Gabriel Finley and the Raven’s Riddle (16 page)

T
hat evening Gabriel offered the baby raven sweet-and-sour chicken; Paladin gobbled it down. In the morning, he pecked heartily at scrambled eggs; in the afternoon, he ate raisins, peanuts, and sesame seeds; in fact, the only thing he didn't eat was one of Trudy's homemade muffins. After each feeding, the chick curled up in his box, but not without looking at Gabriel first. When their eyes met, Gabriel felt an intense bond of trust.

“He hasn't talked again,” he admitted to Abby. “But I feel as if he's in my head.”

“In your head?” repeated Abby. “Oh! The way your father talked to Baldasarre. Try talking to him—without speaking, I mean.”

After the next feeding, Gabriel sat quietly beside the box and focused his thoughts on the bird.
How are you
?

A feeling suddenly popped into his head—a very tender, vulnerable feeling. Gabriel was sure it was an answer. The word that described this feeling was obvious:
sad.

Do you have any family left
? wondered Gabriel.

All alone
, came the reply.

You're safe here. I'll take care of you.

Gabriel put his hand on the rim of the box. The raven chick regarded him with small black eyes, then rested his head gently against Gabriel's hand.

The next Saturday, Trudy broke a tooth while biting into one of her own muffins. She had to make an emergency trip to the dentist. The minute she was out of the house, Gabriel invited Abby over, and they hurried up to Pamela's room to see if she could get the writing desk to reveal more answers.

Without hesitation, Pamela began playing a jaunty tune, and in less than a minute they heard footsteps trotting up the stairs.

The desk, draped in a paisley shawl, nudged the door open. When it saw Gabriel and Abby it trembled (although they weren't sure how it could see), then lurched into a jig with a jump, a kick, and four hops.

“You have to admit it's pretty good,” Abby whispered.

At the end of the song, the desk began to stamp on the floorboards for more music. It was acting like an impatient three-year-old, so Abby shook her finger at it.

“Deskie,” she said sternly, “you can have more music if you let us ask a question!”

Stamping its front legs in protest, the desk slumped down in front of Pamela, who lowered her violin to show that she
wasn't going to play. Frustrated, the desk raised one taloned foot and pulled off the paisley shawl, tossing it into a corner of the room. The children waited for this sulk to pass. Reluctantly, the desk dragged its feet toward Gabriel and offered its lock to him.

Inserting the key, Gabriel concentrated on the small engraved word on the lid:
Ask.

“Did my father find the torc?”

This time, the lid seemed to pop open of its own accord.

A postcard was sitting in the middle compartment.

It was blank on the message side, but the other side showed a photograph of a man seated at a familiar-looking writing desk.

“It's my dad!” Gabriel said. “That's his study.”

“What does the picture mean?” asked Pamela.

As she spoke, parts of the photograph began to move. First the curtain fluttered. Then a raven flew in from the window, it dropped a roll of parchment into Mr. Finley's hand and whispered something in his ear. Mr. Finley lowered his head, frowning, as if he had received tragic news. He nodded to the raven, who flew out of the window again. Mr. Finley unrolled the parchment to examine it.

“Adam,” said a voice.

A visitor had entered the room in the picture. He wore a dark velvet topcoat and trousers. Two large black wings extended from his shoulders, and one taloned claw clutched a cane.

“Corax?” whispered Abby.

“So my little brother is all grown up,” said the visitor in a cold, crisp voice. “I understand you have a child—a little boy. Nine years old.”

“That's correct.” Adam Finley replied cautiously.

Gabriel thought that his father was very brave to stare back at those frightening coal-black eyes, the gaunt cheeks, and the sharp, beakish nose.

“Oh, I get it,” whispered Abby. “If you were nine, then this happened three years ago!”

“The boy's name?” Corax continued.

“Gabriel.”

“I'm so pleased to have a nephew,” said Corax. “He will serve me well.”

“Serve him well?” whispered Pamela anxiously. “What does that mean?”

Gabriel didn't reply. He was terrified.

“And I believe you are to be congratulated for something else,” continued Corax. “Finding the extraordinary torc of Huginn.”

Adam Finley nodded solemnly. “Yes, Corax. At great personal cost, I found the torc.”

“So you were right,” Gabriel whispered to Abby. “My dad
did
find it.”

The half man, half raven unfurled his coal-black wings, which pulsed threateningly as he held out an open claw.

“I'll take it, then.”

Adam shook his head. “It's not here, Corax, but I can assure you it is safe.”

“Safe?” Corax's great black wings shook violently. “Understand me, Brother. I don't plan to leave empty-handed. Give me the torc.”

Chilled by Corax's cold voice, Abby clutched Gabriel's arm so tightly that he almost dropped the postcard.

“That is impossible,” Adam Finley replied. Replacing the ribbon on the rolled parchment, he put it in the writing desk, closed the lid, and locked it with a familiar-looking key. “You see, my raven, Baldasarre, hid the torc where even I cannot find it.”

Corax's cold eyes settled on the desk. “Why should he hide it from you?”

“Because of its tragic history,” said Adam.

“I only know its legend,” replied Corax. “But you are a scholar, so tell me what you've learned.”

