Feather Dark

Chapter 16

Noah

I was not a man given naturally to antipathy, but as I opened yet another research file from this Sevic person, I couldn't help but feel a rising wave of hatred. She had documented two decades' worth of so-called study (for a true scientific study requires peer review, and I doubted hers had been verified by anyone outside of the government department she reported to) which covered such abhorrent topics as most effective torture methods for Avian Humanoids, to the best way to implant tracking devices beneath the skin without alerting the subject to their presence.

Most concerning was the document titled, "Non-lethal surgical removal of winged appendages from Avian Humanoids," which detailed where to insert the scalpel, how to clamp the arteries to prevent blood loss, and even which dressings to use to bind the wound post-op. An involuntary shudder rippled through me as I scanned the photos of an actual procedure, the face of the patient covered as the after shots showed him lying next to his detached wings, their bones and flesh exposed like a torn chicken carcass. Sevic noted, The removal of wings should only be used in the most extreme cases, where it is clear the participant will never comply with directives. Post-surgery, the patient can be released back into the community without concern.

"Wha...?" Talon's voice sounded from behind me, as he read over my shoulder. "That's... Oh my god, like, that's sick. I'd rather lose my nose than my wings. Or my legs. Or even my co-"

"Talon, let Noah concentrate," said Sentinel gently from across the small room. He was well aware that a week in these very close quarters had become tiresome, to say the least.

The journey to the compound had been arduous and unpleasant. Pop's Jeep was not designed to comfortably carry four very large adults plus supplies, so we were wedged in tightly, holding gear on our laps, our knees tucked up against our chests, wings awkwardly stretching into the gaps.

The private plane wasn't much better. I'd never flown by aircraft before, but found it far more unnerving than carrying myself aloft through the clouds. The noise of the engines, the vibration through the thin metal walls, the sense of hurtling along in a coffin... I'd felt my panic rise to the surface, and my hands itched to throw open the plane door and hurl myself out into the night sky.

Masque's voice came to me in that moment, serene and empathetic. You know where to go. You have all the tools you'll ever need inside the walls of your mind. I closed my eyes and descended the circular staircase that allowed me to access my subconscious, and within moments, felt my calm return.

Now my meditation was growing deeper, I could explore further and had begun to build. At Masque's suggestion, I'd commenced work on my mind palace, a magnificent marble building containing my every memory. I envisioned myself climbing the broad stone steps and entering the soaring foyer. A chandelier composed of crystal hung from the high ceiling, and sunlight streamed through a stained-glass window, casting the white walls and etched floors in coloured light.

I was satisfied with how the build was progressing. The wings that housed my technological knowledge and musical training were complete, and I'd sorted my stock market research in a vast room off the foyer. Now, I planned to find a suitable space for my personal memories.

With firm steps, I ascended the sweeping internal staircase, then followed the corridor along, past doors marked, "Biblical passages," and "Vocabulary." Another stairway led me up and into an open, high-ceilinged library with empty shelves. It appeared to be a replica of Pop's library in our beachside home, a room that had served as a refuge for me in the past when human emotion caused me psychological pain and I needed somewhere to bury my busy thoughts.