Welcome to CHAPTER 42 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.

This week, without further ado, let’s get right to it.

Chapter Forty-Two
Loki
A white moth flitted away into the swirling mists, leaving behind the broad table around which the Aesir sat and spoke. Higher and higher it flew, until the white mist below it undulated like the sea.
The white moth changed, then, becoming a dusky snow owl that, on broad wings, silently rose higher along the brown boredom of Yggdrasil’s rough bark until, after a time, the prominence of a branch became evident. The branch pointed outward—eastward, maybe—into the speckled darkness. The owl followed the branch, keenly searching until it dove into a pool of water.
With a crack like the sound of breaking ice, the owl burst into Utgard’s night sky. A freezing wind caught the owl, spun it around and flung it downward. Still silent, the owl rode the wind’s swells and troughs, feathers fluttering, wings cupped and then drawn in, then fully extended till the buffeting eased and, like a longship emerging from a gale, it began to glide.
The owl stared down at a wide expanse of snow and ice, dotted with frozen lakes, and ringed by mountains. It soared downward, flaring its wings to slow, the ground grew larger and larger, it reached taloned feet toward a snow-covered ridge and, in its shadow, thumped down onto four massive paws in a spray of ice and snow.
The bear lifted its black nose and sniffed. White fur ruffling, it shuffled in a tight circle, nose to ground, snuffling, seeking scents. It was alone. The bear lurched into a shambling run that soon brought it to a rock strewn ridge above the wide mist-wreathed lake.
Máni hung above the eastern mountains’ sharp teeth a morsel of meat held above a wolf’s gaping jaws. Overhead, the Bifrost split the sky in two, from the deep north to touch down beyond the Aesir’s fortress in the south. Low in the west, a storm sulked.
In the faint shadows, the bear became Loki. He stretched and popped his neck while watching dozens of distant figures moving back and forth between the lake and a spot at the base of the cliffs that towered over the eastern shore. The Jotunn were going into and out of the same deep cave that was his destination.
They had to know how risky it was to work beneath clear skies, even if the forerunning clouds, the stray ships of the sky, were beginning to gather. They must have a way of knowing when Ygg and Goldtooth were looking. Thanks to his efforts, Goldtooth had seen nothing but the bottom of a cup for the past eighteen winters. The Skrymir must know Ygg had returned to Gladsheim, so the fact that this work was happening at all suggested the Jotunn had well-placed spies—other than himself, of course. Not that he was spying for them. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.
He shivered, exhaled into cupped hands, but became the thick-furred bear again anyway. He still had a long way to go—and he needed to think on what he’d learned at Ithavoll. Better wrestle with his thoughts now, when he had time, than later when he might not.
Ygg’s return to Gladsheim well before Midwinter had not been part of anyone’s plan. As he’d just learned, his quarry’s unexpected dreams had caused Frigg to send for her absent husband. Were those dreams the result of what he’d done or was something else involved—like that spirit from the well?
He blew out a beary breath. It didn’t matter. He had two immediate problems. Ygg would expect his blood brother Loki to show up at some point. He had a good excuse as to why he hadn’t yet—traditionally, he visited his wrongfully exiled children during the weeks before and after Midwinter. Ygg knew that, so he would be patient—to a point.
The other problem was the idiotic, failed attack on Háls. Why had it even been permitted? Not only had it betrayed the Jotunn’s hand, but the Aesir had been jolted from their complacence. And now Ygg was more motivated than ever to wipe out the Jotunn.
He stared up at the Bifrost, as if he could find the answer in the milky ribbon. 
The Skrymir would play for time hoping to lull the Aesir. He’d have his envoys grovel and blame the attack on a rogue tribe. It wouldn’t work, of course. The Skrymir must know that. But they did need time; there was no way the Jotunn's forces were in place yet. Attacking a prepared Gladsheim would be stupid, but that’s what the Norns had scratched and painted. 
He had planned to strike during the Midwinter festival—and then escape during the confusion and panic of a full-scale Jotunn attack.
Would they call off their attack? He needed them to move forward. It was his only chance to escape. Murder was only half his plan. It had to be now. He’d committed himself after winters upon winters of patient planning…of enduring humiliation after humiliation. And once winter receded, his handiwork would be discovered and Ygg would take steps to fix it.
He snorted, breath blowing out in a huge cloud. He’d delivered the distractions he’d promised and that had furthered the Skrymir’s plans.
He needed the Jotunn, but maybe they no longer needed him. If they simply delayed their plans…or canceled their attack entirely…if he went ahead with his plan, he’d be exposed. No confusion to mask his escape. Even worse, the Skrymir might betray him to Ygg. Sure, that would eventually lead to the Skrymir’s own plan being revealed…but betraying Loki would be one way to get the time they needed.
But how to convince the Skrymir to attack Gladsheim anyway?
He stood and shook his shaggy, massive sides like any bear might. Down below, the figures toiled, oblivious to anything except their labor and the icy water.
He had to learn what the Skrymir and Vafthrudnir planned before deciding what best suited his own purposes. If they tried to kill him tonight, he could escape—maybe even kill one of them in the process. Then he could return to Gladsheim with news of a Jotunn plot against the Aesir—and how he, Loki, had foiled it after months of careful treachery. See how loyal, how faithful their hound Loki was?
But if he didn’t kill them all, the Jotunn might reveal what Loki plotted. Ygg probably wouldn’t believe the enemy over his blood brother. Probably. 
The bigger issue would be that half his plans would be wrecked because of short-sighted, timid Jotunn. And he’d have to get his boys safely out of Helveg. Beli would kill them without hesitation if he thought Loki had betrayed the Jotunn. 
The Jotunn must still attack on Midwinter.
He let loose a frustrated roar and then ambled down the long slope leading down to the lake. A cloud of snow and ice trailed him like all of Ygg’s broken promises.

