by George Hagen
His aunt made a small fist, which amused Gabriel. He explained that he couldn’t stand up against a bully if his feet were already off the ground.
Aunt Jaz shook her head. “Your father never had such problems when he was a boy.”
“What kind of problems did he have?” Gabriel replied curiously.
His aunt’s boomerang eyebrows converged suddenly, and Gabriel knew he had stumbled upon a very important secret.
“Oh, nothing really,” she said, her eyes doing a little scramble, as if looking for somewhere to escape.
“Aunt Jaz? Won’t you tell me anything about him?” Gabriel asked.
Now her painted eyebrows tilted in a look of obvious sympathy.
“Oh, Gabriel, I’m a terrible aunt,” she confessed. “You deserve so much better than me!”
Later that evening, in bed with the lights out, Gabriel became aware of his aunt’s presence. She kneeled by his bed and patted him. He didn’t open his eyes because she was only affectionate this way when she thought he was asleep.
The next morning, he realized she had placed something on his bedside table. It was a small notebook, bound in black leather. If he had opened it, he would have seen that the first page said The Book of Ravens, and it was signed in child’s lettering—Adam Finley—with a small but carefully rendered drawing of a raven beside it.
Adam Finley, of course, was Gabriel’s father.
And if Gabriel had started reading it right then and there, he might have forgotten about breakfast, or perhaps even to go to school; but since Gabriel had overslept, he gave the notebook a quick glance, then stuffed it in his school backpack, planning to take a closer look at it later.
Instead, it was the notebook that was forgotten. It lay in the bottom of his backpack among a pocket pack of tissues, twelve gum wrappers, a worn eraser, and several very short pencils—a place where something might be lost for a long time.
Breakfast
“Class? Today, we’re going to talk about nutrition and the importance of a good breakfast,” said Ms. Cumacho. “I want each of you to tell us what you ate this morning.”
Somes emitted a deep, unhappy groan. Then he poked a pencil sharply into Gabriel’s back. “Gabriel,” he whispered. “Tell me—what did you have for breakfast?”
“Oh, Somes,” Gabriel whispered back. “It’s not a hard question!”
Somes sniffed. “I never eat breakfast. Tell me what you ate!”
Somes jabbed him, harder, so hard that Gabriel arched his back in pain. “Ouch! Chicken fried rice!” he muttered.
Ms. Cumacho, who had been pulling up the window blinds, turned back to the class. “Somes?” she said. “What did you eat?”
The bully’s lips quivered. “Um, chicken fried rice.”
“Chicken fried rice. How unusual!”
Ms. Cumacho wrote this on the blackboard. “Now,” she said, scanning the students before her. “Who else? Gabriel, how about you? What was your breakfast?”
Gabriel paused, faced with a fresh problem. How would it sound if he also said chicken fried rice? Then he felt a surge of outrage that he even had to worry about his answer.
“I had chicken fried rice, too.”
Ms. Cumacho’s smile faded. “If you can’t take this discussion seriously, Gabriel, you can leave.”
“I’m being serious,” he said. “That’s what I had. It’s Somes who—”
Somes uttered a roar and punched Gabriel sharply in the arm. “He’s lying, Ms. Cumacho!”
A large purple bruise appeared on Gabriel’s arm that afternoon. On the walk home from school, his friend Addison Sandoval gazed at it with admiration.
“Wow.” He whistled. “Looks painful.”
“You have no idea,” muttered Gabriel.
“Well, look on the bright side. Ms. Cumacho saw Somes hit you. He’s got detention.”
Gabriel didn’t get much satisfaction from this.
“You could have just said scrambled eggs or oatmeal or anything,” suggested Addison.
“Why should I lie about breakfast?” Gabriel replied.
It was an uphill walk from school to their houses on Fifth Street. In the fall, acorns dropped from the tall oaks that lined the street, bouncing on car roofs and crunching under the boys’ feet. Gabriel noticed a large black bird watching them from a nest of twigs and leaves overhead. He pointed it out to Addison.
