"Wow. Never realized how far up we were."
And indeed they were. Very, very high up, now perched upon the top of the Grand Fortress, afforded one small luxury after years of bondage. All of the workers were; grouped together and surrounded by heavily armed guards, not that any of the greasy and underfed slaves felt like putting up any kind of a fight. Grasping the polished railings, they all gazed out – or, rather, down – upon the fruits of their labour. And despite all the pain they'd been put through, not to mention how gaudy its emerald surface seemed, each person had to admit that the Grand Fortress was a magnificent structure.
Several miles in height, many more in width, and containing more firepower than could be properly conceived of, the great wall was certainly aptly named. Yet its behemoth-like stature also worked to bring about an ominous sense of foreboding, for not only did it keep unwanted ships out, it kept everything else in. Valua was officially a fortress nation. Not nearly as many of the labourers considered that element of the construction, instead validating their years of containment by aggrandizing their work. Negatives had little place in this moment.
"Yeah. Pretty far. Bet I could spit'n never see it land."
But not for everybody. Indeed, two people, standing side by side, hand in hand, gazing over the walkway with tentative eyes, held dire reservations over the fortress. Indeed, the first amongst this couple – a tall, broadly shouldered youth with shaggy red hair and dull brown eyes – wondered if it would not have been better for them all to have leapt to their deaths at the beginning of the work. This edifice to power would only bring ill fortune to the world. His companion, a shorter, yet somehow scrappier looking female, wondered if she would ever see the outside world, or if this was destined to be her last look at it.
"Y'think we could ever get out o' Valua?"
A shrug. "Maybe."
"Could get on one'a those ships swirlin' around by the gate. I bet one of 'em would let us on."
"Where would we go, though? We don't know nuthin' 'bout everything else."
A matching shrug. "So? We just go wherever they're willin' ta take us. Better'n this dump."
The girl had to admit that her beau had a point, though she said nothing of it. "Eh."
"This's the last place I'd wanna raise any kids o' mine, no doubt."
The whole world around them, tightly penned in though they were (hundreds of fellow workers milled about around them, each vying for a better look into the darkened blue that served as theatre) seemed to fall away, and these two young lovers sat in empty space, oblivious to anybody else.
"Kids? Ha! You're dreamin'. Just tryin' to get inta my pants, I bet."
The young man threw her a grin, one tinged with mischievousness yet still possessing youthful innocence. It was an odd combination. "I already been in your pants, and you know it."
A snort, though it came coupled with a meeting of their bodies. She allowed him to envelop her with his burly arms. "Pfft, whatever. Just so ya know, you suck in the sack."
He guffawed at this. "Sure, sure."
It was silent in their little world, the dark clouds of Valua passing by both over their heads and below their toes. It seemed as though they were sailing under their own power, feet not rooted to any surface but propelled by their own dreams for freedom. For that is what they wanted: to be their own persons, held in chains by any outside authority. Both had had their fill of such things.
Such a day may not have been far off, for it had been announced just an hour prior that their work was complete. The labourers were to be sent back to Lower Valua, a testament to their undeniably fine craftsmanship in building the wall. It was of course taken for granted in the upper echelons that this was due primarily to the managerial power of aristocratic supervisors, and they were all toasting one another in the finest mess halls Valua had to offer at that very moment: but everybody knew, at least instinctively, that Valua was safe because of her workers. Each person was to be granted three thousand gold in payment for services rendered upon their release, a decent sum with which to get back on one's feet (especially in the slums).
"You really want kids?"
"Well, yeah. Maybe. You?"
"I. . . I dunno. Never thought 'bout it."
"Really?"
A pause. Her eyes did their best to avoid his.
"Maybe a bit. But I didn't figure, y'know."
"Yeah."
He pressed her more tightly to his chest; she seemed too caught up in the moment even to scowl at this gesture, as was usually her wont.
