Gabriel Finley and the Raven’s Riddle

by George Hagen

  As the raven left Gabriel’s shoulder and disappeared into the darkness, Septimus shook his head. “On his way back home, eh? Scared, I suppose.”

  “No more scared than you,” said Gabriel. “Now let’s go.”

  The hall zigzagged a few times. At every corner, the children expected to arrive somewhere, but each turn revealed another long corridor.

  Eventually, however, they found a large room paved with flagstones. There was an arched doorway with a portcullis—a heavy gate that could be raised and lowered with a chain. A bird could easily slip through the gate, but it would be impossible for a person.

  Guarding the portcullis was a very large valraven. It sat upon an iron perch, its eyes glowing at the group with faint amusement. The curve of its beak was impudent and harsh, and it spoke through a clog of saliva that dribbled from the corners of its mouth.

  “None may enter Aviopolis, domain of the Lord of Air and Darkness,” said the valraven, “until they answer a riddle!”

  Abby’s face lit up. “Cool!”

  Somes turned to her with disbelief. “A riddle?” he groaned. “Are you serious?”

  “Answer or perish,” the valraven said.

  Septimus gave Somes another jovial squeeze on the shoulder. “I know how you feel, lad. It doesn’t seem fair, does it?” He pitched a glance at Abby and Gabriel. “Especially when some people have an unfair advantage.”

  Septimus approached the valraven. “Look here …” He paused, shot the others a fake smile, then resumed in an urgent whisper. “I happen to be as loyal to his Lordship as you. So, between you and me, surely you could grant a favor.”

  “Certainly. You may go first, Septimus Geiger!”

  This wasn’t what Septimus had in mind at all. He rubbed his scorched neck, then proceeded to scratch all over his scalp in a fit of anxiety.

  The valraven spoke the first riddle in a dry, unamused tone:

  “I travel to earth with the greatest of ease,

  Borne on the breath of a northerly breeze.

  Shapes have I many, words I speak none;

  Quickly I die in the bright warming sun.”

  As Septimus muttered the riddle to himself, Gabriel tried to solve it. I travel to earth with the greatest of ease … on a northerly breeze. It must be something that falls through the sky—either rain or snow, he thought. Quickly I die in the bright warming sun. Definitely snowflakes.

  Hoping the answer would just spring into his mouth, Septimus offered a string of answers. “Airplanes? Acorns? Clouds? Raisins? Popcorn? Soot! Screwdrivers? Bottle caps!” he cried frantically.

  The valraven shook his head.

  Gabriel thought it was odd that the ghoul permitted Septimus so many wrong guesses.

  “Weeds? Berries? Buttons? Umbrellas? Tea leaves?… Snow!” cried the man, finally.

  “Correct,” snapped the valraven. Raising one claw, he pulled a chain hanging beside the perch and the portcullis rose, letting Septimus pass. At once, the portcullis dropped, striking the stone floor with a deafening crash.

  “Next!”

  From the other side of the portcullis, Septimus gave Somes an enthusiastic nod. “Never fear, lad!”

  Trembling from his knees to his fingertips, Somes looked at the others’ concerned faces and felt terribly alone. They couldn’t possibly understand how difficult this was for him.

  “You can do it, Somes!” said Abby.

  Her smile surprised him. Then Gabriel stepped forward and held the staff out.

  “Take it,” he whispered. “It’ll stop you from being scared. Just let your mind play with the riddle. It’s only a game!”

  Astonished, Somes took the staff in his hand. The valraven narrowed his eyes, then recited:

  “I’m a gift to you the day you’re born.

  I’ll last you till you’re dead.

  But rarely will you use me—

  Many others will instead.

  What am I?”

  Somes immediately became aware of a comforting warmth in the staff. It tingled his fingertips, then worked its warmth along his arm and up into his shoulders. A soothing feeling he remembered from drinking hot chocolate, or eating toast with cinnamon and sugar. He felt better than he’d ever felt before.

  Relaxing, Somes let his mind wander. What gifts had he received from his father? He couldn’t think of very many. Then the answer came to him—so simple, so obvious, almost ridiculously obvious:

  “It’s my name.”

