INTRO
 
Welcome to CHAPTER 38 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. And, with each episode, when it makes sense, I provide some commentary about the source materials I’ve referenced in the text.

Today, we’re back with Hodr Odinsson. Last time we were with him, he’d been trampled by a horse. Remember that Hodr is blind. He lost his sight when a snow bear spat venom into his face during the Last War with the Jotunn.

He’s been living in Ifington, a city in the northern part of Asgard, with his girlfriend Alara. She runs a way house — an inn that caters to merchants transporting goods.

So with that refresher,  


Let’s do this.

Chapter Thirty-Eight
Hodr
As always, Hodr woke to darkness. He tried sitting up, but an anvil pounding in his head drove him back down with a tight hiss of pain. A damp cloth was wrapped tightly around his head. He smelled earth, sage, and grasses. Gingerly, he probed with his fingers at the spot where the smith’s hammer kept striking his head. The damp poultice that was there did little, it seemed, to dull the ache .
Familiar sounds reached his ears: the creak and bang of shutters, voices rising and falling as they moved around outside. Familiar scents reached his nose: cooking food and—
“Alara, are you there?”
“Yes, Hodr,” she said, sounding as if she’d just woken. “I’m here. Don’t try to move.”
“I just found that out…my head feels like an anvil in Thor’s shop. What happened?”
He heard her move, and a moment later the bed creaked as she sat beside him.
“You don’t remember?”
“I was coming back from the market,” he said, his mouth dry. Memories began to emerge from the ringing in his head. “There was a horse...”
“Yes, you were knocked down. Trampled. You hit your head.”
“Least I hit something I rarely use.” He edged into a less reclined position. Pain flickered like lightning among dark clouds.
She gently smacked his shoulder. “Don’t joke. I watched the valkyr press the bones of your skull back into place. She wasn’t sure you’d ever wake up—not that she said it.”
“Could I have something to drink?”
He heard the smile in her voice. “Of course.”
In a rustle of skirts, she fetched a jug of wine. The wine gurgled into a cup. She sat back down and touched the cup to his lips. Light and sweet, the wine eased the dryness and warmed his belly.
She took the cup away. “Not too much at first. Are you hungry?”
He edged up a little higher, wincing as the lighting’s flicker threatened like his brother raising Mjolnir. His stomach growled. “Yes, I could eat. How long have I been asleep?”
“Three nights now. I would’ve said it’d be a fourth, but you surprised me.” Relief was evident in her voice and in the tight grip of her hand in his.
“Did the valkyr really push my skull back together?” If so, that explained the pounding—and the hooves that had cracked it to begin with. 
"She did, yes, though I could barely watch.”
Idly, he wondered if it was that withered, year-old fruit his father had sent that had helped him heal. Usually, it’s power lingered for several nights before fading away.
The words leaped from his mouth before he’d even realized he was going to speak them. “Alara, I broke my promise—I ate that old fruit my father sent. I think that’s why I’m still alive.”
He felt her draw back—not much, but his heart skipped a beat anyway. Her silence was worse. Alone in his darkness, dread built like a storm.
But then she kissed forehead and a smile rang in her voice. “Well, in that case, I forgive you. Rest. I’ll be back later.”

***

He dreamed he was lying in a pasture, much as he’d done as a boy. The smell of crushed grasses all around him—and the evidence on his knees, elbows and down the front of his shirt. He was sure to be red-knuckled and scrubbing them out by evening, unless he hid them well. That might buy him a few more nights. But with a sky bluer than a robin’s egg and the sweet scent of wildflowers hanging in the air, he didn’t care.
A woman’s voice called his name—not his mother’s with its harsh edge, nor his sister’s with its exasperated air, but sweetly, as if she wanted to see him. To talk to him. To be with him. The wildflowers drifted closer, and he smiled.
A hand touched his shoulder and he sat up, startled, the darkness snatching away the sky.
“Who’s there?” Even to himself, his voice sounded slurred. He licked his lips.
“It’s just me, Hodr,” Alara said. “And the valkyr, but she just left.”
He reached up and touched the bandages and the wet poultice beneath.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, sounding further off. Then, as if over her shoulder, “Keep your hands off those. They’re fresh.”
Her quick steps approached and the bed creaked as she sat, the wildflowers just within reach. He smelled porridge, then a weighty tray pressed the bed down.
He tried a nod and regretted it. “How long did I sleep this time?”
“Not too long. Sól’s moved maybe an eitt. The valkyr was pleased that you’d woken and were yourself.”
“What?”
“She didn’t say anything about your hearing.”
“No, what did you mean, ‘not myself’?”
He heard the shrug in her voice. “Apparently, it can happen. Sometimes those who get hit in the head are never quite the same afterwards.” Then he heard the smile. “Maybe you’ll be better.”
“Funny.”
“I brought some—”
“It smells great. Will you?”
He felt a spoon pressed into his hand, and he pushed himself up a bit further. Her hand, cool and dry, touched his. Then a warm stone bowl settled into his lap.
While he ate, she said, “The smith whose horse struck you sent a messenger asking how you were doing. I sent the boy back, said that you had died.”
He coughed and spluttered. “You did what?”
“I’m kidding,” she said, the smile rosy in her voice. “I told him you’d woken and would probably be up and about in a few days.”
“That’s what the valkyr said?”
“She told me if you keep the first food down, you’d be up inside two weeks, but she doesn’t know what we do. Just don’t push it, all right?”
He grunted, swallowed another mouthful, and asked, “What about the way house? Shouldn’t you be there?”
“Hleven’s running it. With any luck, we’ll still have chairs come morning.” The bed creaked as she sat.
“So it was a smith’s horse?”
“Yes, that Lopt fellow you were talking to a few nights ago.”
“You know, he told me he had a wild horse in his team. Broke his son’s leg—or his brother’s. I don’t remember.” He ate another spoonful. “What happened to all the fish I had bought?”
“You worry about the strangest things. It’s here. Kona wouldn’t let anyone near you but me. That smith said he’d be back through here in another few nights. Asked to speak with you when he does. Apologize in person both for the accident and having to leave.”
Hodr shrugged, then winced at the streak of pain. “Sure, no harm in that, I guess.”

OUTRO
Well, folks, that was CHAPTER 38 of Kinsmen Die. I hope you enjoyed it. 

We were with Hodr as he woke up from getting well and truly trampled by a wild horse owned, apparently, by the smith Lopt who was chatting Hodr up a few chapters ago. Perhaps events are starting to converge a little bit.

Note that the fruit that Hodr references is one of Yggdrasil’s apples. We saw how even that year-old produce restored some youth and vigor to Hodr…and to the pretty birds on the bridge.

Next week, we’re back with Vafthrudnir. It’s also been a while since we’ve seen him.

Before then, if you have the time and inclination, please rate and/or review the podcast — that helps boost the show’s visibility. As does sharing it.

And if you’re so inclined, shoot me an email at mattbishopwrites@gmail.com.

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

As usual, I’ll be reading from Bellows and Larrington. 

Bellows, Verse 38

Away from his arms in the open field
A man should fare not a foot;
For never he knows when the need for a spear
Shall arise on the distant road.

Larrington, Verse 38
From his weapons on open land
no man should step one pace away;
for it can’t be known for certain, out on the road, when a man might have need of his spear.
 
Thanks for listening.