’s hands had been soft and young, but her body had spread and creased.

 “I want to be with you this winter,” Berit said.

“Your time will come. But this winter you belong here.”

Berit’s head hung, “It’s this winter I can’t face!”

“So you’d choose to run,” Heid said. “Leave your family to their pain but escape it yourself. It’s a hard life on the road Lilya-Heid.”

Berit’s heart leapt. ‘Lilya-Heid’ she’d called her, ‘Little Seer’.

“I need companions with courage,” Heid continued. “Not who run at the first sign of difficulty. Seers are the midwives of death, a girl who cannot face sadness cannot face prophesy. You will meet much grief and sorrow as you journey with me. To help others you must overcome your own.”

“How can I do such a thing, when my father has one foot in Hel’s realm himself?”

Heid let go of Berit’s hands. “This is why your place this winter is with him. Bring him through the darkness.”

Once more she mounted her horse.

“I’ll come back for you,” she called as she led her horse to the front of the line of women on horseback. “Remember, your time will come”

As Berit watched the company ride away she knew one day she would join them. But now she had to face the darkness of grief that settled like smoke around them, as though they’d never again breathe air that didn’t remind them of the pyre. The sky was white with cloud. The first snow would come in the next few days and the weeks of night would follow soon after. They’d be snowed in with nothing but stories and each other for company.

Berit turned back to the longhouse, tears in her eyes. There Olaf stood; he’d been out of sight but not out of earshot. With a heavy heart, Berit realised he must have heard the whole exchange. With her heckles raised she prepared to defend herself. But Olaf was too numb, too broken to ask any questions of his only daughter.

Berit twisted her hands, “It’s not what it sounded like.”

He shook his head. “Hush, I can’t stop you from living your life. Only the gods can do that. I’m sorry I’ve been so terrible to live with.”

 “No Papa! Please don’t be sorry.” Her throat ached, to think she’d planned to leave him to face the bleak winter without her. “We’ll get through this. We will, we’ll get through winter together. But we’ve got a lot still to organise.”

Olaf stroked his honey coloured beard, “I’ve not been much of a help to you have I?”

“Well now I’m the lady of the house, it’s up to me. I should be the sorry one; I’ve not been up to the job.”

“We’ll work it out together this year, and then we can both retire to our adventures. You can hand your key belt over to Agethe.”

 “And I can be a Seer?”

Olaf’s eyes narrowed as he looked away from her “Have we enough food to last?”

Berit’s face fell as she shook her head. “We won’t starve, but the ground work wasn’t completed on the land so we didn’t have the same bumper harvests as the neighbours did. Even so, what we had would have been plenty, except we didn’t preserve it in time so some of the berries and meat went bad.”

Olaf put his hand to his mouth. Berit could see he blamed himself, she wasn’t expected to know when the preparations needed to start for winter. Heid was right; he’d been a shell of a man that summer and no use to any of them. But if he didn’t do something now they’d have a very lean winter.

“The neighbours have plenty,” Berit said. “Double what they need. We can trade.”

Olaf’s eyes flew up to his forehead. “We lost a lot of our goods this year too. We don’t have enough possessions to trade.”

Berit nodded. There would be no chance of the neighbours giving their surplus to them without an exchange, that wasn’t how life worked in the north. A gift required a gift in response. Even if they had offered, Olaf would not have accepted.

 “If only we could claim Werguild for your mother,” Olaf said.

Berit’s eyes widened, “You’d ask them to pay for taking her life?” Werguild was paid to the family of men who’d died in duals and drunken disagreements, not for the lives of women who hadn’t kept a far enough distance from the plague.

“No, I jest. It’s not their fault. But we don’t have much to trade at the moment.”

Berit sighed. Her father made his wealth from his life on the sea, trading and raiding. She hadn’t been any more use, none of them had.“We’ll just have to make sure we stick to rations, what else can we do?”

 The Norse winters were long and hard, she hoped they would all survive.