INTRO
 
Welcome to CHAPTER 10 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. Every five chapters, I’ll recap the key plot points and provide some insight into the myths I’ve referenced in the book as well as some of the creative choices I’ve made along the way.

In CHAPTER 9, Vidar demonstrated his inexperience as a leader and that after many years of perhaps avoiding that responsibility events may now require him to put up or shut up. He also confirmed that it was indeed the Jotunn who attacked Hals, burned it down, and sent many of its residents fleeing.

In this chapter, we’re back with Odin as he takes action to help his son.

Let’s do this.

Chapter Ten
Odin
“And that’s all he said, Gulfinn? That the Jotunn were about to attack Vidar and his warband?”
“Yes, Sigfather. And then he collapsed.”
So it was the Jotunn. Odin nodded. After forty winters, they were picking another fight—which made little sense, because they could not hope to win it.
“Yes, Baldr said that might happen.” He clapped Gulfinn on the shoulder. “You and Rata did well. Heimdall’s where now?”
“Rata’s carrying him back to his house, as you ordered.”
“Good, good. Join her. Take shifts until he wakes. When he does, I want him looking into Utgard. And listening, too. This Vithi invasion may herald a new war.”
“Very good, Valfather.” Gulfinn thumped his chest in salute and turned to go.
“Hold a moment, Gulfinn.”
Gulfinn was one of his oldest baresarks. Grizzled, scarred, loyal; terrifying when the spears danced. He had a strong fylgja and had worked out a balance with her—that last unteachable test of becoming a true baresark. The test that most failed the first time.
He indicated the still-gathering Einherjar with his chin. “What’s happened with these men? Have they grown soft, or have I just been gone too long?”
One of Gulfinn’s hands came up to smooth his beard. When he spoke, his tone was flat. “Two winters after you left, Hersir Saglund suspended the requirement that those selected prove themselves on the battlefield. Instead, he created a trial. Any may join the Einherjar so long as they pass it.”
“I see.”
He had created the Einherjar before Gladsheim had even been founded. At first, he’d just intended to honor those in his warband who fought on alone when their shieldmates fell. But after dozens of battles across hundreds of passing winters, the ranks of Einherjar had grown until they’d become a small fighting force of their own, frequently sent out to reinforce Gladsheim’s army.
“The trial emphasizes weapons prowess and endurance over the span of a couple nights. Many fail, but many pass.” Gulfinn shrugged and met his eyes. “Those who do join the shields. Most seem proficient and seem brave enough.”
No mere trial could recreate what it took for a warrior to keep fighting when the shieldmate beside them fell to Jotunn spears. Or worse. Being Einherjar wasn’t about being the best with weapons or being able to run farther or faster. It was about continuing when others gave up. Einherjar never gave up. Training might expose that vein, but no one knew how deep it ran until that moment when, faced with impossible odds, a small voice inside each warrior said, “No. Not me.”
He nodded. Gulfinn had made his point. “And your fellow baresarks, where are they?”
“Rata and I are here, of course. Bruni and Aldis went to Alvheim at Freyr’s request. Kolbrandr still guards the Breach with the army.”
“Alvheim?”
“Yes, Valfather. Several Alvar villages were sacked. Freyr feared that the Svartalvar had returned. He requested our help. I sent those we could spare.”
Odin snorted. There was no chance of Svartalvar attacking. He’d taken them too far away.
“You don’t want Rata and I with you now, Sigfather?” Gulfinn asked, a brief grin shining through a beard shot through with more gray than Odin recalled.
“No, I need you here to protect Gladsheim and the Almother.” He gestured toward the hall he’d built for the Einherjar. “And because I’m taking these warriors with me. Once I give their hersir the kick he clearly needs.”
 
