The first thing I felt was a cold, slimy hand grasping my shoulders. I opened my eyes to see the wrinkled face of an old woman staring back at me.
"It's a boy!" she declared loudly in a strange tongue that I couldn't understand.
Who is this woman? A foreigner?
I tried to speak, but then—
"Waah~"
Strange noises escaped my lips. It was odd; it sounded almost like baby noises.
"Can I see him?! Let me see my son! I have to see him before he…"
Another voice spoke in the room. I couldn't see them since I was facing the old lady, but their voice sounded almost delirious. I could tell it was the voice of a woman.
"Calm down, Frey. The midwife will take care of him," another voice chimed in, sounding like yet another woman.
The room I was in was dimly lit, with only a few candles flickering, their flames dancing faintly on the wooden walls. My eyes had yet to adjust; I could only make out the face of the old lady, which was close.
"No, you don't understand!" It was the delirious woman again, her voice growing more agitated. "He's cursed! The gods have cursed him, just like they've done with the others. If we don't act now, he'll…" I couldn't see her face or fully understand her words, but her voice was filled with emotion. "I can't lose another child!"
The look on the old woman's face was one of pity. She glanced at me, then back at the shouting woman before finally speaking.
"Runa, come hold the child. I'll handle Frey."
As the shouting continued, I raised my hands in front of my face, and what I saw wasn't the hands of a fifteen-year-old boy—they were the hands of a toddler.
An ominous feeling rose in my chest, accompanied by a terrifying thought: somehow, I'd been reborn.
No! Was that even possible? I had read stories about that happening and even dreamed of it, but those were just stories and dreams. It couldn't happen for real, could it?
The old lady then handed me over to another woman—this time younger. The girl couldn't be older than sixteen, with a braid hanging over one shoulder and mischief in her eyes.
"Hey there, little one," she said in a baby voice. "I'm your fun aunt Runa. Stay strong, okay? There are going to be lots of fun times ahead for us."
Of course, just like the others, I couldn't understand a word she said, and I could only stare at her while making baby noises as I attempted to speak. She began rubbing my belly and blowing on my cheeks in a playful manner.
Then she stopped and sharply shifted her attention to the old woman and the other lady, allowing me to see them as well.
I could now see the woman who had sounded like she was in a panic. She was wearing a brown nightgown covered in blood and grime. Her face looked weak and pale, as if she were exhausted.
Given the context of the situation, it didn't take long for me to figure out who she was. She was the woman who had just given birth to me—my mother.
The old lady was trying her best to keep her down on a pile of fur they must have used for a bed. But the woman wasn't having it; her eyes were locked onto me. Looking at her, I sensed that she was worried about something.
The old woman gave a defeated look before tapping her index finger on the woman's forehead.
"Far til drauma."
A faint pink glow appeared before the woman passed out completely. Was that… could that be… magic?!
"Are you sure you should have done that?" the girl holding me asked the old woman. "You know why she's like that."
The old woman sighed before answering.
"Yes, I understand her situation. Having 6 stillborns and 2 children dying shortly after birth must have been hard for her. I understand why she thought she had been cursed by the gods, but for her safety and the child's, we can't just allow her to do as she pleases."
She paused for a second before speaking and gave me a sharp glare, "Odin's eyes see all; he will watch over this child."
The girl kept quiet and nodded along. All of what was happening was overwhelming for me to handle, and not long after, I nodded off completely.
When I woke up several hours later, I was lying on a fur bed with that woman—no, my mother—laying beside me.
She cracked a smile when I opened my eyes, and then tears began flowing down her face.
"My baby," she whispered in a voice overwhelmed with emotion before giving me a small kiss on the cheek.
…
Six months passed as if it was yesterday, and in that time I'd learned a few things: I had been reincarnated, my family was insane and this world had magic.
I had only managed to pick up a little of the language, and my legs hadn't developed strong enough to support me, so all I could do was crawl.
Every time I tried to take a look outside, I was stopped either by my mother, Frey, or my Aunt Runa. I had gotten used to them and felt myself growing closer to them.
My mother was a bit overprotective at times; she would overreact over the smallest bruises and bumps. As for my Aunt Runa, she was a wild card. Most of my bumps and cuts were caused by her recklessness; I swear half the time she was trying to kill me.
And it wasn't a baseless accusation; I had proof. There was the time she threw me into the air while we were playing, and my head hit the ceiling with a thud. There was also the time she knocked over a vase onto my head while horsing around.
Not to mention the hundreds of times she almost suffocated me after sneaking into my
bed while I was sleeping. It was like she had no sense of personal space. I hoped this might change as I grew older.
Apart from my mother and Runa, the only other person I saw was the midwife; she was also the only person I saw using magic.
Whenever she came by, it was always the same. She would set me down and then chant a strange spell, causing a golden light to swirl around me. I had no idea what her spell did, but when she was finished, she always said the same thing.
"The All-Father is watching over you, boy."
"The al… fada?" I asked, not fully able to pronounce the words of this new language.
She gave me a polite smile and squinted her eyes.
"Yes, the All-Father—Odin, the god of magic and men. He has great things in store for you, I can tell."
"Aww, our little Sigurd is going to be a great warrior, I can tell," Runa said, ruffling my hair, to which my mother immediately refuted.
"Gods forbid! I don't want my little boy going off to war. I want my Sigurd to live a life of peace."
That was my new name now—Sigurd, the son of Dag of the JomsVikings.