INTRO
 
Welcome to CHAPTER 62 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 Odin. His last few chapters have dealt with him cutting out his eye so that he may see more clearly — what’s happening to his son Baldr, how Loki is (or is not) involved in what’s going on with Baldr, how Loki is (or is not) involved in the attack on Hals — which Vidar Odinsson is still investigating — and what may eventually happen for the Aesir as a people.

Readers know from Loki’s chapters that he is involved with the Jotunn…that he is planning to murder Baldr during the Midwinter celebration…and that the Jotunn are planning to attack Gladsheim shortly thereafter.

Readers also know that the Jotunn have discovered doorways that allow them to step from one place to another instantly. Vidar discovered one of those doorways. And readers know that there is one doorway inside Gladsheim’s walls and at least one other nearby — we know this because the Skrymir allowed Loki to see a map of where those doorways are.

There is also a mystery happening — Mimir, Odin’s uncle, discovered a ritual in Angrboda’s broken down house. Angrboda is Loki’s first wife. Together they had three children: Hel, Jorm and Fenrir. Readers don’t know what that ritual involved other than an apparent invocation directed toward a fang.

Readers have also learned that the Norns — who we’ve met — told Odin and Frigg that Baldr would die if he wasn’t protected. That’s why they hid his spirit in the mistletoe — which somebody figured out despite Odin and Frigg keeping that secret for a very long time. We saw that somebody cut out the heart of the mistletoe and took it away. What’s left on the tree where it grew was just enough to fool the casual eye that the entire plant remained.

The Norns also prophesied that the “monstrous children” of Angrboda and Loki would bring doom to the Aesir. That is why Odin decided to kill them…but according to the memory Odin discovered while staring into the pool of water near Mimir, Loki may have intervened and stopped him.

But, upon reflection — see what I did there! — Odin’s not entirely sure he can trust that memory because the water trickling down Yggdrasil and flowing over Mimir is the same water that feeds the Well of Urdr. And it was from that Well that a spirit arose and attacked him…for reasons that Odin doesn’t quite know, but he suspects that that spirit wanted to possess his body. 

So, hopefully that recap makes sense. But whether it does or not, it’s time to rejoin Odin.

