Gabriel Finley and the Raven’s Riddle

by George Hagen

  “They look like us, but they are nothing like us. Doomed to live forever, they are wretched, bitter creatures. Nothing is funny to a valraven. That is why we greet each other with a riddle. A valraven will not delight in the answer. It is the best way to tell them apart from us.”

  “But why do they hate us, Mother?”

  His mother looked deeply into Paladin’s eyes, wondering if he was ready for such a dark tale. Then she decided that it was important for his own safety.

  “It is all because of a riddle,” she explained. “Long ago, when ravens were man’s best friend, a furious battle erupted between creatures called dwarfs and humans. Each wanted to live on the earth’s surface and banish the other underground. The dwarfs lost this battle, and were imprisoned in a dark cavern far beneath the earth’s surface. Desperate for sunlight and freedom, they offered a gift to the human king in return for their liberty—a silver necklace called a torc, which granted wishes. The king was wary of this gift, however, and asked his two ravens, Huginn and Muninn, for advice. Huginn, the bolder of the two, urged the king to accept the torc and use its power to rule, but Muninn, the wiser bird, reminded the king that the dwarfs were mischievous silversmiths who wove black magic into such gifts. The torc was sure to bring misery and despair, and Muninn advised him not to accept it.

  “So the king refused the necklace and kept the dwarfs deep beneath the earth. Twenty years later, however, when he arrived to release them, he found a surprise.”

  “What kind of surprise?” asked Paladin.

  “The dwarfs’ underground dungeon, a maze of caves and holes, had been transformed into a marvelous city of carved marble, granite, obsidian, and quartz. They had fashioned rock and rubble into glittering floors, vaulted ceilings, and towering marble columns veined with gold and silver. Their craftsmanship was so fine that they could sculpt furniture out of granite. Delicate beds and armchairs and sofas were carved to feel as soft to the touch as a quilted blanket or cushioned seat. A magnificent tower stood in the center of the cavern, tethered by a slender bridge, and every chamber in the surrounding cavern walls had windows shuttered with alabaster or jade and stately doors, and behind them more fantastic furniture wrought by the dwarfs’ skill and ingenuity.

  “Amazed, the king called out to his prisoners. ‘You have all earned your freedom!’ His voice echoed through the cavern, but not a soul answered. It seemed that the dwarfs had tunneled an escape of their own, long ago, and left this extraordinary city to a few birds nesting in the cavern walls. ‘It belongs to the birds now,’ declared the king, and he named the city Aviopolis. ‘Come, Huginn and Muninn,’ he said to his raven companions. ‘Let us go back to sunlight and forget this place.’ ”

  “But why would birds live in an underground city?” said Paladin.

  “It was far away from humans,” his mother explained. “It was a huge safe haven, especially for birds that most feared humans, like the dodoes.”

  “But what does Aviopolis have to do with the riddle?” Paladin asked.

  “I’m getting to that,” said his mother. “As the king departed from Aviopolis, Muninn, the wiser bird, rode with him on his shoulder, but Huginn hung back. Some dark, enticing power drew him from room to room in this dark, magnificent cavern, until finally, he arrived in a chamber at the very top of Aviopolis. There, in a room grander and more exquisite than any other, laid upon a table of brilliant green marble, was the magic silver necklace the dwarfs had fashioned for the king. Huginn took it and placed it around his neck.

  “It was many hours later, in the cold early light of dawn, that Muninn awoke from his perch in the king’s bedchamber. He felt an eerie sense of discomfort and opened his eyes to see a most horrible sight.

  “The king looked deathly pale and lay rigid in his bed. The bold raven Huginn, wearing the glittering silver torc around his neck, stood upon his master’s chest, eating his flesh.

  “ ‘Brother! What have you done?’ cried Muninn.

  “His beak shiny with blood, Huginn glanced up with a sullen, cowardly look in his eyes. ‘I found it, brother,’ he whispered. ‘The necklace that grants wishes. I wished to live forever, and it compelled me to eat the flesh of my amicus.’ He looked regretfully at the dead king. ‘I feel sick, sick and wretched. But changed.’