***
 
The massive iron-banded main doors of the Einherjar lodge were thrown wide. Odin strode inside without breaking pace. The light of the midday sun puddled on the wide floor planks. When the city was founded, these floors had been ash and dirt.
The hall’s bowels were poorly lit with reflected light from the polished shields suspended from the rafters—the shield of each Einherjar who had died since Odin had created the group.
Saglund, the current Einherjar hersir, loomed over a table set to the right of the entrance. Tall and thickset, Saglund held a long stick with a curve at the end. Tied down at one end of the table was a thick roll of what Odin presumed were other maps.
Three Einherjar stood with their hersir. By their bearing, Odin assumed they were being groomed to lead as kjolrs. Young, too. Probably scampering children when he’d ridden out of Gladsheim twenty winters ago.
They were all muttering over carved markers and polished stones, pointing at some even as Saglund pushed them around with his long stick, grouping some while sending others off to another spot on the map.
So engrossed in their task were the men that they took a moment to realize he was there. Shock leaped to the kjolrs’ faces.
“Leave us,” Odin said to the three kjolrs, his gaze fixed on Saglund.
He could almost taste their hesitation as they first glanced at their hersir. To his credit, Saglund immediately made a sharp gesture toward the door.
“You heard the Sigfather.”
He wasn’t surprised they had first looked to Saglund first; he was the only hersir they’d ever known. They only knew tales of him.
That would change soon enough.
The kjolrs saluted and faded back across the hall.
“My apologies for that, Sigfather. How may I be of service?”   
Odin gestured at the markers. “What are all these?” he asked, even though it was obvious.
“They show the locations of all Einherjar warbands, Sigfather.”
There were four markers on the square denoting Gladsheim.
“My ravens fly west even as we speak,” Odin said. “They’ve made no report of Einherjar riding to Vithi.”
Saglund cleared his throat. “Ah, no, Sigfather.”
“The Almother ordered a warband sent when the bird from Vithi arrived. That was this morning, Hersir. You might remember because I had just arrived back in Gladsheim.”
“With respect, Sigfather, it takes time to ready a warband and move others into new positions to cover the gap. And as I had not yet received confirmation from the garrison in western Vithi—”
“You doubt my son’s word? Or his need?”
Saglund paled, even in the poor light. “No, Sigfather. I was awaiting word while I moved the Einherjar garrisons around to ensure that all of the districts were—”
Odin held up a hand. “Has the army or the Einherjar at the Breach reported anything else out of the ordinary?”
“No, Sigfather. But the midday bird has not yet arrived. It is possible, given the attack in Vithi, that the Jotunn massed out of sight of the Breach and have already attacked. I thought it prudent to wait for the bird before dispatching warbands from Gladsheim.”
Odin held Saglund’s gaze for a long moment. The man had aged well. Stocky, but not run to fat. No stoop or palsy in the hands. Beard going gray, but so was his own.
“Who commands the Einherjar, Saglund?”
“You do, of course, Sigfather.”
“And in my absence?”
“Hár Frigg—the Almother.”
“And the Almother ordered a warband sent to Vithi, did she not?”
“Yes, Sigfather. But prudence—”
He leaned in, and Saglund fell silent. “Get outside and get those Einherjar moving, Hersir. I want a column formed and ready to ride before Sól’s shadow shifts another hand’s breadth. And you will ride with us, I think. With me. I want to see how these new Einherjar perform.”
Saglund’s face stiffened into a mask. “Yes, Sigfather.”
 
***
 
Odin rummaged through his satchel and withdrew a pair of silver shears and a spindle. When he held it up to the sunlight the witchthread glowed yellow. His wolves, Freki and Geri, sat before him, pink tongues lolling as they waited.
He unspooled a double arm’s length of thread, snipped it, and replaced both spindle and shears in the satchel while holding the length of thread to one side. The strand of witchthread floated in the breeze.
Pinching one end of the thread between thumb and forefinger, while holding the other to his lips, he focused his mind and sang. A golden glow ran down the thread. When the entire length was alight, he flung one end through Freki’s chest. His fingers danced, and the thread looped back around to pierce Geri’s back and emerge from his chest.
He caught that end and tied it to the other. As he did, the wolves’ gray fur shimmered gold.
Go now, he whispered into their minds. Clear the road through the city to the sundown gates. Then head to Vithi, and from there, head to Háls.
The wolves both woofed and loped off. Odin watched them go. They would run howling along the looping road, past the training grounds and the large halls atop Gladsheim’s central hill, descending next to the lower tier and the wide thoroughfare that cut through the city’s shops and smithies, weavers and tanneries, way houses and markets. And as the road straightened and they drew close to the western gate they would run past row after row of longhouses like ships packed in a harbor.
The first howl reached his ears, long and drawn out in that eerie way of things receding rapidly into the distance. He stood, brushed grit from the courtyard’s stones from his knee. He grinned when a second howl—Geri’s—joined his sister’s. It was hardly necessary, but Geri enjoyed it. He had probably also nipped at someone moving a bit too slow. The folk were out of practice, just like his Einherjar.
It was time for them all to remember that when the Alfather rode to hunt the Aesir’s enemies, his wolves ran ahead. 

OUTRO
Well, folks, that was CHAPTER 10 of Kinsmen Die. I hope you enjoyed it. 

Odin has confirmed that the Jotunn attacked Hals. Twenty winters earlier, before Odin had left Gladsheim he had appointed a man named Saglund to lead all of the Einherjar. 

According to Odin’s baresark Gulfinn, Saglund has changed the requirements for becoming an Einherjar. Worse still, Saglund appears to be ignoring direct orders from Frigg — something that she mentioned in an earlier episode.

Next week will be the second recap episode. There’s quite a lot of cool stuff to discuss — fylgja and disir, baresark, seidr, visions of the future and Odin’s familiars, to name just a few.

I’m looking forward to it & I hope you all are, as well.


 
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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 10
 
A better burden | may no man bear
For wanderings wide than wisdom;
It is better than wealth | on unknown ways,
And in grief a refuge it gives.