Gabriel Finley and the Raven’s Riddle

by George Hagen

  “Well, I’ll give it a try,” said Pamela. “It’s the only way to get to Gabriel’s father.”

  Somes gave a thumbs-up. “I’m in,” he said.

  “Me too,” said Abby, impressed by the others. She gave Gabriel’s hand a squeeze.

  Gabriel smiled warmly at his friends. He silently wished he could complete the journey alone with Paladin. Where was Paladin? It seemed his amicus had been gone for hours.

  An odd figure greeted them at the entrance to the bridge—a squat-looking bird, like a very large turkey with a long neck and a bulbous beak. It had a clipboard under one wing, and waved its free wing enthusiastically. “Greetings, visitors! Humans! What a pleasant surprise,” she said in a bubbling voice.

  “Oh,” whispered Abby with astonishment. “It’s a dodo!”

  “Aren’t they extinct?” said Pamela.

  “I thought so,” said Abby. “I remember reading that sailors killed the last ones for food, hundreds of years ago.”

  “Then why would it be glad to see people?” murmured Somes.

  “Maybe they’re just stupidly friendly,” suggested Abby.

  “Dodo, what a perfect name,” said Somes.

  The dodo stepped forward. “Welcome, oh welcome indeed, to the Chasm of Doubt. Crossing it is the only way to enter the citadel of Aviopolis!”

  “Chasm of Doubt? Why is it called that?” asked Gabriel.

  The dodo blinked. “I’m not sure.”

  She balanced on one muscular foot, withdrew the clipboard from her wing with the other, and pulled a pencil free from the clip with her beak. “So, what are your names?”

  “I’m Gabriel. This is Abby, Pamela, and Somes.”

  “And Septimus Geiger, at your service, ma’am,” said Septimus in a sickly voice.

  As the dodo took down their names, Gabriel stared at her. She wrote with a pencil in her beak as easily as anyone writes by hand, her eyes blinking pleasantly at the children like a kind elderly grandmother’s. Her beak was the most extraordinary thing—much too big for her face, sculpted with absurd curves. Her wings were dark brown, with fluffy gray tips; her feet were yellow and very thick and muscular, with talons that must have been good for crushing clams and other mollusks. Gabriel noticed a lot of razor-clam shells spread about the entrance. He guessed that the dodo snacked on them when she had nothing else to do.

  “Pardon me,” asked Abby. “Why do you need our names?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” laughed the dodo, patting herself on the chest. “If I didn’t take your names, I doubt I would need to be standing here!”

  Gabriel noticed that there were no other names on the dodo’s list.

  “Are we your first visitors?”

  The dodo looked puzzled. “I doubt it.”

  “Well—how long have you been here?” asked Pamela.

  The dodo blinked. “I’m not sure if I know.”

  “You don’t know?” repeated Pamela. “Or you don’t know if you know?”

  “I’m doubtful,” admitted the dodo. She gave them another daffy smile.

  “Can we go ahead, then?” asked Gabriel.

  “Of course,” said the dodo. “I doubt that the bridge is very strong, so you should cross one at a time. It’s a long walk and we don’t want accidents, do we? Now, who will go first?”

  The children regarded the bridge with fresh concern.

  Septimus, who was nearest to the bridge, dusted off his hands. “Well, my lad, I have brought you as far as I can. It’s time for me to go back.”

  “What?” Gabriel replied. “Septimus, what’s the sense of our crossing if you go back? The citadel has thousands of rooms. How will I find my dad? And what about the torc? Don’t you want to get rid of it?”

  “Oh, I’ll figure it out. Best of luck. Cheers to all!” With that, the man nodded to the children and weaved his way down the path that had brought them there.

  “Why is he leaving us?” whispered Pamela.

  “Because he’s scared.” Abby spoke loudly enough for Septimus to hear. “It was his raven who had all the courage.”

  At this remark, Septimus winced and wheeled around. “Scared? How dare you, you obnoxious little imp!” he shouted. “Who do you think you are, with your ridiculous hair, mismatched clothes, and absurd shoes? You have no right to call Septimus Geiger scared. Loudmouthed little freak!”

