Welcome to CHAPTER 40 of the Kinsmen Die podcast, home of fantasy fiction based on Norse mythology that’s written and read by me, Matt Bishop.

In this podcast I read my first novel, Kinsmen Die, one chapter at a time. And, with each episode, when it makes sense, I provide some commentary about the source materials I’ve referenced in the text.

Today, we’re back with Frigg, Odin’s wife and mother of Baldr and Hodr. 

Last time we were with her, she’d been brutally attacked by Odin. He was not himself at the time; he’d been fighting a spirit that came up from Urdrbrunnar — Urdr’s Well. That same spirit, while it beat the crap out of Odin and drove him into a battle fury — took a few moments to speak directly with Frigg.

In this chapter, Frigg deals with the aftermath of that encounter and we meet some new Aesir.

So, let’s get to it. 

Chapter Forty
Frigg
The low rumble amid the sound of approaching voices meant one thing: Thor was coming.
Frigg’s hand tightened on Odin’s knee. “I’ll handle him.”
Odin shook his head and hauled in a breath that crackled like dry leaves underfoot. “Let me—”
She gently squeezed his hand and smiled up at him. “You can barely move, let alone speak. He’ll listen to me.”
Without Sleipnir’s help, she’d never have gotten Odin to the table at Ithavoll where the jarls met. Ithavoll was really just a place in the glade not far from Yggdrasil’s trunk where they’d set a large round table, open in the center, with a dozen chairs around it. Nor was it that far from where the Norns worked. Every Midwinter and Springtide, the jarls of the Aesir met and discussed the realm’s affairs. But it was only at Midwinter that they partook of Aegir’s Bounty.
She patted Odin’s knee and stood. His face, normally lean and lupine, was swollen, scalded, and covered in red welts. He looked like he’d been whipped. Beneath what remained of his blackened, wet armor and sodden clothes, his body was similarly injured. She didn’t like the way he clutched his chest with one arm or the way his breath crackled and popped. He needed Baldr.
She didn’t look much better. Her light green dress was torn and stained with crushed grasses and crumbled tree bark. She’d ripped off one sleeve to daub Odin’s wounds, then torn the other off as much for symmetry as to have more cloth handy. The jarls would be upset at seeing her disheveled. But it was her neck—with light fingers she touched the heavy bruising—that would anger them.
But most would listen first. And once they saw Odin’s state, they’d realize that something else was at work.
Thor, however, would react first and listen later.
She finger-combed her hair, braided it roughly, and draped it over one shoulder, where it might partially hide her bruised neck. Then she tugged her feathery cloak forward to cover her goosebumped arms and walked toward the pair of burly figures pushing out of the mist.
Thor, red-bearded, tall and broad-shouldered, looked at her, a smile spreading across his expressive face. Beside him, Tyr strode black-bearded, black-eyed, serious.
She stepped to one side to make Odin clearly visible. If Thor saw how injured his father was, maybe curiosity and concern would restrain his temper.
Thor raised a hand in greeting, “Ho, Mother. Gná’s message reached me just in—”
He’d gotten close enough to see the marks around her throat. Like clouds on a windy day, confusion flew across his face.
“Thor, thank Aegir, have you seen Baldr? Your father needs him. Quickly.”
“He laid hands on you?” He growled the question having leaped, of course, to that conclusion. He towered over her, a thunderstorm, beefy fists clenched and red beard bristling.
Tyr looked more like a man calmly bracing for rough seas. His left hand rested on a sheathed knife that balanced the scabbarded sword hanging from his right hip. The knife was hung to be drawn more easily with that hand—the one Fenrir had not taken.
Thor’s hand dropped to Mjolnir’s leather-wrapped grip.
“Thor, take a moment and listen,” Tyr said. “Your father’s never laid hands on the Almother before. And look at him. Hár Frigg can fight, but she couldn’t do that to him.”
Thor’s blue eyes flickered like stormy skies as he looked from her to his father.
Frigg kept her voice calm and steady, an Alvar sooth-woman approaching a wild stallion. “Baldr. We need Baldr. Have you seen him, Thor?”
It must’ve helped, too, that Odin’s crackling breath, dimly heard where they stood, changed to hacking coughs. She looked back and saw him dabbing bright blood from his lips and beard.
Freki and Geri limped in from the mists, concern and pain evident even in their golden eyes.
“So, Mother, what did happen?” Thor asked, his brow clearing quicker than the sky after a summer storm. She wasn’t his actual mother, but he called her that anyway. He disliked complicating things, especially familial bonds. And apparently he’d decided to listen.
“Your father left early to speak with the Norns. When I arrived, he was fighting a spirit that had quickened the waters of Urdarbrunnr. I don’t know how long they fought, but you see what it did to him. His battle fury took him. Freki and Geri tried to make me leave, but I remained—”
“And that’s when he did this to you?”
“He wasn’t himself, Thor. His eyes glowed golden.”
“Lost control, eh, Father?” He walked around her and squatted beside Odin’s chair. “I warned you about that when you took that thing into you.”
Odin’s glare was evident even through the pain. He tried to speak, but he convulsed with a cough and all he produced was more bright blood. Frigg knelt beside him and daubed at his mouth with her former sleeve. His lips were blue, as if he were cold. She wadded up the remnants of her other sleeve and put it behind his neck.
“Did either of you see Baldr on the way down?” she repeated, hating the note of panic that had crept into her voice.
Tyr shook his head as Thor rumbled a negative.
“I did,” a sweet, soft voice replied. “They’re not far behind me. But maybe I can help—or what I carry with me can.”
“Oh, thank Aegir you’re here, Idunn,” she said, rising and holding out a hand. “May I?”
“Of course,” Idunn said, smiling.
With one slim hand, Idunn flung back the leather cover of the saddlebag draped over her shoulder and withdrew a single golden fruit twice as big as her palm. She laughed as a white moth lit upon it.
Frigg smiled her thanks, snatched it, and sank back to Odin’s side. Her knife flashed a piece from the fruit. “Odin, bite into this,” she urged. “Suck the juices, at least. Just get some of it into you. Quickly!”
Odin coughed again as pushed himself up a little straighter. She halved the slice she’d cut and pressed it into his open mouth. Color crept back into his face; the tautness in his shoulders eased. He chewed once, twice, then swallowed.
She fed him the other half. He sucked on it, chewed, then swallowed. Several ragged breaths later, he groaned and shifted. His ribs rasped against one another, the sound raised the hair on her arms.
Then he sagged back against the chair with a sigh, eyelids fluttering. “That’s better, Frigg. Thank you.”
His lips were no longer blue, and the red weals and blisters covering his face and hands had faded. Even the swelling began to recede. She smiled and stroked the side of his face.
He covered her hand with his own. “I’ll be all right.” He sat up a bit straighter, with less obvious pain, and spoke in a stronger voice. “And thank you, Idunn, both for your timely arrival and the fruits you brought.”
He coughed again, deep and scratchy, and spat it out. “I’ll take my place now, I think,” he said, gripping the arms of the chair and forcing himself upright. Sweat beaded on his brow.
“I really think you should wait until Baldr gets here,” Frigg said, frowning even as she moved to help him.