“That’s a raven,” said Addison. “You can tell by the beak and the iridescent feathers—they change colors as it turns, see? Ravens are the largest of the corvids, which are a bird family that include crows, ravens, and rooks.”
“I didn’t know you knew so much about ravens,” said Gabriel.
“I have to be an expert on these things,” Addison explained. He wanted to run a natural history museum when he grew up.
“I’m an expert on riddles,” said Gabriel as he looked up at the raven.
“What job requires a riddle expert?” said Addison. “It doesn’t seem very useful.”
Gabriel remembered his father telling him that riddles were good for the brain. “Athletes have flexible bodies,” he’d said. “But great thinkers have flexible minds.”
Meanwhile, the raven’s eyes rested curiously on Gabriel, as if waiting for a reply to Addison’s question. When Gabriel remained silent, the raven settled its gaze on an apple core on the sidewalk.
Addison waved his hand at the bird. “Shoo, off you go!” he cried.
“Wait,” said Gabriel. “I think it wants that apple core for its chick.”
The moment he said this, the raven flew down and seized the core with its curved black beak. It placed one claw forward toward Gabriel, dipping its head graciously, then flew back to its nest.
Addison regarded his friend curiously. “How do you know that’s why the raven wants it?”
Gabriel gave him a firm stare. “I just knew what it was thinking.”
“Impossible,” said Addison. “Totally impossible!”
“You have to admit that it seemed to thank me.”
Addison frowned and shook his head. “I doubt it,” he said. “Ravens are mimics, like parrots, but they don’t have much intelligence.”
Gabriel stared up at the tree. He was sure the raven had bowed to him.
Paravolating
The raven carried her apple core up to the edge of a big nest of twigs and sticks. She was a large, dignified bird—her feathers had a stunning blue sheen to them; her beak was dark and polished, with an elegant curve. She checked the skyline for danger before peering deep into her nest. Then, anxiously, she began rocking from one foot to the other.
“Paladin? My darling, where are you?” she said.
Nothing stirred. The mother raven began to poke about in a panic. “Paladin?” she repeated. “Oh, this can’t be! Paladin!”
Out of the sticks, twigs, and gray fluff at the very bottom of the nest, a small dark beak poked through. Pinfeathered and very clumsy, a raven chick wobbled out of its burrow and opened its beak with eyes shut. It would still be a few days before he would be able to see.
“I was hiding, Mother. Just as you told me!”
“Oh, Paladin,” sighed the raven. “Thank the heavens!” She gently caressed the baby with her enormous beak. “I thought I’d lost you.”
She began chewing pieces of the apple core and offered the pulp to the fledgling, who immediately opened his beak and swallowed in great gulps. When his belly was full he swooned, tipsy with satisfaction, and rested his head against the side of the nest.
“I thought you’d never come,” he said. “I heard wings, so I hid.”
“Very good,” she replied. “You did exactly the right thing.”
“Mother? Must I be afraid of all birds?”
“Not all, my love. Just owls and their kind—eagles, hawks.”
She considered mentioning valravens but decided that her chick was too young to learn about them.
“What about people? I hear them walking below the nest,” asked the fledgling.
The mother raven cast a cautious glance down.
“Most people leave us alone. They fear us, which is a pity, because we were once their best friends.”
“Their best friends?”
“Yes. We even talked to them, but that was a very long time ago. Now only a few humans ever become friends with ravens. Still, when they do, amazing things happen.”
“Like what?” asked Paladin, curious.
“Well, a raven’s human friend is called an amicus. Once they meet, the raven and his amicus can share thoughts. They can merge as one, and fly as one, which is called paravolating. It is a very special bond, Paladin. Your grandfather Baldasarre had an amicus.”
The fledgling felt a sudden tremor of excitement. “Is there an amicus for me, Mother?”