Chapter Sixty-Two
Odin
Odin sat motionless, his head tilted back under the light of a dozen witchlamps. Through a big circle of curved glass banded with silver, Baldr peered down at his father’s ruined eye socket.
Odin ran the fingers of one hand round and round the heavy coils of Draupnir. Loki had brought him the arm ring after a hugely lucrative sojourn into the Svartalvar smithies.
Loki.
His eye fell on the copy of Draupnir looped around Frigg’s wrist like one of those huge snakes in Alvheim’s hot, wet forests. Baldr wore one, too, as did his assistant, Eir.
Angrboda must have another gotten a copy of Draupnir, since she’d flung the one he’d given her back at him. Loki had his own duplicate of Draupnir, so she hadn’t used his for the ritual Mimir, and he, had discovered in Angrboda’s decrepit house. 
Draupnir magically created a duplicate of herself every nine moon risings. Unless they needed one to mark the promotion of a jarl or as a reward for honorable service, every copy was melted down and turned into coins. Each of the copies that had dropped while he’d been wandering were accounted for: He gave most to village chiefs he’d met during his journey; the others he buried or flung into deep water.
“Hold still, Father,” Baldr said, voice stern.
So where had that copy of Draupnir come from? Perhaps she stole one. Or Loki had.
“And why exactly did you cut your eye out, Father?” Baldr asked, his tone both respectful and incredulous.
“To see more clearly.” The new hollow in his face felt like a never-ending yawn.
“Seems counterproductive,” Baldr said. He handed the glass to Eir and looked across the room to Frigg. “You did well, Mother. The bleeding’s stopped, and the swelling is less than I would’ve expected.”
Frigg stood and stepped closer. “May I have a look?”
Baldr nodded. “Eir, if you don’t mind?”
“Not at all,” Eir said.
Odin turned his head so that his one eye could see his wife. “I’m not some—”
“Oh, hush,” she said. “I want to see how Vidar’s creation works.”
Frigg leaned forward and looked through the thick glass Eir held out. She slipped both hands from beneath her feathered cloak and took it.
“Move it back and forth between yourself and the Alfather,” Eir said. “When his features become sharp, clear, and much bigger, hold that spot.”
Frigg nodded and then she was gone, having moved into his blind spot. He could feel her breath on his forehead, though.
“Fascinating,” she said finally.
“Isn’t it?” Baldr said. “I’ve no idea how Vidar made it, but the sight it grants has given me a dozen new ideas on how our bodies work.”
Frigg straightened and handed the glass back to Eir. “So Baldr, how much unhealable damage did your father do to himself?”
“The bone above his eye socket has already begun to knit, as is the nasty sword cut, but this part here needs a couple of stitches. He did surprisingly little damage to his eyelids and socket, so those should heal well too.” Baldr extended one cool finger to touch Odin’s forehead. “Those waters seem to have an effect similar to my own elixirs.”
“The song I sung over Mimir is the same as you had from me,” Odin said, shifting in his seat. “And it helps that the waters flowing over Mimir are the same as those that nourish Yggdrasil.”
He raised a hand to touch the empty hole in his face. He could just barely sense the link to his eye, left behind in the pool. Over time, it would grow stronger.
Baldr caught his wrist. “Don’t touch the wound. It’s clean and not bleeding. You touch it, and you risk doing more damage. So you’re saying what, that those waters heal?”
Odin lowered his hand and shrugged. “Not exactly. They encourage it.”
Baldr was about to ask more, but Frigg interrupted him. “Last night, you said you’d have to replace the eye with something?”
Baldr nodded. “Nanna left before dawn for the goldsmith’s shop, the one that sells her jewelry. She said she had something that might help, but that it would likely be evening before it was ready.”
He turned back to the table and spoke over his shoulder. “Until then, I suggest you both rest, either here or back at your house. Just don’t move around too much, and definitely don’t touch the wound. At all.”
Baldr withdrew the compress he’d left soaking in a stoneware bowl and squeezed it so excess elixir dripped back into the bowl. “Eir?”
Gladsheim’s chief valkyr gave a quick nod and picked up a long cloth bandage.
“Put your head back again please, Father,” Baldr said.
Baldr placed the compress gently, packing it both into the empty socket and on his forehead. Then Eir wrapped a bandage around Odin’s head, tying a knot over the compress to keep it in place. It smelled of wildflowers, berries, and hot rainy days.
With a quick, efficient nod so much like his mother’s, Baldr said, “That’s all I can do for now. I’ll check in with you later. Get some rest.”

