Gabriel Finley and the Raven’s Riddle

by George Hagen

  Just a few blocks south of Gabriel’s house there stood a cemetery on a hill. Its grand view of Brooklyn stretched far to the north, south, east, and west. Among the stark monuments and solemn gravestones was a row of small mausoleums with marble pillars on the outside and carved names above their stained-glass doors. Inside each lay the caskets of a family.

  An anxious mockingbird stood upon a mausoleum marked FINLEY, crying its lonely song in the darkness. This mausoleum had a row of ravens carved deeply into the marble—like an army—with jagged beaks and glowing eyes. It had no stained-glass door, just a tarnished metal gate with a dark hole in the center, large enough for a raven (or valraven) to squeeze through.

  As an eerie mist spread over the graveyard, the mockingbird smelled something terrible—an odor of rot and dread. In the next instant, a large black bird emerged from the gate’s dark hole. Its eyes glowed with a ghoulish yellow light. It was followed by several others, each one shabbier and more foul than the last.

  The murderous group assembled around the headstones. One bird spoke.

  “I’m hungry.”

  “Me too,” said another.

  “Terribly hungry,” said a third.

  “Wretchedly hungry,” said a fourth.

  The fifth bird’s yellow eyes focused on the terrified mockingbird.

  “I smell flesh,” it remarked, and dove at the little creature with its beak open wide.

  The mockingbird vanished in a swift, voracious gulp. The valraven spat out a few feathers and hissed. His name was Hookeye, and he must have been hundreds of years old, for he had streaks of gray in his feathers and a bony socket where his right eye should have been.

  “I’m still hungry,” he complained.

  As the sun rose over the city, the sickly glow in their eyes faded, and they began to look more like common ravens. They clustered together, shivering at the fresh breeze and puffy white clouds sailing over the city. The pleasant view irritated them, and the glittering river offended them most.

  “How long must we wait here?” said another.

  “Stop your blathering!” said Hookeye. “Follow me. We have much to do!.

  The old valraven took to the sky and the others followed him over the rooftops to a tree-lined street of brownstone houses with tall windows and flickering gas lamps in the front yards. Coming to rest in a tall oak, Hookeye waited for the others to land beside him.

  “Who are we to kill?” asked the first.

  “You will do no killing unless I say,” said Hookeye, glaring fiercely at the group. “In that tree”—he pointed with his beak to Endora’s repaired nest—“we seek the young raven descended from Baldasarre. He must be taken alive. Be warned, he is protected by his mother.”

  “A raven chick? Why can’t we just kill him now?” asked a cross-eyed valraven.

  “Silence! Do as you’re told!” snapped Hookeye. “Just follow orders and everything will be explained.” The birds reluctantly huddled closer. “Now, you, Crooked Leg, will distract the mother with a riddle while the rest of you capture the chick.”

  Crooked Leg tossed his head with irritation. “Tell her a riddle? I don’t see the point. I haven’t laughed at one in a hundred years!”

  “If you don’t tell a riddle,” said Hookeye, “you might as well admit you’re a valraven. She’ll attack first and rip you to pieces!” He glanced at the others. “Any other stupid questions?”

  Another valraven raised one feather and spoke in a cocky voice. “Why does it matter if she attacks us? We’re immortal!”

  The other valravens nodded and made little hisses of agreement.

  “I’ll tell you why, idiots!” said Hookeye. He cast a glance toward the trunk of the tree. “Cromwell! Are you there, old fellow?”

  “I’m right here, Hookeye!”

  Just above them, the dismembered head of a valraven poked out of a cleft in the trunk. It snapped its beak enthusiastically and winked at the others in spite of its sad condition.

  “Where’s the rest of you?” said Hookeye.

  “Not exactly sure!” replied Cromwell. “Oh, wait, there I am!”

  The other valravens followed Cromwell’s glance and saw the headless body of the valraven waddling around the bottom of the tree. It struck the trunk, fell, then got up and walked into the tree again, then collapsed on the ground.

  “Imagine being separated from your head for eternity like Cromwell here!” said Hookeye.

