Welcome to CHAPTER 65 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.

If you recall, Vidar had pursued several Jotunn warriors through the mines beneath the mountains north of Hals. Those Jotunn were the last of the warbands that had destroyed Hals. 

Vidar never caught those warriors, but he did find the magic doorway through which they came — directly from Utgard, or so Vidar has theorized.

Let’s rejoin him now.

Chapter Sixty-Five
Vidar
Vidar stepped up on a bit of crumbling stone and balanced himself with one arm against the tunnel wall. Witchlamp light danced across the faces of his warband. Most were young, but plenty of weathered faces peppered the neat ranks.
He met their eyes. Smiled faintly to some, nodded to others. He tried to project that same confidence his father exuded. Garilon did, too, actually. They seemed to do it naturally, whereas he had to force it. He hoped it was something he could learn. If not, he’d never be able to do it.
He was certain, though, that his warband needed a clear reason to step through that doorway. Their misgivings were like bad fruit in a hot shed.
“We have discovered what I believe to be a doorway from this mine to icy Utgard. I’ll be honest, I don’t know how it works. Yet. I don’t know what awaits us on the other side of the doorway. Yet. But I do know this.”
He pointed down the mine shaft that led to the doorway. Save for the slight shifting of feet and bodies, the warband was silent.
“The Jotunn warband that destroyed Háls marched through that doorway. They’d have done even worse had we not stopped them. So we will step through with three goals in mind.” He held up one fist and extended his thumb. “Backtrack the Jotunn warband to wherever they came from, report on their strength and, if possible, their intentions. Was this just a random attack, or are they planning more?”
One finger joined his thumb. “I believe that’s Utgard on the other side, but I need to be certain. And for that, all I need is one good look at the night sky.”
Another finger joined its brothers. “Investigate the doorway. I need to figure out how it works. That’ll take time, but I’ve no intention of staying longer than necessary. Once we’ve accomplished the first two goals, we will fall back to the comparative security of this side of the doorway.”
He fell silent, surveying the faces. Still mostly calm, a wind-kissed lake. Rumors being what they were, they’d already known they were going through. But he’d needed to give them the reasons why it was important they risk themselves. Had he said enough to air out that hot shed?
“The doorway works both ways, as I discovered when I stepped through and then came back,” he said, trying to make his smile feel genuine. “So don’t worry about that part of it.”
He spied a few smiles here and there, maybe some crinkling at the corners of eyes. “And be assured, we won’t be there for too long. With rationing, we have enough food for more than two weeks. We still need to get back to the surface here in Asgard, so we’ve also planned for that.”
He surveyed the dirty, tired warriors staring back at him. He felt he’d said enough. A frank, clear assessment of what they had to do and what obstacles they faced. Talking too much would make him look weak. Indecisive. Best to shut his mouth and expect they’d follow his orders.
“Kjolr Garilon.”
“Yes, Jarl.”
“The four messengers already left for the surface?”
“Yes, Jarl. Right after breakfast.”
“Good. Please have everyone wear all their clothes. Everything they can and still move. Whatever’s left, bring with them. Once they’re ready, meet me at the doorway.”
“Yes, Jarl.”
Vidar stepped down from the scrap of rock and walked past the loose stone wall they’d erected at the entrance to the mine shaft. It would offer some protection if it came to defending the mine against a Jotunn warband pouring through the doorway.
He turned into the smooth corridor and stopped a few paces before the doorway, snow swirling behind it. He threw his mind’s eye inward and sank until he seemed to float right before his fylgja.
She still slept, head on her paws, tufted ears flat against the bony ridges of her skull. The golden knots his father had tied hung before his mind’s eye like tiny suns.
He undid the first one, whispering the rune word his father had taught him, then the second. When he untied the third knot her eyes opened and she stared at him, feline eyes flat and intensely green.
I expect I’ll need your strength soon, he thought at her.
She yawned, fangs bright white.
He whispered the rune word his father had taught him, and the bindings around her front legs and neck flared blue, just as his did. Her glare darkened like treetops before a storm.
I won’t make the same mistake again, he thought. You will obey me.
Her lips drew back, clearly a smile, and bared that same forest of gleaming teeth she’d shifted his own into—and then used to tear the life from two hundred Jotunn throats.

***

The wind’s screech doubled in Vidar’s ears and tore his hood away. It tugged next at the wool cap he’d tied around his head, failed to rip it off, then blew snow into his eyes and howled its frustration. He tugged his hood back on with a gloved hand, wiped his eyes, and held the hood low, trying to keep the snow out.
In his other hand, he held a spear. He probed ahead with it through snow nearly waist deep. The spear banged against what he hoped was solid ground, and he trudged forward another step. With the weight of rock above him and the wind clawing at him, he was bent nearly double. Perhaps a storm had blown in since the previous night.
His spear again thumped against hard ground, so he took another step forward. And another. The rope tied around his waist went taut, and he looked back through the doorway. Two figures stood there—Mikill and Smar, unless others had taken their places, made indistinct by the swirling snow and what was probably the doorway’s own way of distorting sight. He tugged the taut rope twice to let them know he was fine. The rope drooped as they gave him slack. Then he turned back to his trudge.
Nine steps later, the wind ceded the contest. Vidar stumbled forward, straightening as he realized just how bent he’d been. He realized too that the rock no longer hung over him like a witch’s curse.
He tugged the line, asking for more slack, then trudged forward a few more paces. Out here in the open, the wind was still strong, but weaker outside the tunnel’s confines. The snowfall too was steady but not blinding. Everywhere he looked, the sky was a heavy gray wool and while there was enough light to see by, he couldn’t tell if it was night or day.
Behind him, a snow- and ice-covered cliff rose like a building wave. It stretched away into the dim light on either side of the tunnel from which he’d emerged.
He scanned the sky again, hoping for a break in the clouds. Nothing. They would either have to wait out the storm or trek farther afield. Or both. From what he’d experienced in Utgard, these storms could last weeks. Maybe they could find other landmarks that would let him say for certain they were in Utgard and not some equally snowy region of Asgard’s far north.
He took up the slack in his line and gave the three sharp tugs that signaled the warband to follow him through. Then he lurched into motion again, probing with his spear, stepping, probing, then stepping again. He angled back toward the dubious protection of the high cliff. All of the ground was probably safe, but it would take time for the warband to come through and while they did, moving helped him stay warm.