  The bird hissed and reached for the chain. The portcullis rose and Somes joined Septimus on the other side.

  “Well done,” Septimus whispered. “You showed them all. They probably didn’t think you could do it. Now it’s going to get interesting!” Septimus’s eyes strayed down to the staff, but Somes clutched it tightly.

  Abby stepped forward to face the valraven.

  “I’ve four legs and a sturdy back,

  Yet eat no food or drink,

  But serve my lord and lady,

  Without the brains to think.

  The mighty lion runs from me

  When my legs rise up in fury,

  Yet quietly I serve beneath

  A judge and all his jury.”

  Pamela turned to Gabriel, worried. “Why is Abby’s question so hard? Septimus had such an easy one, and so did Somes.”

  Abby rubbed her spectacles, quivering with the excitement of a racehorse ready to burst from the starting gate.

  “Okay,” she said. “You say it has four legs and a sturdy back and the lion runs from it? Hmm. I don’t think it’s an animal. What else has four legs? A table? But a table has no back!”

  A drip of saliva stretched from the valraven’s beak all the way to the ground. His meal stood before him, fussing with her eyeglasses.

  Abby’s brain, however, was whizzing along. “So,” she said. “What lies beneath a judge and jury? A floor? No. Must be something else. A chair! And a circus performer uses a chair to tame a lion! That’s it! My answer is a chair!”

  The vexed bird hissed with dismay and tugged the chain to the portcullis. As the gate rose, Abby sailed past it, sticking out her tongue. She uttered a contented sigh as she joined Septimus and Somes. “Well, that was a juicy riddle! I wish I got two!”

  “Two?” repeated Septimus, dubiously.

  Somes gave Abby an admiring glance.

  Now it was Gabriel’s turn.

  “He who grandfathered you

  Was father to me.

  He who gave thee life

  Was brother to me.

  You, me, and he,

  Each one a raven’s amicus.

  Who am I?”

  This was hardly a riddle, thought Gabriel. My grandfather is this mystery person’s father. My father is the mystery person’s brother. Each of us is a raven’s amicus. The answer was very obvious. Why have I been given such an easy question when Abby’s was so hard? he wondered.

  “Corax,” he answered.

  The valraven didn’t seem surprised. He pulled the chain raising the portcullis, and Gabriel looked back at Pamela. She was shaking like a leaf.

  “Do what Somes did,” he said to her. “Let your mind play with the riddle.”

  “Somes had the staff,” she reminded him, her lower lip trembling.

  The portcullis slammed shut behind Gabriel. Pamela stepped up toward the valraven, who beckoned with a voracious leer.

  “I may sit on a scale,

  But I cannot be weighed.

  One step down I am flat.

  One step up I go … fa!”

  “Fa?” repeated Pamela, her voice faint.

  Gabriel’s heart sank. This was the most difficult riddle he had ever heard. He looked at Abby. She shook her head. “Fa? What does that even mean?” she said.

  “I may sit on a scale, but I cannot be weighed?” repeated Pamela, bewildered.

  The valraven shifted on his perch, running his black tongue hungrily along the edge of his beak, certain that at least one of the girls Cor
ax wanted eliminated would be gone.

  Gabriel pressed his head against the portcullis.

  Pamela’s eyes searched the chamber, as if the carvings on the walls might offer an answer. Her fingers were shaking so much that the violin case began to slide from her grasp.

  Gaping with triumph, the valraven dribbled a streak of saliva down his breast. “No answer?”

  “I—I—I …”

  The bird raised his wings, preparing to strike.

  The violin case struck the floor. As Pamela steadied it, a thought crossed her mind.

  “Wait!” She shook her head. “Wait. It’s … it’s a musical riddle.”

  “Time’s up!” snapped the valraven.

  “Notes can’t be weighed,” Pamela reasoned. “But they sit on a musical scale. One step down I am flat, one step up I go fa. Well, a flat musical note is a lower note, and if fa is the next note on the scale, do, re, mi, fa …” She smiled. “The note is mi!”

  “Correct, but too late!” cried the ghoul.

