Elfland

By W.Wm. Mee

In the 24th century a dying Earth sends out twelve brave starships to repopulate distant worlds. Each ship contains over five hundred ‘colonists’ and a legion of Deep Space Marines. When Transport Starship #7, The U.F.S. Hector, lands on Beta Seven they find their lush, new Eden-like planet already populated with exotic wildlife, primitive tribes of beautiful wood-nymphs or ‘Elves’ and a large, savage, medieval race of conquering nomads. The ‘colonists’ only hope is that the Seventh Legion of Deep Space Marines can carve out a truce with the fierce and cruel Volta.

• Language: English
• Publisher: W.Wm. Mee
• Release date: Aug 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005131197

W.Wm. Mee

Wayne William Mee is a retired English teacher who enjoys hiking, sailing and walking his Beagle hound. He is also a 'living historian' or 'reenactor'. You can see Wayne's historical group on Facebook's 'McCaw's Privateers' 18th Century Naval Camp' page. Building & sailing wooden sailboats also takes up a chunk of Wayne's time, but along with his wife Maggie,son Jason and granddaughter Zoe, writing is his true love, the one he returns to let his imagination soar.Wayne would like you to 'look him up' on FACEBOOK and click the 'Friend' button or even zap him an e-mail.If you enjoyed any of his books, kindly leave a REVIEW here at Smashwords and/or say so on Facebook, Twitter, Tweeter or whatever other 'social network' you use.Thanks for stopping by ---and keep reading!!Drop him a line either there or at [e-mail]'ll be glad to hear from you!'Rest ye gentle --- sleep ye sound'

Book preview

Chapter 1: ‘Gwendavelda’

Gwendavelda Ni Glendora gripped the smooth, worn handle of her bone knife and scanned the thick forest for any sign of the hated Volta. The forest was thick all around her --- too thick for spear work! A short blade was needed!

Word had come that the cruel invaders had attacked several of the outlying farmsteads and her ‘fist leader’, Twall Camber, had sent her group out to guard the west side of their village. Now, having heard something close by, Gwendavelda strained to see through the dense forest and early morning mist. Her mind raced as her pounding heart threatened to burst through her leather breastplate.

‘The killing time is near,’ she thought, repeating the mantra she had been taught ever since she was a little girl in training.

‘The killing time is near --- and I will do my clan proud!’

But would she? Would she stand firm, fight bravely --- even to the bitter end? Or would she turn and run --- run like her brother had? For the past five years Twall Camber and others like him had trained her to stand firm and fight, but this would be her first solo ‘blooding’!

Her instructors had told her she was ready, that she was fast, strong and fierce. But would that be enough to wipe out the stain her brother Glaiden had brought upon her family?! The hurt she’d seen in her father’s eyes? The pain that had washed over her mother and the shame that had engulfed her entire clan?!

‘I can do this!’ Gwen told herself. I can kill a Volta!’

But in her heart she wasn’t sure.

She had been on several ambushes before, but always with other, more experienced warriors. They had struck hard and fast, inflicted some hurt, some pain, then had vanished back into the forest shadows. She had even drawn Volta blood --- but she had never killed.

Never faced one of the monsters all alone either.

But now it seemed she would have to!

It wasn’t death she feared, for she knew that Sky Father would welcome her spirit just like Earth Mother would welcome her body. No, what Gwendavelda feared was failure, for having two of his children found wanting would surely break her father’s heart!

She heard the sound again and her mouth went dry and her palms began to sweat. The morning mist was like a swirling carpet over the forest floor and hung thick in the great trees, slowly drifting like smoke.

Suddenly a large form began to materialize through the whiteness, growing both larger and more real as it moved towards her!

She saw the massive shoulders and the tattooed face! Then arms and chest, fur and leather! And the great, hooked-bladed axe held in his massive right hand!

‘A Volta!’ her mind screamed --- and her body froze.

The hated Volta had come from their cold, stony homeland far to the north. They had arrived in her great grandmother’s time, driving all the lesser peoples, clans and races before them! Like locust they came, killing, raping and enslaving all that stood in their way!

