INTRO   Welcome to CHAPTER 89 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. The last time we were with him, he’d reached an agreement with his fylgja and was kicking butt in an attempt to break thru the Jotunn warband, reinforced by snow bears, to reach the doorway back to Asgard. Let’s rejoin him, now. Chapter Eighty-Nine Vidar Sound had lost all meaning for Vidar—the worn voices of his exhausted warriors, the roars of snow bears, the grunts and snarls of attacking Jotunn—all of it merged into the singular grind of an axe’s edge dragged across a sharpening stone. Perhaps he was being sharpened. The calm, analytical portion of his mind drifted like one of his father’s ravens above the battlefield. Dozens of Jotunn corpses lay stinking and steaming at his feet, right alongside the snow bears he’d broken or ripped open with their own matriarch’s horns. Were it not for Garilon, standing tall and strong, a ship’s unbroken mainmast, shouting orders, Vidar knew all his warriors would be dead. He himself would be dead were it not for his fylgja’s undiminished, raging strength. She could break him as easily as a flooding river could break its banks. And if she did, she’d be free. So why didn’t she break him? A rumbling growl reached him as he floated, or so it seemed, far above the carnage. He kicked the snow bear; it was, indeed, dead. The growl changed to the clang of hammer on metal, the rasp of sword against sword. The raven that was his mind dove toward the ground, talons outstretched. The rasp of metal upon metal became, the pounding of rain against sail, of waves against the shore, and then the rumble of a landslide. He dropped into his flesh, thrumming with the power of his fylgja. The falling snow rippled as it fell, like a cloak shaken out or Vithi’s tall grasses before a building storm. Then the sound of a horn struck him. It could only be one horn. He hadn’t heard that singular note since the Last War. This was Heimdall’s horn. Something was wrong. The Gjallarhorn was only ever sounded when something truly dire was happening. It meant that all the jarls should come immediately to Gladsheim. He would happily leave if not for the trouble he himself was in. He laughed aloud, enjoying the irony. He turned to shout at Garilon, but the kjolr had sunk to one knee, eyes tight shut and hands covering his ears to dampen the power of Gjallarhorn’s voice. Beside him, his warriors had done the same, weapons dropped into the bloody snow. The Jotunn warriors were similarly incapacitated. The snow bears had fled like whipped hounds. A part of him wanted to leap forward and tear apart every Jotunn before him. It would be easy. His fylgja thrilled to that idea. But then thought’s raven landed on the upper branches of his mind. His reason reasserted its strength. He must return to Asgard. Killing these several dozen Jotunn might help his warband now, but they were in Utgard. More Jotunn must be close—the rest of this warband, certainly, and maybe more. And once the Gjallarhorn fell silent, the Jotunn warriors would reform and attack while their shaman would reassert control over however many snow bears were left. He glanced back at the tunnel his warband had been digging through the snow and ice the Jotunn had collapsed from the cliff above. How far had they gotten? Using his fylgja’s strength, he could finish the tunnel and hold it while the remnants of his warband retreated. Vidar looked inward and met the eyes of his fylgja, greener than Vithi’s spring grasses. There’s no glory in this, only necessity. Will you help? In answer, she stretched, and her strength pounded through him like a surging river. He snatched up a discarded shield, and sprinted toward the tunnel. OUTRO Well, folks, that was CHAPTER 89 of Kinsmen Die. I hope you enjoyed it. A short chapter, the goal of which was both to touch base with Vidar and to lean into the effects of Heimdall’s Gjallarhorn which, according to the myths, can be heard throughout all the realms when it is sounded. The myths say that Heimdall will sound the Gjallarhorn when Ragnarok happens. I thought it made sense to make sure Heimdall had that horn early and used it as any warhorn would be used. Next week we’re back with Vafthrudnir. We haven’t seen him since Ch 75, so it’ll be interesting to see where he’s at. 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 89 Hope not too surely for early harvest, Nor trust too soon in thy son; The field needs good weather, the son needs wisdom, And oft is either denied. Larrington, Verse 89 An early-sown field let no man trust, nor too soon in a son; the weather rules the field and brains the son, both of them are risky. Here is Kodratoff’s “as literal as possible” translation In a field (or crop) [too] early sown no human has confidence nor too early [to have confidence] in his son, — the weather speaks for the harvest but intelligence for the son; both these two are carrying danger. Thanks for listening.