INTRO
 
Welcome to CHAPTER 49 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 we’re back with Vidar. It’s been quite a long time since his last chapter — episode 35. In that chapter, he and his war band, along with some Einherjar, attacked the Jotunn rearguard at the mining camp in the mountains near Hals. Vidar made a couple tactical errors when assaulting the Jotunn, but he and his war band prevailed.

We rejoin him now.

Chapter Forty-Nine
Vidar
“I could’ve done without seeing this.”
Vidar held the witchlamp higher so that its dim glow made the expanse of excrement roil with the panicked crawling of more insects than he’d ever seen in one place before. Pale-bodied, sinuous, and with the sound of ten thousand dry leaves burning, they fled the light, burrowing, sliding, or skittering their way across and beneath each other.
He suppressed a shudder, lowered his arm, and backed away from the jakes. Mikill and Smar swam up into the light, hands on their weapons as if finding a big pile of Jotunn excrement heralded an attack. More likely their tension stemmed from the low rustling of the insects; even six spears distant, the sound made his skin itch.
“Let’s head back,” he said, gesturing back down the tunnel to the main chamber.
Mikill and Smar fell in behind him, his Garilon-appointed personal protectors. The big one, Smar, had a round, cheery face and a scraggly beard. A sword-length shorter, Mikill moved like a whip. He had a scar down the left side of his face from brow to thick beard.
At Vidar’s order, everyone here moved as a single large group or in groups of threes. Always at least one set of eyes to watch. They had yet to come across the Jotunn who’d fled into the mine. They also had yet to find the Jotunn base and its expected cache of supplies.
As the trio returned to the main cavern, their light merged with the torches held by Garilon and his two companions.
Vidar gave Garilon a wry look. “I see why you didn’t want to go back in.”
“Jakes are a bit different topside,” Garilon said with a quick grin. “I’ll never put them close to a camp again, I can say that much.”
Behind Garilon, a circle of torches and witchlamps brought a dusk level of light to the big cavern. Their camp was laid on top of the wide-planked oak hub about six spears across that the miners had built as a staging area for the nine tracks that ran like spokes on a wagon’s wheel to the individual tunnels from which skymetal ore had been extracted.
“I don’t even want to think about how much shit is in that pile,” Garilon continued. “Especially since the miners probably used that same spot for who knows how long.”
“I wouldn’t hang my ass over that,” Mikill said, his voice a lean rasp just audible above the trickling stream of water a spear’s distance from them.
Smar laughed and wriggled, frantically brushing his hands across his rear as if something had just crawled on it.
Garilon jerked his head back toward the camp’s pool of light. “Why don’t you four head on back? The jarl and I will be along behind you. We’ll be safe enough.”
Mikill nodded, Smar grinned, and the two with Garilon, Lukr and Harafn stepped over the stream and headed off.
The water ran back to a small, shallow pool fed by a sheet of water flowing out of a crack in what they’d started calling the cavern’s back wall. From what Vidar could tell, the cavern was roughly egg-shaped. Any of the walls could be the back wall; it just depended on where you were headed.
When the four warriors were out of earshot, Garilon said, “So do we keep going, Jarl?”
They were maybe three nights from the surface. Figuring out how much actual time had passed by normal means, the rise and set of Sól and Máni, was obviously difficult. It was an interesting problem which he might try to solve once things settled down.
“Any word from the other groups sent into the mine shafts?” he asked.
Garilon shook his head. “Only three groups have returned. Nothing yet.”
Vidar pursed his lips and switched the witchlamp to his other hand. They had followed the fleeing Jotunn’s trail signs—scraped walls, footprints, dust disturbed, broken rock—but it wasn’t until they’d come this far that it became obvious the fleeing Jotunn were not only following the only route down, but they were retracing the steps previously taken by a much larger force—at least a full warband, possibly more. But if there was a second Jotunn warband, it had vanished into the mountains or headed straight west, away from any Aesir settlements.
“So one of few things happened,” he said, extending a thumb. “The Jotunn snuck across the Breach, stole across Asgard, then slipped into this mine and marched all the way down here and hid—though they might not have camped in this deep cavern the whole time.”
Garilon nodded, eyes narrowing. “Makes a certain amount of sense, if they arrived so early they needed to hide. But why not just time it better and attack right when they arrived?”
“Exactly,” Vidar said. He extended a forefinger. “Another option is that they came across the Breach but found a way into this mine somewhere east of here. Up in the mountains southwest of Ifington maybe.”
“The gothi didn’t mention anything about other entrances.”
“Maybe he didn’t know about it, or maybe the Jotunn just got lucky.” He extended another finger. “A third option is that they sailed across the Thund, marched over the mountains, and hid in here. Or maybe they found an entrance along the northern cliffs that face the Thund. This mine could run right through the mountain to the Thund.”
“In my opinion, Jarl, that makes the most sense—even though the gothi didn’t mention other entrances. It also explains how they had enough provisions. Much easier to carry them aboard ship, or several ships, than on your back or on horses. Unless…”
Unless they had help from someone in Háls or elsewhere. He couldn’t pursue that alternative now, not down here. And since he was here, it made sense to look into the other possibilities.
The question was, which tunnel led north? Above ground, he could tell. But down here? He kicked the wooden track that ran past his feet. And these tracks would have provided an easy way to transport supplies offloaded from ships. Or from the surface. 
He knelt beside the tracks and held the witchlamp close to them. They were dusty and worn—they didn’t look recently used.
He pulled his sweat-soaked shirt away from his chest. It was inexplicably hot down here. He and everyone else wore their lightest shirts. Still he’d insisted they carry their winter gear wherever they went. If one of these tunnels emerged on the mountain’s northern flank, they’d be glad for the warm clothing.
“The three groups, did they go to the end of the shafts they were exploring? Or did they just turn around?”
“If they didn’t go to the end, I’ll have them mucking out that pile of shit and bugs,” Garilon said, looking back at the camp’s glow. “But I’ll find out for certain, Jarl.”
Garilon stepped slightly closer and lowered his voice. “You should know, Jarl, that the warriors dislike being down here. They’ll go where you lead, of course. Just uneasy is all.”
Vidar nodded. “Thank you, Kjolr.”
He was, in fact, already aware of it. Maybe it was the edginess gained from constantly watching his fylgja. Or maybe it was from slogging alongside the others. Either way, he was more attuned to his warriors’ moods than ever before. He didn’t want to spend more time down here, either. It was unnatural.
But stay they would, until he had some answers.

OUTRO
Well, folks, that was CHAPTER 49 of Kinsmen Die. I hope you enjoyed it.

Vidar, Garilon, and the war band with them, have tracked the Jotunn deep into the mines of Moria…er, the mines beneath the mountains north of Hals.

Readers know that the Jotunn used a doorway to access Asgard and Hals, but Vidar has yet to find it.

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.
  
As always, I’m going to read from both the Bellows and Larrington translations of the Havamal, the sayings of the High One, Odin himself.

Bellows, Verse 49

My garments once in a field I gave
To a pair of carven poles;
Heroes they seemed when clothes they had,
But the naked man is nought.

Larrington, Verse 49
My clothes I gave out in the field
to two wooden men;
champions they thought themselves when they had clothing, the naked man is despised.
 


Thanks for listening.