  “Then his eyes danced wickedly. ‘Time passes differently for me now. I am immortal and fearless! Join me, brother. Become a valraven, as I have! One bite of flesh is all it takes!’

  “Muninn shuddered. ‘Join you? Never! That torc has twisted your soul, Huginn. Give it to me, before it does more harm!’

  “ ‘Be off!’ The scornful raven laughed. ‘You’re no match for me now!’

  “Muninn tipped his head craftily at Huginn. ‘No match? Prove me wrong. Answer a simple riddle, and if I win, the torc is mine. If you win, do as you wish with your new power.’

  “No raven or valraven can resist a riddle,” his mother reminded Paladin.

  “Yes, I know, but what was the riddle, and who won?” asked the baby raven anxiously.

  “Muninn’s riddle was simple,” she continued. “A raven has one, a valraven has two, and a man has none. What is it?”

  “Hmm,” said Paladin, thinking. “My first guess would be a life, but a valraven doesn’t exactly have two lives.”

  “And men have lives just as ravens do,” added his mother.

  “It’s a very hard riddle.” Paladin frowned.

  “The answer is simple,” said his mother. “It’s the letter ‘v.’ ”

  “Oh!” said Paladin.

  “When Huginn couldn’t guess the answer, the torc flew from his neck onto Muninn’s neck. Bitter and furious, Huginn promised to get it back by force. ‘I’ll raise an army of valravens,’ he vowed. From then on, he haunted the battlefields, where it was possible to tempt other ravens to eat the flesh of their fallen comrades. Soon, there were thousands of valravens, all seeking the torc.”

  “But what happened to it?”

  “Well, my understanding is …,” she began, but then she gasped.

  A large bird had landed on the rim of the nest. Its neck feathers were splayed out in fury, its wings raised as if prepared to attack, and one leg brandished three black talons. In a deep, foreboding voice, it spoke:

  “Every house has one of me,

  I will not let you in, you see,

  Unless you feed me with a meal

  Of jagged brass or hardened steel.”

  Without showing any doubt, Paladin’s mother replied. “I believe that would be a lock. You feed it with a key!”

  The visitor’s proud neck feathers deflated very suddenly. It uttered a broad, raspy laugh that was as merry as it was loud.

  “Oh, good show, Endora! Good show indeed!”

  “Bertolt!” exclaimed Paladin’s mother. “You almost scared the wits out of little Paladin. How dare you creep up on us like that?”

  Bertolt buried his beak in his chest for a moment. “My dear Endora, one has to be careful. I come with a warning.”

  Paladin had stopped shaking. He was interested to hear his mother’s name spoken: Endora. He had never heard it before. Being so young he had assumed that she was called “Mother” by everybody.

  “A warning? About what?”

  Bertolt looked around, then whispered the word:

  “Valravens. Three of them. Sent from below. They’re on the move, Endora. One of them attacked Argus when he couldn’t answer a riddle.”

  “What was the riddle?”

  “A very unpleasant one,” said Bertolt, shaking his neck feathers. “What do owls taste like?”

  “What a disgusting question!” replied Endora. “As if any raven would want to know what owls taste like.”

  “The valraven went for Argus’s eyes. That’s what they do, you know. They blind their victims when they don’t get what they want. This one was looking specifically for a young raven with a boy amicus.”

  “I thought they were looking for the torc!” said Paladin
.

  Bertolt looked down at Paladin with a stern frown. “Oh, you know about the torc, do you?”

  Paladin trembled under the bird’s wise stare.

  “Um, yes.”

  “Are you ready to fly?”

  “He needs a month or two,” said Endora, putting her wing protectively over Paladin.

  Bertolt looked at Endora. “Does he know any riddles?”

  “Oh, yes, he’s already learned a few.”

  Bertolt cast a thoughtful glance at Paladin. “Guard him well, Endora. A lot may depend on this young raven.”

  Then, raising his wings and uttering a cheery farewell throk! Bertolt flew off into the sky.

  “What did he mean by a lot may depend on me, Mother?”

  Endora gently nuzzled her sleepy chick. “That is a story for another day, my dear,” she whispered.