  For a solemn moment, the ghouls considered this awful prospect.

  “Oh, I’ve got a riddle!” said Crooked Leg suddenly. “What cures an empty stomach?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” groaned Crooked Leg.

  “That’s a riddle only a valraven would understand, you fool!” scolded Hookeye. “Think of something else.”

  The morning sunshine didn’t last long. By noon, the sky hung in a dark gray limbo, as if it knew that there was wickedness afoot and was trying to warn the world.

  Endora could feel the dismal mood. She would never have strayed from the nest, but she couldn’t let Paladin starve. The weaker he became, the harder it would be for him to learn to fly. So she waited, watching the street, hoping a passerby might drop something she could feed him.

  From between the leaves, Hookeye watched Endora, his cruel eye fixed upon her.

  And so hours passed, the mother guarding her baby while the predator waited with his fellow assassins until the pale wintry sun lingered over the horizon, reluctant to let night bring on all the evils that lurked in its dark folds.

  Finally, a woman passed, pushing a stroller; the little girl riding inside dropped her wedge of apple onto the sidewalk.

  Hookeye immediately growled to his valravens, “Get ready now.”

  Poised to fly, Endora felt a tremor of panic. Why was it so quiet? Then she looked at Paladin, sleeping, and still so small and vulnerable. She rose slightly and peered around.

  The five valravens stood perfectly still against the dark trunk of the oak tree.

  With a swift movement, Endora left her nest and swooped down.

  Hookeye’s cold eye blinked at Crooked Leg, who fluttered awkwardly from the oak tree.

  On the sidewalk, Endora seized the apple wedge and was about to fly up when a very scruffy raven appeared before her. Her heart beat fast. Friend or foe? she wondered. If it had been nighttime, she would have known by the glowing yellow eyes, but in the gloom of this wintry day the only way to tell was with a riddle.

  “What moves as fast as a peregrine falcon yet always remains on the ground?” she asked.

  Crooked Leg tried to speak, but his voice had disappeared. He remembered Hookeye’s warning. He coughed. Then choked.

  “The answer is his shadow,” Endora said. When he didn’t laugh, her neck feathers sprang up in alert.

  Crooked Leg tried to giggle, but an ugly gagging hiss came out.

  Endora lunged, striking the valraven sharply between the eyes with her beak. Stunned, Crooked Leg collapsed backward onto the ground.

  That was too easy, thought Endora. It didn’t seem like he was going to attack me. This was just a diversion. She stretched her wings, desperate to get back to the nest.

  “Paladin!” she cried.

  Awakened by her cry, Paladin saw birds tearing at the biggest twigs of the nest, ripping them from their moorings. The nest wobbled violently.

  Paladin kept still, remembering what he had been taught: make no movement, make no sound.

  A shower of sticks clattered to the pavement below. With eager shrieks and throks, the valravens worked quickly, unraveling the carefully woven nest, clawing at the soft lining of its interior, throwing pieces over the rim in a frenzy to find their quarry.

  A sudden earsplitting COARK! interrupted their task. The mother raven swooped in, seizing one valraven by the throat.

  “How dare you attack my home!” cried Endora, while the confused valraven gagged, clawing helplessly at the air.

  Endora held him tight i
n her talons as she flew toward a cluster of chimneys on a nearby rooftop. In the next instant, she dropped him down a chimney. Poof! A cloud of smoke mixed with charred black feathers burst from inside.

  The second attacker didn’t see Endora coming because she bore down upon him from above, seizing his wings with her talons. He wailed and hissed in protest; she swung the valraven into a thick cluster of barbed wire on a fence. The more the creature struggled, the more he shredded to pieces, until he was nothing but feathers and bones dangling from the wire.

  When Endora flew back to finish off the last ghoul, a terrible sight filled her eyes. The artfully built nest with its secret bottom had been devastated. Nothing remained but the stark gray branch of the oak. She circled the pavement, fearing that Paladin had fallen, but there was only debris scattered on the ground.

  Then, above the nearest rooftop, she saw a valraven flying with a small object dangling from its feet.

  “Oh, my poor darling!” she gasped.

