INTRO
 
Welcome to CHAPTER 17 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 TEN or so chapters, I 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.

And yes, I used to recap every FIVE chapters like the tides rolling in, but as I explained last episode, I’m going to change that format up a bit. Basically, I want to accelerate the progress we’re making through the book

In Chapter 16, we were with Hodr — the son of Frigg and Odin — as he mucked out some stables and remembered the man, the warrior, he’d been. 

When we last left Frigg (in chapter 8) she’d just had a vision of Baldr burning up aboard a fiery ship. In this chapter, she’s with her daughter, Hermod — and more on that after the chapter.

Let’s do this.

Chapter Seventeen
Frigg
Frigg folded her arms and frowned as Hermod flung her mud-stained cloak against the bench.
“He couldn’t have waited?” Hermod asked. “I would’ve gone with him.”
“I didn’t know when you’d be back,” she said. “And the Jotunn posed an immediate threat to Háls—or perhaps even Vithi itself by now. Your father had to leave when he did.”
“Half a day would’ve made a difference?” Hermod flicked her long dark-gold braid out of the way and put her hands on her hips.
Frigg met the girl’s gaze levelly. “Of course it would have. You’ve been with your uncles. You know the warrior’s life.”
“I know what it’s like to train and ride and scout and freeze near to death—and then to rejoice when I’m back in a warm longhouse. But a full-scale battle?” Hermod sniffed. “I could’ve helped him in Vithi.”
“I don’t disagree, Hermod, and I’m sorry that you missed him, but that’s how it goes sometimes. He’ll be back soon.”
“Did he at least ask about me?”
Frigg crossed to the bench and picked up the discarded cloak. “He hasn’t forgotten his only daughter, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“So he didn’t.”
She folded the cloak in three quick movements and set it down, sat beside it, and looked up at her daughter. Tall and slim as a young elm, Hermod had been training with Gladsheim’s army for the past sixteen winters. She stood as if she knew how to handle herself, and it made Frigg proud. She herself had learned to fight bare-handed and with weapons, not that she had done so since the Vanir War.
She patted the bench beside her. “I was as surprised as anyone when Gná brought word this morning that he was back. And when this whole thing with Heimdall and Vidar happened, off he rushed.” She shook her head and spread her hands. “What do you want me to say, Hermod? Your father does as he pleases, when he pleases. At least this time, he had a good reason.”
“While leaving us all behind,” Hermod said, the aggression draining from her stance. She unbuckled her sword, wrapped the belt around the scabbard, and sat. “And what about Hodr? Did he ask about his other forgotten child?”
“I understand you’re upset, Hermod. But stop acting like this. Your father hasn’t forgotten you or Hodr.” Or me?
“Really? I was nine when Hodr slipped away in the night. And Father left that same way. Hard to not feel forgotten and abandoned.”
“Just because we’re not constantly talking about you—or him—doesn’t mean that you’ve been forgotten. Quite the opposite,” she said, biting back the urge to lash out and say try spending twenty winters being responsible for absolutely everything that happens in Gladsheim. Even so, something in her expression must have given Hermod pause.
“Mother, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
She raised a hand. “I know. None of this is fair, as if the Norns give any thought to that. What matters, Hermod, is how we act. How we respond. Are you going to whine and throw fits? No, of course you’re not. You’ve the best of both me and your father in you. Let all that show through, all right?”
Hermod leaned in and hugged her. She smelled of sweat and leather. “I will, Mother, and I’m sorry. I just wish—”
“That we’d drag Hodr back here or that I’d pitch a fit and make your father stay.” She leaned out of the embrace. “I’d sooner try to stop a runaway horse than make your father or your brothers—or you—do something that any of you didn’t want to do.”
Hermod smiled faintly. “It’s just that everything revolves around Baldr, especially these past months. I can’t help but believe that’s why Hodr stays away. And why Father left in the first place.”
She shook her head. “Your father left all that time ago because he enjoys being out there discovering new things—wisdom, lands, people—not because of Hodr or Baldr.” And because he preferred wandering to the constraints of ruling—and left her to deal with all of it.
“Do you think he knows?”
“That who knows what?”
“That Hodr knows that Father’s back,” Hermod said. “Wherever he is.”
Frigg wanted to say that she knew very well where Hodr was, in Ifington with a young woman Hermod’s age. “It wouldn’t surprise me. I had Gná send birds out to all the major towns.”
“It’d be nice to see him again, to be a family again. Assuming he stays.”
“It would indeed. But for now, you can help me get the city ready for Midwinter.”
Hermod frowned. “Ullr said I should—”
“Nonsense. You can take a break from archery or whatever else your uncle said to do. You just don’t want the drudgery of planning. And in that, you’re more like your father than you think.”
She smiled to make sure the words didn’t sting. There was time enough for Hermod to learn that she could not anchor her life on her father or her mother—or indeed, on any of her kinsmen. Hermod had to become her own rock.

OUTRO
Well, folks, that was CHAPTER 17 of Kinsmen Die. I hope you enjoyed it. 

Frigg was pulling double duty in this chapter — damage control for her husband and as Mom to Hermod.

In the myths Hermod was a SON of Odin and is a minor character, at least as far as we know based on surviving text. He’s really only in Baldrs Draumr

I made Hermod a DAUGHTER of Odin because


The Norse myths are dominated by men. Hermod may be a minor character in the myths, but I envisioned a bigger role for her particularly as it relates to a pivotal scene in my second book Dark Grows the Sun, that I thought would work best if Hermod was a woman.

To make that scene pay off correctly, I had to set the stage for it in this first book.

And then, in my third book, Hermod continues playing a pivotal role.

  
As I mentioned before, please
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I’d also enjoy hearing from you. You can email me at mattbishopwrites@gmail.com

  
As always, I’m going to read from the Havamal, sayings of the High One, Odin himself.

I’m going to start reading the Bellows and the Larrington translations

It’s a great refresher for me and it nicely juxtaposes an older way of translating the text with a more modern version


Bellows, Verse 17

17. The fool is agape when he comes to the feast,
He stammers or else is still;
But soon if he gets a drink is it seen
What the mind of the man is like.

Larrington
The fool stares when he comes on a visit,
he mutters to himself or hovers about;
but it’s all up with him if he gets a swig of drink; the man’s mind is exposed.