Gabriel Finley and the Raven’s Riddle

by George Hagen

  “The desk disguised itself?” said Gabriel skeptically.

  “Well, wouldn’t you if you were trying to hide?” she replied.

  So, looking for a desk wearing a nightgown, Gabriel checked his aunt’s bedroom. Abby peered into the bathroom, then immediately darted out and waved for Gabriel’s attention.

  “What?”

  Abby pointed emphatically inside. Gabriel tiptoed to the bathroom doorway and spied a dark shadow standing behind the pale blue shower curtain.

  Should he turn on the cold water? This seemed like an unfair thing to do, even to a desk. So Gabriel counted to three and drew the shower curtain back.

  The nightgowned desk leaped out of the tub and butted Gabriel square in the chest. He collapsed backward. Abby let out a scream. Flapping its pink sleeves, the desk vaulted over her and galloped down the hall. At the base of the staircase, it skidded to a halt, whirled around the banister, and thundered upstairs.

  Stunned, the two helped each other up.

  “That was close!” said Abby. “It almost stomped us to death.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Gabriel.

  “Do you think it’ll give up if we keep chasing it?”

  “I hope so.”

  The two shared a wary glance, then advanced up the stairs. Gabriel made a lasso of the laundry line, holding it ready.

  Gabriel’s bedroom door was closed; they padded toward it. Then they heard the sound of coat hangers bumping together in his closet. The children braced themselves. Bang! The door burst open, but this time the desk wore a yellow rain slicker. Waving its arms, it charged toward them.

  “It changed its disguise!” said Abby.

  Gabriel threw the lasso, snagging the desk around its middle. Struggling like a roped steer, the desk dragged Gabriel along the hall on his elbows. He ducked as one taloned leg tried to kick him.

  “Hold on tight!” cried Abby.

  The desk suddenly stopped, pivoted on its clawed feet, and pulled the rope, sending Gabriel clear over the banister.

  Abby let out a cry. “Gabriel!”

  There was a terrifying silence. Abby peered over the banister.

  Gabriel was dangling between the floors, holding on to the rope for dear life.

  “Are you okay?” she cried.

  “Fine,” he said weakly. “Just tie the desk’s legs together so it can’t run. Then I’ll swing onto the staircase.”

  Since the desk was held tight against the banister by Gabriel’s weight, Abby quickly fastened its legs together with twine. Gabriel clambered nervously to safety. His palms were raw from clutching the rope. He wondered what his aunt would have written on his tombstone if he had died from the fall: HERE LIES GABRIEL FINLEY, KILLED BY A DESK.

  With its feet bound, the desk wriggled helplessly before the children.

  “Poor thing,” said Abby. “It looks like it wants to roam free across the open range.”

  “Poor thing?” Gabriel grumbled. “It almost killed me.”

  Its keyhole looked just right for Gabriel’s key. When he touched the desk, it shook violently and fluttered its small wings.

  “It’s okay, Deskie,” Abby whispered soothingly, but the black wings still responded with small, frantic motions. “You must have a very important secret tucked in here.”

  It was only when Gabriel drew the key from the string around his neck that the desk appeared to relax. The wings settled. The taloned feet stopped flexing and seemed to stiffen.

  “Look at that!” said Abby. “It knows.”

  Gabriel put the key in the lock and opened the lid.

  Ask

  “I don’t believe it!” said Abby.

  “After all that fuss?” murmured Gabriel.

  The four compartments inside the desk were completely empty.

  “If it wasn’t hiding anything,” Abby said, “why would it be running away from us?”

  Gabriel stuck in his fingers and wiggled them.

  “It’s a dead end.”

  “It can’t be,” replied Abby. “Your father gave you that key for a reason.” She breathed on her glasses and rubbed them again. “I’m thinking,” she said. “I’m thinking as hard as I can. Gabriel, lock the lid again!”

  He closed the lid and turned the key.

  “Now open it,” she said.

  He opened it again. There was still nothing inside.

  “Wait!” cried Abigail, raising a finger. “Close the lid.”