Only her people, the Fairean or ‘Forest People’ had dared to fight back, using their bone, flint and bronze blades against the murderous invaders and their great iron swords and axes.

And now one of the nightmarish creatures was coming right for her! Like something out of legend! Something from the Old Tales of giants, trolls, ogres and karns!

The Volta’s fierce eyes took in Gwendavelda’s lush form and her pathetic little bone knife. The tattooed monster towered over the crouching Fairean. His voice, when it came, was like the rumbling of rocks moving in a fast flowing stream.

And what have we here?! A long haired forest nymph come to prick me with her little thorn?!

The massive Volta rested the head of his iron war axe on the ground and leaned on its thick, curved shaft. The large iron head was cut with runes and inlaid with precious silver, and even the carved, wooden handle was a work of art --- but then the Volta were known as a ‘warrior race’ and as such cared more for their weapons than their homes, their children or their many wives.

The war between the two races had been long and bloody, killing off most of the males in Gwendavelda’s clan and almost half the females. The Volta however, though they too had suffered, seemed quite content to simply breed more warriors --- happily using the captured Fairean females as unwilling mothers.

It seemed that this particular Volta was thinking along those same lines, for with a sudden flourish he twirled his great axe and sank the curved edge deep into the log behind which Gwen had been hiding. She flinched, but somehow held back a frightened cry.

You’re a good-looking piece of fluff, I have to admit, the large Volta rumbled; his accent heavy and words hard to make out. Come, my pretty, toss that little thorn away and let’s get properly introduced.

Not waiting for a reply, the large warrior thumped his massive chest and spoke loudly. I’m Gorgolath dom Vortan, senior War Chief of the Volta! I’ve fought man and beast for nearly thirty winters; survived the Death Circle seven times and raided, raped and killed my way from the frozen north to these rich, green mountains of yours! On that long journey I’ve sired countless children on countless War Wives! He then leaned down and leered, smoothing out his thick mustache with two flicks of a rough, calloused finger.

And I would, little dove, be greatly pleased to sire yet another one on you! He then stood upright and crossed his thick arms over his massive chest. So, what say you, wood nymph? Shall we be about it?!

Gwendavelda wasn’t quite sure what had just happened. The Volta’s accent was as thick as his brawny arms, but she thought he had just made her an ‘offer of joining’!

‘Does this great oaf actually want to mate with me?!’ she thought. The offer both frightened and angered her. The anger however caused her to finally find her tongue. I’m no common whore to spread my legs just because you offer to set me free!’ She grunted out a laugh. I’m also no fool! Once you get what you want, you’ll cut my throat and toss me aside!"

The Volta then did something that some might have called a smile, though to Gwendavelda it looked more like a bear’s snarl. "I made no mention of setting you free, little nymph! But beauty such as yours is not often found! Nor should it be casually wasted --- and so I will make you an offer!"

Gwendavelda frowned up at him. And what offer is that? To become yet another of your pathetic ‘war-wives’?! I’d rather die first!

The big man shrugged. As you wish, but first hear my offer. If our joining goes well, I will dress you in furs and sliver arm rings and take you home as a gift for my youngest son, Volag. The lad’s a fierce fighter but strangely shy around women.

Her frown deepened. "You want to rape me and then give me to your son?!"

Another shrug of his massive shoulders. "Not exactly ‘rape’. More like sampling the goods. Please me here and now and I’ll see that Volag makes you his principal war-wife. Please me not however and I will still take you, but you’ll be bruised and bloody when I’m done. He paused a moment to let his offer sink in before continuing. So, my red headed wood mouse, what say you?!"

Gwendavelda made a face, her voice dripping sarcasm. "How very kind of you --- but I prefer to have some say about who I lie with --- and marry!"

The large Volta grunted, not quite sure he had caught all of her sing-song words. To him these forest dwelling Fairean all sounded like birds greeting the morning sun. ‘Did the saucy little bitch just refuse me?!’ he thought. ‘Me! Gorgolath son of Vorlax! Commander of the First Strike?! Cousin to Dar Vorlax and nephew to Dass Voltagun himself! High King of all Volta!’

