INTRO
 
Welcome to CHAPTER 4 of the Kinsmen Die podcast, home of fantasy fiction based on Norse mythology that’s written and read by me, Matt Bishop.
 
I’ve written two novels – Kinsmen Die and Dark Grows the Sun. They are the first two books in my series called And the Heavens Burn. 
 
In this podcast I will read both books and, when it’s finally finished, that third, concluding book in the series.
 
My goal is to share my love of Norse mythology and, obviously, my books. I believe I’ve done something unique when it comes to the retelling those old stories because the point of view characters in my books are the Aesir themselves. 
 
In CHAPTER 3, for example, we met Odin who chatted awkwardly with his wife, Frigg, and was then interrupted by his drunk cousin Heimdall. In this chapter we will meet Hodr, son of Odin and Frigg. 
 
Everything you’ll hear is based on my interpretation of the source materials – the Poetic Edda and the Prose Edda, along with a stack of books that discuss the myths … and another stack of academic articles that do the same.
 
Right now, I’m planning to read one chapter per week. Every five episodes will be a combination recap and explication of how I incorporated the myths and why I made the choices I did – without spoilers!
  
Before I begin, let me just say – I’m learning the art of podcasting as I go. I’ll do my absolute best to produce a quality product for your listening pleasure. And, I’m just a writer reading his book – I’ll do my best to not suck too bad.
 
So, my friends, keep in mind that this Hodr ain’t holding nobody’s door.
 
Let’s do this.

Chapter Four
Hodr
The metal butt of Hodr’s spear thudded dully against the old bridge’s timbers. Kona’s hooves clomped beside him, his own feet a tired shuffle. The old withered fruit, still golden and heavy in its bag, thumped against his thigh with every step.
At two hundred paces, Hodr clucked his tongue and tapped his way across to the bridge’s rail. He reached and ran his hand along the smooth thick wood, then wrapped Kona’s reins around it.
He leaned against the rail. It was another mild winter day. Sól was warm on his upturned face. Small birds fluttered and chirped around him. Perhaps they thought he had seeds for them.
Trade traffic was beginning to pick up. Aesir feet tramped, their rhythm conjuring days long past on a different bridge. Cart wheels rumbled past like storm clouds. Horses’ hooves fell, heavy and distinct, like strikes of his brother’s hammer.
But the rumbling of the bridge was not Thor summoning a storm. The sharper raps were not the lightning strikes of his hammer. And the tramp of feet was not those of his youthful comrades as he fought in the shield wall.
He sighed and turned around to gaze, unseeing, down at the Ifing’s frozen waters. The broad river gurgled faintly around the bridge’s stone supports, but everywhere else it remained silent, frozen.
On impulse, he withdrew the fruit from his bag and took a large crunching bite. A warm glow spread from his stomach. He turned his back to the traffic on the bridge and took another bite, and another, hardly pausing to chew before swallowing. Juices ran into his beard, and he wiped at them with one sleeve.
The glow in his belly became a fire. Another bite. And another. The fire became a forge’s blaze. He became the scrap of skymetal pounded beneath the smith’s hammer. His heart became that hammer.
Bang-ting-ting-bang-ting-ting.
The noise of the traffic behind him vanished. His grip on the rail made the wood creak. Beneath that hammer, his years sloughed away. His back straightened. The ache in his knees faded. His hearing sharpened. But his eyes... Sharp knives of pain dug at the burns from the snow bear’s venom. His hands trembled and shook as he remembered his last sight, the spittle dripping from the beast’s jaws.
A small remainder of the fruit tumbled from his hand to the river below. He heard it hit the ice. Birds chirped angrily at him, their wings fluttering as they dove for the prize. It would be their best meal ever.
As the pain faded and the memory slipped back to whatever cave he kept it locked in, the itch slithered out. Always that itch of burned-out eyes, and always the hope that maybe this time, Yggdrasil’s fruit might have restored what the beast had taken.
This time was no different. His hand darted up and felt beneath the scrap of cloth covering the thick scars. Hope welled and gurgled in his chest... but no. His fingers only met rough skin and deep hollows.
He slammed a fist against the wooden rail. It cracked.
“Hey! You there! What’s going on?” It was only one of the bridge wardens—hopefully, Alara’s brother.
He hung his head and sighed.
“What’s going on over here?” The warden’s footsteps thudded closer. The voice sound did sound like Hleven. “Turn around so I can see you.”
He straightened, spread his hands palms outward, and turned. “Is that you, Hleven? I’ll pay for the damage. Seems I found a bit of rot in the timbers. Sorry for the damage.”
Hleven sounded surprised. “Master Hodr? Alara said you weren’t due back for a pair of nights.”
“I left early.” He smiled and pawed the air in search of Kona’s reins. “I made those trades she asked for.”
“Is everything all right? You seemed upset just then.”
Hodr gestured toward the cloth covering his ruined eyes. “Sometimes they hurt. If there’s any damage, I’ll be happy to pay for it.”
“No, no, that won’t be necessary. This old bridge needs so much work anyway.” He could almost hear the man waving his hand in the air. “And I’m sorry to hear it. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Think nothing of it,” Hodr said. He wrapped Kona’s reins around his hand and stepped close to her head.
“Amazes me how well you get around,” Hleven said. Hodr heard him step backward. “You headed back to the way house?”
“I couldn’t do it without her,” he said, stroking Kona’s nose. “Nor without your sister, if I’m honest.”
And he was Hodr. Wasn’t he always honest? To others, maybe.

OUTRO
Well, folks, that was CHAPTER 4 of Kinsmen Die. I hope you enjoyed it. We met blind Hodr, son of Odin and Frigg, as he ate, and was made young again byYggdrasil’s fruit.
 
I’m a big believer in value for value. So, I have several requests:
1)   Please leave a review on whatever podcast app / platform you use. They really help.
2)   Please share the podcast. That also helps a ton.
3)   And finally, please consider supporting my work by buying my books on Amazon or in some other way – likes, follows, Patreon, Locals, a boost through the Lightning/Bitcoin network, etc.
 
I’d also enjoy hearing from you. You can email me at mattbishopwrites@gmail.com


And with that, I will leave you with this thought from the sayings of the High One, Odin himself:
 
This is the Bellows translation, available on Sacred Texts
https://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/poe/poe04.htm
 
 
Verse 4 
 
4. Water and towels | and welcoming speech
Should he find who comes, to the feast;
If renown he would get, | and again be greeted,
Wisely and well must he act.