  When he closed it, she pointed to the dull black wooden surface. In its very center, there was a small indentation, which she traced with her finger.

  “It’s a word.”

  Gabriel peered closer. Carved into the wood with small decorative swirls and just barely visible was one word: Ask.

  Abby looked at Gabriel. “What are you waiting for? Ask it something!”

  Gabriel tried to think, but what kind of a question could a desk answer? And then he realized that there was only one question to ask.

  “Okay,” he said. “Where’s Book Two?”

  Holding his breath, Gabriel raised the lid.

  A black leather notebook sat in one of the compartments.

  Abby let out a joyous laugh. “Aha!”

  Gabriel turned the cover. In handwriting more legible than the writing in The Book of Ravens, the first page read Book Two. There was also a small note tucked inside.

  My dear Gabriel, it read. If you have found this book, then your twelfth birthday must have passed. It was my wish to be there to watch you grow up. Only the most terrible circumstances have prevented me from doing so, and it is my great regret. I hope you can find answers to your questions in these pages.

  With love,

  Dad

  Before they read any further, Abby placed her hand on Gabriel’s. “Would you like to read the rest yourself?” she asked. “I mean, I can go, if you want.”

  “Are you kidding?” Gabriel replied. “You’re part of this now.”

  Abby’s face lit up. “Well, what are we waiting for?” she said impatiently. “Turn the page!”

  June 6: Baldasarre has gone to find out about Corax. I have so many questions about this older brother I never knew. What happened to him after he flew out of that window? Is he alive? Where did he go? Before he left, Baldasarre told me he knew some ravens who might have some information.

  August 10: Still no news of Baldasarre. I took the picture of my brother into my room; the painting seems to stare back in the dark. Sometimes it looks very angry to me.

  August 13: I woke up after a nightmare. It seemed so real. I was flying with Baldasarre when an enormous raven swooped down on us. Its eyes were a sickly yellow color and its breath smelled of rotted meat.

  “Who are you?” I said to it.

  “Your brother,” the raven replied, and he grabbed me with his talons so tightly that I couldn’t breathe.

  My father and mother found me screaming in bed.

  August 29: I woke up in the middle of the night because of a tapping noise at my window. When I opened it, Baldasarre flew in. He had been flying all night to get home. After I took him downstairs for something to eat, he told me that he had some news.

  “It’s about your brother,” he said.

  I sat down at the kitchen table and Baldasarre hopped on my arm, lowering his voice so that I would be the only one to hear.

  “I met some ravens who told me what happened to Corax. This is what they said: Many months after he left home, Corax arrived in the wild frozen reaches of the north with his amicus, Silverwing. He was miserable from days spent worrying about finding food and from sleepless nights tossing with sorrow about having run away from home. One day he saw a flock of unusual ravens land on a mountain peak. They were fearless and crafty; one pretended to be wounded, luring an eagle away from his nest while the other stole the food hidden there. Silverwing explained that these birds were called valravens and pointed out the feeble yellow hue of their vicious eyes. Cursed to live forever, they roamed the earth in search of
the torc stolen from the first valraven.

  “ ‘What’s so special about this torc thing?’ asked Corax.

  “ ‘It grants any wish,’ Silverwing explained.

  “ ‘Any wish?’ repeated Corax, intrigued. ‘And how did the birds become cursed?’

  “The raven shuddered. ‘Each one ate the flesh of his dearest comrade. His amicus. Each is cursed to live forever.’

  “Living forever didn’t sound like a curse to Corax, but he didn’t say this to Silverwing.

  “As his friend slept that night, Corax plotted a solution to his troubles. He would become a valraven and never again have to worry about surviving. He would find the torc and grant any wish his family asked, and they would welcome him back home.