Angry now, he reached down to grab the young woman; but Gwen, remembering her training, quickly slashed her bone blade up the inside of his right forearm. It was only Gorgolath’s heavy gold arm ring that stopped her blade from continuing on up to his throat!

Taught to ‘hit and run’ rather than ‘stand and fight’, she was darting away when a painful yank on her long hair deposited her on her backside. The Volta stood towering over her, blood from the long gash on his arm dripping down on her face, turning it into a red mask of horror.

Bitch! he growled, along with several other guttural words in his own tongue. "You actually cut me!"

Gwen brandished her short, bone knife. "Touch me again, filth, and it won’t be your arm I cut next!"

Gorgolath slowly smiled, his large teeth showing through his thick beard. Then his left arm shot out and his hand closed around her throat. Effortlessly he lifted her up till her feet dangled above the forest floor. He then shook her briefly and took her knife away with his now blood covered hand. Wiping the blade on her tunic, he stuck it in his belt.

So, you refuse my generous offer? he casually asked. Fine! Then raped, beaten and dragged off it shall be!

Her face was swiftly turning the colour of her blood covered breastplate. She had one hand on his choking fingers and the other reaching for the long, slender deer tine she had in her boot. The round bone was carved with runes and tapered to a wicked point --- a natural weapon made for stabbing --- which is exactly what she did --- right into the Volta’s left eye!

The result was dramatic: noise, movement and pain, for both the stabber and the one being stabbed. Gwen was immediately tossed aside, where she lay bruised and gasping for breath, the bloody deer tine still in her hand.

Gorgolath’s reaction was even more dramatic. He roared like the great wounded beast that he was, clasped his left hand to his now bloody left eye and reached out for Gwen with his bloody right one. However, with one eye now a jellied ruin and the other clouded by pain, he could see little in the fog choked shadows of the forest.

Gwendavelda, on her knees now and breathing somewhat more normally, crawled quickly away from the raging Volta. The shadows soon swallowed her and she stopped to catch her breath. That’s when she heard his slow, deep words coming from somewhere behind her. The chant was repeated over and over as his heavy footsteps got closer to where she hid.

‘May the cold winds bite you,

And the hot sun burn you!

May you have no sleep

Nor rest nor ease of heart,

Till I find you again, and take out

Both your eyes!’

Each word of the Volta’s curse struck her like a blow, and her heart once again threatened to burst with fear.

‘My eyes!’ she silently screamed. ‘He’ll take both my eyes --- and leave me alone in the dark!’

‘Run away?!’ a small, frightened voice whispered in her brain. ‘Run like your brother, Glaiden!’

No! she said out loud. I can’t. I won’t! This last part was almost shouted.

Suddenly it was her teacher’s voice she heard, Twall Camber. Calm and measured as usual, he spoke in her mind. ‘There is a difference, Gwendavelda, between retreating and running away. A wise fighter knows this.’

I never claimed to be wise, she replied inwardly.

‘Nevertheless, child, you are, or you will be one day. Now, go quickly and warn the village! Where there is one Volta, others are always close behind! Run now! Save your people!’

Gorgolath had gone quiet, as had all the creatures of the forest. As silent as a mouse Gwen moved slowly through the fog shrouded forest. After every third or fourth step she glanced back, expecting to see the huge Volta right behind her. He wasn’t there, but his mocking voice was.

Run, little mouse. Run home and hide. But soon I’ll be back --- for you and your eyes!

Still clutching the bloody deer tine, she ran all the way home.

***

Chapter 2: ‘Beta Seven’

Transport Starship #7: The U.F.S. Hector

Cryo-Chamber #1: Capt. Grace Thompson

Present Star Date: 2383.319

Vivaldi’s 1722 masterpiece ‘Four Season’s’ gently grew in volume, filling the cryo-chamber of the sleeping form. As Captain Grace Thompson slowly awoke to the famous concerto, the onboard computers brought the huge starship out of fusion drive and settled into a high orbit around the Earth-like planet. After thirty-seven years at maximum warp, the United Federation Starship Hector had finally arrived at Beta Seven. The captain quickly glanced at the readout on the cryo-bed screen.