***

Back at their longhouse, Frigg helped him remove what remained of his clothes and then get settled in their bed. The frame creaked as it took his weight.
She stroked his hair. “How’s the pain?”
He shrugged. “Hurts, but whatever’s in the compress is dulling it.”
“Good,” she said.
She turned at a sound from the door. Gná stood there, hands folded before her. Frigg nodded and sighed, and Gná slipped away.
“It seems I’ll have to leave shortly to handle some things.” She poked his chest with one finger. “Funny how the Alfather gets all the respect but hasn’t actually ruled in Gladsheim for quite some time.”
“All the respect? That’s not what I’ve seen.”
She reached out and brushed his temple with gentle fingertips. “Odin, why did you do this to yourself?”
He closed his eye and let out a long breath. A glib answer wouldn’t let him avoid her question. “Long before our marriage, I hung myself upon Yggdrasil, seeking power I might use against Ymir.”
Her hand drifted down, brushing his neck where the scars from the ropes still lingered and then running down to where the spear had split his side.
He nodded his head slightly, winced, and said, “I’ve realized that we now face a different challenge. I don’t understand what’s happening. The Norns have refused to guide me, Mimir was deceived and trapped, and apparently, the same was done to me ages ago by Loki. Or something else.”
“So Mimir said,” she replied. She sat down on the edge of the bed and pushed him gently back against the piled pillows. “He told me what you said, that Loki was behind everything.”
“That’s what I saw after I broke the charm he’d cast over me like a net. He vowed to destroy everything I’d built. That we’ve built.”
Her brow furrowed. “Does that sound like Loki to you?”
“What do you mean?”
She leaned back and shrugged. “You know Loki better than I do, but neither of you are much for threats.”
He frowned and met her eyes. “Meaning that if I were planning revenge, the last thing I’d do is announce my intention beforehand—especially to the one I meant to harm.”
“Exactly,” she said with a quick nod.
“So what are you suggesting, then?” He suspected he knew exactly what she was going to say. It was the same thing Mimir had suggested—and he suspected it himself, which was at least partly why he reclaimed that glade.
“I’m not saying Loki isn’t behind some or maybe even all of these…events…but is it possible your memories were changed by that thing beneath Urd’s Well? You said yourself those waters all have the same source. If it attacked you once through them, then why not again?”
He grunted. “I’m not convinced it could have altered my memories.”
“But Loki did—and without you knowing? Seems to me that creature, whatever it is, has more to gain by making you distrust someone you’ve always trusted. It keeps you off balance and pursuing threads that lead nowhere, while also maybe turning a friend into an enemy.”
“The problem is, Frigg, that I can believe Loki’s responsible for all this. I did exile his children. What he said in those veiled memories struck a hard note. Maybe he really does plan revenge.”
She raised a hand. “Let’s assume that’s true. How did he alter your memories? He’s never shown that type of seidr before. Also, how did he learn of Baldr’s mistletoe? We’ve protected that secret like no other. Even if he did learn of it, what good would it do to cut only some of it? You can’t make a weapon from mistletoe—that’s one of the reasons we chose that plant. If he really wanted to kill Baldr, why not cut the tree down along with the mistletoe and burn it all?”
Those were good points.
“Also, his involvement doesn’t explain the Jotunn attack—not that they’re necessarily connected. He would’ve had to convince the Skrymir along with all the other chiefs to go against their own best interests. If he’d done that, then why did only one warband from Lake attack us? All that does is invite the hammer’s strike.”
And that, too, was true. The Skrymir would know that. “So you’re saying Loki’s not involved in either plot? That this is a false memory?”
She shook her head. “All I’m saying is we shouldn’t blindly accept it.”
Blindly. He succeeded in keeping the smirk off his face.
It always came down to how much he knew. All his life, he’d sought and acquired power—but not knowing where to strike made that power useless.
He needed to know what was going to happen without relying on the Norns or his uncle or even the shade of his friend’s dead wife ripped from her slumber. But until his sacrifice took root and he could swim the realms like his uncle while still striding through them in his flesh, he’d have to rely on the tools at hand.
“You asked why I cut out my eye, Frigg.”
She nodded, brow furrowing.
“When we consulted the Norns at Baldr’s birth, they uttered a prophecy which we acted on by protecting him with your people’s magic. We never dreamed that protecting him might cost Hodr his sight. And maybe our choice did and maybe it didn’t. But if I had known more, if I had asked questions instead of assuming the Norns were kindly disposed to us, perhaps I could have prevented both dooms from happening.”
“So how does cutting out your eye help that?”
“By freeing my sight from my body’s constraints,” he said. “By giving me—us—an independent source of wisdom. If I know enough, if I keep asking questions, keep exploring, then I can guide our doom just like strong backs with shovels can change a river’s course.”
“Even assuming that’s possible, you’ll what? End up choosing a doom for everyone like the Norns do? There are many thousands living in Gladsheim alone, and many thousands more throughout the realm.”
He met her eyes and waited until he saw understanding hit like his son’s hammer.
She stood and backed away, shaking her head. “I’ve tried that, Odin. It never worked.”
“But you didn’t have me then, did you?”
“It never worked,” she said again. “I used to tell what I saw, but those I told still died.”
“I’m not talking about preventing death, Frigg. Even we just prolong our lives. I’m suggesting we use that time to pick and choose among dooms we find beneficial to our people rather than blindly accept whatever the Norns decide. Us. We will decide what happens, not them.”
“You’re talking about changing the course laid out for everyone. Is that even possible? What happens if what we choose is different from what the Norns have already carved into Yggdrasil’s bark?”
“No, not everyone. We start with our son. You think your visions foretell his death, yes?”
She grew very still, her eyes wide and her hands folded neatly in her lap.
He reached out and gripped her hands. “It’s all right. We know he’s at least threatened, right? Both from the cut mistletoe, his dreams, and your visions.” He gestured at his missing eye. “Once Baldr finishes with this, I’ll ride down to the Gjoll and summon Angrboda’s shade. She’ll tell me how she’s involved—and how her husband’s involved, if at all. And once my eye takes root, I’ll see as much as Mimir does. Between him, your visions, and my own efforts, we’ll chart a safe course through the future’s shoals.”
He smiled and leaned back into the pillows. “Mimir thinks we don’t have any choice at all. That everything is set, start to finish. When I get back, we’ll prove him wrong. You and me. Together.”

