INTRO
 
Welcome to CHAPTER 9 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 each week. Every five chapters, I’ll recap the key plot points and provide some insight into the myths I’ve referenced in the book.

In the last chapter Frigg    experienced a vision of her son, Baldr, saying something to her that she just couldn’t hear thanks to the roaring flames that consumed his words from the air as greedily as his flesh.

In this chapter, we’re back with Vidar as he deals with getting shoved even further out of his comfort zone.

But before we begin, I’ll bring your attention to a few words that, thanks to my amazing voice, are difficult to understand. I’m not going to spell them out b/c that just sounds like gibberish, but there is a transcript available for the show which you can access via the public site (link below).

First up is “trader.” I’m saying TRADER as in “a merchant…or one who trades in goods.” I am NOT saying TRAI-TOR as in one who betrays. This scene will make more sense with that clarification

Second is “fylgja” or FULL-GYA. That's Vidar's disir, his companion spirit. 

Third is Kjolr or K-YOLL-UR ... it means "keel" and is part of my attempt to create a rank system for the warrior bands.

Finally, is HERSIR … hair-sir … it means "war chief / leader" ... and I use it pretty often when referring to those in command both the Einherjar and other war bands

As I'm learning by reading aloud, the old norse words are kinda jarring. 

When I started writing I was enamored with the idea of introducing all the super awesome old words I was learning. Now, years later, I can admit that my attempt was unsuccessful. The goal is to draw readers in and keep them immersed not bounce 'em right out when they hit an unfamiliar word

So, with that said… 

 
Let’s do this.