“Perhaps, my love.” The mother raven became thoughtful. She watched the two boys she had just encountered make their way into a house across the street. “If you meet the rare kind of human who appreciates riddles.”
Moving
Gabriel often spent the afternoon at the Sandoval house. It had the same brownstone facade, tall windows, and iron gates as his own. Inside, however, the furniture was new and modern.
When Gabriel went to Addison’s, they often wound up playing computer games, which Addison always won. This afternoon, Gabriel became tired of losing and suggested they tell riddles instead.
“Here’s one,” Gabriel said. “What lies at the end of forever?”
Addison chewed his lip and stared up at the ceiling. “That’s an impossible question,” he replied. “Forever is infinite. It never stops.”
“Yes it does.” Gabriel smiled. “If you give up, I’ll tell you.”
“Fine. I give up,” said Addison.
“Okay. The letter ‘r’ lies at the end of forever.”
Addison slapped his hand against his forehead. “That’s not a fair question.”
“It’s a riddle!” Gabriel grinned. “You have to stretch your mind!”
Just then, there was a knock at the door. It was Aunt Jaz with a bag of take-out food from the Chinese restaurant. If his aunt didn’t find Gabriel at home, she knew he would be at Addison’s. After talking to Mrs. Sandoval for a moment, she turned to Addison and said, “How do you feel about moving to a new city?”
Gabriel looked at his friend with surprise. “You’re moving? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Addison shrugged, thrusting his hands in his pockets. “My dad got a job somewhere else, but I was hoping he might not take it—”
“Not take it? Oh, Addison,” sighed Mrs. Sandoval. “It’s a wonderful opportunity! He’s going to open a new restaurant in Los Angeles. You’ll have a great time there.”
“Whatever,” replied Addison glumly.
As they left the Sandovals’ house, Gabriel’s mood sank. He thought about his friend being far away, which reminded him of his father’s absence.
“Aunt Jaz?” he said as they trudged up their stoop.
“Yes, dear?”
“Where exactly is my dad?”
“Oh, goodness, Gabriel, not again!” said his aunt. “I only wish I knew. About three years ago—I remember it so well—your father remarked that he might disappear quite suddenly. I laughed at the time, because it was such an odd thing to say.…” Aunt Jaz put her hand to her cheek with a look of regret. “But a few days later, on a fall evening, like this one, I brought you home from the playground. The house felt cold and strangely empty, so I hurried upstairs to the study and found the curtains blowing freely from the wide-open window. Everything was tidy in the room—unusual for your father—but there was a note with instructions saying that if I should find the window open, I should take care of you until he returned.”
Gabriel studied his aunt’s expression. “When a person is missing, shouldn’t you call the police?”
“I don’t believe your father is in a place where the police could find him,” replied Aunt Jaz. “Gabriel, he promised me he would return as soon as it was earthly possible. Did you take a look at that book I gave you? It explains a lot of things.”
“Oh,” said Gabriel. “I forgot about that old leather book!”
Aunt Jaz glanced around nervously, as if the very trees might be listening. “My dear, it was his diary.” Then she hurriedly fumbled with the lock to the front door.
As soon as he got to his room, Gabriel fished the notebook out of his backpack. He opened it up and squinted at the very small handwriting. It was difficult to get past the first page or two; but slowly, Gabriel grew accustomed to the scrawled lettering, and it became easier and easier to understand, until he was racing along faster than he had read anything in his life.
Baldasarre
The things I am going to write in this book will seem unbelievable, but I can promise you that they are true. Each and every thing I describe really happened to me.
April 1: Today, as I was walking home from school, a big black bird landed right in front of me on the sidewalk. It had a large, blunt beak and black eyes and a strange oily sheen to its wings. It sat at my feet, wobbling unsteadily.
“Shoo,” I said, and I stepped forward, expecting it to hop away, the way pigeons do.
