An Elegy For The Soul

Chapter Sixteen

A Thief in the Night

It was fitting that thunder and lightning filled the night sky, as if the summer storms themselves were voicing their condemnation. River would have it no other way. Here he stood, teetering on the edge of compromising his integrity, and the skies were screaming in revulsion. But River paid them no heed. Instead, he stepped forward.

"Have you gathered all you need?" Lucan secured the saddle buckle on his mare, his gloved hand brushing through her brown mane.

They rented the use of two mares, borrowed from a farmer in Hollow, allowing them swift and discreet travel. The local mortuary lay half an hour away by horseback. Through the woods, they could ride unseen in the cover of night, concealing any blood-stained garments or hidden bundles beneath their coats from prying eyes.

River had clung foolishly to the hope of a generous donation to the Academy, but as the days passed, hope dwindled and Lucan's urgency became more compelling. He couldn't afford to gamble on missing the chance to revolutionize medicine because of a moral quandary. Sometimes, ethics had to be set aside. All River could do was pray that the sins staining his soul would be pardoned by the lives they would ultimately save.

River meticulously combed through the contents of his brown satchel once more, mentally taking inventory of all the supplies they needed. "Yes," he replied to Lucan. "Everything is here."

Every blade, scissor, needle, and suture wrapped in a leather pouch and rolled into a bundle.

Lightning crashed in the distance, illuminating Lucan's wicked smile. "Then let's be off," he said just as the skies opened up and released their volley of rain.

The ride through the woods was miserable and wet. With every stride of the horse, mud sprayed up, caking them both in thick layers of filth—each spray seeming to invigorate Lucan even more.

Waves of perverse excitement radiated off of him. The sight of it twisted River's insides, regret's bitter brew bubbling deep within him. Lucan wasn't the type of person to delight in cruelty, and yet, with every nearing stride, something sinister emanated from him.

Throughout the night, Lucan showed no signs of hesitation nor conflict. Instead, he reveled in the twisted nature of their pursuit.

River's necklace remained dormant thus far, though it warmed intermittently. There was no full-out assault, no searing asphyxiation—just an uncomfortable pinch or a weighted sensation, like a warning rather than a threat.

His necklace had never warned him before. More than likely, it was his conscience manifesting as a tick around his neck, demanding he acknowledge what his mother had given him. But more importantly, everything she could still take away. Even in death.

"It's just up ahead," Lucan yelled, gesturing toward a building in the distance with a jerk of his chin, his voice barely audible over the battery of wind. They both urged their mounts onward, spurring them forward with a kick of their heels.

They came to a halt near the edge of the woods, just within the shadows of the mortuary. River dismounted his horse, his legs shaky from the long ride. Lucan took both sets of reins and quickly secured the horses to a nearby tree.

The mortuary's weathered stone was covered with thick veins of ivy climbing up one side of the building. Lancet windows peppered the front, as rosettes gathered in a hypnotic circular pattern, creating the illusion of movement, like cogs and gears turning in a machine. Beneath the arc of flying buttresses, one story up, a door awaited their entry.