  As she soared toward the assassin, she saw that it was holding the secret compartment of the nest, a tangle of fluff, string, and twigs containing Paladin.

  Swaying unsteadily beneath the valraven, Paladin realized the danger he was in. He peered out and saw a rooftop. It was only a short jump below. The chick leaped, flapping his sparsely feathered wings as furiously as he could. I can do it, he told himself. I will fly! But as hard as he tried, he felt the air pass swiftly through his feathers as he spiraled down. The wind whistled unkindly as he struck the tarry rooftop, lost his breath, and tumbled head over heels.

  Bruised and dazed, Paladin heard a cry from far above. He opened his eyes and saw Endora circling him. He raised one wing, and gave it a flick to say, “I’m all right, Mama!”

  Now Endora gave chase to the valraven, who had just noticed he had lost his valuable cargo. He dropped the nest, dodging Endora’s first swoop.

  At the second swoop, he snapped his beak at her wing, gashing her.

  Wounded and surprised, Endora fluttered in the air for a moment, trying to summon her strength. Come on, Endora, she said to herself. Only one more valraven. You can do it! She flew higher to begin another attack. This time, when the valraven tried to snap at her again, she struck him hard with the point of her beak, and he uttered a hissing moan.

  Wasting no time, Endora tore at the valraven’s wing with her talons, and a clump of greasy black feathers fluttered down. She attempted one last lunge, tearing at his other wing, but the attacker struck her with his beak, and Endora felt the most awful pain. She thrust once more at the valraven, and with a fearsome COARK! he plummeted to the street below.

  Paladin was dusting off his feathers when he heard his mother land.

  “Are you … all right, my darling?” she asked.

  His eyes turned to her, vulnerable and terrified. “I still can’t fly.”

  “You will,” she assured him.

  “It’ll take forever.”

  “Promise me you’ll keep trying,” she whispered.

  This reply startled Paladin. It sounded as if she wouldn’t be there to see him do it. Then he noticed the blood on her wing. “Mother? You’re wounded,” he said anxiously.

  “I’m fine,” she replied, but her next words were even more faint. “Promise me something else, Paladin.” She winced. “Promise me you’ll remember who you are.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “It’s in your blood to make sure the torc stays out of evil hands—just as your grandfather did and your ancestor Muninn. Promise me?”

  Paladin was frightened by his mother’s request. “Yes, but you’ll help me, won’t you?”

  “As long as I can,” she replied. “But if anything happens to me, my darling, you must seek your amicus.”

  Startled, the young raven glanced at her wound again, but she had preened her feathers to conceal it.

  “Remember, you will find your amicus by using what you have learned from me. It’s that simple.”

  His mother seemed to be preparing him for something scary and terrible. A world without her.

  Paladin’s Amicus

  On that very same afternoon, Gabriel was walking home from school with Abby. The sky was grim and dark; a chilly wind rushed them along the street with a peculiar kind of urgency. Abby shivered and buttoned the two layers of cardigans she was wearing.

  “So,” she said. “What do you think the next question should be?”

  “You mean, for the desk?” replied Gabriel.

  “Exactly.”

  A look of yearning appeared on Gabriel’s face. “There’s only one question,” he said. “Where is my father? And I’m going to find out, no matter what it takes. I just know it’s all connected to Corax.”

  Abby adjusted her glasses. “Interesting,” she said. “Because I’ve been thinking about the torc mentioned in your dad’s diary. Do you think your dad found it? And that’s why—”

  “He disappeared!” Gabriel nodded. “Wow, Abby, that makes perfect sense!”

  By this time, they were walking up their block. Almost at once, Gabriel felt that something was most definitely wrong. He stepped into the street, which was scattered with broken twigs and sticks. Quickly he glanced up at the oak tree: the raven’s nest was gone.

  “Gabriel? What is it?” asked Abby.

  Endora was in pain, yet she took to the air holding Paladin, determined to get him to a safe spot. She chose one of the wide window ledges of the Finley house.

  The moment she landed, a dark bird alighted on the wrought-iron railing a short distance away. Even in the dim light, she could see the empty gap of his missing eye. The other one stared ruthlessly at her.

