Chapter 31
CHAPTER 31
S omeone in the next room was screaming. Not a rook, Simeon thought. There weren’t many rooks left. Whatever sort of creature it was, they were in terrible agony. And Simeon, naked and confined to a tiny fine-meshed cage, could do nothing but listen and wonder when his turn would come. By now he almost longed for it. Not for the pain itself, but for the blessed release of death.
Early on, back when he was still capable of speech, he’d demanded to know why he and his family had been so cruelly imprisoned here. A bit later, as he saw his parents and siblings and friends slaughtered, he’d begged for explanations. None of the cold-eyed men with scalpels and notepads had ever answered.
The most he could gather was that these atrocities were being done in the name of science, although he didn’t know what advancements were hoped for. What possible gains could be made from slicing apart the living bodies of those who were dear to him? He thought often about how their mouths had laughed and shared endearments, hands had labored or soothed, wings had soared, hearts had pumped warmth and life. Now all those beings were just slabs of cold meat—or refuse that had been dragged away in bins.
Simeon’s brothers stared blankly at him from across the room, their glass eyes never blinking. James had been preserved in his bird form, his beak slightly parted in an eternal silent call, his feathers now dull and dusty. Bran, however, was in the form of a man, and the scientists hadn’t even bothered to give his corpse a modicum of dignity by covering his privates. Bran had once been a tall, powerful man like their father. A blacksmith. Now, diminished, he was nothing but a specimen to be ogled in a laboratory or museum, his expression blank.
Simeon had long ago run out of bitter tears. Now he curled on his side and tried to force sleep. Sometimes when he slept, he dreamt of miracles: carriages propelled by engines and moving faster than any horse; looking glasses that, instead of reflections, showed moving images complete with sound; devices the size of a deck of playing cards that allowed one to see and speak to people far away. But better than that were the times he dreamt of a pale-haired man with the unlikely name of Crow. “Rooks mate for life,” this man liked to remind him as he held Simeon tight. “You told me so yourself.”
But the shrieking continued, and the waking nightmare was too strong for sleep to come. Simeon tried to comfort himself with memories instead. His childhood had been happy, surrounded by loving relatives as well as fields and woods in which he roamed before learning to fly. Sometimes he’d heard scraps of stories, rumors about a dire prophecy and about a stranger who’d persuaded everyone to ignore it. But Simeon had never paid those tales much mind. He had been too busy to worry about them.
Now, of course, he had plenty of time.
The screaming had stopped, and he was in an absent state that wasn’t quite a doze when two of the scientists entered the laboratory. Neither of them glanced at Simeon or at his dead brothers, or at the other silent wretches still breathing in their cages. Instead, they went to one of the vacant cages, unfastened the lock, and opened the door.
“I don’t know if this one’s big enough,” said the younger man, who was trying to grow a side beard but doing poorly at it.
The older one, a portly man with a patch over one eye, harrumphed. “It will fit.”
“But I understand that the newcomer is an adult male. This cage was made for juveniles.”
“It will fit. If we decide to keep it alive for a time, we can move it to a larger cage when one becomes available.” Leaving the door ajar, the older man wandered to a nearby table, opened a ledger book, and peered at it while mumbling incomprehensibly to himself.
The younger man continued to stare into the empty cage. “I was told this one is a bird. I thought we’d already collected all the birds.”
“This one was overlooked until now. I’m told that it actually turned itself in to the authorities, which is quite extraordinary. They’re mysterious creatures.”
The younger one crossed the room to root about in a cupboard. Metal clattered. Simeon squeezed his eyes shut and wished he could similarly block his ears. He thought about the heat of his father’s forge and the taste of his mother’s bread; the rush of the wind through his feathers; the sight of the sea glittering far below, its waves lapping at the cliffs; the touch of Crow’s fingers—even though neither Crow nor those fingers had ever existed.
At some point there were voices in the hallway. The doors burst open and an entire crowd entered: several more scientists, a trio of burly soldiers, and a man bound so tightly in chains that it was a wonder he could move at all. The man’s suit was disheveled, his hair badly mussed. But his obsidian-black eyes were bright.
“Oh Lord, no!” cried the man when he saw Bran and James displayed on one wall. He made a terrible keening sound that set Simeon’s nerves on edge, and he didn’t seem to care about the scientists approaching him with blades to cut away his clothing.
Then he twisted around and locked eyes with Simeon. “You’re alive!” the man cried. “I’m not too late.”
Simeon stared, shifted his gaze to Bran’s body, then looked at the newcomer again.
“Do you recognize me?” the man asked. Two of the scientists had sliced his coat and shirt and were trying to take them off without removing the chains.
Simeon did recognize him, although he didn’t understand. Bran? he mouthed. Because that was who this man looked like, except much frailer than Bran had ever been.
“Simeon, oh God, it’s all gone so wrong. And there’s almost nothing left…. Will you join me now? Please? Together we can fix this.”
Join him in what? Simeon stretched his neck and pointed to the scar so that this man would understand why he couldn’t answer.
The man was now bare from the waist up, and the scientists began to destroy his trousers. The man looked panic-stricken. “The box! No time. No time!” He gave a laugh that didn’t sound sane and squeezed his eyes shut.
Simeon started to turn away but