***

Loki leaned against the back wall of the cave entrance he had glimpsed from above the lake. Three longships stem to stern would easily span the cave’s low mouth. It was at least that same distance back to where he stood beside one of several tunnels that disappeared into still deeper sections.
The cave floor had been smoothed; the ceiling and walls were natural, untouched stone. Dozens of braziers set along the curve of the inside wall cast an uneven, ruddy light throughout the cave. Still more braziers, one every few spear lengths, lined the tunnels. The hulking, wild shadows thrown against the walls made it seem like a tribe of giants labored silently in the cave. Their task was gigantic, but the Jotunn were not.
After descending from the ridge, Loki had shifted to his Jotunn shape and presented himself to one of the outlying sentries. Since he was expected, the sentry had escorted him to the cave, delivering him into the custody of the stocky warrior who stood beside him now.
During the short walk along the cliff face, he had observed a handful of workers standing waist deep in the frigid lake amid chunks of thick ice. With long poles, they pulled dark shapes up from the black water and then pushed them back toward those standing in shallower water. More Jotunn floated those shapes onto rafts, which they shoved and prodded toward shore. On shore, still more men dragged the laden rafts free from the water, up the shore, and into the cave.
Now, he saw the other half of their labors. A pair of workers emerged out of the tunnel to his left, casually dragging an empty wooden sledge toward the mouth of the cave. They passed another pair, bent-backed, hauling a laden sledge toward the tunnels.
But it was the cargo on those sledges that really interested Loki. As one passed by, he got a good look. As if deeply asleep, two Jotunn laid side by side on it, each wrapped tight from head to foot in sodden, wide strips of brown cloth still flecked with ice and frost. A metal disk sat above the heart of each figure with a single rune pulsing slowly in the center.
“Awe-inspiring, isn’t it?” The voice was quiet, deep, and calm, much like, in a way, the frozen lake from which these bodies had been dragged.
Startled, he forced himself to incline his head in greeting before saying in the Jotunn hand speech, “Indeed it is, Skrymir.”
Long ago, he had journeyed with Thor into Utgard and battled with the first Skrymir, the one after whom all the other chiefs were named. This Skrymir and that one looked similar, but that had been long ago—before he’d even met Angrboda and had children with her.
“You are late, son of Farbauti.” The Skrymir’s fingers moved smoothly as they formed the words. Fewer lines and wrinkles marred that lean face than Loki would have expected of so aged a Jotunn.
“I’ve come as we had agreed. And I bring important news.”
The Skrymir’s fingers danced. “But were you pursued? Does Goldtooth even now listen for your every word with ears keener than a hound’s? Does he seek you with eyes sharper than an eagle’s?”
He shook his head. “Goldtooth primarily concerns himself with finding the bottom of a cup, as you well know. When I left, the Aesir were still at Ithavoll.”
“So you were with Goldtooth, then?”
Loki gestured toward the string of sleeping Jotunn being dragged into the cave’s depths, then signed, “If you’re so concerned about Goldtooth, then why does the work continue under clear skies?”
The Skrymir threw him a shrewd, sly look that cast Loki back across more than three hundred winters to when the first Skrymir had thrown a similar sharp-eyed gaze at a young Thor. The similarity was uncanny. But this man before could not be that Skrymir. Ygg protected Yggdrasil’s fruits more closely than Frigg did her—
“We knew that the Aesir were in council,” the Skrymir signed. “Not that we aren’t grateful for how completely you’ve blunted his sharp eyes and ears.”
And so that confirmed it: the Jotunn had other spies among the Aesir.
The Skrymir smiled, teeth flashing white in the gloom. “Yes, Loki, we have other sources of information. None quite as capable as you or with as much access, but they are helpful. You’ll find them of use soon, too, I should think.”
“Are Jotunn sympathizers so easy to find?” he asked. “I’m hurt. I thought I was unique.”
“Oh, you are,” the Skrymir said aloud. He gestured down the tunnel from which he’d emerged, and his fingers danced again. “But come, the cold’s setting into these old bones. Let’s slink into our warren. We have much to discuss.”