  Abby blanched. With every word from Septimus’s mouth, she seemed to shrink.

  “Abby, don’t listen to him!” said Gabriel.

  But Abby had stepped away from the group, her face buried in her hands.

  “What’s happening to us?” Pamela said, her face stricken with worry. “It’s that chasm. It really is a chasm of doubt!”

  Gabriel turned to everyone. “Listen, you guys, we just need to get across the bridge and we’ll be fine.”

  “I can’t and I won’t!” replied Septimus.

  Desperate, Gabriel approached him. “Whose side are you on?” he cried. “My father’s? Or do you want Corax to win?”

  “Neither,” Septimus replied. “I’m on the side of Septimus Geiger.”

  “What about good winning over evil?” said Gabriel.

  “Right! Don’t you care about that?” Pamela agreed.

  Septimus shook his head and shuffled a little farther down the narrow trail.

  “What are we going to do?” fretted Pamela, looking to Somes.

  Somes gently nudged Gabriel. “Wait, he’s wearing the torc, isn’t he? Why can’t he just wish himself across the bridge?”

  “He’s afraid to wish anything,” Gabriel replied. “Each wish has a price. He might get across but have an awful surprise at the other end.”

  Somes thought for another moment. “I have one other idea.” He held out the staff to Gabriel. “First, thanks for lending me this.”

  Gabriel shrugged. “It’s really okay, Somes.”

  Somes glanced back at Septimus. “What if,” he began, “what if Septimus took the staff across the bridge. Confidence. That’s all he needs.”

  “Give Septimus the staff?” said Pamela doubtfully. “That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

  Gabriel considered the narrow stone bridge and the seemingly bottomless chasm beneath it. It seemed a good idea, except for one thing: Somes had spent a lot of time in Septimus’s company during this journey. What if this was just a way to get the staff into Septimus’s hands? What if Septimus slipped away, as he had before? The more Gabriel thought about it, the more impossible it was to make a decision, and this reminded him of Pamela’s remark. It really is a chasm of doubt!

  But his friends’ expectant stares urged Gabriel to make a decision.

  “Wait here a moment,” he said, and he hurried down the path to catch up with Septimus.

  “Septimus!” he cried. “Stop! You’re going to cross the bridge.”

  “But I …,” began Septimus.

  Gabriel held the staff toward him. “C’mon. Take this.”

  Septimus peered into Gabriel’s eyes. “I’m at the mercy of Corax,” he said bitterly. “Why would you trust me with the staff?”

  “You said you’d guide me to the citadel,” Gabriel reminded him. “Maybe, if you keep one good promise, it will free you from him. It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

  The man’s forehead wrinkled, but he seemed touched by Gabriel’s optimism. A small amount of trust can sometimes change a soul who is starved of such things. Nervously, Septimus placed his hand upon the staff and gently closed his fingers around it. A delicious tingle of warmth grew in his fingertips. Septimus flinched. He ran his hand along the staff’s worn surface and a glow appeared in his sallow cheeks. His eyes, which had been bloodshot and scared, gained back their prideful resolve.

  Septimus surveyed the group, then took a few steps toward Abby.

  “My dear,” he said. “Please forgive my unkind words. I beg your pardon.”

  Abby looked up with surprise. “Pardon?”

  Septimus planted his foot upo
n the first step of the bridge and tapped it with the staff. “I’m honored by your trust,” he said. “I’ll see you all on the other side!” He paused. “That’s a promise!”

  The moment he uttered the word promise the children shared a worried glance.

  With his coat billowing behind him, Septimus started across the bridge with broad steps. He never broke his stride or looked back. Soon he was just a speck on the distant midpoint of the bridge. He waved, his snow-white hair bobbing briefly. Then he continued on the downhill part of the span toward the citadel. In a short while they heard him whistle—the signal that the next person should cross.

  The Crossing

  Steady now, Somes said to himself. Just watch your step.

  He felt a sharp, cold breeze from below as he made his way, but he dared not look down. Why was the wind so cold? Wasn’t the earth hot in the center? Perhaps it was just fear that ran a chill down his spine. He kept his footsteps steady, pressing forward in short strides along the slender pathway.