"What would you name 'em? Like, what a boy, and what a girl?"
He thought about this. It hadn't occurred to him before to assign his still uncertain children names: they existed only as phantoms in his mind, unidentified and ominous. He was not very imaginative, after all.
"Erm. . . not sure."
This answer killed the moment – though only by a little bit – and she disengaged herself from his embrace, glaring into his dirtied countenance. "No names? You must be dumb, yeah? You musta thought of some names. You need names with kids, y'know? Dummy!"
All these remonstrations did was bring a smile to his face, for it suddenly occurred to him that she had names picked out already.
"Me," she said, twirling back to look at the clouds again, "I don't want any girls. Too girly." She'd long been cured of her childish attempts to accept her femininity, instead taking up the more comfortable role of tomboy. "Only boys."
"What'd you name a boy, then?"
Her mouth opened, wanting to answer, then closed. It was an unusual act of shyness on her part. "Eh. . . none 'o your business."
He would not be dissuaded. "C'mon, tell me. That ain't no fair, now that you brought it up." His fingers slid below her chin and tilted it gently up, matching her gaze with his own.
What pretty eyes 'e has, she thought. Everybody else says they're dull; me, I think they're the nicest things I've ever seen. And indeed they were, for his eyes conveyed a glowing innocence that captivity had never managed to stamp out: experienced and hardened by work though they were, each beautiful spot of brown contained a sort of unadulterated good that would never grow dark. 'e may not be the smartest guy 'round, but I'm gonna marry 'im for sure.
"C'mooon. After your brother, maybe?"
The idea had crossed her mind more than once, but was always dismissed. His name was hardly fit to apply to others. Though such thoughts made her feel a traitor to her own flesh and blood – debatably so, anyways – she could not help but keep such an opinion. Something had always been fundamentally wrong with her brother.
"Nu uh, no way."
"Then what?"
"Well. . . I-I kinda. . . always liked your name."
He was taken aback by her confession, slight though it was. "Mine? What's so great 'bout mine?"
She shrugged and bowed her head. He admired the toss of her hair as she did: grime did nothing to destroy her innate beauty. "I dunno. . . just kinda always liked it. I guess."
He had to disagree on this. Personally speaking, he'd always considered his name extremely dry, and altogether forgettable (much like the rest of himself). "You sure? Pretty borin' to me."
She couldn't supply a reason why.
Letting out a thin wisp of steamy breath (it was cold up there, after all), he caressed her hair with the utmost tenderness and let the idea run through his head. Would they just add a 'junior' onto the end of his name? That sounded rather dumb. Had he been more forthright in his nature, he would've suggested her name in place of his: hers was not a name commonly held by boys or girls, unlike his own. He was not, however, and instead worked to accept her decision while adding his own elements to the mix.
"Well. . . what's say we combine our names, sorta like? Y'know?"
She considered this, but eventually shook her head adamantly. "No, no, I like yer name."
"How 'bout we change at least one 'o the letters, then? That'd be okay?"
A pause. "Okay."
This was no longer a simple game of future wishing. They both understood the relevance of this. Their child would be a male, and his name was to be decided here. The future overlapped into their private space, their time, and touched them in a way that seemed almost providential.
The actual deciding took little effort. It was more discovering the name for the first time, rather than coming up with it out of the blue.
"How 'bout we take the. . . what is it, fourth letter? – outta my name, and swap it with yours?"
She looked up at him. The suggestion was startlingly original for so humble a man. The result, too, sounded absolutely perfect.
"Marco?"
"Yeah."
They stood and ruminated over the designator, rolling it around in their minds, testing its limits and loveliness. All held true.
"Marco." Her voice was soft, no longer its usual bitter self, and he could see the true young woman she was, with all of her vulnerabilities and hopes, emerging in that moment, and only for that moment. "Yeah. Marco."
Three days later, after more than a decade of brutal, grinding labour, the Lower Valuans were set free.
