“Is this another vision?” Sigurd questioned, staring at the raven in front of him. 

“We see all. We know all. Such is our destiny.” The raven stared back at Sigurd. 

Sigurd couldn’t help but think it was another vision. How else would a raven talk? Yes. That had to be it. He stepped towards the raven slowly, if it was a vision then it didn’t matter, right? He simply needed to get the message. 

“The visions are a part of seeing. We see the same,” the raven cawed and flapped its wings. 

“That’s not making much sense.” Sigurd sighed and pushed his hair back. 

The raven cocked its head, “Nothing makes sense does it? Not anymore. Up is now down. It is coming. The one who dwells beneath.” 

Sigurd chuckled a little,“You’re right, nothing makes much sense. Ugh. Though I do get that feeling that everything is a bit upside down lately.” He glared at the raven, trying to make sense of what it was saying. 

“It is stirring the dead with its presence. You know this, do you not? Things long gone returning.” The raven flew up and landed on Sigurd’s shoulder, “Let me show you.” 

A flash of images flooded his mind. Something moving underground, large and serpent-like. The dead digging their way out of the ground. People dying— Runa dying. 

“Stop!” Sigurd shouted, “This— this can’t be true.” 

“It is coming. The serpent that dwells below. The one who will destroy us all.” The raven’s voice was large and ominous sounding. 

Sigurd shook the raven off his shoulder, “No… I… Runa. I can’t let anything happen to her. This isn’t true. It’s all not true.” He jolted off, down the winding snow covered road. 

The snow kept falling as he ran— the hot air blowing out from between his lips as he huffed. He refused to believe it. Runa was fine. Nothing was going to happen to her. He loved her. She was everything to him. 

He crossed the highway, making his way up the driveway of his family’s farm. He needed a break from all these visions. He didn’t want them. Not like this. On top of the small hill of the farm was a large, red wooden house. Next to it was a large barn and a couple of old abandoned houses. Everything was wood, since they were essentially surrounded by forest. His family had lived on the farm for nearly three hundred years. Sigurd liked the tranquillity, yet at the same time he did not like it. 

“You can run, but it will not change anything,” the raven said as it flew above him. 

“Get lost. You’re just a vision,” Sigurd shouted before opening the door to the house and slipping inside. 

He breathed out, that was the end, right? No more raven. He pulled off his shoes and wandered into the kitchen. He wanted to find his mother, Runa had told him to ask her about the curse and his family history, hadn’t she? 

“She’s not here… I guess I can wait,” he mumbled and sat down at the table. 

The raven pecked the window from outside, staring at Sigurd, “We see all.” 

Sigurd’s eyes widened with disbelief, why was this vision still going on? He swiftly pulled the curtains, yet the raven kept tapping the window with its beak. A rhythmic, insistent tapping. Sigurd felt like he was going mad for a moment. 

“What the hell is this? Something out of a poem by Edgar Allen Poe?” He asked himself, “Am I now a part of The Tell-Tale Heart? What kind of vision is this?” 

“Do not be foolish. Listen to what we say,” the raven shouted as it kept tapping the window, “We are on the very mound where the dead are. This is not a vision, Sigurd. We are quite real.” 

“No. No. No. Ravens don’t talk. Actually when was the last time I saw a raven in these parts?” Sigurd stared at the curtains, he could still see the raven faintly through the thin red and white fabric.

He could feel his breath growing heavier, his heart beating faster. He had experienced strange visions before, but not talking birds. Should he listen? This had been an altogether trying day, the vision from earlier still haunted him. 

“Sigurd? Is everything alright? Why are the curtains drawn?” His mother questioned as she entered the kitchen. 

He had not heard her entering the house, let alone the kitchen. She pulled the curtains before he could say a word. The raven was gone. Sigurd breathed out a sigh of relief. 

“You look a bit pale? Is it the sudden cold weather?” She asked him and placed a hand on his cheek. 

“Ah. No, I’m feeling a bit tired. That’s all. I’ll go start a fire, get this place warmed up,” Sigurd mumbled before he wandered into the living room. 

He stared at the wood stove for a while, the black iron seemed to draw him in. He shook his head and picked up the firewood from the side, placing it into the wood stove. He found the matches and tucked some bark and newspapers underneath the wood before lighting it. His eyes fastened on the fire. His mind remembered how he had seen a large fire in one of his visions before, the fire burned all the dead. 

“Snow in August, huh?” His mother interrupted his thoughts. He was glad she did. 

Sigurd closed the wood stove and glanced up at her, “Yeah, it’s strange.”

“I hope it doesn’t last. I was going to pick blueberries in the forest. I really hope this doesn’t ruin the berries,” she said with a worried tone. 

Sigurd smiled, her simple worries made him feel better, “I’m sure it won’t even last a day. Can I ask you something?” 

She pushed her short grey hair into place and pulled a brown knitted cardigan over her shoulders, “Go ahead, Sigurd. You know you can ask me anything.” 

He watched her sit down in a chair next to the wood stove, warming herself. He remained on the floor, feeling the warmth fill him up, “Did our family come from here originally?” 

“You know our family has lived here for a long time,” she muttered as she picked up her knitting needles. 

“Not that. I mean long before. Before the black plague…” He stared at her firmly. 

“I’m not sure if I’m the right person to ask… Um…” She stopped as if to think for a moment, “Your grandmother did tell me once. She said there was something never to be shared with anyone. A secret only the women in this family must know.”

“Please. I need to know. I- I’ve been seeing things again. Horrible things…” Sigurd admitted. 

His mother sighed and looked at the fire burning in the wood stove, “Your grandmother saw things as well. I suppose it won’t matter if I tell you. This happened so very long ago after all…  They say her spirit still walks here, fuming with vengeance. One of our ancestors from long ago, she was what they called a volva— a witch of some sorts I suppose. She was connected to the gods of old, gods like Odin and Frøya.” Her eyes shifted to Sigurd. 

“So was she the one who cursed this place?” He asked firmly. 

“They buried her alive… Of course she cursed everyone, they didn’t take her seriously. Most people had switched to the new faith. No one believed her ability to connect to the gods. No one believed she could cure anyone. So they silenced her. They tied her up and gagged her, threw her in an open grave with all the others. And they left. They left this village. Only to come back when everything was forgotten. But our family never forgot. We always remembered because of the visions. I suppose we are still connected to the old gods.” She started putting the yarn on her knitting needles. 

Sigurd stared at her, he already knew this. The visions had told him. Yet now he knew it was true. He bit his lip— was Runa really going to die? 

“I have to do something.” He abruptly got up, and ran outside.  

The snow still fell quietly to the ground, “Raven? Where are you?” He shouted. 

“We are here,” the raven echoed from a tree behind Sigurd. 

“You know everything, right? Tell me… What’s going to happen… I want to know so I can stop it.” Sigurd clenched his fists.