It was a strange dream. That I reaffirmed to myself as I woke up from bed. A multi-day dream was weird. I didn’t know how I felt about the matter, but it seemed I must take it more seriously. First, I must improve my Afrikaans. Apologies, I mean Elf… Elfrikaans.
The Volksraad always had a few members missing, and I felt I would provide little to no input. So, on this day, I made myself to the public library. It was a small open-air building, and I could smell the scent of rotting books as I walked closer and closer. Few books were brought along, especially when trekking. People only got what they needed, dumping the rest. Any additional weight would make the trip much slower and increase the chance of meeting the elves to skirmish with them.
I had to avoid the numerous covered wagons strolling into town, speaking in a language I could not comprehend. But considering their appearances, they were fellow Voortrekkers escaping from British oversight.
One wagon caught my eye. A coloured individual and their family stepped out of the wagon. Even though their skin was darker, with sharper ears that were distinct, they were known as coloured descendants of the settlers who fraternized with the local elves; I don’t blame them. Still, most of them were servants, so seeing the few free-coloured ones was a sight.
An elderly looking, my apologies lady, spinster, called out in what I assumed greetings. “Aangename kennis,” I replied with a smile. I quickly hid under shelves of books and started strolling around the small building. There weren’t many books since few were brought along for the Trek, but as I rounded the corner, I found what I was looking for, Children’s Books!
Ensuring no one was around, I quickly retrieved a book and tried to read to the best of my ability. I didn’t know how to pronounce words, so I linked the pictures with the terms. It was a story about a sly Jackal and a dumb wolf. For some reason, Jackal decided to bully the wolf, yet the wolf could not see the traps around him and constantly triggered them. It reminded me of the Coyote and Roadrunner animations. It was… mildly entertaining, but my eyes craved to read English instead of this incomprehensible garbage I did not know how to pronounce.
Nonetheless, I forced myself to read on, reminding myself that I would never be able to communicate with others in this world if I failed to pick up Elfrikaans.
One book quickly turned into two books. Two books to four. It was not an admirable feat, as they were children’s books; 5 minutes per book should be the expected baseline. But I made sure to read every word, etching it into my mind before looking at the picture to carve it into my eyes before flipping to the next page.
Occasionally, some children and their parents scampered into this library section. Initially, I was embarrassed. A grown man was reading children’s books. I glanced at the children’s faces, brimming with curiosity to see an individual unlike them standing around the place. I did not bother to look at their parents. I did not even want to know what their expressions were.
The time they spent around me section was short. A short glance at one or two books, and they left. It felt like a new group would every so often, so I decided to sneak off to another section filled with thicker books. Unfortunately, the books intimidated me with their girth. My little pamphlet-like book compared with the Encyclopaedic-looking book on the shelf? Let’s not even mention the cute cover art.
However, that had its fair share of problems. Sometimes, some adults would wander in. And I could help myself but feel embarrassed too. I made sure to turn around, showing my back to them. My back had a muzzleloader firearm that shook to the side as I spun around. Even though I knew they could not see what I was reading with a 100% guarantee, I could not help but feel self-conscious about myself.
‘Perhaps I should just abandon this place and scamper back to Cape Colony?’ I thought, but I quickly dismissed that thought. As someone who had lived in a city his whole life, staying in a rural area was uncomfortable. If I remember correctly, Cape Town, one of the capitals of South Africa in the modern day, would likely be suitable. Yet even if Cape Colony would provide me much comfort, especially with my command of English, I doubt I would not be able to uproot myself so easily.
First off was the issue with myself. Who am I, exactly? That was not a question I could go around asking people. It’s not about whether they know me. It’s my status in this republic. I assume I’m only a mere representative of a parliamentarian in the Volksraad. Who is that parliamentarian? That is a question I also cannot ask, which will give away who I am. I don’t even know a name, so I don’t exactly know how to begin.
