INTRO
 
Welcome to CHAPTER 7 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. Right now, I’m planning to read one chapter per week. 
 
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 are the Aesir themselves. 
 
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.

In the last chapter we left Vidar fumbling awkwardly through an interaction with the leaders of Hals who’d, it seemed, lost everything. 

In this chapter we’ll meet Odin who is kinda pissed that Heimdall is, well, pissed.

 
Let’s do this.

Chapter Seven
Odin
Odin folded his arms across his chest. “How much longer is this going to take, Baldr?”
“It’s not seidr, Father. It takes a little time to work.” Baldr held a metal dish in front of Heimdall and wafted pungent gray smoke into his slack face.
It certainly wasn’t magic. If he’d just used his healing charm, Heimdall would already be awake and telling all he heard—and probably vomiting the foul contents of his stomach onto the floor.
Frigg set a hand on his arm, no doubt a gentle attempt to urge patience. But if the Jotunn had attacked and Vidar needed help, every moment counted.
He gestured for his baresarks, Gulfinn and Rata, to approach from where they stood, watchful, by one of the side doors.
Before he had left, he’d instructed his baresarks to help Frigg. Gulfinn was one of the oldest, while Rata was one of the youngest. Gulfinn was burly, his beard grizzled and his forearms scarred above the runes tattooed around his wrists and neck. One of his nostrils was notched from a draugr’s bone blade. Rata was every bit as strong as Gulfinn despite her comparative slimness, the elm to Gulfinn’s stout ash, and with a glare sharper than a bared knife. Her leathers hid the blue tattoos around her wrists, but those encircling her throat were visible.
Together, though either could have done it alone, they hauled the dead drunk Heimdall upright.
He tapped an impatient cadence against his left arm. “How long before it works?”
“Not long,” Baldr said.
“I’ll clear the hall.” Frigg strode the edge of the raised platform where the jarls sat. “Friends and guests,” she began, “Jarl Heimdall’s unique powers of perception...”
And that was all he heard, for he looked up toward the hall’s doubled roof at the first whispers of the familiar, croaking voices inside his mind. At its highest point, the upper roof was about six spear lengths high. A gap yawned between the point where the lower roof ended and the overhanging upper roof began. That gap, maybe a sword’s length tall, let smoke from the hall’s fire pits rise up and out. It also let in a bit of the day’s mellow, nearly midday sunlight. And right now, it also allowed his ravens to enter.
They hopped in, croaking, heads darting sharply. Then they dropped, wide black wings snapping out, to glide past the dozens of stout, intricately carved yew pillars to the table next to Heimdall. Odin drew his seax from the small of his back and cut long strips of meat from one of the blackened roasts set there. The ravens settled on his shoulders as he fed the meat to them, their beaks clacking in the hall’s silence.
He whispered into their minds, Fly to Vithi. Swiftly. Let me know when you arrive.
Loudly, they croaked their assent.
Heimdall spluttered and coughed.
Go now. He gestured with his chin.
In a clatter of wings, the ravens launched themselves and flew out.
Heimdall thrashed, his teeth bared in a golden snarl. For just a moment, the baresarks struggled to hold him. But then the set of their shoulders changed, and they pinned his arms against the table.
Baldr sighed. He reached into one of the pouches at his waist, withdrew a pinch of something and ground it between his fingers under Heimdall’s nose. Almost immediately, the flaxen-haired Aesir relaxed.
“That reaction happens sometimes with that particular mix of herbs,” Baldr said. “He’ll be more lucid in a moment. He’ll feel like he ran ten leagues, though.”
Odin shrugged. “I just need to know what he heard.”
Frigg stepped up beside him again. This time, she touched his arm with a neat, tawny hand.
“Where did you send them?” she asked, gesturing toward the ceiling.
“To Vithi. Thank you for clearing the hall.”
She nodded once and was about to speak, but Heimdall sighed loudly as his eyes crawled opened, showing bloodshot orbs that were focused either very far away or very deeply inward.
Odin glanced at Baldr, who nodded back. Speaking as he might to a dazed man on a battlefield, he said, “Heimdall. Can you hear me?”
Heimdall coughed. “Aye, Alfather. I can.” His head wobbled, and his bloodshot eyes refocused downward to stare blankly at the table’s smooth, stained wood.
At least he had some shame. “What did you hear, Heimdall? Whose horn?”
“Vithi’s, I think, Alfather.” Heimdall coughed again, wincing.
“You think so? I need you to be certain.”
Heimdall’s head fell forward, his eyes tight shut, and he doubled his fists over his ears. “Help me, nephew. The sounds, I can’t keep them out.”
Baldr crouched and put his hand on Heimdall’s shoulder, turning him away from the table so that they faced each other. “I will, Heimdall. I’ll do whatever I can to help you regain the control you lost.”
“That Loki stole.” Heimdall’s voice was a low growl.
What had Loki done to Heimdall? Back less than a night, and he was already regretting being away for so long.
Baldr pinched more herbs onto a metal plate, ground them with a pestle, and poured them into a small cup of ale.
He frowned. “More ale?”
“No, this is beer,” Baldr said with a wink, offering the cup to Heimdall. “Drink this, uncle.”
Frigg laughed and swatted his arm. It was the first happy sound he’d heard her make since his return.
Heimdall slurped it down, and still more of the tension drained out of his shoulders.
Baldr took the cup back and held it up. “This amount is nothing compared to what’s already in him. It’ll just help get these additional herbs into him, and they’ll ease the ill effects of the ones I already gave.”
Heimdall shifted back to the table and placed his hands flat against it as if to steady himself. “I’m all right now.” His voice was thick, and he looked up at him, his eyes red and watery. “I’m sure it was Vithi’s horn. Whoever sounded it called for reinforcements. Twice.”
Odin nodded. “Good. Thank you.” He pointed at Gulfinn and Rata. “Drag Heimdall up to the promontory and face him toward Háls. Pry his eyes open if you have to, but I want him looking. One of you come tell me what he sees. I’ll be with the Einherjar.”
The pair of baresarks nodded. “Yes, Sigfather,” Rata said. “And after? Where should we bring Jarl Heimdall?”
He shrugged. “Throw him over the wall, for all I care.”
“Odin!” Frigg exclaimed.
“Fine,” he said with a shrug. “Take him to his house, and let him sleep it off.”
The baresarks hauled Heimdall to his feet, draped his arms over their shoulders, and dragged him to the nearest side door.
He glanced at Frigg. “Did Saglund send out the Einherjar earlier?”
“If they did, the gatekeeper didn’t inform me,” she said, implying that wouldn’t have happened.
He frowned and thumped the table with his fist. If Vidar had called for help, the situation was serious. Probably. Vidar was smart, clever, but sometimes a little too cautious. But to call for help...
“We need to speak about him, Odin,” Frigg said in a low voice, touching his arm.
“Vidar?”
“No, Saglund. We need to rein him in.”
“Perhaps. But it will wait until I return.”

OUTRO
Well, folks, that was CHAPTER 7 of Kinsmen Die. I hope you enjoyed it. 

Odin knows now that his son Vidar called for help, but he doesn’t know why — because Heimdall, the eyes and ears of the Aesir — was a bit less than helpful.
 
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All the links will be in the show notes.
 
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 7 
 
The knowing guest | who goes to the feast,
In silent attention sits;
With his ears he hears, | with his eyes he watches,
Thus wary are wise men all.