PRESENT STARDATE:

2383.319

DEPARTURE DATE:

2346.213

TIME ELAPSED:

37 years 106 days 7.5 hours

‘Made it through another one alive!’ Grace thought to herself, then slowly sat up and swung her legs off the bed. Captain Thompson, a twenty year veteran of deep space travel, was accustomed to waking from cryo-sleep, as were her two hundred crew members and the eight hundred soldiers in the 7th Legion of the Deep Space Marines. Their counterparts, however, the five hundred civilians chosen to help settle this new planet, were not.

Dizziness, headaches and confusion awaited the uninitiated sleepyheads, and Thompson knew from experience that many of the ‘chosen’ would be puking their guts out once they emerged from their nearly four decade long chemical induced slumber.

To help prepare for this mass awakening, Doctor Karen Green and her staff had been awakened ten days earlier. The doctor, her staff and a score of specialized cyborgs were there to greet the groggy travelers when they awoke. To ease the process, not everyone would be roused at the same time. Medical first, then the captain and her crew, followed by two shifts of the eight hundred marines and then another two shifts of the five hundred ‘chosen’. While this last group slowly became acclimatized back to the ‘land of the living’, the captain and her science officers would study their new home as the Hector orbited the planet. Eventually manned shuttles would land and make contact with the local inhabitants --- and the marines of the 7th Legion would be there to make sure that contact with Beta Seven’s local inhabitants remained peaceful.

Like all the other twelve ‘new worlds’ chosen for colonization, Beta-Seven was as like earth as possible. This often, though not always, included some form of human-like ‘civilization’, though just ‘how’ human was difficult to determine. It had been decided to shun any more ‘advanced’ civilizations in favor of ones where the newly arrived ‘Earthlings’ would have the ‘advantage’ of science, medicine, technology and the always important, fire-power. ‘Go in peace, but go prepared!’ was the motto of all the legions of the Deep Space Marines.

***

Two days later Captain Grace Thompson’s briefing was short and sweet; she welcomed all to this new and exciting chapter of their lives, listened to some brief status reports from science, engineering, communication and medical, then sent everyone off to do their assigned jobs. She asked her friend Doctor Karen Green, and the three key officers of the military to stay behind.

These were Legate Cynthia Dodds, a cold, brusque, hard-to-like woman and head of the 7th Legion; Tribune Charles Templer, a vainly handsome older man that Captain Thompson considered was all bluster and no substance, and Tribune Titus Randolph Kain. Tribune Kain, younger than Templer, had far more battle experience. He was a true soldier, ---brave, competent and straight forward, he suffered no fools around him --- except for the two that now sat at his side that sadly (in the captain’s opinion), outranked him. Doctor Green and the three DSMs waited in silence for Captain Thompson to begin.

I asked you four to stay back because I’ve something to show you; something rather shocking. Captain Grace Thompson then looked at the four faces, each one waiting for the other shoe to fall. I wanted you to see this first and get your input before making any further decisions.

Is there something wrong with the ship, captain? Legate Cynthia Dodds, asked, a slight nervous catch in her voice, her dark eyes darting about the room.

No, Legate Dodds, the ship is fine.

Well then, the head of the 7th Legion asked, though it came out more like an impatient demand. What is it?!

For an answer the captain touched her wrist communicator and instantly the far wall displayed a series of pictures of oddly dressed women with wild hair and either face paint or tattoos, ending with one holding something in her hand.

Jesus! First Tribune Charles Templer all but shouted. "That’s a bloody skull! Catching himself, the First Tribune flushed red and looked nervously at Cynthia Dodds. Sorry mam, the picture caught me off guard."

The Legate of the 7th Legion, her silver-white, witch-like hair framing her stern face, turned her icy smile on her first officer. A good soldier, Charles, is never caught off guard.

