Sound, sight, smell – that was the order in which Gardar got to know them. Touch followed all too soon whereas the taste came not much later. They arrived by food, the metal on their boots sounding hard on the ancient remains of the cobblestone street. Gardar could not immediately make sense of what was going on for it was the first time in forever that their village had visitors.

Out of habit, Gardar turned to his uncle Skjölf when he heard metal clinging for he thought the tall man might have dropped a hammer or something of that sort once again. Skjölf, however, was currently standing at the bottom of an almost completed church, pulling on a rope to lift some more stones up to his young assistant who was kneeling on top of the construction. So when Gardar saw something move in the corner of his eye, out on the main road, he quickly realised the sound must be coming from there. In the evening light, the newcomers' armour shone in a dark red tone – painted for dramatic effect, as Gardar was to learn another day. At first, fooled by the illusion, he mistook the colour for blood. Warriors, drenched in blood, as if they'd climbed right out of his grandmother's book of fairy tales and other horror stories.

They were laughing and talking as they were approaching the border of the village but when they took note of the houses in the forest, they slowed down their boots' rhythmical clamour and eventually came to a halt. There were five of them, as Gardar could now see. He stared at them in disbelief, never having seen any of the Others in his own village. Only on brief trips into other villages far off where he used to get new tools from.

The small troop now stood still in front of the church, staring in disbelief at the stones in the air. Gardar knew that to them it must look as though the church was building itself for he and all others in the village were invisible to Others, not just in his grandmother's stories. The villagers stood equally dumbfounded, unsure what they should do.

Gardar, being a young man who was often up to no good, approached them slowly. He tried to talk to them, just in case something had changed the curse, but they didn't react at all. They smelled of sweat and as though they hadn't washed themselves in forever. He gave them some more time to stare and encircled them slowly. When he got bored, he poked the closest warrior's left cheek. The man shouted out and jumped a step away. Gardar couldn't stifle the chuckle coming up his throat and some of the other villagers laughed while others shook their heads and turned away. They didn't seem to care much about the newcomers, but Gardar was only just getting started having his fun with them.

The warriors now took formation, shouting at each other while drawing their swords so Gardar carefully stepped back.

'What was that?' The man he'd poked was the first to utter something comprehensible to Gardar.

'What was what? What's going on here?' a young man of about Gardar's age asked.

'Something touched my face!' the first now shouted, swinging his sword against the air. 'What is this place?'

'Calm down.' The oldest of them spoke now but Gardar could not see his face from his position

While they were talking, Gardar had a closer look at their armour. They were only half clad, no helmets, no gloves, just the most necessary and probably what hindered them least when marching. But Gardar didn't understand where they had the rest, they had brought no horses and no waggons either and weren't even carrying any bags they could have stored supplies in. Only some water skins were hanging on their bags.

'You know there once were magicians in these parts of the forest. Strange things happen here, isn't that exactly why we were sent ahead? No quit your childish excitement and move on! In formation, slowly but steadily!' The other men obeyed the oldest and started to move again, along the path, deeper into the village.

Gardar started to run ahead of them, calling out for his friends Torlov and Audgils. They were always somewhere nearby, following Gardar's every step because he always was sure to find some sort of occupation for them. They were the only young men in their village. Beside some unborn children, they were actually the youngest villagers alive. An outbreak of a disease they hadn't understood had started to kill all children a few years ago. They had been unable to get help and medicine due to the curse. Now all women in the right age for having children were pregnant or trying to get there, despite none of their babies having survived their first year since it all started.

This had caused the village to grow increasingly restless and there was always a tension between the men, knowing that there were too many of them compared to how many women were around. The situation meant that Gardar and his two friends were doomed to stay alone should not some other man in their village find a tragically early end. There used to be a lot of fighting, sometimes even physical, among the young men until Gardar took Audgils and Torlov under his watch. He didn't know how, but he had decided to keep them busy until something would change, for the better or the worse.

The two men came running like dogs when Gardar called and Torlov, thinking ahead, even brought some rope and a small axe. He threw one end of the rope into Audgils's arms and ran around one side of the troop while Audgils went the other way. Understanding what they were up to, Gardar picked up the rope where it was hanging too low and held it to the level of the warriors knees. This way, it didn't take long until, with loud noise and some screaming, the warriors all fell to the ground, ripped off their feet when Audgils and Torlov ran away with the rope endings in opposite directions after having completed the circle.