***

Loki ran his fingers along the smooth, warm wall. Utgard was much warmer deep below the surface, as the Jotunn builders had discovered long ago. Given the slope of the floor and the ache in his legs, they’d descended far and were headed deeper stillx.
Deeper into the stone gullet, the warmth began to drag on him, dampening his armpits and the small of his back. He was acutely conscious of the tall warden behind him, stone silent, and the warden leading the way. Had he been right? Was he headed to his own death?
He threw back his cloak. “These tunnels are impressive work, Skrymir,” he said with his hands.
The high chief didn’t break stride. With his hands, he said, “Just wait.”
They rounded another bend, and the heat seemed to plant itself on his chest.
“Why so many twists and turns?” he asked.
“Because Vafthrudnir’s mind is nearly as devious as your own,” the Skrymir signed, twisting toward him so his fingers could be seen. “Can you not guess?”
The Jotunn lived in constant dread of Goldtooth—their name for Heimdall—and his hearing. Goldtooth’s eyesight was supernal, too, but no matter how far he could see, he couldn’t look through solid rock any more than Ygg could. But sound always had a way of sneaking out. Loki swore Goldtooth could hear the grass growing, but he couldn’t hear everything all the time.
He’d proven that himself when he’d taught a flock of green-winged birds how to repeat Goldtooth’s name. His theft of Freyja’s necklace, which had led to his fight with Goldtooth—the one he’d made sure to so spectacularly lose—had provided the perfect excuse for what everyone still called a bit of mischief gone horribly wrong.
“I assume they help trap sound beneath the ground?”
The Skrymir nodded. “Well done, Loki. They do indeed—at least we think so. Very hard to test.”
“Then why does the one tunnel up top run straight?”
“Nothing’s ever said there. And, double sets of heavy doors stand between the surface and that tunnel.” The chief halted beside a blank wall, while the tunnel ran on. He banged the butt of his seax against the smooth rock beside him. “Only one set here.”
With a clunk and a long grinding, the wall pulled away from the Skrymir. Light peeked out around its edges, and then it slid to one side. As it moved, yellow light fell in a widening slant across the corridor. The door clicked to a halt; the chief stepped through.
As soon as Loki stepped out of the hot, close tunnel, it felt like a weight on his shoulders had vanished. No more roof an arm’s length above his head, only the feeling of a great, shadowed height up into which he might, as an owl, soar.
“We’re careful to only engage in the work when we’re confident Goldtooth is otherwise occupied. Which is often, thanks to you.” The Skrymir waved a hand toward the empty space. “Have a look.”
Loki took another step out and realized he stood on a wide pathway cut into the living rock. The path ran level off to his left and dipped down on his right to wind gradually down the cavern’s perimeter. Just as the ceiling rose upward, so too did the ground plummet away beneath. It made his head spin.
As his eyes adjusted to the sheer scale of the cavern, he picked out more details, particularly with the twin glow of the braziers behind him. The heat was less oppressive here thanks to the gently flowing air that carried with it the acrid tinge of smoke and the richer smells of cooking meat.
From what he could see, none of the cavern except the path where he stood had been shaped with seidr. High above, the ceiling glimmered as if it were the heavens themselves and not just the reflected light of the thousand fires scattered among the stalagmites below. And around those fires, figures moved.
He turned and saw only one warden now, facing the stone door and working the metal levers that moved the door along its track. It clicked shut. He’d never been fond of caves, much less the idea of being trapped in one.
The Skrymir caught his eye, smiled faintly, and stepped up beside him. In a sweeping gesture, he indicated the huge cavern and the fires below. “This is one of many such chambers scattered throughout Utgard. As we wake our brothers and sisters from their long sleep, they live, train, and prepare in these places until they are called upon.”
The older Jotunn’s eyes were a weighty black in the low light. “And remember, Loki, these are your people. I know how badly you and your family have been treated by the Aesir but consider these many thousands more who’ve been similarly treated. What you do, you also do for them.”
He stared down into the cavern, nearly a reflection of the night sky he’d sat beneath earlier. Of course the Skrymir was trying to make sure that he, unpredictable Loki, stayed loyal to the Jotunn cause. And trying to make him see that despite his very personal need for revenge, the coming conflict wasn’t just personal.
But none of that meant the Skrymir was also trying to deceive him.
Actually, he was being shown the truth in much the same way Ygg had brought him before the Norns so that he could hear their prophecy with his own ears.
He glanced back at the Skrymir. Loki knew—he knew it—that this man before him would not break his word like Ygg had done, if for no other reason than what the Skrymir did, he did for his people.
The Skrymir held out a hand to him.
Loki took it.