  Keep your balance. Concentrate on getting there, he told himself. Don’t look down.

  Birds were venturing closer. He could hear their cries, but he was still afraid to look at them. They emitted trills of notes that sent flashes of yellow and orange light erupting against the chasm walls.

  Something in the air makes the light do that, Somes reminded himself. Keep going. Don’t look down.

  A larger bird swooped by, uttering a harsh, sneering squawk. This time, the chasm wall turned vermilion. Somes followed the bird with his eyes, afraid it was a valraven. The bird swiftly disappeared into the darkness. He felt a twist in his stomach, and his knees began to shake. He tried to steady himself.

  I shouldn’t have looked down, he thought.

  His knees always shook when his father shouted. Glasses can’t make a dumb kid smart. Was it true? Was he just a dumb kid? Now his knees were bobbing like pistons. Stop. Please. Somes tried to think of something happy, but his mind settled on that bag of peaches and the night Mr. Grindle gave him the black eye. Don’t talk back to me! Idiot! Then there was the time he fell while running. Why did you fall down, dummy? Somes remembered lying on the wet pavement, his nose bleeding, with the boots of his father inches away from his face. His father didn’t even help him up; he just called Somes a dummy.

  The path was jagged and narrow now; he was in the middle, and each end seemed an eternity away. Somes felt his knees jerking up and down like dribbled basketballs.

  If you just put one foot out, he told himself, you can take the next one. Just one step!

  He slid his left foot six inches. Okay. He slid the right foot six inches. Great!

  I’m not a dummy. I figured out how to get the mausoleum gate open, he reminded himself.

  Left foot. Right foot. Careful. Left. Right.

  I’m not stupid. I guessed that the staff would destroy the valraven at the portcullis!

  He began taking longer steps. The bridge path was heading downhill.

  I saved Pamela. And it was my idea to lend Septimus the staff, and guess what? It worked!

  Somes was striding fast now, keeping his eyes on the stone blocks ahead, counting the cracks.

  I solved my own riddle and guessed a few others. Nobody has the right to call me a dummy. Nobody!

  Finally, he looked up. The grand citadel with its thousands of glittering windows towered directly above.

  He had arrived.

  Abby’s Turn

  Abby set off quickly, thinking that if she could get to the halfway point fast enough, the downhill part would be easy. She had buttoned her four sweaters and pressed her glasses against her face, and she marched at a confident clip.

  Moaning and wailing, a breeze from the Chasm of Doubt wrapped her in its taunting, scornful embrace. Abby slowed down and peered from her yellow boot to her purple one.

  I suppose I am kind of a freak, she thought. Septimus was right. Sometimes I talk before thinking, and people get upset. I probably shouldn’t have solved Mr. Pleshette’s crossword puzzle.

  The harsh wind sang again. Abby raised a hand to her many pigtails.

  My hair is ridiculous. Why did I walk out of my house looking like a crazy pincushion?

  A mocking roar rose from the chasm. Abby rubbed her glasses.

  How can anybody stand to be around me? I’m the weirdest. I’m the only freak in my school. It’s amazing that anyone takes anything I say seriously.

  The most awful shame enveloped Abby—it turned her stomach over and stole every ounce of her confidence.

  All the things I like to do are weird, she thought. If a black cat crosses my path, I have to stop, cross my fingers, and tap the corners of my glasses three times. Who would want to be friends with such a loon?… There’s no place for me. What will happen when I grow up? I’ll be the loneliest person on earth!

  Abby had stopped walking. She stood on the narrowest part of the bridge, unsure which direction she had come from and which direction she was going. What am I doing here? Meanwhile, the wind wailed one word in her ears. Freak!

  She began thinking about her older sister Etta, who was the most normal person she knew. Etta kept her brown hair combed perfectly and let it fall down to her shoulders. Etta liked to fit in. She wore exactly what her friends wore, same colors, same styles. When Abby mixed green with red or stripes with spots, Etta shook her head and pleaded with her to be more normal.