'Quick! More rope!' Gardar shouted towards the other villagers, but nobody except for his friends reacted. Together, the three men used the time they'd gained to tie up some of the warriors. One of them, however, caught a hold on the rope and, seemingly now seeing it, shook it off his legs, starting to run away heedlessly, leaving his sword behind.

'I'll get him!' Torlov shouted, running after the man. He was much faster, not carrying any heavy armour, and soon took the warrior down by jumping onto his back. The man fell to the ground but turned his head and suddenly screamed loudly.

'It's men! It's men! It's a trap!' he shouted. Torlov hesitated for a moment, but then he pressed his hand onto the warrior's mouth to silence him.

Gardar, who had looked up to see whether Torlov would manage, turned back to the five men who were now lying in front of him and Audgils. Some of the knots were not yet tight enough so Gardar had another look at them before he even thought about what he'd do with the warriors next. He was just fastening the last knot when a fist hit him in the stomach and nearly made him throw up. When he saw which warrior had hit him, he threw himself onto the man and bit the unprotected hand, soon feeling the blood run down his lips. It tasted salty and spoilt. Gardar let go and spat.

'Fasten him up, will you?' Gardar said, turning to Audgils who immediately obeyed.

'Gardar, what in the name of the Gods are you doing?' Now Gardar saw his blind grandmother Imi step out of her hut with his mother Kellu's help. 'I heard shouting and screaming, what's going on?'

'There are strangers, grandma.'

'Strangers? Splendid! Now, why are they screaming?' she asked.

'Well...' Gardar mumbled, looking for words. 'I had to make sure they wouldn't run away.' He gave her a childish grin despite knowing that she was blind.

'And what are you going to do with them now?'

'I'll take everything they have and then let them run. When else do we have the chance to gain some metal and clothes?' Gardar explained tiredly. His grandmother was regarded by all villagers as some sort of leader although she really didn't have much sense for harsh reality. She seemed to be stuck in the fairy tales she had used to tell them when they were little.

'Come here for a moment, will you?' his grandmother spoke. Gardar waved at his two friends to continue the job while he went back into the hut with his mother and grandmother.

'Boy, what have I taught you all those years?' his grandmother asked while Kellu was sitting her down on her bed.

'A lot, actually...'

'It seems you have forgotten all of it.' His grandmother's voice now sounded harsh.

'What do you expect me to do with them? They are just a handful of men.' Gardar said, trying to keep calm.

'We need help, boy. They could help us,' she spoke slowly.

'With what?'

'The curse.'

'The curse cannot be broken. You told me, all those years, you kept telling me it was impossible,' Gardar exclaimed, getting impatient with the old woman.

'It was, you fool. It was, because nobody ever found us.'

'What does their presence change?' Gardar asked, now getting curious.

'They know the way, love. Nobody who left for the city ever returned before. Just like your father, they all got lost in the forest,' his mother now said.

'Exactly, which is why they were such fools to leave at all. But you, boy, you have a chance to change it all. Go with them, take of their supplies, mark every turn you take and you will be able to return someday,' his grandmother explained.

'But what should I even do in town?'

'Find a cure. Son, we are all dying if our children don't live. Find somebody who can help us,' his mother said.

'And bring some young women, too.' Gardar stared at his grandmother in disbelief when she said that. 'Fresh blood, my boy, it cannot be helped.'

'But grandmother, you said bringing strangers here brings them under the curse, too. We can't do that.'

'How does it even matter so long as they do not leave?' The grandmother chuckled. 'They won't even know.'

'We would still be taking them from their homes and all they've ever known.' Gardar was getting angry now. He knew they were right, but he didn't like it anyway. 'It doesn't matter anyway, they don't have any supplies, they are just as doomed as we would be. We'll take what they have and then let them go.' With these words, Gardar got up and left the hut.

Outside, he saw his friends carrying the warriors' armour away, leaving them in their undergarments. Gardar knew he would have to tell them, they deserved to have a choice. He waited until they'd put down what they were carrying at that moment before he called them towards him, giving the frightened warriors a rest.

// There you go, the first chapter of Ghosts of the Forest, I hope you enjoyed it! This is a book I am writing right now so any feedback is always welcome and can easily be realized, let's say, if you have an idea on how invisible people could play tricks on others, I'd be open to see whether it can be integrated ;)