OUTRO
Well, folks, that was CHAPTER 40 of Kinsmen Die. I hope you enjoyed it. I apologize for my complete lack of vocal range and talent. With every chapter I read I have greater admiration for voice actors.


We were with Frigg after the fight with the water spirit. She’s tended to her husband, Odin, who was badly wounded and injured in that fight. We met Thor and Tyr as they arrived for the winter meeting of the jarls at Ithavoll.

Tyr is the one-handed Aesir; as alluded to here, he lost his hand to the giant wolf Fenrir.

Thor is the son of Odin and, both in myth and in my books, a mysterious woman named Jord. That name, Jord, means “earth” in Old Norse. 

In the myths, there is almost always tension between Odin and Thor…which I’ve carried into my books. 

Idunn arrives with the fruit of Yggdrasil. We’ve seen this fruit — in the myths they’re called “golden apples” — but the actual word in Old Norse, according to Simek, does not necessarily mean “apple.” I’ve chosen to describe them as apples b/c that’s what everyone is used to. 

I also call them (EYE-GIR) Aegir’s Bounty. In the myths, Aegir is a Jotunn who is typically associated with brewing. He is also usually associated with the benevolent aspects of the seas … his name means “ocean.” His wife, Rán…which means “robber” (one who steals)…is associated with the dangerous aspects of the ocean. The ocean gives life and can take it. As a people so accustomed to living by the seas, I’d imagine that the Norse people understood that dichotomy very well.


Next week, we’re back with Odin.  

Before then, if you have the time and inclination, please rate and/or review the podcast — that helps boost the show’s visibility. As does sharing it.

And if you’re so inclined, shoot me an email at mattbishopwrites@gmail.com.

I’d love to hear from you.
  
As always, I’m going to read from the Havamal, sayings of the High One, Odin himself.

As usual, I’ll be reading from Bellows and Larrington. 

If you recall from last week, there was a flip-flop in the stanzas thanks to differences in the source manuscripts and how different translators and/or editors made different choices in which stanzas came first.

Bellows, Verse 40

None so free with gifts or food have I found
That gladly he took not a gift,
Nor one who so widely scattered his wealth
That of recompense hatred he had.

Larrington, Verse 39
I never found a generous man, nor one so unstingy with food, that he wouldn’t accept what was given;
or one so open-handed with possessions
that he disliked a gift when offered.


 
Thanks for listening.