INTRO
 
Welcome to CHAPTER 52 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 Hodr Odinsson. It’s been quite a few chapters since we were with him. He had been trampled by a horse and had his skull cracked open. The only reason he survived is that a couple days prior to being trampled he’d eaten a year-old Yggdrasil fruit. In this chapter, we’re back with the still-recuperating Hodr.

Chapter Fifty-Two
Hodr
Hodr threw another split log on the fire and leaned back against his tree, listening to the snap and crackle of the log between the fire’s teeth. His head still ached, and his ribs were sore, but at least he’d been able to get out of bed and breathe fresh air before Sól had fled beyond the mountains.
Alara had urged him to come back inside, but he’d refused. A night beneath the stars would do him good. She’d protested, but since the night was mild she’d finally relented—after having the thralls build him a fire, set wood beside it, fetch him a stool and now, with a rucksack full of food and a pair of ale jugs to hand, he was well set for the night.
Alara had always thought it odd that he enjoyed spending even the coldest nights outside beneath what was now the lone tree in the yard where their few animals grazed. Beyond the fence lay dozens of other longhouses and workshops—weavers and clothiers, mostly. The louder and smellier trades, such as the smithies and tanneries, were on Ifington’s other side, closer to the docks.
What Alara didn’t quite understand was that having spent many winters wandering with only Kona for company, he enjoyed knowing that at any time, he could kick snow and dirt over the fire and be welcomed inside her home.
He wasn’t alone anymore.
So he sat outside, kept the chill at bay with heavy clothes and a warm fire, a reminder to himself of everything he had gained. Then, too, he was reminded of everything he might lose should he stay with Alara.
The animals in their pens squawked and snorted. Kona’s whinny joined the chorus, but she didn’t sound frightened. Even so, Hodr reached for the long stick that had replaced his broken spear and cocked an ear toward the night. Out beyond the fire’s crackle, the silence swelled like an ocean wave until his ears rang.
He caught the sound of snow breaking under feet. Four feet. Padded feet, landing on the inside of the tall fence that enclosed the yard.
“Come out,” he called, leaning back onto the tree. “I hear you well enough.”
Loud panting sounded in front of him, followed by a happy, muffled woof.
Hodr smiled and threw another log on the fire. “I thought it might be you. I suppose it is that time of year again, eh, Geri?”
Geri dropped a bundle next to him. It thumped and rolled into one of his booted feet. Geri woofed again, louder this time, and bumped his shoulder, nearly knocking him off his stool.
He laughed and caught himself. “Careful now, you’ll roll me right into the fire.” He ruffled his ears and scratched his side. “And yes, I missed you too.”
Geri licked his face, whined twice and woofed again.
He wiped his face with his sleeve and threw an arm around the big wolf’s shoulders. “Oh, I doubt that’s the case. But it’s nice of you to say.”
Geri sat and leaned into him.
“And where’s your sister at?” Hodr asked, cocking his head. Freki usually tried to outdo her brother.
Geri slid down to lay beside him. He yipped and growled.
“Sent elsewhere? Well, I’m sure you’ll be back together soon enough.”
Hodr felt Geri’s low rumble of agreement against his shoulder.
“You know,” he said, “I was thinking I might come back this winter. Maybe.”
Geri woofed—approvingly—and laid his head down on his paws.

***

As night wore on, a light wind soughed across the yard and stirred the bare branches above him. Protesting, they creaked and clacked like old bones. Hodr shrugged himself deeper into his cloak and even deeper into his thoughts.
Colder now that his father’s wolf had left him, he tossed the last logs onto the fire. Heat blossomed, and he edged closer, burrowing still deeper into his cloak. His stomach rumbled, and he felt for the bag Geri had brought, just as he, or Freki, or both of his father’s wolves had every winter since he’d left Gladsheim. He withdrew the large, heavy fruit, which distant memory told him was the color of Sól’s rising light. He held the fruit to his nose and inhaled: grass after a light rain, the hint of flowers on the wind, and the warbling cry of songbirds.
Just a bite, maybe two. Three at most. Then the rest for Alara.
His mouth watered at the thought of the golden skin breaking beneath his teeth and the burst of juices filling his mouth, sending fire through every part of his body.
Hodr opened his mouth to bite into the fruit. The wind gusted and blew wood smoke and ash into his face. He coughed and spat, turning aside. He dug in his rucksack for the jug of ale, took a swig, swirled it in his mouth, and spat it out.
Had the Norns just made their will plain? Even as the thought rattled in his mind, his father’s words came to him: The Norns can scrape and paint all they want, but I was alive long before they were. My doom is mine to set, not theirs.
Hodr shoved the fruit into his rucksack and stood. He kicked dirt and snow over the fire, snatched up his stick, and tapped his way toward the house. Toward Alara.


OUTRO
Well, folks, that was CHAPTER 52 of Kinsmen Die. I hope you enjoyed it.

Hodr enjoyed his first night outside the way house where he lives with his girlfriend, Alara. He is visited by Geri, one of Odin’s wolves, who had brought a fresh fruit from Yggdrasil’s boughs. You’ll recall that during the “council” scene, Odin had dropped an apple into a bag. This is where it ended up.

Hodr was strongly temped to eat of the fruit but smoke blown into his face discouraged him. He appears to be faced with a choice.

Next week we’re back with Frigg.


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 52

No great thing needs a man to give,
Oft little will purchase praise;
With half a loaf and a half-filled cup
A friend full fast I made.

Larrington, Verse 51
A man need not give only a big gift,
often you buy praise with a little; with half a loaf and a tilted cup
I’ve got myself a companion.

Thanks for listening.