This page collects known and referenced names of women associated with Seiðr and prophetic work—völur, seeresses, and ritual specialists—from Norse texts, historical chronicles, and folk tradition. These aren’t just characters. These are markers. Each name is proof that the role existed. That it mattered. That it was recognized across time, region, and culture.

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Heiðr

Heiðr is mentioned in Völuspá (stanzas 22–24) and in Vǫlsunga saga. She’s described as a völva who traveled widely, delighted in prophecy, and practiced Seiðr. She is closely associated with Gullveig, the mysterious figure who was burned and reborn three times. Some scholars believe they are the same woman. Others think they represent a spiritual lineage. Either way, she’s unforgettable.

Source: Völuspá, Vǫlsunga saga

Want to trace her name through myth and fire? [I unpack the Gullveig–Heiðr connection here.]

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Gróa

Gróa is the kind of name that keeps showing up in the corners of things. She’s a known seeress from Grógaldr, where her son Svipdagr calls her up from the dead for protection spells. She also appears in Skáldskaparmál (Prose Edda), where she tries to heal Thor after his fight with Hrungnir. She’s one of the only named seeresses to appear both as living and dead. That alone is worth noting.

Source: Grógaldr, Skáldskaparmál

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Þorbjörg lítilvölva  - Little Völva

Arguably the most detailed völva description in the surviving sagas. Þorbjörg shows up in Eiríks saga rauða, Chapter 4, wrapped in a blue cloak, adorned with beads, seated on a high platform with a carved staff in her hand. She eats a special meal, hears songs sung to summon spirits, and speaks prophecy through chant. She doesn’t guess. She knows.

Source: Eiríks saga rauða, Chapter 4

I break down her entire ritual appearance and the meaning behind her garments [right here].

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Veleda

Veleda wasn’t Norse, but she deserves a seat here. She was a Germanic prophetess during the Batavian rebellion of the 1st century CE, described by Tacitus in his Histories. Her influence was so strong that political decisions were made in her name. She lived in a tower, received envoys, and was revered by her people as both sacred and sovereign.

Source: Tacitus, Histories, Book IV

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Ganna

Mentioned by Roman historian Cassius Dio, Ganna was a seeress from Germania who traveled with a diplomatic delegation to Rome. She performed divination and represented spiritual leadership among her people. The fact that she was brought on a political mission speaks volumes about her status.

Source: Cassius Dio, Roman History, Book LXVII

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Later and Folk References

These names come from oral traditions, folk collections, and regional memory. Their historicity may be debated—but their presence in the collective imagination is powerful.

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Kona á Borg

Known as the “woman at Borg,” this 19th-century Icelandic figure refused Christian burial and claimed kinship with the old ways of the völur. Her story is preserved in the folklore collections of Jón Árnason. She doesn’t just resist the church—she invokes the old magic in doing so.

Source: Jón Árnason, Íslenzkar þjóðsögur og æfintýri

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Tófa of the Faroe Isles

Tófa is remembered in Faroese oral tradition as a sea-witch or prophetess. She lived on the cliffs and was believed to control weather and tide through charms. Her name shows up in multiple stories, always at the edge of danger and wisdom.

Source: Faroese folk archives, oral tradition (sources vary)

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Terminology: Names with Meaning

The Norse didn’t have just one word for women of power. That tells us everything.

They named her for how she moved. What she carried. What she saw. What she did.

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Völva

From vǫlr, meaning staff or wand. The staff wasn’t just for walking—it was a ritual axis, a marker, a bridge. A völva was often a public figure. Her arrival meant something was about to happen. She spoke for fate, not just the moment.

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Seiðkona

Literally “woman of Seiðr.” This is a broader term. Any woman who worked Seiðr, whether publicly or in private, could be called this. She might be a midwife. A bonesinger. A healer. She might never hold a staff—but she holds the work.

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Spákona

From spá, meaning “to prophesy.” A spákona may not have performed rites or entered trance, but she listened to dreams, watched the skies, read signs. She was a seer, not always a spell-worker. Her gift was vision, not ceremony.

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Why So Many Names?

Because one name isn’t enough. Not every Seiðr-worker was a prophet. Not every prophet held a staff. Not every healer told the future. These words show us the range and depth of women’s magical and spiritual work across time. Today, some still use völva as a title of reverence—for themselves, for a spirit-guide, or for the ancestral current that calls through the thread. Use what fits the work you’re doing. But know where it comes from. This isn’t about titles. It’s about truth. And we honor that truth by calling her what she was.