  “Just before dawn, eyes wide with horror at what he was about to do, Corax throttled the last friend he had in the world—poor Silverwing. As he bit into his flesh, shame gripped him, followed by a sickening ache in his stomach; then his heart turned ice cold. As it began to beat faster than ever before, Corax noticed the sky changing with every breath he drew and realized time was slowing down. His body quivered violently. Feathers sprouted from his skin; his pores bled; black wings pierced through the skin of his shoulder blades. The sudden transformation was painful and terrifying. His smooth hands became gnarled talons. Corax realized he was neither human nor raven but a savage combination of the two. Worst of all, his head was full of bitter and furious thoughts. He’d lost all interest in returning to his family. All he wanted was the power to rule over men and birds, or to crush them if they defied him.”

  “That’s horrible,” murmured Abby.

  “Keep reading,” said Gabriel.

  “The valraven flock had a strange visitor the next day—a demon with a human face but raven wings. He was enormous, and even the valravens felt afraid of him; they had never seen such a hideous creature. He promised to lead them to find the torc, and in return demanded their undivided loyalty. It was, of course, Corax.”

  October 17: I’ve been thinking about my brother. What would become of us all if he found this terrible torc? A creature that eats the flesh of his last friend in the world has no soul. What would stop him from wishing the death of anyone who resisted him? Baldasarre thinks the torc can never be found, but he also tells me that ravens are especially good at finding precious objects. With an army of valravens, who knows what is possible?

  November 2: In the Norse mythology book I’m reading, there are two ravens, Huginn and Muninn. Could these be the same ravens who dueled for the torc?

  November 22: Tonight I told my father I’m going to become an archaeologist. I’m going to find this torc. Somebody has to make sure that it is kept out of my brother’s hands!

  Just then, Gabriel and Abby heard a noise downstairs, followed by sharp footsteps on the staircase.

  “Gabriel?” said a voice. “What are you doing? Who is with you?”

  Sitting on the top landing, the two peeked cautiously through the balusters. Trudy Baskin’s face was staring up from the first floor.

  “Oh, hi, Mrs. Baskin,” Gabriel said. “This is my friend Abby.”

  Trudy noticed Abby’s feet first: the green clog on her left foot and the red one on the right. She grimaced. “Come downstairs this instant!”

  “So nice to meet you, Mrs. Baskin!” Abby gave Gabriel a sympathetic look.

  The desk slammed shut with a loud bang. Gabriel caught the key in his hand just before it tumbled over the banister.

  He whispered to Abby, “Where’s the book?”

  “Vanished inside the desk!”

  The desk began marching away from Gabriel and Abby with sharp, defiant steps. (It had been slyly unraveling its bindings as they were reading.)

  “Hey! Come back!” shouted Gabriel.

  The desk leaped down to the landing with a crash and scuttled into the study.

  From the floor below, Trudy’s head reappeared through the balusters. “What happened?”

  “Mice!” said Abby.

  “Mice? You’re telling mice to come back?” said Trudy with horror.

  Abby and Gabriel scrambled downstairs, but the desk slammed the study door. They continued down to the kitchen, where Pamela was seated at the table, taking cautious sips of a steaming carrot-colored drink. She looked up at them enviously.

  Gabriel introduced Abby to Pamela while Trudy squinted doubtfully at Abby’s different-colored clogs. “They don’t match,” she said.

  “Oh, yes, they do,” Abby replied. “I always wear green on the left and red on the right.”

  For once, Trudy was speechless.

  “Well,” said Abby, “I’d better go home. Viv’s making Turkish delight tonight.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” said Gabriel.

  The October night air was brisk and crisp. Gabriel and Abby shivered outside the front door.

  “There’s a lot more to find out,” Abby gushed, rubbing her glasses vigorously. “Did your mother talk to ravens, too?”

  “I don’t know—”

  “We’ve got to get more info from that desk,” she continued. “This is so exciting! I always get into trouble for trying to make things more exciting at home. The other day I painted the toilet with glow-in-the-dark paint; my sister woke everyone up screaming when she went to pee in the middle of the night.”

  Abby replaced her glasses, now hopelessly smudged, and uttered a high-pitched yippee into the sky before skipping down the steps.

  When Gabriel stepped back inside, Trudy blocked his way. “Every time I come back to my room, I find the furniture rearranged!”