  Pamela shook her head. “It’s not too late! Septimus took forever. He gave you a zillion answers before he got the right one.”

  “Too late!”

  The bird hovered above his perch, then lunged.

  Suddenly, there was a pop! and a big shower of black feathers floated down to the flagstone floor.

  Pamela found herself standing alone.

  “What happened?” said Abby.

  They turned and saw that Somes had pointed the staff through the portcullis and destroyed the raven. Nobody looked more astonished than Gabriel.

  “Why didn’t I think of that in the first place?” he muttered to Abby.

  Abby shrugged. “I liked answering mine.”

  “Pull the chain!” shouted Somes.

  Pamela grabbed her violin case, pulled the chain, and slipped under the rising portcullis. She immediately threw her arms around Somes and gave him a tight hug.

  “That was awesome!” she cried.

  Somes blinked and hugged her back.

  Septimus glared at him. “What possessed you to do that?”

  “It was the right thing to do,” Somes replied.

  Paladin’s Pursuer

  Let us go back a few minutes earlier, to when Paladin parted from Gabriel.

  The raven flew down through the center of the staircase. It was frightening, because he didn’t know where the bottom was. Eagles, hawks, and falcons fly straight down to catch their prey, but ravens rarely do. Paladin began to worry. An increasing smell of rotting meat intensified his panic.

  Then he became aware of wings beating the air just above him.

  Perhaps you’ve had that eerie feeling when you walk at night, the sense that someone is matching your footsteps, step for step. Paladin was sure he was not alone. Then he remembered something Twit, the gossiping finch, had told him about Corax:

  “He’s the size of a man—no, twice the size! With black wings as big as sails! He soars in complete silence, plucking smaller birds from the air with the appetite of a devil.”

  This memory had Paladin trembling. Even though he knew Twit had been exaggerating, he could think of nothing but a monstrous creature bearing down from above, swallowing him in midair without so much as a burp. Gasping, Paladin decided to catch his breath on the staircase. Perhaps if he could just listen, his worries would evaporate. So he tilted his wings to land, bumped clumsily against the wall, dragged his talons to break his momentum, and somersaulted down three steps. It was a very painful, embarrassing touchdown.

  Whoosh! Something flew past. It was impossible to see, and almost as impossible to hear, but the rush of air assured Paladin it was enormous. Just a few feet away, he heard the rasping sound of talons scraping on stone and guessed that the bird had landed.

  For a chilling moment both predator and prey stood silent in the darkness.

  Paladin’s fear quickly became a stouthearted kind of courage. If I were that big, I would eat my victim immediately, he told himself. It’s not fair to let a bird worry himself to death. How dare he be so silent! Paladin felt so indignant that he cried out, “You there!”

  “Greetings,” came a deep and gravelly reply.

  “I have a riddle for you,” said Paladin, determined to find out what kind of a bird he was dealing with.

  “Proceed,” said the stranger.

  “How stupid is a sparrow?”

  “I cannot answer that,” replied the voice in the darkness.

  “Why not?”

  “No owl cares to be insulted,” came the reply. “Or did you think I was a peanut?”

  “A peanut?” said Paladin. “What do you mean?”

  “Peanuts can be salted or insulted.” The owl burst into a vigorous coughing fit.

  “Oh, that’s a terrible pun!” complained Paladin.

  “Speaking of terrible, I just saw you land on those steps. Best imitation of a bowling ball I’ve ever seen!”

  “I’m still learning,” Paladin replied indignantly. “You sound just like Caruso, the owl who saved me once before.”

  “ ’Tis I, nose, and throat,” quipped the owl as he fluttered up to join Paladin.

  “What are you doing down here?”

  “I’ve come to help you on your mission. I heard about it from the sparrows. Remember, ravens and owls have the same enemies.”

  “Oh, Caruso,” cried Paladin with relief. “I’m lost, hopelessly lost!”

  “ ’Tis better to be loved and lost than never to have loved at all,” replied the owl, giggling.

  Paladin offered a polite chuckle, then proceeded to explain about Septimus and the torc, and Gabriel’s plan to rescue his father. When he finished, the owl told him that he had traveled too far.