***

Head throbbing, Odin craned down at the small gold orb lying at the bottom of the bubbling cauldron. “What’s that?”
“The fruit of Nanna’s labor,” Baldr said. He lifted a hand to trace the silver torc he wore around his neck. “Just as this is.”
Odin glanced at Baldr’s wife; she ducked her head and smiled shyly. “Meaning what, exactly?”
“Be nice, Odin,” Frigg said, thumping his arm. To Nanna, she added, “Don’t fret, dear, he’s always like this when he cuts out his own eye.”
He glared at her.
“This is the orb I’m going to put inside your empty eye socket. Nanna made it.”
“Actually, I just recast something I’d already made,” Nanna said, a faint blush coming to her pale cheeks. “If I’d more time, I could have made it nicer.”
“Don’t be silly.” Baldr bumped her gently with his elbow. “It’s beautiful work. The runework alone is impressive.”
Her blush deepened, but Odin didn’t miss the quiet smile that crept onto her downturned face.
He turned to look at Baldr. “So we’re doing this now?”
Baldr nodded. “If you’re ready. Just sit here. I have to make sure the eye socket can handle it.”
Odin sat facing Sól and lifted his chin. Baldr stepped up behind him and unwound the bandage. The air was chill on his skin when the compress came off.
Baldr’s fingers pressed and pushed all around his missing eye. “Any sharp pain?”
“No, just a constant pounding, as if Sleipnir were trampling my head.”
Baldr held up the glass he’d used the night before and continued to poke and prod. “There’s no bleeding, the swelling’s considerably reduced, and the flesh is healing nicely. Putting in the false eye should be fine. Are you ready for it?”
Odin shrugged. “Why are you doing this exactly?”
“Because if we don’t, that side of your face is likely to sag and droop. The flesh inside your eye socket may grow and push into places it shouldn’t, which could cause pain and future problems. I’ve seen both happen before. You’d be surprised at the number of eyes lost during the Last War. Wearing the false eye should help prevent all that from happening.”
He looked down at the gold orb. It shouldn’t interfere with the sight his sacrificed eye would grant, but if it did... “Will I be able to remove it?”
“Not until the socket fully heals with the false eye in place,” Baldr said. “And even then, I’d advise against it. You’ll have to clean it—and yourself, ideally—before replacing it.”
He grunted. Weekly baths were enough.
“Nanna, would you take the orb out and place it in the cold water for a moment, please?” Baldr asked.
She reached into the cauldron with a pair of cloth-wrapped tongs, removed the orb, and placed it in a smaller pot of water. Steam hissed free. After a dozen heartbeats, she used the same tongs to set it in the white cloth Baldr held out.
“May I see it?” Odin asked.
“Of course,” Baldr said, “but don’t touch. The cloth and my hands are clean.”
He peered down at the orb and the fine runes cut into the gold. It was slightly egg-shaped with swirling, interlinked knots that straightened into three interlinked triangles right where the pupil would be. More runes were etched between the curved lines. They were the words of the healing song he’d taught Baldr. On the opposite side of the golden orb, Nanna had cut smaller patterns similar to those etched into the front.
Very promising. Once he’d harvested more witchthread and had the time, he might be able to use these runes and patterns to reinforce the link he’d already forged between himself and the eye he’d sacrificed.
He looked up into Nanna’s eyes and saw the nervous concern clearly etched into her features. “Excellent work, daughter, both in your runes and handiwork.”
Relief and pleasure flooded into her expression. “Thank you, Alfather.”
Baldr smiled at her. Then his expression grew more serious. “First, I’m going to drip some of my elixir into your eye socket. That’ll continue the healing. I’ll then insert the orb and place a new compress and bandages. It will feel cold at first, but your body will warm it up.”
“No galdr, then?”
Baldr shook his head. “There’s nothing that song could do at this point that my elixir and your body aren’t already doing. Now lean your head back, please. And hold still. This will feel uncomfortable.”
He did as he was told.
Baldr pulled back his eyelids with one hand, and he could no longer see anything happening on that side. Warmish liquid dribbled into the gap…the hole…where his eye should have been. He flinched despite himself.
“Hold still, Father.”
Frigg took his hands, bunched into fists, into her own. Her fingers were cold.
“I’m putting the orb in now,” Baldr said. “Nanna, please hold his head.”
Nanna wrapped a cloth around his head, leaving his face exposed. Then she took firm hold of his jaw and the back of his head.
At the first touch of cold metal against his eye socket, he suppressed the urge to draw away. Nanna held him steady, anyway. Baldr pushed, gently, and Odin felt cold metal settle into his head. Not uncomfortable, but the weight felt wrong. That side of his face grew wet as his new eye displaced the elixir.
“Any pain?” Baldr asked, daubing up the elixir.
“No. Just feels odd. Cold, as you said.”
Baldr’s fingers pushed this way and that, shifting the false eye’s position. “I’m placing the compress now.”
The compress came down, warm and damp. This time it smelled like fresh tilled earth. Nanna’s hands left him, along with the cloth. Then Baldr was winding the bandage around his head again.
Baldr placed a hand on the back of his head and gently raised him up. “Well, how does it feel?” Baldr asked.
He turned his head left and right. The eye had warmed up, but the weight still felt odd. He cocked his head to one side, then the other. Already, the anvil pounding was slowing down. That elixir Baldr made from Yggdrasil’s fruits worked wonders.
“Feels fine. Little heavy, maybe.”
Baldr smiled. “You’ll get used to it.” He stepped to the cauldron, dipped in a ladle, and began mixing a drink in a small clay cup.
Frigg squeezed his hands and stood up, smiling. He pulled her in close and held her beside him, arm wrapped tight around her hips. He stared out at the setting sun, reddish gold behind a haze of red clouds.
Behind them, Baldr hummed as he ground herbs. Metal and clay clacked against each other. “All right, Mother, make sure he takes this when you get back to your hall. It’ll help him sleep.” He handed her a small clay jug.
“He’s okay walking?”
He stood up and stretched. “I’m not an invalid, Frigg. Come on, let’s head back while there’s enough light for me to half-see by.”
“Funny.”
He stepped around the stool and caught his son in a tight embrace. “Thank you, Baldr.”
“My pleasure. You did more than this for me not two nights ago.”
“What else should a father do, eh?” He smiled and stepped away. “You haven’t mentioned it, so I assume you’ve had no similar recurrences?”
“None. Eir stays nearby, though, just in case.”
“Then have her remain nearby until I return,” he said, looking at Frigg. “And if she has family, why not have room made for her up here through the feast day? They’d enjoy it.”
“She does, and they are already here,” Frigg said, her smile tight. He couldn’t tell—and didn’t want to ask—whether it showed worry or mild annoyance that he was issuing orders on matters she’d already handled.
“Ah, of course,” he said.
Baldr said, “You’re leaving again? I thought you were back for a while—at least through Midwinter.”
He ignored Frigg’s obvious displeasure. “I’ll be back before then. Just a short trip to wring some answers about your condition from a witch.” He pointed at the silver torc around his son’s neck and held out his hand. “And I’ll need that, if you don’t mind.”
“I... what? Why?”
He ignored the question. Baldr sighed, unclipped the torc, and handed it over.
Odin winked his good eye, turned to Nanna, and bowed very slightly. “And thank you, daughter, for my new eye. The fit is perfect.”