  “It’s not me.”

  “A desk doesn’t move itself from one side of the floor to the other, does it?”

  Are you kidding? Gabriel wanted to say. A desk threw me over the staircase!

  “Young man,” said Trudy impatiently, “I want an explanation.”

  “I don’t have one.”

  Trudy stared at him and snatched the desk key dangling from his fingers.

  “Very well,” she said. “I’ll take this until you explain why you were going through my personal belongings.”

  “Give that back!” Gabriel cried. “That’s mine!”

  Her eyes glittered as she held the key out of his reach. The wickedness in her expression seemed strangely familiar.

  “Please, that’s a birthday present from my—” Gabriel was going to mention his father, but it seemed that this might only encourage her unkindness. “I need it. It’s really important,” he said.

  “Oh? Then perhaps you can explain how this wound up in your room?” Trudy’s other hand held up her pink nightgown with the little roses. “And why it’s been ruined?”

  The nightgown had been stretched horribly from fitting over the corners of the writing desk. Gabriel looked at it and chose his words carefully, “I didn’t touch your nightgown—” He reached for the key.

  “Liar!” snapped Trudy, holding the key just out of his reach.

  “Why would I want your stupid nightgown?” Gabriel shouted.

  A voice interrupted from the staircase. “It was me, Mother,” said Pamela.

  Trudy turned to her daughter with surprise. “You took my nightgown?”

  Pamela shrugged. “I was cold on my way upstairs, so I put it on. I went into Gabriel’s room to borrow a pencil, and I must have left it there.”

  Trudy looked utterly dismayed. Gabriel quickly snatched the key from her and stalked past her upstairs.

  Later, as Pamela took out her violin to practice, Gabriel appeared at her doorway.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “For what?” Pamela began tuning her strings.

  “Saving my butt, before.”

  “No problem,” she replied. “My mother would never believe that a desk could walk, let alone wear clothing.”

  Gabriel tilted his head at her. “You’ve seen it do that?”

  Pamela nodded. “A couple of nights ago, I couldn’t sleep. Sometimes playing helps, so I t
ook out my violin and put the mute on.”

  “Mute?” repeated Gabriel.

  She pointed to a small black rubber disk that sat on the bridge of the violin. “It dulls the sound on the strings so that I can play without anyone hearing me. Anyway, I was playing for a minute or two when I noticed this strange desk in the corner of my room tapping its feet. Then it began to dance—”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, it likes lively tunes like jigs and reels. Its feet are pretty strong.”

  “I know,” Gabriel muttered. “But why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she replied. “I’m not like my mother, you know. I can see that this house has secrets. You can trust me. I won’t tell.”

  So Gabriel told Pamela about his father’s diary, Baldasarre, valravens, and the torc. When he got to the part about Corax becoming a valraven, she interrupted.

  “Wait … are you saying my mom had a crush on a flesh-eating demon?”

  “Almost definitely,” Gabriel replied, expecting Pamela to be upset.

  “That’s cool,” she said with a shrug. “All this time I thought she was boring.”

  Trying to Fly

  By mid-November, the trees on the block were bare. The mornings were crisp as children walked to school blowing billows of steam below Endora’s nest. Paladin’s feathers had grown in thickly, spurred by the cold. It was time to learn to fly.

  Endora gave Paladin all kinds of instructions beforehand, coaxing him to perch on the edge of the nest and flap his wings to test his balance and strength.

  “You need to feel the air,” she said.

  The poor chick did as he was told, but he tottered unsteadily. He didn’t trust his wings’ ability to bear him aloft. Terrified, he uttered a few hopeless clicks to his mother.

  “Try, Paladin!” she urged.

  “But I’m afraid I’ll drop to the ground! Then someone will find me and put me in a cage forever.”

  “Of course you’ll fly, my darling,” Endora assured him, but there was an anxious edge to her voice. Her eyes traced the rooftops. She felt danger in the air and saw silhouettes that seemed to vanish moments later.