  “How do you know?”

  “We owls see better in darkness. You missed an entrance to Aviopolis a short way back. Follow me!” said Caruso.

  The Bridge to the Citadel

  “You guys were great,” Gabriel told Abby and Pamela. “Those were really hard riddles.”

  “Yes, they were,” admitted Abby. “Septimus, on the other hand—”

  “I can assure you,” interrupted Septimus, “mine was exceptionally difficult.”

  Nobody replied, not even Somes, who had guessed the answer before Septimus did.

  “I promise you,” Septimus continued, “I didn’t choose to come here!”

  “But you did,” replied Gabriel. “You need my father to help you.”

  “Let’s not dwell in the past, my good lad. The point is, we got by that awful creature!”

  The group had arrived at a ledge. Before them lay a grand and terrifyingly deep underground cavern, its walls dotted with small chambers. This, at last, was the city of Aviopolis. The bottom of the cavern (if there was a bottom) was too far to see. In its center stood an immense tower of stone with thousands of candlelit windows that flickered in the darkness.

  “Look at all those windows! They’re so pretty,” said Pamela.

  “Each is a cell,” said Septimus. “The citadel is a prison for all who refuse to serve Corax. Many are ravens, hanging in cages, forgotten and doomed.”

  In spite of this grim description, Gabriel felt a glimmer of hope. He sensed his father’s presence again. Perhaps, in one of those windows, Mr. Finley was looking out right now. It wouldn’t be long, Gabriel told himself, before they might be together for the first time in three years.

  Getting to the tower was a problem. Gabriel saw no way to reach it across the dark abyss. Septimus, however, led them to a point in the cavern rim where a stone bridge became visible. It was ancient, with great cracked steps of rock leading upward to a narrow span that arched high over the abyss, then descended to the citadel.

  The closer they came to the bridge, the more anxious everybody felt, for the stone railings had broken away, leaving only a jagged path that narrowed to the width of a cafeteria tray in some places. With nothing to grasp, it would be like walking a balance beam; and to make matters worse, small c
hunks of the bridge seemed to be dropping from the edges every few moments.

  “I wouldn’t like to walk across that thing,” said Pamela.

  “Me neither,” said Abby. “So, where do we cross, Septimus?”

  “I’m afraid this is the only way,” said Septimus.

  “Unless you have wings,” added Somes, who pointed out something the others hadn’t seen: far below their ledge, hundreds of birds were circling the citadel, riding on the air currents in a counterclockwise direction like schools of fish swimming.

  It took a few moments for their eyes to take in the scene. They saw linnets, herons, storks, albatross, and many birds they had never seen before. The birds were singing, a sound that might have been beautiful in a valley at dusk, but in this echoing chasm was a nightmarish mix of squawk and gabble.

  Now that it was obvious that the bridge was nothing more than a crumbling ruin with a perilous path, Gabriel raised his hand. “Anybody afraid of heights?”

  Abby, Pamela, and Somes raised their hands.

  “Great,” said Gabriel. “Septimus, how about you?”

  Septimus’s face had turned green. In fact, he couldn’t even look at the bridge—a brief glance had caused his cheeks to swell.

  “Haven’t you crossed before?” asked Gabriel.

  Septimus took a deep, shuddering breath, and stammered, “N-n-never took the bridge. Terrible fear of big open spaces. Nausea. Vertigo. Awful.”

  “How did you cross the chasm the first time?” wondered Gabriel.

  “I paravolated with Crawfin.”

  Pamela regarded him doubtfully. “If you flew, why weren’t you scared? It’s still a big, open space.”

  “As I’ve told Gabriel, when you and your amicus merge, your similarities are enhanced and your differences erased,” Septimus explained. “Crawfin had no fear of wide-open spaces, so his confidence erased my fear. On the other hand, his greed for the torc was multiplied by my own—which is why we fought.”

  At that moment he was interrupted by the echo of a rock tumbling from the bridge; it struck a larger boulder, which triggered bigger pieces to fall. A small rockslide rumbled into the darkness as the children watched with bleak faces. It appeared that even if they got across, there was only a slim chance the bridge would be there for the return journey.