Still, it is the time of the wild west. I could trek. I could uproot myself and head to the interior, especially in Zoutpansberg or the Orange Free State. If I remember correctly, there were gold and diamonds. I could become rich or die trying. I would likely have chosen this ambitious option if I hadn’t forgotten that this world was a fantasy world, where I wasn’t fighting spears with guns but probably magic with firearms. How do you even beat magic? So many questions, yet I don’t even know where to start.
Bored with reading, I headed to the tavern Joren had brought me previously to have lunch. I then remembered I didn’t have any money on me. Looks like I’ll have to mooch off Joren once again. I headed to the Volksraad, looking left and right for the passing wagons. Old world habit of mine.
The meeting seemed to end, and people left the hall. I was trying to identify Joren out of the group of men and their entourage of elves and snuck close to him, following him until he reached the same tavern. As he took a seat by the bar, I joined him by the side. He turned to face me, the newcomer, with a bored look. His eyebrows raised as he identified me.
“Jan? Where were you? You missed the session,” Joren spoke, with a hint of annoyance in his tone. Of course, as secretary, he would keep track of everyone coming and going.
“I had to… attend to other affairs,” I replied.
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“We all do, I suppose. Will you be joining me in the afternoon?”
“Naturally.”
“Piet, get this man what I got,” Joren placed some coins on the table. I took one, possibly a rude gesture, and inspected it out of curiosity. One side of the coin depicted a man who gazed firmly to the right.
‘Britianna Rex’ was what one side of the coin read. I quickly returned the coin to the bar and let the barkeep take the change.
“Pound Sterling?” I asked.
“Indeed.”
“Why?”
“We don’t have our currency?”
I nodded, understanding. Even if we did create our currency, who would accept it? Gold? How do you expect people who are essentially nomads to have large sums of gold in a vault? It’s similar to countries with little reserves like Timor Leste, which had to use the expensive US Dollar as its national currency.
‘Hah. Makes sense why we are about to be annexed in a few years if we are this economically dependent on the UK,’ I thought.
“That reminds me. Jan, remember yesterday’s proposal?” Joren did not even wait for my response and continued,” Pretorius is planning to put together a delegation to France. You interested?”
I shook my head and said, “My Elfrikaans are so poor, I would be a poor representative.”
“Well, if you change your mind, do let me know. I’ll inform Pretorius. There is little political will from the Executive branch to put together one. It will be a few months before we can expect one.”
“Why?”
“Jan, touch your heart and be honest with yourself. We are Voortrekkers. We wish to be free men. So, we do whatever we want. Few would enforce the law; that is why we take the law into our own hands,” Joren tapped on the firearm strapped against his shoulder.
The same food arrived, and I had to swallow the grub painfully. Joren somehow peacefully consumed his meal.
A rumbling of footsteps could be heard outside the saloon.
Thump, thump.
The floorboards creaked as a man stepped up and hollered,” Zoeloe-aanval! Hulle het almal doodgemaak voordat hulle met hul beeste vertrek het!”
The man constantly screamed, repeating the words with so much vigour.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, looking toward the disturbed individual.
“A Zulu raid happened. He’s gathering some men to retrieve some cattle back. You in?” He got out of his seat and slung out his gun.
“Ek is geïnteresseerd!” He answered and strolled towards the small posse being created. An astounding amount of people are joining the group.
‘Usually, I would expect no one to participate. But why is almost everyone joining? It’s just some cattle, and there are no rewards,” I frowned while thinking.
Still, I touched my gun. I never owned one. While I did have one while in Basic Military Training, it was not strictly mine, it’s military property. Here I have a gun, and I’m interested in its power.
“Elk is hejereseered!” I answered, causing spontaneous looks of curiosity sent my way as I approached the group.
I hung behind Joren as they gathered a group of around 20 men.
“What about the Volksraad?” I whispered.
“Oh, that… eh, they won’t be discussing things that are too important today. Someone else would take my place.”
“So we’re gonna walk there or something?”
“Gonna? Wat is dit? No, of course not. I have some horses I could lend out. I want the highest share of the prize,” Joren replied before heading to the group’s centre to lay down the same terms he offered.
‘Prize? Are cattle that valuable?’