Templer’s flush turned crimson. Sorry mam! It’s won’t happen again!

Legate Dodds ignored the man and turned her cold gaze back to Captain Thompson. I don’t see any real problem, captain. We already knew the local inhabitants were pre-industrial. Actually, the more primitive they are the easier it will be to handle them.

"That might be so, Legate, if these painted creatures were the only human inhabitants of the planet --- but they are not."

The legate now turned her icy smile on the captain. "There are others down there beside these painted ‘wood elves’ you’ve found?"

The captain’s smile was just as icy. See for yourself.

Another series of pictures flashed on the wall, each one more startling than the last. Holy shit! First Tribune Charles Templer said, this time turning a fish belly white.

Legate Cynthia Dodds ignored Templer and turned to her second officer. "Tribune Kain, you are in charge of the tactical side of things. ‘Boots on the ground and all that!’ What do you make of these brawny fellows?"

Titus Randolph Kain, never one to mince words, got right to the point. If all they’ve got are axes and swords, they’ll be no real problem for my lads.

Legate Dodds looked at the picture of the half- naked savage, and then turned back to the captain, the smile on her face now looking like a cat after stealing the cream. There you have it, Captain, problem solved. If a seasoned marine like Tribune Kain says there won’t be a problem, then there won’t be. The smile vanishing, she turned back to Kain. Take a scouting party down there and see what’s what. Crack a few skulls if you have to, but have everything all squared away for when I bring the legion down in a few days.

Second Tribune Kain stood up, struck his right fist against his breastplate and, ignoring First Tribune Templer, nodded briefly to the captain and left the room.

Legate Dodds stood next, smoothing her uniform as she did so. If that’s all, captain, I have things to attend to.

Of course, Legate. Thank you for your time.

As the highly unlikable woman left the room, with the equally unlikable first tribune scurrying behind her, Captain Grace Thompson thought once again how one’s fellow officers were much like family --- like them or not, you were usually stuck with them. She then looked at the pictures from the planet once more, not envying Second Tribune Kain his job of ‘problem solving’ one bit!

***

Chapter 3: ‘Dathruda’

Dathruda, the Head ‘Fae’ of the Fairean tribe, stood in the light of the dying sun with a young piglet in her arms. Using a flint bladed dagger and a well practiced stroke, she slit the piglet’s throat. The hot blood spurted as she held the body over a bronze bowel. The contents steamed while the piglet squealed. When well drained, she handed the dead animal to one of her assistants and took up the bowel.

Sounds came out of her, half yelled, half whispered, and only half understood by the several dozen painted, tattooed and wild-eyed women that had gathered to see the ritual.

A few men were there as well, but only a few, for over the past years the Volta had killed or captured most of the male Fairean. Now only a few very young or very old males remained --- Twall Camber and a few other greybeards --- making the once numerous Fairean now a small tribe of mainly women.

The words that came out of Dathruda were low and guttural --- dark and disturbing like shadows during the dark of the moon.

"Ush na, cra-ta-cull.

Ush na, daz-a-met.

Crai-as-ta, ka-da-zull.

Ist na, fray-da-fett!"

The Head Fae spoke the words again, her sing-song voice turning them into a low chant. The females standing round the circle, each one swaying now and repeating Dathruda’s words, soon became lost in their own inner world. Quietly at first, hardly more than a whisper, but louder with each repetition. Louder and more forceful, followed by an intake of air and a stamping of calloused, bare feet.

Red headed Gwendavelda, her message of the ‘attacking Volta’ having already been delivered (and the reason for this hurried gathering), had once again faded back into the crowd --- though the blood stained deer tine still clutched in her hand had caused a few furrowed brows.

During the chant Gwen kept seeing over and over the huge Volta loom up before her. Saw again his great axe bite deep into the log; heard the solid ‘thwack’ of the blade land so close to her own soft flesh --- flesh that the huge Volta had coveted!

Unknowingly she smiled as she recalled the ease with which her pointed deer tine had pierced his left eye!

