The surface of the city was littered with whirring gears. Bridges suspended high above were lowered and raised along with pulleys pulled by steaming engines, and railcars were carried along long steel lines by rotating wheels attached to a heavy iron chassis. With each motion, the machinery within the framework city clicked and clanged, like a discordant symphony of metal and steam.
“You would think in such a place, it would be called a ‘city of steam’.” Aelem noted as they walked through the bustling streets, the hood of her cloak pulled over her head.
Omen had pulled her close as they walked, as if to keep her away from the multitudes of people that passed them by. They were dressed unlike them, for in a city bathed in the heat of machinery, coal fires, and forges, they were not so keen to wear cloth of cotton. Their outfits were breathable, and sparse of full-body covering, lacking ways to have concealed a blade. Still, he was cautious when it came to her, for anyone could have been carrying intent like a weapon underneath their skin.
They eventually found themselves in the large centerpiece of the city- a square by which all had gathered around multiple regally-dressed individuals stood up on a high and wide pedestal. One man, who had been dressed in a long white trench coat fitted with silver embellishments stood next to two men in black military attire. The two men dressed like a dark midnight held the shoulders of a woman forced to kneel upon the ground. She had been dressed in light grey robes and had iron shackles bound around her thin wrist, pale wrists. Her eyes had dark circles around them, and were a dull colour as if she had lost the will to see the world through bright irises.
The man dressed in white stepped forward with knitted eyebrows, and unpursed his lips as if to speak loud and clear to the crowd that had gathered. Seeing this, Omen and Aelem stopped at the wayside, listening curiously into the matter.
“For the crimes committed by this individual, and after long and harsh debate, there is no other alternative than to sentence her to death.” The adjudicator spoke firmly, his eyebrows knitted as she looked towards the crowd.
Aelem turned towards Omen with widened eyes.
“What is going on?” She asked of him.
“A crime was committed, a trial was seen through, and now a formal public sentence is being handed out.” Omen spoke softly. “No matter where you go in Gaelis, whether in the city of mist, or in the city of the forge, it will always be the same sequence of events.”
Suddenly, the crowd began to erupt with murmurs as a man made his way through the crowd, his shouts apparent amidst the cacophony of surprise.
“Stop!” He shouted as he stood before the raised platform.
He had curly brown hair, and eyes as bright as the morning sun. His face held a look of disdain, anger, and resentment alike to a swirl of painter’s canvas colour.
“I’ll marry her, so stop this charade.” He bit at his tongue as he eyed the man in white.
“You would take charge of this murderer?” The man in white asked of the curly-haired man.
“I would.”
Aelem turned toward Omen once more as they watched the event unfold. Omen met her curious gaze, and responded before she was even able to ask the question.
“There’s a simple, strange tradition in Gaelis. I’m surprised you don’t know of it, although I suppose you’ve tended to stay away from the general populous- haven’t you?” Omen smiled.
He looked back towards the woman upon the stand, who had been unshackled, and took the hand of her prospective spouse as she stepped down the platform’s staircase. The crowd seemed a bit annoyed in their expressions, but their feelings were brushed away just as quickly as they all dispersed.
“There weren’t enough people reproducing.” Omen said. “Studies conducted during that time period concluded that those given a second chance at life were more likely to sow children. Therefore, the tradition of offering their life up in exchange for an official marriage was produced. One can choose to declare themselves as the executor, as well as a spouse. If the criminal is to go back on their ways, it falls to the spouse to carry out the initial sentence at its harshest cost.”
“What is to stop a murderer from killing once more?” Aelem asked of him. “What if the one charged kills their spouse? Then who does the execution fall to?”
Omen simply shrugged.
“Who knows how those who spin this world think?” He spoke softly. “It’s just a simple moral understanding now, that second chances are a gentle kiss away.”
“If I were to be executed, would you marry me?” She wondered with a knowing smile resting on her face.
“If it came to that.” He replied, refusing to speak on the subject further.
Her face lit up bright, yet carried a sense of surprise in his answer. He had been so averse to speaking on the subject, that she began to wonder if he had been saying such a thing as a protector, or as a lover. Although, as she faced back towards the bustling city, she started to imagine the differences between the two.
Were they so far apart?
It wasn’t as if the concept of ‘marriage’ was such a thoughtless topic to the world. Even Aelem, who had no serious experience with society, knew well that it was simply an exchange between two families. To look at him as a prospective partner would have been a normative experience, although for her it was much more so. To look towards Omen with brightened eyes was to look towards a hope for the one thing she had long wished for.
So, she kept her lips pursed, and her gaze low as she continued walking through the city streets, and continued to wish further.
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