Chapter Nine
Vidar
Vidar tugged his cloak more closely around him as a gust of wind tried to claw it open. It was difficult to appear authoritative while shivering.
He cleared his throat. “Gothi, good council members of Háls. My kjolr here reports that your people—our people—are being seen to. We’ll be ready to move out before Sól rises another handbreadth. So, gothi, if you’re ready, please tell me as much as you can about what happened.”
The small fire crackled and popped as the aged gothi rose to his feet, his back to the largest boulder. “Again, thank you, Jarl Vidar, for coming so quickly. I take it Jako is all right?”
Vidar nodded. “Yes, Gothi Dorvath. Your man is exhausted but safe.”
“Aye,” Garilon added, “he ran into some merchants on the main road. They didn’t believe him but let him swap out his horse so he could get to Vithi that much quicker. He would’ve come with us, but the Jarl forbade it.”
“Those merchants were headed here to pick up my goods.” Another man, tall and well groomed beneath a liberal coating of dirt and ash, leaped to his feet. A silver torc hung around his neck; more silver glinted beneath the cuffs of his shirt and heavy coat. Multiple rings glittered on his fingers.
“What are you going to do, Jarl?” the trader demanded in a sharp high-pitched voice. “Or more precisely, when will you ride into my town, extinguish the fires, and save our goods? I have a warehouse stocked with pelts. They were to be shipped out this morning! I’ll lose thousands of silver.”
Garilon stepped toward the trader, pointing a blunt finger. “You’ll put a civil tongue in your mouth when you address the jarl.”
“And if I don’t?” The trader waved a ringed hand dismissively toward Vidar. “We had no choice in his being jarl. Another of the Alfather’s brood set up above us. Another time-honored custom broken at our expense. We pay our tribute, and this is what we get?” He jabbed a finger at Vidar. “We’re paid up. Do your part, get down there, and save what’s left of the town.”
Before the shock at the trader’s words had really hit him, Garilon had grabbed a double fistful of the man’s heavy shirt and shoved the trader back a pair of steps toward the boulders sheltering them.
“Stop, Kjolr. Release him.”
Garilon let him drop. The trader stumbled as he regained his balance. Garilon stepped back, fists unclenching.
“Check on the warband, Kjolr, and the scouts,” he said.
Garilon nodded and stalked off toward where the garrison moved among the townsfolk.
That had to have been an act. You didn’t become hersir of the Einherjar, even for a short time, unless you were able to control yourself. So why had Garilon done that? To cut off criticism? To remind them of Vidar’s authority? Both?
And more to the point, why hadn’t he himself acted as swiftly as Garilon? His father would never have suffered such brazenness.
He raised his voice, loud and sharp against the building wind. “You’re right, trader. I am one of the Alfather’s sons. You’re also right that, against custom, you had no choice or say in my appointment to this district.” He stepped closer to the fire. “However, the Alfather may appoint who he wishes when he wishes. You should be grateful—and I’m sure you are—that he so seldom invokes his prerogative.”
He held the trader’s gaze and then looked at each karl ringing the fire.
Inclining his head respectfully to the town’s chief, he continued. “None of that wipes out my obligation to this town or to any other town or village within Vithi’s borders. When I received word of this calamity, I mustered the warband, sped here, and called for reinforcements from Gladsheim. The Einherjar ride as we speak.”
He met the trader’s gaze again. The man oozed belligerence. Vidar kept his tone even, though his own anger rattled within the scabbard of his mind. His fylgja saw it, and he felt her own rage trickle in to feed his own.
It seemed they were two separate beings after all.
He gritted his teeth, flung her anger back down at her, and forced a smile to his face. It vanished a moment later.
“I stand here ready to fulfill my duty as jarl to your town. But I won’t be rash. I need to learn what happened. But so far, all you’ve done is interrupt your gothi and delay me.” He pointed up at the sky. “Sól begins her daily descent within the hour, at most. I need to get you and the townsfolk moving toward even the slight shelter of these few scattered trees along the road. But I also need to know how many Jotunn attacked and what clan they were—or what tribe, at least.”
He took a step toward the trader and punched a finger at him. “So sit back down, shut up, and let your gothi tell me what happened.”
Still belligerent, the trader looked ready to say something else. Vidar kept up his glare. The Aesir tugged at the hem of his heavy shirt, adjusted the silver bracelets around his wrists, and fingered his rings as if emphasizing to Vidar who he was. Then he shrugged and sat back down. He looked around the circle, back straight, head high, daring the other karls to say something. None met his eye. Their faces were all expressionless.
Vidar waited a long moment. Garilon stepped back into the growing silence around the campfire, met Vidar’s eye, and shook his head. Still no sign of the scouts. Not necessarily bad, but it didn’t help him make his decision at all.
