Disgrace [A Loki Fanfiction]

Chapter 8 - Juvihk

   The silence between myself and Loki is straining. We need to walk at quite a slow pace and seem unhurried: scholars never are in a hurry, except for a class. The bridge out of the castle grounds seem neverending, and by the time we reach the end of it, I feel as though I can now lay my head to rest for two full days. But I know that is out of the question: we will need to travel by night, as the cloaks would offer enough camoflage for us to dodge any unnecessary attention.

   "Are you sure that this disguise is enough?" Loki asks me in a hushed tone.

   "Certainly," I reply, "Scholars come and go out of the cities as they please. They often have research to do in other places."

   "So why don't other people sneak out of the city like this, as well?"

   "No one is foolish enough to try. Scholars are trained not to hurry unless their life is in danger. They walk at this pace for days on end without complaint. Most people do not have this kind of patience, and that gives them away. If they are stopped and interrogated, they spill their secrets and are executed either for treason, or for whatever reason they were trying to sneak out of the city."

   "So Myriah is like a prison?"

   "No, you are free to leave, but there is administration involved, something we cannot afford to get into ... it would be best if we not speak."

   He does not ask why, and I am glad. If someone heard two scholars talking, they would immediately grow suspicious: even partners on the same project rarely speak to each other for fear of the other stealing their work. And if we are caught speaking a language other than Lythmic, anyone will think that we are speaking Donthic, and Loki's black hair would immediately betray us.

   Living with Phaerl for a full thirteen years has made me quite patient, but nothing in the world could have prepared me for the patience to take a full minute to pass a house, and soon I am praying to every Spirit in existence to calm me. I start fearing that we would not be out of the city by the time the first sun starts rising, and if Eloen's acting fails, we would be caught by noon. I pick up my pace ever so slightly: not enough to arouse suspicion, but enough to calm my furiously beating heart a little.

   Finally, when I feel as though I may explode, we reach the city gates. We slow our pace a little again, and the guards do not pay us a second glance. They open the gates with levers enough for us to pass and, when the gates close again, and we are bathed in nothing but darkness, we break into a run. The moons are clouded, so no light shines on us as we run across the desolate land surrounding Myriah.

   I have never been outside the city before, and there is nothing that I can see on which to comment. The ground underneath me is harsh and dry.

   "Do you know which direction you're going in?" Loki asks.

   "Just run for now," I reply, "The first sun is bound to rise soon. We should find shelter and rest. I can navigate the way to the west."

   We continue running until my legs start aching and my lungs start burning. Not long thereafter, the first rays of sunlight of the smaller of the suns peeks over the horizon, and I can finally see where I am.

   It is a desert land. A few solitary plants grow here and there from the cracks in the ground, and piles of rocks are clustered together every few yards. I pick a semi-circle shaped cluster of rocks, and fall down beside it, throwing my bag from my shoulders and resting my head on it, panting.

   "I have never been this far from home," I breathe.

   Loki chuckles, "I have."

   After a few minutes, I sit upright and open the bag Eloen had packed for me. I could have kissed her, had the circumstances been more geographically favoured. Everything I might need was stacked neatly. A leather pouch with a few gold coins, a few more silver and several bronze ones sit on top of everything else. To the side, several loaves of the Lythmic bread is stacked, wrapped in leaves.