In this episode, we step into the world of Seiðr—the most feared, misunderstood, and powerful form of magic in the Norse world. Not the heroic magic of gods and warriors, but something far stranger. Far more intimate. This is the magic of women who sat at the edge of the village… and at the edge of reality. The ones they called Völva.

They did not simply predict the future. They entered it. They spoke with the dead. They bent fate—not by force, but by slipping between the threads that hold it together.

But Seiðr came at a cost. To practice it was to step outside society. To risk madness. To be feared… even by the gods themselves.

Why did men who used it risk shame and exile? Why is Odin—the god of wisdom—also accused of practicing it in secret? And what really happened in those rituals, in the dim light of fire and smoke, when the voice changed… and something else began to speak?

This episode is not just about history. It is about experience and bloodlines.

Recorded where it should be—out in the forest, with the wind moving through trees and the world very much alive around us—this is Seiðr as it was always meant to be felt: raw, intimate, and just slightly too close.

The Fenrir Wolf was in fact just a poor and misunderstood creature… tormented by the Æsir and feared by all… and it did get its revenge

The story of Freyja and the four dwarves is one of the more striking—and slightly unsettling—myths from Norse tradition.

Freyja, the goddess of love, beauty, fertility, and magic, comes across an extraordinary piece of jewelry: the necklace Brísingamen, crafted by four dwarves—Brísings named Dvalinn, Alfrik, Berling, and Grerr. The necklace is impossibly beautiful, shimmering with a power that reflects Freyja’s own divine allure.

She desires it immediately.

However, the dwarves refuse to sell it for gold or treasure. Instead, they set a condition: Freyja must spend one night with each of them.

Faced with this demand, Freyja agrees.

After four nights—one with each dwarf—she receives Brísingamen and takes it back to the gods. The necklace becomes one of her most iconic possessions, symbolizing both her beauty and her connection to desire, magic, and the complex, morally ambiguous nature of the Norse gods.

The story doesn’t end there, though. Loki later exposes this bargain to Odin, which leads to further complications, including the theft of the necklace and a series of divine conflicts.

In Scandinavian folklore, a changeling—known in Norwegian as bytting, in Swedish as bortbyting, and in Danish as skifting—was believed to be a supernatural substitute left in place of a human child that had been secretly taken. The original child was thought to have been abducted by hidden beings, most commonly trolls, the hulderfolk (the “hidden people”), or other underground or nature-dwelling spirits. In some traditions, elves or similar entities were also blamed. These beings were believed to take healthy human infants for their own purposes—whether to strengthen their own kind, replace a weak offspring, or simply out of desire for human vitality—and leave one of their own in the cradle.

The period of greatest danger was considered to be before a child was baptised, reflecting the strong influence of Christian belief layered over older folk traditions. Infants were thought to be particularly vulnerable when left unattended, especially at night, near doorways or windows, or in close proximity to forests, mountains, or burial mounds—places associated with supernatural presence. As a result, mothers were strongly warned never to leave their babies alone, even briefly.

Descriptions of changelings are strikingly consistent across Norway, Sweden, and Denmark. They were often said to appear physically unusual: sometimes unnaturally ugly, with large heads, thin limbs, or an oddly aged expression. Behaviourally, they might exhibit an insatiable appetite while failing to grow or thrive. Some cried incessantly, while others were eerily quiet and withdrawn. Developmental delays were commonly noted—they might not speak, walk, or respond as expected. In certain accounts, the changeling was believed to possess an old consciousness within its infant body, observing the world with unsettling awareness.

The forest does not forget.

Not the footprints pressed into wet earth by a woman who walked alone at dusk. Not the shallow grave beneath the roots, where the soil was too hastily turned. Not the small, silenced breath that never learned to cry out loud.

In this episode, we follow something that should never have been left behind.

The Myling is not merely a ghost. It is a hunger. A weight. A voice that was denied its first scream and now seeks it endlessly in the dark. In the old stories whispered across the North, the Myling is the spirit of an unwanted child—killed at birth, hidden away, buried without name, without rite, without mercy.

But the earth does not keep secrets kindly.It waits.And when the night grows damp and the forest begins to breathe, something small begins to move beneath the moss. You may hear it first as a sound mistaken for an animal—soft, dragging, uneven. Then closer. Then far too close.

“Carry me.”

The voice is thin, childlike—but wrong. Too hollow. Too old with sorrow.

“Carry me… to the graveyard.”

And if you are foolish enough to turn—if you dare to look—you will see it.

A child, yes. But not as it should be. Limbs twisted from the cold earth, skin dark with soil and time, eyes wide with a grief that has rotted into something far worse. It reaches for you—not in plea, but in claim.

You must carry it.

That is the rule. The curse. The cruel bargain of the Myling.

It will climb onto your back, light at first—like nothing at all. You may even think you imagined it. But with each step, it grows heavier. And heavier. And heavier still. Its small hands tighten around your throat as its weight presses down, crushing breath, bending spine, dragging you toward the place it was denied in death.

You will try to walk.

You will try to run.

But the forest stretches. The path vanishes. And the child becomes unbearable. “Faster,” it whispers. Your legs tremble. Your lungs burn. Your heart pounds against a weight that no living body should endure. And still—it grows.

Some never reach the graveyard.

Some collapse in the dark, their bodies found at dawn—twisted, broken, as though something vast had pressed them into the earth. And the child?

Gone.

Waiting again.For the next passerby.

For the next set of footsteps foolish enough to wander alone.

In this episode, we do not simply tell a story. We listen.

To the voices beneath the ground.

To the children who were never given names.

And to the terrible truth that in the North, the dead do not always rest—especially not the ones who were never meant to live.

Did you know that the wise old ladies, the Volve of pre-Christian times and the herbalists that saved lives in the Nordic communities had some dark and evil counterparts that are not so widely known and spoken about? The twisted and cannibalistic female demons that rarely left the woods? Well, here’s a story and some facts thst will send chills down your spine.

This is a freely translated and adapted English version of the folk ballad Heiemo and nøkken. Translated, sang, performed and adapted by Lena Heide-Brennand. Guitar/drum/production: Johnny Williamsen. All rights reserved and copyrighted 2022.

Heiemo walked by the riverside

The day was falling still

When from the dark and silent stream

There rose a creature by his will

Stay, stay far Heiemo and listen to me

For I can teach you songs so deep

No living soul will ever see

That you learned those hymns from me

If you learn my hidden tunes

And play and sing as none before you

You must give me what I ask

And I am asked to be loved by you

He drew the bow across the strings

The water froze as stone

And all the world grew strange and still

As if it were no longer its own

Heiemo stood and could not move

Nor turn herself away

For once you hear the Nøkkens tune

You don't leave unchanged

Then she took a knife from her pocket

And tried to stab this creature in his heart

But down into the water the creature rocket

And she was certain he was no more

She thought the Nøkken had fallen still

And that all of his songs were gone

She turned her back upon the stream

And stepped to find her way home

But from the depth a claw rose cold

And took her where she stood

And no one saw more of fair Heiemo

But at midnight there might be some ripples of blood

The ballad from Denmark/Norway about the young and beautiful girl Heiemo who sings so beautifully that Nøkken shapeshifts to go snd kidnap her from a party. Nb! Norwegian original text.