Suppressing a sigh, Vidar said, “Now, Gothi Dorvath, if you please, tell us what happened.”
The gothi cleared his throat and shot a stern look at the trader. “As I was about to say, today—well, yesterday morning, actually—was the day I travel up to the mines for the monthly inspection. Everything was normal. A typical quiet winter morning. We reached the forest road—”
“Excuse me, gothi, but who is we?” Vidar asked.
“Apologies, Jarl. I was riding up with the next three-day shift. The mine’s too far off to make daily trips, so every three days we change shifts. This was one of the switch days. Well, yesterday was.”
“No permanent crew at the mines?”
“No, Jarl.” He shifted his feet as if uncomfortable. “The wardens switch out along with the mining crews. There’s only ever a short time that the mine’s untended. The returning crew and their replacements typically meet up somewhere along the road. Come to be a game, since where the two crews meet on the road shows who got up earlier or was moving quicker. Anyway, leaving the mine untended’s never been an issue. Not in my life. Not until now. But no one ever expected Jotunn to show up here in Vithi.”
No, indeed. “No criticism intended, gothi. I was just trying to get a sense of things.”
“A sense that maybe you should’ve gotten before now,” groused the trader.
This time, a few other voices rumbled their assent.
Vidar let the comment pass. He gestured for the gothi to continue.
“Anyways, we were nearly at the mine when things got strange. Now, I served in the army. I’ve seen battle with the Jotunn and with those savages to the far south. It wasn’t anything in particular—maybe how quiet it was or just that sense of eyes on you, you know?”
Vidar nodded, as did Garilon and several of those seated around the fire.
The gothi paused, took a breath, and composed himself. “Well, Jarl, we rounded that third switchback, the wide, looping one, and right there we saw the mining crew. Dead. Arrows in most of ’em. Carts overturned. Horses slaughtered in their traces. Road blocked. We were frozen there. Shocked, you know?”
He was lost in the moment now. “And that’s when they hit us. Elkin was right beside me. He dropped, screaming and coughing blood. Gefr was behind me on my other side. Another arrow took him. I’d be dead too if Rollo hadn’t dragged me down and pulled me back behind our own wagons. Drengi shouted something behind us—‘Form up, form up!’ or something. He was always one to talk like that. He died before the rest of us could drag him to cover. After that surprise, we just kept our heads down and tried to figure out where the arrows were coming from. I knew we had to move, but there were just too many arrows flying...”
The gothi’s eyes stared out past the fire. Vidar gave the old man a moment before jogging him from his reverie. “Did you see how many Jotunn there were, gothi? What tribe?”
The man blinked, shook his head, and brought a gnarled hand up to wipe at his eyes.
Vidar plowed on. “All right, that’s fine. Are any of those Aesir you were with still—well, did they make it off the mountain? It would be helpful if we spoke with them, too.”
One of the karls stood, leaning on a stick to help herself up. An older woman, graying hair pulled back in long braid, she held her back straight and wagged a finger fiercely at Vidar. “Just hold on now. Jarl or not, show respect for the dead. The gothi—all of us—lost many friends and family today. Lost more than that. Trader Farmann here is an ass, but he wasn’t all wrong in what he said before.”
This time, almost all of those seated rumbled their assent. Several threw heated glances at him. Vidar didn’t know what to say. He’d thought his questions relevant enough. And time wasn’t on their side. Surely they could see that.
“Good woman—”
“Karl Ynesa,” she corrected, voice knife-sharp. She swept an arm in a wide arc. “My family owns most of the logging in this area, which you’d know if you didn’t sit back at your fort building odd instruments and staring up at the sky. Oh, I’ve heard the tales. We all have. And when I first did, I said no good’ll come of that. And sure enough, no good has.”
The other karls nodded in agreement. Several others clambered to their feet, angry looks sprouting on their faces. Farmann looked around smugly. The gothi had regained his composure and seemed to be trying to still the rising discontent.
Vidar raised his hands, palms patting the air as if that might calm them. “Please. Karl Ynesa, Trader Farmann, and...” Panic struck as he realized that despite being jarl of the district for twenty-seven winters, he didn’t know the names of those on this town’s council. “... and other good karls and drangr,” he finished lamely. “I assure there is no connection between—”
He was interrupted by a shout from one of the other karls. “What if those Jotunn attacked us because of—well, whatever unnatural things you’re doing in that fort of yours? Eh?”
A few others echoed his sentiment.
“Don’t be absurd...” Vidar began.
“Don’t you talk to me like that,” the karl continued. He was middle-aged, stout, and voluble. “Jarl or not, son of the Alfather or not, you’re as beholden to us as we are to you. And don’t you forget it.”
