It smells ancient – of mothballs and mildew. Inside are dozens of neatly stacked books, canvas bags and rolls of material. On top of the pile is an envelope with my name on it. My breath quickens as I run my finger over Mormor’s familiar handwriting.

My Dearest Marta,

If you are reading this letter, then I will have already gone. You will be sad, I know, but please don’t waste your tears on me, little one. I have lived the life that was meant for me, and none of us can ask for more.

I have loved you since the day you were born, and it has been an honour to watch you grow into the fine young woman you are. But a life cannot be made up of summers – and winter brings with it hard choices.

Inside this chest is your inheritance. Your mother barely stirred from slumber when it was given to her, but you, my child, are awake.

You wrote to me asking why you can sense things from touching people’s clothes. I replied, but as I kept receiving letters, I can only presume mine did not reach you! The gift is one that I share also, as does your mother – though she refuses to accept it.

The story is a long one, and I hope you will learn Norwegian and read the journals for yourself. For now, all you need to know is that our ancestor, a weaver woman named Aslaug, made a sacred vow that she and her line would take care of the tree in the garden.

This has been the way for more than a thousand years. Once I am gone, the duty should fall to your mother, but I fear it will come to you. Every morning you must take water from the well and put it on the roots inside the largest chamber of the tree. I beg of you, this you must do. There have been many seers in our family, and I pray that the worst does not come to pass.

If you choose to look inside this chest there may be danger ahead – for our path is one of growth through hardship. But know that dozens of women have walked this way before you, women whose blood runs in your veins. Remember, the tree is the start of the journey and the end. Tend to it every day and listen with an open heart!

May the gods watch over you and keep you safe.

Until we meet again,

Your loving Mormor x

Scrawled at the bottom is:

The gift of reading clothing lies dormant until you meet the Norns. For we have a very special destiny – and I believe they appear to wake us to our fate.