Dathruda’s voice was louder now, more urgent. The blood filled bowel was held up before her. The wild eyed women chanted, stomped and shuffled round in a circle.

But still nothing seemed to change.

Clouds continued to flit across a moonlit sky, a slight breeze still wafted through the encircling pines and the distant, seemingly uncaring stars still twinkled down from high overhead.

But then the wisps of evening fog seemed to slowly thicken; then to swirl and twirl around the chanters as their words swirled and twirled inside their heads, each one an angry bee, chasing its neighbour --- its stinger poised and ready!

Ush na, cra-ta-cull.

Ush na, daz-a-met.

Crai-as-ta, ka-da-zull.

Ist na, fray-da-fett!"

And then, loud and strident, like the scream of a striking falcon, the Head Fae cried out:

"Ush na Volta-zullll!"

(‘Death to the hated Volta!’)

Suddenly there was complete silence.

Gwendavelda felt dizzy --- falling. Things around her faded. The distant trees drifted from sight; the hovel called ‘home’ was lost in a warm, wet whiteness. The faces near her blurred and vanished --- and she was suddenly alone.

Cut off from the others.

Cut off from her tribe.

The bloody deer tine still clutched in her hand, she peered around for the one eyed Volta that was coming to blind her! Coming to keep his promise!

A hand came out of the whiteness and gripped her arm. She whirled around, the deer tine raised and ready to take out his other eye!

Gewn! It’s me, Dath!

Dath? she repeated, looking frantically around. She hardly noticed that she was lying in her own bed. I saw him, Dath! Coming for me! Reaching---!

I know, Gwen. I saw him too. the Head Fae said. In the bowl --- along with other things.

What ‘other things’?! Gwendavelda asked. The Volta?! The One-Eyed man?! Is he here?!

Dathruda reached out again, trying to calm her friend. Be at ease, Gwen. Neither the Volta nor the Sky-Men have come yet --- but they soon will, for I saw it in the scrying bowl.

What?! Gwendavelda demanded, her voice higher, more urgent. The One-Eyed Man will come here?!

Yes, the fae nodded. He will lead the Volta here. But others will come as well. Strange, sky-men in a metal bird. Offering their help to fight the Volta.

"What ‘sky-men’? Gwen asked. Are they here?"

Not yet, but they are coming --- the gods grant they get here before the Volta do!

Dathruda was not their leader as much as their priest or wise woman, though since their chief had been killed by the Volta three years past and his younger replacement a year later, most of the women now turned to the Head Fae for worldly advice as well as spiritual. Twall Camber, the tribe’s oldest and semi crippled warrior, was the closest thing left the Faireans had to a war chief. It was Camber and several other aging warriors that trained the few boys and the many young girls in the hit and run tactics of the ‘Forest People’. But it was Dathruda the Head Fae that held the tribe together, and though what she had seen in her scrying bowel had shocked the tribe, most believed her when she told them that both the hated Volta and these unknown ‘sky-people’ were coming.

And so preparations were made to meet both.

Weapons of all kinds were readied. Bows and arrows, spears, knives, axes and clubs, anything that could help them defend themselves against the hated Volta. Leather armor was mended and oiled and once again worn night and day. The guards were doubled and bands of young warriors patrolled the woods around the village.

As for the ‘sky-men’, little could be done till they actually arrived. Extra food was prepared and loaves of bread baked, a few simple gifts of welcome were chosen and the sky was continually watched.

Two days after Gwendavelda’s warning and Dathruda’s ceremony, one of the two groups finally showed up.

***

Chapter 4: ‘The Sky-Men’

Tribune Titus Randolph Kain stood at the open door of the shuttle craft, looked out at the lush, green planet they had just landed on and smiled. Well, Number One, he said to First Centurion Bridget O’Malley standing just behind him. It looks like we’re finally going to get boots on the ground! Would you care to go first, centurion?

The battle hardened trooper matched her leader’s teasing smile. The honor’s all yours, sir! Besides, you never know what shit you might step in.

Right you are, Bridget! the tribune grinned. Pulling on his bronze-like helmet ---