INTRO
 
Welcome to CHAPTER 74 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 Odinsson. We last saw Vidar in Ch 65 when he and his small warband emerged from the mines beneath Hálsberg into the snowy wastes of Utgard. They had tracked the surviving few Jotunn warriors who’d been part of the war band that had destroyed the town of Háls. This led Vidar to discover the doorway that joined Asgard with Utgard. That doorway allowed the Jotunn to traverse a great distance with a single step. As readers, we know that many other such doorways are scattered throughout the realms.

So, let’s now rejoin Vidar as he treads lightly through Utgard.

Chapter Seventy-Four
Vidar
Sól peeked out from beneath heavy, gray clouds. She was low on the horizon; evening approached. In the wan light, Vidar watched dozens of Jotunn strain to haul bundles out of the frozen lake. He could not tell what those bundles were, only that they appeared heavy—it took two Jotunn to lift each bundle, place them on the sledges and then several Jotunn to drag them from the shore to the base of the towering cliff north of the lake.
“Are you watching this?” he asked Garilon.
Garilon shook his head. “Your eyes are better than mine, Jarl. I see dark shapes moving around, but I can’t tell what they’re doing.”
Vidar pointed toward the northern shore, where the lake was mostly unfrozen. “Down there. North shore. Jotunn, pulling…bundles…from the lake and moving back and forth between the lake and the cliff’s base.”
Sól’s light speckled the rocky, ice and snow-covered land. At the clink of metal behind him, Vidar squinted back down the slope to where his warband, hunkered in cold discomfort around low-burning witchstoves, threw faint shadows on the ground.
Garilon’s shoulder thumped against his own. “Can you see what they’re moving?” Garilon asked.
Vidar looked back at the lake. Now the sunlight happened to lay full upon the laboring Jotunn. “The bundles are long, maybe a spear’s length, and round, like a log, and heavy. And they’re stacked three…maybe four…to each sledge. There’s easily…fifty Jotunn moving back and forth.”
 Obviously, the Jotunn assumed that neither Heimdall nor the Alfather could see through clouds, which might even be true. Even if it wasn’t, both would have had to know where to look—not easy in a land where one icy cliff looked much like another.
As he watched, a group neared the lake, set their sledge down, and took up another. Whatever those bundles were, they were very heavy. The Jotunn bent hard into the traces before their burden began moving. The moving patch of sunlight fell on the cliff itself and Vidar watched the sledges vanish into the ridge. 
He swore and caught Garilon’s eye. “They’re going into the cliff.”
The gap in the clouds closed up and gloom once again lay upon the land.
Of course they went into the cliff. There was nothing else up here. Going into the cliff meant that beneath it—or this section, at least—lay a Jotunn outpost. Possibly one of their old stone-homes. By itself, that wasn’t unusual. Many Jotunn had once lived underground. Some still did; Jotunheim was itself built as much into a mountain as it was on its lower slopes. He knew of five other caverns that had once been home to Jotunn.
This place was not among those he knew.
So, these Jotunn were engaged in mysterious work at a previously unknown outpost that also happened to be near a doorway that, somehow, connected to the mines beneath Hálsberg that had been used to launch an attack on the town of Háls itself. And this work, whatever it was, was important enough that the Jotunn did so during the day when they could be seen by Heimdall. If Heimdall wasn’t a drunk.
He caught Garilon’s eye. “None of this is good.”
Garilon frowned, rubbed his gray beard, glanced down at their weary warband and back at the Jotunn laboring beside the lake.
Vidar understood what Garilon meant. But he needed to get closer. He needed to see what they were doing.
Garilon gestured westward past the break in the ridge to where gray clouds scraped the ground like a short-legged hound’s full belly. “That storm’s moving fast.”
“Good. I can use its cover to get down there.”
Garilon rested one ice-crusted glove on the silvered horn hanging from his belt. “With respect, Jarl, isn’t it enough that they’re doing something? If we move fast, we can get back to the doorway, sound the horn, and wait till Thor arrives.”
He gave Garilon a significant look. “We can’t rely on Heimdall hearing that.”
Nor could he wait for his big brother to arrive—it would take several days, at least. He was here now. 
“I need to see what they’re doing,” Vidar said. “Dragging things from a frozen lake under cloudy skies isn’t something Heimdall would skip over, even if he were still looking. And this is probably where the attack on Háls originated. None of this seems like coincidence. Nor can it be good for the Aesir.”
Garilon nodded once. “Very well, Jarl. What are your orders?”
Vidar winced internally at Garilon’s formal tone. “There’s a break in the ridgeline north of here and probably enough cover among the rocks to make it unseen to the bottom. We’ll bring the warband there, and you’ll wait. If I’m not back within a reasonable amount of time, you’ll bring the warband back to the doorway and sound the horn. Maybe Heimdall hears and sends Thor. Maybe not. Either way, you keep the warband alive. If that means retreating through the mines, then do so. Use your best judgment—but keep the warband alive. Any questions?”
“Yes, Jarl. Two. What’s a reasonable amount of time? And, what about you?”
“The first is easy enough.” Vidar drew his knife, held it up so that its faint shadow fell across his body. “I’ll show you.”

***

Vidar crouched in the shadow of a boulder, maybe a long spear’s throw left between him and the empty bowl-like depression that led down to the frozen lake. The Jotunn still toiled. Whatever was hidden in that lake, there was a lot of it.
Each sledge was loaded with three or four long bundles of something heavy. He couldn’t tell what because the man standing chest-deep in the water beside the sledges kept getting in the way. There had to be shamans about, because there was no way even a Jotunn could so casually withstand the temperature of that water.
Once each sledge was loaded, four workers dragged it from the water, bent double over their ropes to haul it up the shore to the ridge. The workers returning unladen sledges stood upright, their sledges gliding along behind them.
He wiped snow from his eyes and squinted through the increasingly heavy snowfall. The storm was nearly upon them; it had arrived faster than those his brother dragged behind him.
Crouching, he darted forward to the next boulder, another dozen spear lengths down the slope. This one gave a better angle on the ridge’s base, the likely entrance to the Jotunn outpost.
Other than the steady stream of workers back and forth from the lake, he hadn’t learned much more than when he’d been atop the ridge. Which meant he either needed to get still closer—which might be possible as the snowstorm fully hit—or turn and leave, unnoticed.
Sól peeked out again between a break in the clouds, she was just kissing the horizon now, and her light seemed unusually bright in advance of the coming storm. It was bright enough that he spied a slow shadow gliding across the rocks between him and the shore.
He swore to himself and glanced back over one snow-covered shoulder to the ridge behind him. Another shadow glided quickly across the route he’d taken down. He’d been careful, but he hadn't been able to avoid crossing some open areas. And though he had dragged his cloak behind him to obscure his tracks, but even so, in this light it was obvious that something had come down from the ridge.
He rolled to one side, very slowly, and looked up. A black speck on wide wings glided high above. If he hadn’t already been spotted, then he might soon be. Either way, and regardless of what was happening here, it was time to go.

OUTRO
Well, folks, that was CHAPTER 74 of Kinsmen Die. I hope you enjoyed it.

There’s not much going on myth-wise in this chapter. This scene is more about connecting plot threads and advancing the story.

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.

Bellows, Verse 74
He welcomes the night whose fare is enough,
(Short are the yards of a ship,)
Uneasy are autumn nights;
Full oft does the weather change in a week,
And more in a month's time.

Larrington, Verse 74
Night is eagerly awaited by him who can rely on his provisions; short are a ship’s yards,
changeable are autumn nights,
many kinds of weather in five days,
and more in one month.


Thanks for listening.