***

Loki stepped into the high-ceilinged room, well lit by witchlamps set in sconces. The floor was smooth and covered by rugs. Heavy-looking wood furniture was clustered in a few areas, including a large wooden table flanked by witchlamp braziers.
“Excuse me for a moment.” The Skrymir stepped in behind Loki and tugged the heavy door shut.
He then lifted a long metal rod from where it lay flush against the wall and rotated it up like a man raising his arm. The action of the metal arm pressed a leather skirt tight against the door’s edges. With a scrape and a muted ting of metal on metal, the Skrymir shoved a hefty pin through a pair of holes in a bracket bolted to the wall. It appeared to keep the metal arm in place.
Doubly trapped. Or perhaps triply now. He’d lost track. Loki waved a hand at the door. “What’s that about?”
“Vafthrudnir says it helps keep the sound in.”
“Yet another precaution, eh?”
“If we’re overheard, the Thunderer will crack the mountain and scoop us out. But deep as we are and with several sealed doors between us and the surface, we are safe to speak aloud.” The Skrymir gestured toward a nearby clutch of four chairs set on a big red rug. A small table was set with an array of food and drink. “So please, Loki, refresh yourself. Sit.”
The Skrymir crossed the room and took one of the chairs that faced the door. Loki was forced to either show trust by sitting with his back to a door—at least it was sealed from this side—or show distrust by sitting beside the chief.
He delayed making the obvious choice by helping himself to a small cup of wine and filling a small platter with some dried fish and bread, as much to quell his belly’s rumbling as to buy a moment to think.
The Skrymir leaned back. “Before you arrived, I was reviewing the last information we received from the shaman with Ama’s warband—before he was killed and we lost that warband. Do you have any more insights into that fight?”
How much to tell him? So far, this reception was going as expected. But he was also locked in an underground cave with a man who might intend to kill him.
He gestured toward the small table. “Can I bring you anything?”
The Skrymir made a dismissive gesture. “No, I’m fine.”
Food and drink in hand, Loki sat down opposite the Skrymir, back prickling, and took a deliberate swallow of wine. Why show himself a liar over something so easy to verify? And a bit of truth might win some tidbit in exchange and help him figure out who the Jotunn spy, or spies, might be. He could use that to his advantage.
The Skrymir betrayed no annoyance at the silence. If anything, his black eyes twinkled as if he knew exactly what Loki was doing. “Perhaps it will save time if I tell you what I know. Ama attacked Háls in Vithi. The last communication we had was that the town had been razed, its people driven out, and his warband was preparing to engage with Jarl Vidar’s. We’ve heard nothing from him since, but...”
Loki nodded. “Vidar’s warband wiped them out. And based on what was not said at Ithavoll, Vidar used some seidr to make the victory possible. Ygg avoided the subject entirely.”
“Vafthrudnir said as much.” The Skrymir’s expression soured. “Ygg was there at the battlefield?”
“He was, along with a full company of Einherjar. They arrived the morning after Vidar’s warband.”
The Skrymir’s fingers drummed on the arm of his chair.
Loki frowned. “What are you not telling me?”
The Skrymir gave him a shrewd look. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now—or at all, really. Vafthrudnir watched the battle. He said that Vidar is a baresark and that he lost control of his fylgja.”
“Really?” The prickling of his back redoubled.
“You didn’t know?”