***

A bit of stale bread in one gloved hand, Vidar sat on a snow-covered rock and stared up at Aurvandill’s toe shining blue-bright in the night sky. He’d know that star anywhere. In Gladsheim, it hung low on the horizon. In Utgard, though, it rose somewhat higher, dominating the northern sky with its clear blue shimmer.
By his best guess, it had taken most of evening for him and the warband to find their way out of the deep chasm where the doorway to Asgard was. The way up had proved relatively easy once the snowstorm had blown through, and they found a ramp leading up to the rocky tumble they now huddled in, warming themselves by their witchstoves.
Garilon had cautioned against even the use of the witchstoves for fear that their slight smell would betray their presence. Vidar had agreed it was a risk but had allowed their use for warmth, not for cooking. They had set aside a week of supplies for this journey—but were only planning for a total of four nights exploring the region near the doorway. That should leave enough to spare should something unexpected happen.
Vidar stood, stretched, and turned in place, staring up at the gradual fading of the green-blue filaments undulating like eels in the depths. No clouds in sight—a rare thing in Utgard. In the east, Sól’s warm glow bathed the sharp teeth of the distant mountains.
Garilon stood up beside him. “Shall I get the warband ready, Jarl?”
“Yes, Kjolr. You still agree that two groups able to fight independently is best?”
“I think so, Jarl.” Garilon nodded. “Gives a bit more maneuverability. Wouldn’t want them separated too much, though.”
“Never more than a few spear lengths, Kjolr.”
“Head west first?”
Vidar nodded. They had no idea where the Jotunn were, so any direction would work. Even the faint trail they’d been following since entering the mines had vanished once they’d stepped through the doorway.
Garilon had advised heading west so the rising sun wouldn’t be in their eyes. As the day progressed—they were shorter in Utgard during the winter than in Asgard—they would swing north and then head back east.
Garilon had also advised staying within a night’s march at most of the only way they knew back—the doorway—particularly since the rugged terrain, apparently endless snow fields, and lack of trees suggested they were nowhere near Jotunheim itself. They were most likely in the wilds of Utgard, which only Thor had ever seen—and from high above no less—or Heimdall, back when he’d stood watch.
“Even if the Jotunn only marched those two warbands up here, there should be a fort or settlement or something nearby. We could learn a lot if we find it.”
“I don’t disagree, Jarl,” Garilon said, “but that’s exactly what worries me. If there are more warbands up here—even not at full strength—we’d be hard pressed to defeat them. And if they’re preparing to attack Asgard again, they may have snow bears to loose on us. Those beasts will tear through us.”
Vidar frowned, chewing the last bit of his bread while he thought. Above, the undulating bands of green and yellow light had faded to a sea-green. Sól’s fingers gripped the eastern mountains’ teeth.
“If I may, Jarl, I know our situation seems favorable now, but the Jotunn probably know we’re here. We never did catch those we pursued through the mines. If we’re careful and quick, then maybe we can gather some useful information before they can oppose us. We can probably defend the mine…for a time…but I’ve seen far better positions turn to shit faster than I would’ve believed possible. I know you have, too.”
Deep inside Vidar’s mind, his fylgja flicked her tails and bared her teeth. Indeed he had.

OUTRO
Well, folks, that was CHAPTER 65 of Kinsmen Die. I hope you enjoyed it.

Another quick chapter. Not much going on here myth wise except the reference to Aurvandill’s Toe. This refers to a story told by Snorri in his SKÁLDSKAPARMAL. Thor had defeated the giant Hrungnir and during that fight, a piece of a honing stone had lodged in Thor’s forehead.

On Thor’s journey home, he stopped at a Jotunn witch-woman’s house; her name was Groa. She was married to Aurvandill the Valiant. Thor wished to repay Groa for trying to heal him, so he told her that he’d carried Aurvandill out of Jotunheim and waded through the icy Elivagr which are rivers. Aurvandill’s toe had frozen solid, so Thor broke the man’s toe off and threw it up into the sky where it became a star. Thor also said it wouldn’t be long before Aurvandill returned home to Groa. She was so happy that she forgot her spells and did not end up removing the piece of the honing stone from Thor’s head. If none of that makes much sense, then you’re not alone. It is possible that this short tale is part of the larger story of Thor fighting Hrungnir and while so doing, also liberating Aurvandill.

Nobody knows what actual star is being referred to: it could be Sirius, Rigel or maybe even the planet Venus. Or maybe none of those.

In Old English, Aurvandill was known as Earendill. And for you Tolkien fans, that’s where the name of the half-elf Earendill the Mariner came from.

Next week we’re back with Vafthrudnir.


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.

This stanza is a fragment. The translations I’ve looked at agree that the first half is lost so what I read now is likely the last two lines.

Bellows, Verse 65

—
—
Oft for the words that to others one speaks
He will get but an evil gift.

Larrington, Verse 65
—
—
For those words which one man says to another, often he gets paid back.

Thanks for listening.