  The Raven’s Amicus

  Gabriel couldn’t wait to get back to the diary. The next entry described how Gabriel’s grandfather brought a portrait of Adam’s missing brother, Corax, down from the attic to show him. Adam was very upset by his resemblance to his brother.

  We have the same shape face, the same small mouth, but I don’t think my eyes are as cold or ruthless—at least, I hope not!

  But the most interesting entries were about Adam’s conversations with his raven, Baldasarre.

  April 29: Today I asked Baldasarre why, if ravens can talk, they don’t talk to most people. This is what he told me: “Ravens used to talk to humans, long ago, but they grew afraid. If a raven spoke, he might be put in a cage to be shown around as a kind of performing animal. Every raven cherishes his freedom.”

  “Then why did you speak to my father and me?” I asked.

  “You are different, Adam,” said Baldasarre. “I knew I could trust you. You see, you were already able to understand my thoughts. At age twelve, a few children—like you—acquire this special power. It is very rare. You are what is called a raven’s amicus.”

  I was flabbergasted. And I still am.

  May 6: Baldasarre told me he is almost ready to fly again. I’m very sad about this. When I told my father that I wished I could keep him, he said that a raven is not a pet. “Healing his leg doesn’t give you the right to own him,” he said. “You owe him his freedom.”

  I don’t want him to go. For the next few days, I will give Baldasarre all his favorite foods, hoping he’ll decide to stay.

  May 10: Baldasarre asked me to let him out. I was upset, but I remembered my father’s words and pulled up the window and let the breeze blow the curtains aside. It was a gorgeous evening, clear and cloudless. Baldasarre hopped to the ledge, flexing his healed leg.

  “Goodbye, friend,” I choked out.

  Baldasarre tipped his head at me, surprised, and spoke in my head.

  This is not a farewell, Adam.

  “It’s not?” I replied out loud, forgetting that I could answer him without speaking.

  We’re going to fly together, Adam. First, imagine jumping toward me, but do not move your legs. Think about flying, and when you do, you will leave yourself behind and become part of me.

  How can I leave myself behind? I thought.

  I know it seems impossible, the raven replied. But that is what you must do. Look at your feet, and just imagine jumping.

  I tried to concentrate as hard as I could, and then, staring at my bare feet on the floorboards, I imagined a jump.

  Nothing happened.

  Adam, said Baldasarre. Try to believe it will happen.

  Looking back down, I focused my thoughts. This time I imagined how wondrous it would be if I could actually fly like a bird.

  In the next instant, I felt my limbs shake violently. My bones appeared to be rearranging themselves. My arms trembled and seemed to roll to where my shoulder blades would be, my legs felt shorter, and I saw claws where my feet had been. I looked around, confused—I wasn’t standing on the floor anymore!

  Where am I? I wondered. Then I realized I was on the windowsill where Baldasarre had been. But where was he?

  We are one, came the reply.

  Baldasarre? Where is my body?

  Don’t worry; you have no need of it. It will return when we part. Now be quiet. We’re going to fly.

  Before I could answer, I tumbled through the open window. I was about to scream, but in the next instant I felt my wings beating powerfully against the air and (this was the strangest thing) the air around me seemed to press back, thick and sluggish as water. Yet my wings could slice through it, grasp it, or glide over it like a surfer on a wave.

  Oh, the joy I felt! So high above the buildings, high above everyone in the city. The streetlamps were brilliant little points far below. I was free in a way I had never imagined before. So this was what flying felt like! I laughed, and the most extraordinary sound came from my throat—the croak of a raven, rough as sandpaper, so loud that it echoed across the chimneys, roofs, and water towers of Brooklyn.

  Did I do that? I wondered.

  It was both of us, came Baldasarre’s reply. We are paravolating.

  The Truth About Corax

  A huge thunderstorm swept over Brooklyn on Addison’s moving day. The moving men worked quickly, running boxes up and down a ramp to an enormous truck. Gabriel kept Addison company, planning to tell him about the amazing things he had discovered in his father’s diary. He wanted the right moment to explain about magic and talking ravens, but it never seemed to come. The hours moved quickly, and soon the moving truck was loaded and pulling away.