Was this entire conversation a ploy to test how truthful he’d be? “I’d no idea—not about that, at least. I knew that Ygg had taught Vidar some of the old charms, but a baresark, too?” He blew out a breath. “So Thandir is dead, then?”
“For many winters now, yes. I’m surprised you hadn’t heard.”
“I’m not much for gossip.”
The Skrymir’s laughed boomed off the ceiling.
“How did he die, if I may ask?”
“He went through one of Vafthrudnir’s doorways, looking for the Sons. We still don’t know what happened to him. Nothing good, obviously.” The Skrymir waved the subject away. “But tell me, why do you think Ygg wouldn’t want it spoken about?”
“Simple enough, really. Making Vidar a baresark meant that Ygg broke another promise. The next baresark was to be a Vanir. I assume Freyr and Freyja know but are keeping quiet until there’s something else they really want.”
But if they didn’t know, then he might be able to use that issue to drive a wedge between the Aesir and Vanir. It would take time to break that alliance apart, but enough hammer strikes split even the thickest trees.
“What are you thinking, Loki?”
He sat up straighter. “Just that I share the Aesir’s confusion over why you let Ama’s warband attack in the first place. They seemed to settle on their pursuit of some device Vidar partially reconstructed.”
“So he did succeed in that?”
“Partially, yes. They believe it’s Svartalvar-made, which Freyr and Freyja weren’t happy about. Does that device do what I think it does?”
The Skrymir nodded. “They haven’t guessed?”
“Not yet. They think the warband slipped across the Breach or smuggled themselves into Asgard via the trade route.”
“Good.”
Loki snorted. “Vidar has stayed behind in Háls. He’ll figure out how the warband got there soon enough.”
“Before Midwinter, I expect,” the Skrymir said, frowning.
“Then why did you let Ama attack? Why betray your biggest advantage long before you needed it?”
The Skrymir frowned. “We don’t think Ygg already knows about the doorways—or even their possibility. But even if he does, he cannot find the doorways without a functioning device.”
“You’re that certain Ygg doesn’t know about any of this or that he can’t, through other means, find these doorways.”
“Reasonably so, yes,” the Skrymir said.
So, not at all certain. “Are you confident that your attack will still surprise them? Because they’re preparing for the worst right now.”
The Skrymir spread his hands. “That’s one of the reasons why I wanted to speak with you face-to-face.”
Loki raised an eyebrow and sat back. Here it was. 
“We cannot attack on Midwinter as planned. But we still need you to go ahead and kill Baldr.”
So, they weren’t going to kill him after all. They wanted him to kill himself.

OUTRO
Well, folks, that was CHAPTER 42 of Kinsmen Die. I hope you enjoyed it. 

I apologize for not providing a plot summary before the chapter this week. I was trying to keep the “reveal” of Loki in this chapter a bit of a surprise — he’s also been present in the chapters ever since we encountered the first white moths in Ithavoll.

There was again a lot of talking in this chapter, but again I hope you’re finding that the plot is advancing — and now we know what Loki intends to do. Murder Baldr.

How will he do that when the book’s established that Baldr cannot be killed? And yet the book’s also established that Baldr’s having some weird, death-like dreams.

So, I hope some mysteries remain.

Next week we’re back with Odin. Until 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. 

Bellows, Verse 42

To his friend a man a friend shall prove,
And gifts with gifts requite;
But men shall mocking with mockery answer,
And fraud with falsehood meet.



Larrington, Verse 42
To his friend a man should be a friend and repay gifts with gifts; laughter men should accept with laughter but return deception for a lie.
 
Thanks for listening.