Some elven servants brought over some horses at Joren’s command. I paused at the horse led by a servant to me. The dead eyes in the servant and his malnourished body made my eyes scurry away from his body, as well as banishing the thought of even conversing with him from my head.
I looked at the horse, and the horse looked at me. It neighed. I looked at the stir-ups around the horse saddle and likened it to a bicycle pedal. Like getting on a bicycle, I place my feet on the stirrup and push myself up. Taking time to struggle to slot my feet into the other stirrup, I heaved a sigh of relief as I grabbed onto the reins.
As I looked around me, I could see that everyone was done, and they were looking at me with annoyance.
“Kom ons gaan!” A rider yelled and rode off, kicking dirt in the air. The rest of the riders took off, and I was left with this horse, fidgeting with the reins, unsure how to make it move. I shook the reins, and it moved a few steps. I put more strength into it, and the horse started a short trot.
“Never rode a horse before?” Joren rode back to ask as he watched me pathetically struggle, “How lucky to have such an esteemed young master among us!”
I usually feel angry at such a remark, but it is not wrong. I suppose to a Voortrekker, a modern man is like a spoiled child, so why the hell was I doing at the frontiers?
“So, how do I get in moving?”
Joren guided me for about 5 minutes, and I got the horse to gallop away, following the other riders. I held onto the reins for my dear life and stuck my boots firmly into the stirrups.
“Fuck, how do I get it to stop!” I yelled at the man, who laughed as he rode behind him.
“I’ll tell you when we reach there.”
Rolling grasslands greeted me as we left civilization. We went to the usual array of farmhouses and ranches that dotted the city exterior and rode far into the frontier. This is where men struck out to seek their fortune. And if they succeed, they don’t have to pay taxes, for a time at least. Until civilization is established, yet, until then, that is their reward for taming the untamed lands.
Lone trees stand tall amongst the grass. Sometimes they stuck together like a miniature forest. Other times they grew up alone. Perhaps they are not all too different from us Voortrekkers, even if we’re human.
Eventually, all the signs of human civilization ran out after a few hundred miles. Joren explained,” Be careful. We are heading into Zululand!”
“Zululand?”
“It’s filled with uncivilized elven savages. Watch out for abnormal growths on the grounds,” Joren pointed at the ground and hugged his gun.
I, for my life, could not see many unnatural growths, but it seemed everyone kept their guard up. I tugged on my firearm and unslung it from my back. Wielding it, I clenched onto it and inspected it.
There was a stick attached to the bottom. It was likely the ramrod used to push the round into the barrel. Grasping for the paper ammunition, I looked around me. Others were sinking their teeth into the packaging, tearing out on end, revealing black powder beneath. They carefully emptied into the barrel.
I bit into the paper and tore off a large chunk, causing a non-minute amount of powder to spill out. Cursing, I hoped that what I had left was still enough. The package had a ball left. Looking at my companions, they left the ball on their guns but reached for the stick attached to their weapons. I grabbed the rod and began ramming it down the barrel. The round was pushed to the other end of the barrel. I pulled out the stick and slid it back into the gun container. The men did something with the back of the gun, flicking levers and whatnot, pouring the rest of the powder down. I haphazardly followed.
“Zoeloe-party met 50 beeskoppe aan die Ooste!” The rider in front announced, and the men began riding parallel to that party, steering their horses.
“Ons sal hulle op die heuwel lok!” Joren pointed at a nearby hill, and the men nodded.
We stopped by the foot of the hill to prevent the horses from kicking up too much dirt. Getting off our rides, we kept our rifles by our sides and ascended them. The individual in front hid behind some shrubbery, causing the rest to follow along.
I looked at the elven party in question. A bunch of dark elves were herding the cattle. They gently whispered to the cattle, causing the cattle to follow them obediently.
“Fok! Ek wens my beeste wil so gehoorsaam wees,” A man remarked, but hushing from the rest of them shut them up.
Aiming their rifles, the leader of the posse. The rancher who gathered the group together bellowed, “Vuur! En skiet dan op eie wil!” The cacophony of gunfire joined the clouds of smoke rising in the sky.