  Gabriel and Addison stood under an umbrella next to the taxi as Addison’s mother and father stowed their baggage.

  “I’m sorry you’re going,” Gabriel said.

  “Me too,” said Addison, glancing up at the trees. “Gabriel? I have this weird feeling, like I’m leaving just when something awesome is going to happen.”

  “Really?” said Gabriel. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know,” Addison replied. “Do you remember when you saw that raven? Well, I looked up ravens. I was wrong. They’re very intelligent birds.”

  Gabriel nodded. “Yes! I meant to tell you about my dad’s—”

  Mrs. Sandoval interrupted. “Let’s go, honey. We’re late for the airport.”

  Addison sighed. “Gotta go.”

  The boys bumped knuckles, and Addison joined his parents inside the taxi. Then his head appeared through the window. “Hey, I just remembered something!”

  “What?”

  “I met your new neighbors. Girls. One of them is our age. The other two are older, I think.”

  “Oh. Girls? Really?” said Gabriel, trying to sound enthusiastic.

  The taxi pulled away as a fresh downpour enveloped the street.

  As the rain pattered down outside, Gabriel curled up by the window and opened the diary. The next entries were so carefully described that he felt as if his father wasn’t just writing, but was talking directly to him.

  May 15: Baldasarre and I fly every evening. Each time, it gets easier to merge with him—all I have to do is tighten my muscles and we become one. In the air, I have to remember to be slack. Last night I tried to point out the sunset, and we fell into a spin in midflight because I had taken control of Baldasarre’s wing. He was furious.

  Do you want to kill us both? he muttered. Let me do the flying!

  May 17: We tried something different today. Baldasarre leaped into my body! We walked into a supermarket. He had never seen so many fruits and vegetables in one place. Suddenly, I felt my head dart down and my mouth grab a grape.

  Baldasarre? I said. Humans don’t eat like birds. Control yourself!

  May 19: Baldasarre doesn’t like glass. Like most birds, he finds it very confusing. We went to get ice cream today in my body, but he got scared by the glass door and tried to fly away. I felt my arms flapping wildly, but there was nothing I could do until he calmed down.

  May 20: This evening we flew around the whole city and landed on the crown of the Statue
of Liberty. There is nothing more amazing than looking over the harbor with the city in the distance, thousands of lights from the Verrazano Bridge glittering all the way to the Empire State Building.

  I feel so happy, I told Baldasarre.

  He told me not to get too comfortable. One owl attack can wipe that smile off your face.

  But you said ravens are smarter than owls.

  Yes, but we’re no match for cold-blooded killers.

  May 22: Tonight was terrifying. We were flying across the bay and happened to circle the buildings around Battery Park. There’s an excellent air current there; Baldasarre loves to glide over the trees and let the breeze lift us up over the city like the smoothest roller-coaster ride. But this time, just as we crested over the skyscrapers, I felt his muscles stiffen.

  He looked down behind us and I saw it, moving with us almost like our shadow. It had a huge wingspan, maybe three times that of a raven’s.

  What is it? I asked.

  That’s an owl. Worse—a great horned owl.

  We rolled over toward the river, but the owl gained on us without even trying. Baldasarre began flapping frantically to go higher, but the owl matched our climb with barely an effort.

  What are we going to do?

  The only thing we can: find a place an owl can’t go.

  I could feel Baldasarre’s fear all through me. My heart was thumping like crazy, my wings were sore, and a grim ache in my belly told me this creature would kill us. The great brown-flecked predator swallowed the distance between us in about three heartbeats.

  We swooped down between tree limbs in the darkness, but the owl dodged every branch, stem, and bush with the slightest tilt of his powerful wings. We weaved through a row of pillars, and so did the owl, with identical precision. Silent. Deadly. Ever closer.

  Finally, Baldasarre spoke in a weary, tragic tone.

  Adam?

  Yes.

  This may be our last minute alive.

  Ahead, I could see an enormous construction site. It was a building about a hundred floors high, just a framework of iron girders with a skin of netting to keep the workers safe as they toiled on the edges of the structure.