Surprisingly, it didn’t move. And then, even more surprisingly, I heard a voice in my head say very clearly:
I have one eye but cannot see,
A long tail always follows me,
I’m a doctor and a cobbler’s friend,
Your button I will gladly mend.
What am I?
Now, I don’t believe magical stories with animals that talk. But this was amazing. This voice was as clear as could be, in my head, and the bird had a look—very serious—as if it was waiting for my answer.
“Well, what has an eye, a long tail, and mends a button. It must be … a needle!” I said aloud.
The bird made a sound like a laugh, as if it was pleased with my answer. It limped forward.
My leg is broken, said the voice in my head.
I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t speak from surprise. I could understand the bird’s thoughts so clearly, and it seemed to understand me!
“If you show me to your father, he can mend it,” said the bird. “My name is Baldasarre,” he added, dipping his head in a bow.
Now I was really astonished. A bird talking like a person! Then his voice became desperate. “Please help me,” he begged. “I am in grave danger.”
How could I leave this amazing bird? I gently picked him up in my jacket and carried him to my house.
My father was in the kitchen. I told him the bird had a broken leg. He said I should have left it outside.
“I swear it spoke to me,” I said. “It told me a riddle.”
My father looked confused, but then he smiled.
“Oh, I understand, it’s April Fools’ Day, and you think this is a funny joke!” he said.
“No. It’s true.”
I was ready for him to laugh again, but he didn’t. After a careful look at the bird, he cleaned the wound with some things from the medicine cabinet and bound the leg with a pair of chopstick splints.
Now came many entries in the diary describing the raven’s recovery; but what most fascinated Gabriel was an entry farther along.…
April 10: Watching my father take care of this bird, you might think he was a veterinarian, not a family doctor. He seemed to know exactly what was best to feed it, and he was very tender, as if he understood, somehow, what it was feeling. When I asked how he knew so much, he took a deep breath and let the question vanish into silence.
April 15: Today, after examining the bird’s leg (it’s a raven, I’ve learned), my father turned to me and said, “So, Adam, tell me what our patient has been saying to you.”
I explained that the bird had told me that he had enemies. And that he was in grave danger.
“In grave danger from what?” my father asked.
The raven stopped eating, tilted his head, and looked at me. Then he looked at my
father most carefully, as if weighing a very serious decision.
“I am in danger from Corax,” the raven said.
My father’s expression changed quite suddenly.
“Who is Corax?” I asked him.
My father said nothing.
The raven spoke again.
“Your father knows exactly who he is.”
When I questioned my father about this, he let out a long sigh.
“Corax is my son. Your older brother,” he replied.
“What? I have an older brother? Where is he? Why haven’t I ever met him?”
“Because …” And here, my father’s expression darkened. “He is a disgrace to our family.”
Valravens on the Move
In the oak tree near Gabriel’s house, the raven mother was feeding her chick with scraps found in the neighborhood. Between mouthfuls, she asked questions:
“Now,” she said, “what’s smarter than a raven?”
“Nothing is smarter than a raven,” he replied.
The mother uttered a small, appreciative throk—a clicking sound that ravens like to make. “And why are ravens so smart?”
“We watch and listen and learn,” replied the chick.
“Very good. And when a raven sees another raven, what does he do?”
“He tells a riddle.”
Nodding, the mother raven replied, “Very well. Tell me a riddle.”
The chick buried his beak in his chest to think, then raised his head with an enthusiastic blink. His eyesight was still weak, but he could make his mother out more clearly now. “What flies but has no wings?”
This seemed to surprise the chick’s mother. She cocked her head.
“Flies but has no wings? What?”
“Time,” said the chick.
“Time!” His mother collapsed into a peal of throks. “I’m so proud of you, Paladin!” she said. “Now it is time to talk about a raven’s greatest danger.”
“Owls!” said the raven chick. “Eagles? Hawks?”
“No, my love. Valravens.”
The young raven noticed fear in his mother’s expression. He trembled slightly. “What are … valravens?”