OUTRO
Well, folks, that was CHAPTER 62 of Kinsmen Die. I hope you enjoyed it.

Odin received a golden eye made by Nanna, who is Baldr’s wife. There was some recap and discussion among those in the scene, but primarily between Odin and Frigg.

Next week, we’re back with Hodr.

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 62

When the eagle comes to the ancient sea,
He snaps and hangs his head;
So is a man in the midst of a throng,
Who few to speak for him finds.

Larrington, Verse 62
He snaps and cranes his neck when he comes to the sea, the eagle to the ancient ocean;
so does a man who comes among the multitude
and has few people to speak for him.

There’s a footnote in Larrington’s translation that reads: opinion is divided as to whether this is a sea-eagle on the lookout for fish as prey, or a land eagle who has flown away from his accustomed habitat and so is disoriented. 

For me, that falls under the category of “who cares.”

What’s more important is the basic analogy being drawn in this stanza, which Kodratoff makes plain in his literal translation.

First, substitute the “sea” … the “ocean” with the Thing — the gathering in which hundreds of menmen gather to settle disputes. 

So, with that for context, Kodratoff writes: We can easily imagine a person looking for allies in the middle of a crowd of strangers. He must be flinching a lot and stretching his neck in his hopeless search. The crowd looks to him like a strange sea, indifferent to his loneliness.

And in a way, in this chapter Odin can perhaps be seen as that eagle searching for true allies.


Thanks for listening.