“I assure you, good karl, I have not forgotten it—”
“He doesn’t know my name, either,” the stout Aesir said, pointing at Vidar and staring around the circle. “He’s been jarl for what, almost thirty winters, and he doesn’t know my name? Just the gothi’s? I bet he had to ask his kjolr there what the gothi’s name was, too.”
Despite himself, Vidar threw a quick glance at Garilon.
“He did!” the stout man crowed. “You see that?”
Now all of the council members were on their feet, and their voices merged into one loud, rolling rumble of discontent. The gothi’s efforts to restore calm weren’t even noticed.
With a ringing clap of his hands, Garilon stepped into the circle, putting himself between Vidar and the council. In what had to be close to his battlefield voice, he said, “Karl Ynesa. Karl Gunnar. Trader Farmann. Gothi. And you other good karls. Please. Sit. We know you’re distressed. Beyond distressed. Tired. Hungry. Exhausted. Grieving both for lost loved ones and lost livelihoods alike.”
He held a hand out toward Vidar. “As the jarl said, he’s here. I’m here. His warband is here. You may not have heard it, but before we met up with you on the road, the jarl commanded me to signal the Einherjar. He saw that black smoke rising above your town and called for them right then. So all the way back in Gladsheim, Heimdall heard that horn’s sharp cry. Reinforcements ride our way even now. But even before they arrive, the jarl and the warriors he brought will be your shield—and spear, if it proves necessary.”
Vidar stood still as the boulders around them. This must be why his father had placed Garilon here with him.
“As for Jarl Vidar’s questions, Karl Ynesa, well, they need to be asked. And answered as best as possible. We need to know what we face. It’s past midday now, so we’ve only a few more hours of good light. We need to get you and the townsfolk sorted, wounds tended, and everyone provisioned as best we can. It’s a long ride back to Vithi on an empty road. So even a rough estimate of how many Jotunn we face will help us plan our next move: ride back or right at ’em. The warriors, I mean.”
Garilon radiated such calm confidence that the angry tension drained away from the clutch of karls like a flood easing down from its crest. Vidar had seen Odin do the same thing when he spoke with the warriors of the army and the elite Einherjar.
Did he even have that talent? Based on this encounter alone it didn’t seem so. Was it something he could learn? Was that why Father had sent him here? Maybe. But it had to be why his father had sent a former hersir of the Einherjar to be his second-in-command. He could never have calmed that situation down. Garm’s bloody snout, he had to admit he’d created it to begin with.
“All right, then,” Garilon said, smiling and rubbing his hands together now that he’d led the council back from the brink. “Now we have that cleared up, let’s hear the rest, Gothi. And please understand that both the jarl and I greatly sympathize with your losses here today. Everyone’s losses. Don’t misunderstand our questions for a lack of caring.” He pointed up at Sól, now dipping past her zenith. “Time presses.”
Of course, Garilon hadn’t mentioned they’d only been able to bring half the garrison. Nor had he mentioned that the Einherjar from Gladsheim were at least a full night away, even assuming they rode hard. The Einherjar from the western garrison were much closer, and Vidar had sent a bird to them too, but he wasn’t confident they would ride out—not without getting permission from Saglund in Gladsheim first.
No, it was much more likely that he and his warriors were on their own, at least for a full day. Maybe longer.
Vidar’s attention fell back on the karls and the gothi. Their circle had closed around Garilon, and they were all speaking animatedly with him now. They seemed to have forgotten Vidar was even there. He didn’t know quite how to take that. Part of him was relieved the pressure of performing as jarl was off him, but a large part of him remained annoyed.
Should he force them to acknowledge him?
Better not to. Garilon would get the information they needed, and then he’d inform Vidar. But what the sharp-tongued Ynesa had said dug at him. He was more comfortable staring up at the stars or tracking Muspell’s sparks than touring his district and getting to know the people for whom he was responsible.
Getting angry at seeing their suffering firsthand had been a childish response. It was easy to get upset when you faced something awful. But thirty-three winters ago, Odin had dragged him away from following his curiosity wherever it led, and this was why he’d done it. Gladsheim needed leaders.
Did he have what it took to become one?

OUTRO
Well, folks, that was CHAPTER 9 of Kinsmen Die. I hope you enjoyed it. 

Vidar’s just demonstrated that he’s an inexperienced leader and that after many years of perhaps avoiding that responsibility events may now require him to put up or shut up.


 
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.
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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 9 
 
Happy the man | who has while he lives
Wisdom and praise as well,
For evil counsel | a man full oft
Has from another's heart.