  “Why can’t you just fit in?” asked Etta.

  Abby couldn’t explain this to her sister. It was just the way she felt. She had noticed that Etta’s friends all looked alike. Once Abby followed Etta when she walked with friends and realized that she couldn’t tell them apart from behind. They looked identical. Right then, Abby vowed that she would do her best to look different. I never want to disappear in a crowd, she decided.

  Freak! mocked the wind.

  Alone on this solitary pathway, Abby froze with doubt. People were always pulling her pigtails, or laughing at her different-colored boots and shoes. Why couldn’t she fit in with everybody else, dress like everyone else, be like everyone else? Even grown-ups tilted their heads curiously at her, as if she was a …

  Freak!

  As the wind repeated its mocking refrain, Abby realized that she had almost stepped off the bridge. She tottered, hands raised in caution, feeling the most awful dread.

  “Oh, stop it, Abby!” she cried. “Stop wishing to be Etta!”

  The sound of her own advice surprised her. It was strong and sensible. “You can’t trade yourself in for somebody else,” she told herself. “There’s only one Abby, and you’re an original, one-of-a-kind, no-return deal!”

  Suddenly, she had an idea. A brilliant idea. She would recite riddles—every riddle she knew—and drown out that teasing, merciless wind.

  “What’s black and white and red all over?” she shouted. “A newspaper! What has six wheels and flies?” she said, raising her arms to keep her balance. “A garbage truck!”

  She peered around, looking for the citadel. There it was, with its thousands of beckoning lights. She started marching down the incline, first the yellow boot, then the purple.

  “What goes squeak, bump, squeak, bump? A mouse with a wooden leg! What do you get when you mix nuts with gravel? A toothache!”

  It was working. Abby was taking solid steps, arms swinging at her sides.

  Somes grinned when he heard Abby reciting riddles across the chasm.

  “What’s big when you’re empty and small when you’re full?” she shouted.

  He laughed. “Your appetite!”

  The Power of Music

  The next figure that tiptoed over the bridge had a violin case over her shoulder.

  “Everybody’s made it just fine,” Gabriel reminded Pamela beforehand. “Don’t worry.”

  The chasm roared as she set out. First, there was the banshee cry of the wind, then a hollow roar emanating from the depths—a hungry, bitter sound, like some vast creature in torment at the bottom of
the world.

  Pamela tried to think good thoughts. She thought of Somes, who had saved her from the fury of the valraven; she thought of the hug she had given him, and the way he’d carefully hugged her back, as if he’d never been hugged before by anyone. Poor Somes, she thought. Then she thought of salty taffy and delicious buttery caramel.

  The hollow roar returned, echoing from the depths, deeper and more doubtful.

  She remembered her mother yelling at Gabriel: A few of these and Pamela’s beautiful teeth will be ruined. Utterly ruined, thanks to you! She hadn’t brushed her teeth since eating the taffy on the dark staircase. What if they started rotting and falling out? Suddenly, a fragment of rock broke from the slender pathway—leaving a gap in the middle. It looked a little bit like a molar.

  Pamela slowed down. “This is ridiculous,” she told herself. “I can’t be seeing teeth.”

  She stopped and studied the hole in the path. It seemed to be growing.

  “I have to get past this,” she told herself.

  The wind wailed, and the hollow roar answered from below.

  Wait a second. How long has it been since I’ve practiced violin? she wondered. She felt ashamed. She was supposed to be learning Allegro Appassionato, but she couldn’t recall a note of it. Does it begin with a G or an A? she wondered.

  “Have I forgotten everything I’ve ever learned?” she said, wiggling her toes doubtfully over the edge of the bridge.

  She imagined her mother’s reaction—the tears and weeping. Her mother was so proud of her musical talent. All those lessons, the sheet music she saved from the fire, and her constant reminders about practicing. It was all for nothing. Suddenly, the view of the citadel turned glittery and liquid and Pamela realized she was weeping for herself.

  Her left foot slipped off the crumbling path. She fell to her knees. “Oh, help!” she cried, throwing her arms out to steady herself.