  “So kind of you to bring the young one to me,” he said in a hoarse snarl.

  Endora drew in her breath. “You can’t have him.”

  “I take what I want,” replied Hookeye. He moved toward her.

  Endora’s neck feathers sprang out in warning and she blocked his way.

  “Don’t worry,” said Hookeye in a soothing tone. “Corax, Lord of Air and Darkness, will make good use of this young fellow’s talents. He seeks the torc, and your precious little one will—”

  “You’ll never take him!” cried Endora.

  Hookeye noticed the bloody wound on Endora’s wing. A smile appeared at the corners of his beak. In a flash, he lunged forward, but Endora was quicker, and seized the one-eyed valraven by his throat.

  Up they fluttered, the valraven struggling and scratching with his talons while Endora summoned every last bit of strength to keep her beak clenched on his neck as she prepared one final dive.

  At the end of the street, a large oil truck came roaring toward Gabriel and Abby. Its headlights jiggled as it picked up speed.

  “Gabriel!” Abby said anxiously, pulling him back onto the sidewalk. “What is wrong with you!”

  A sense of tremendous danger had gripped Gabriel; he couldn’t speak. Instead, his eyes were drawn to a raven up in the air. She was in pain (he could feel it), and she was struggling against a shabby-looking raven with fierce yellow eyes, barely restraining it by the throat. In a desperate moment, she saw the truck and seemed to resign herself. She swooped down, leading the other bird into the truck’s path. There was a terrible impact as a cloud of feathers burst from the front of the truck. As it rattled away, the street became mournfully silent.

  A wave of grief engulfed Gabriel. When he missed his father, he felt this way—sad, abandoned, and confused. He wiped his eyes hurriedly before tears appeared, and turned to Abby. “She was fighting a valraven. But why did she give up her life?”

  “I guess it was the only way to protect the little one,” Abby replied. She pointed to a spot on the second-floor windowsill of his house. Alone, in the corner, a small, fuzzy baby bird lay trembling. Its small black eyes blinked at them.

  It was on Trudy Baskin’s windowsill, so they decided it would be wiser to retrieve the chick from outside rather than risk going into her room. Abby sugges
ted making a pyramid of upside-down trash cans. Gabriel climbed up to the sill. He placed the little orphan gently into the side pocket of his coat, and clambered back down and held it out for Abby to see.

  “Sweet little thing,” said Abby. “Its mother wasn’t going to let that disgusting valraven get near him.”

  The next thing that happened surprised both of them. The fledgling’s beak opened, and in a frail, high voice, he spoke:

  “What can you take from someone, but never keep?”

  Abby and Gabriel stared, astonished.

  “What can you take from someone, but never keep?” repeated the bird, looking anxiously from the boy to the girl.

  “Take from someone, but never keep …,” said Abby.

  “A temperature?” said Gabriel.

  The fledgling nodded, and it laughed—a croaky, joyous raven laugh.

  “I’ve answered a raven’s riddle,” said Gabriel, his eyes wide with excitement.

  The Orphan

  It was one thing to read about talking ravens in a diary, quite another to be spoken to. Abby and Gabriel pinched each other to be sure they had seen and heard the same thing. Abby’s pinch was particularly sharp, and Gabriel gasped with pain.

  “Ow!” he said. “Well, I’m definitely wide awake.”

  Paladin looked at them with a trembling stare. He was swooning with hunger, grief, and exhaustion, but he hadn’t forgotten his mother’s last words of advice. You must seek your amicus. He looked from the girl to the boy, searching for some link, a shared feeling of some sort. Almost immediately, he recognized it in the boy, the same bond he’d felt in the nest, watching Gabriel walk to school every day—they had the same urgent mission. Paladin spoke it aloud.

  “Corax must not find the torc.”

  “What?” said Abby, looking at the fledgling.

  Gabriel trembled. “Corax must not find the torc. He knows, Abby.”

  Relieved to see that Gabriel understood, the bird said one last thing: “I am Paladin.” Then, overcome with relief, he closed his eyes and rested in Gabriel’s palm.