Soul Bound

1        Soul Bound

1.2      Taking Control

1.2.6    An Assumed Role

1.2.6.3  Once upon a time

After Sunrise, Friday June 9th, 2045

She caught up with Heather in a field near where Daris had a stable for his pony, at a large drystone shed smelling of diesel. Heather no longer had her wings on, but her toolbelt was full and her eyes were burning brightly, as though she’d not slept in days.

Before her loomed a large black tractor, 40 years old if it were a day. Daris was standing beside it, a worried look on his face, explaining to an audience of villagers what the symptoms were. The eyes of the audience, there to assess for themselves whether Heather could really be trusted with their precious machines, flicked back and forth between Heather and the tractor three times Heather’s height.

Daris finally wound up: “...and, so you see, he now needs to be restarted every 10 minutes, and the gears make this *crunch* sound every time I turn him around at the end of each furrow.”

Heather: “You do a three point turn at the ends, because there’s not space for a full swing?”

Daris: “Yes, that’s right. The mechanic from the city quoted 10,000 CFF, said Tur is too old. I can’t afford that. Can you help?”

Heather sucked her teeth. “Sounds like your CVT’s shot. Open him up, let’s have a look.”

Daris, with the aid of two of his sons, who looked tough and strong despite being in their 60s, carefully laid bare the inner workings. A mischievous but handsome grandson in his early 40s brought over a set of steps for Heather to climb up and have a look, parodying a bow as he stepped back.

Heather produced a tiny hammer and tapped the engine once, listening carefully to the resulting noise, then repeated the procedure a second time on a different spot. The audience held their breath as she turned to them and spoke solemnly.

Heather: “I’m sorry to say the CVT’s v-belt is dead, and they don’t make them any more. Impossible to buy a replacement. I had a feeling it might be that. Not an uncommon problem if you fluff a fluid change with this model.” she shook her head, took her top hat off and held it against her chest as though mourning a dearly departed.

Daris looked downcast, but sounded resigned: “Time for Tur to be put out to pasture. He served this village well, all through the time of isolation.”

Heather looked up, a grin on her face: “Oh, I didn’t say there’s nothing I could do. Only that a replacement could never be bought. But, as it happens, I managed to get hold of the original specs.”

She reached into her hat, and withdrew a shining belt. Placing her hat back on her head at a jaunty angle, she used her hammer to whack the most rusted rocker joint pin, letting the old belt drop off, then spun the new belt around the twin cones of the CVT, catching the far end and joining them together with a fresh pin. Thirty seconds later she’d closed everything up and was back on the ground, her movements almost too fast to follow.

Heather: “Fire him up!”

Daris’s eldest son started Tur’s engine, and it burst into life with a healthy roar. The audience cheered.

While they waited for the engine to run for ten minutes, Daris joined them.

Heather: “Why did you name him Tur? Was it from Tract Tur?”

Daris shook his head, automatically falling back into the mode he used when telling stories to his great great grandchildren.

Daris: “Once upon a time, when men stood tall and lived in shining cities surrounding the Pannonian Sea, the fairest of these cities was ruled by the Queen Zlatna, whose hair shone so beautifully that strands of it could be cut off and traded as though it were the finest gold.”

“Now, under this mountain we live upon lies the realm of Illur, the great knowing serpent, whom none can match when it comes to crafting or healing, but who hates being distracted by thieves and is very suspicious of any drafts or gusts of fresh air entering his realm. Illur therefore sent his son, emerald eyed Ušušur, out into the world with cargos of swords and plowshares and moving statues, all loaded onto the broad back of the great ox, Tur, that Illur otherwise kept chained in the groaning cave that led down into his realm.”

“Zlatna and Ušušur met and, over the course of many trades, fell in love. Such good terms did Ušušur grant in return for locks of Zlatna’s golden hair, that her city prospered as never before, and the surrounding kings grew envious. When summer ended and the rains started, they slew her people and invaded her city. Zlatna escaped the city while they were distracted by the treasures crafted by Illur, and for two days and nights she fled for the safety of this mountain on her fastest horse, pursuers just hours behind her.”

“On the morning of the third day she found her way blocked. Our stream gets quite wide as you go further down the slope and when it rains it becomes too fast and high to cross on foot. Queen Zlatna dismounted her horse and wept; and as she wept, a simple man happened across her: Gugalanna, whose job it was to inspect the local river banks for damage in order to prevent flooding.”

“She begged him to go find Ušušur, and promised him half her gold if he would save her. So off to the groaning cave went brave Gugalanna and, finding Tur had been left unchained, Gugalanna herded the ox back to the river and used him to drag a long slab of stone across it, thus building the first bridge.”

“The pursuers were now getting close, so cunning Gugalanna removed each shoe from Zlatna’s horse, spun it around and then replaced it pointing backwards. He sent her off to safety, promising to tell the pursuers that she’d met Ušušur on the bridge and that in despair both of them had jumped their horses into the tumultuous river and drowned. Zlatna kissed him once, upon his forehead for protection, and then after paying him in golden hair she left leaving two tracks of horseshoes leading to the bridge and none departing.”

“I would like to say that Zlatna met with Ušušur and that both of them lived happily ever after.”

Daris shook his head, sadly.

“I would like to say it, but it would not be true.”

Heather, caught up in the story, asked: “What happened to them?”

Daris: “Great-hearted Gugalanna met the pursuers and convinced them to turn back, though the gold was stolen from him. He went on to found our village, and there’s a stone stećak shaped like a chest of gold, marking the site near the bridge over the river where his grandchildren buried him. But in order to gain Tur’s cooperation in building the bridge, Gugalanna had made a deal with him. Rather than returning him to the cave to be chained up again, Gugalanna released him, and to this day great Tur runs free across the fields of heaven.”

“But this did not please Illur, who depended upon Tur to guard the entrance to his realm. He blamed Ušušur for not chaining Tur up properly and as punishment he bound Ušušur with those same chains, down at the bottom of a well, there to grow moss until such time as Tur returns.”

Heather: “Awww. And Zlatna?”

Daris: “She was reunited with the spirits of her people, the Vilé, and in memory of the kiss granted to Gugalanna, they protect us still. Sometimes, if you’re half asleep, you can watch the butterflies dancing around the top of the village well, and in their pattern you can glimpse the shape of a woman with beautiful golden hair.”

Daris’s grandson Boris sighed, having heard the tale many times before. “Some of us villagers are brave, some of us are cunning, many of us are great-hearted enough to help strangers. But, like our ancestor, none of us end up rich.”

Nadine: “But while others meet tragic ends, you survive. And who knows? If this village survives long enough, maybe one day you won’t just end up being paid in fairy gold that turns out to only be pretty hair.”

Daris: “So cynical, Boris. Gugalanna wasn’t only given beauty. He was also given sincere gratitude, that he traded for the favour of ongoing protection for himself and his descendants. A far more useful currency than gold, in my opinion. Gold can’t buy you loyalty, nor is it a guarantee of honesty.”