Adam pressed his fingers to his temples for a moment. “I'm not clear on all the facts, except for this. After Muninn won the torc from Huginn—”

“Stole it, you mean!” interrupted Corax.

“I believe Huginn agreed to a duel of riddles but lost,” replied Adam.

Corax waved one claw peevishly. “The details don't matter!”

“Oh, you'll find they
do
matter—a lot,” said Adam. “Once Muninn won the torc, he tried to use its power for good. He
wished for something else—a staff that would repel the attack of a valraven. Then he wished for a hiding place where the torc could never be found. That should have been the end of it, but the torc continued to exert its dark, mischievous force. It
wanted
to be found, and after a thousand years, I was the unlucky one to stumble upon it. So when it brought tragedy into my life, I begged my amicus to hide it.”

“And what did Baldasarre do with it, Brother?” said Corax impatiently. “I have great plans for the torc. Armies to lead. Wars to win. Your warm, sunlit world is my next domain, and I need the torc to rule it.”

Pamela gasped. “His next domain? Does he mean
here
?”

“Shhh, let's listen,” said Gabriel.

“If you don't tell me,” Corax continued, “my valravens will get to Baldasarre and tear him to pieces to find it.”

“That's also impossible,” Adam replied coolly. “Dear Baldasarre has passed away. The torc is out of your reach.”

Corax collapsed his wings in frustration. He looked sharply at his brother. “Out of
my
reach, you say? Then another can find it? Who?”

“Don't tell him,” whispered Pamela.

Adam Finley shook his head, and the children breathed a sigh of relief.

Corax beat his wings impatiently and paced the room. “Baldasarre must have left clues.” His cold, dark eyes probed his surroundings and settled on the key in Adam Finley's hand. “And since every raven loves a riddle, it stands to reason that
Baldasarre left his clues in a riddle.” His eyes settled on the desk. “A riddle in
here
!”

He wrenched the key from Adam's hand and turned it in the lock. The desk's carved raven legs tottered with fear as Corax wrested the lid open; but every compartment was empty. Furious, he dragged his claws across the surface.

“Explain!” he cried.

“You might have guessed the desk is bewitched,” said Adam.

“I'll have it crushed and burned!” said Corax.

Adam shook his head. “What a shame to burn a desk containing the only clue to the torc's whereabouts.”

Corax's expression shifted into a crafty smile. “Who can retrieve its contents?”

“Someone as pure as you once were, but wiser than you'll ever be.”

Corax narrowed his eyes at Adam. “Don't speak to me in riddles!”

“Isn't it obvious?” Adam replied. “Baldasarre wanted the torc to fall into the right hands. One of noble and generous character, unspoiled by evil, who could find the torc with the help of a raven.”

Corax nodded slowly. “
A twelve-year-old.
Your son is next in line. How clever. And I must wait three years for him to come of age? Very shrewd, Adam, but I shall simply take him with me to Aviopolis and keep him until he turns twelve.”

Adam shook his head. “Just as a caged bird can't fly, a
caged mind forgets how to think. Corax, do you honestly believe that a child raised in your dark, miserable prison of a world will find the torc that eluded you all these years? I guarantee it will be lost forever. Interfere with him in any way and your hopes will be dashed.”

This wiped the smile off the demon's face. Corax arched his wings in frustration. “You think you have fooled me,” he muttered. “But let me remind you that your son will require an amicus. I shall hunt down every raven. Imprison those who defy me. When the boy turns twelve, I will make sure his raven serves
me
!”

Abby's eyes lit up. “So
that's
why Paladin was being attacked when we found him. Corax intended to use him against you.”

“And that's why the key came on your twelfth birthday!” added Pamela.

“And why my father always told me so many riddles,” said Gabriel. “So I could solve Baldasarre's riddle.”

Meanwhile, in the magic postcard, Adam Finley made a last appeal to his brother. “Please, Corax,” he said. “Reconsider the path you've chosen. Come back home. It's not too late.”

The half man, half raven brooded for a time while his dark, velvety wings flexed ominously. “I don't understand you, Brother,” he replied. “Why would you pass up the chance to possess a necklace that grants any wish?”

“Because it never brings happiness,” Adam replied. “The dwarfs created it to sow mischief, despair, and revenge.”

“Revenge!” The demon's cold heart thrived on this emotion. “Here is my revenge—you shall be imprisoned with me until the torc is mine!”

Corax leaped forward; his enormous wing feathers spread out so wide that they filled the postcard, and he soared through the opening in the window.

Gabriel let out a cry for his father, but there was nothing he could do. Adam Finley had vanished from the picture. Running his finger desperately around the edges, the boy wished he could reverse what he had just seen, merely for a last glimpse of his father, but the picture showed an empty room.

“So your dad is in Aviopolis,” murmured Abby.

“Wherever that is,” added Pamela.

Learning to Fly

S
ome places simply cannot be found on any map or computer. Gabriel spent the next week looking for a clue to Corax's domain. Perhaps no human had been there—or, more to the point, no human had ever returned from it.

Meanwhile, Paladin was in a big hurry to learn to fly. If Trudy slipped out to go shopping, Gabriel would let him practice in the living room, but the raven kept crashing into the furniture. It worried Gabriel so much that he made a careless remark.

“Can't sparrows fly in just a week or two?”

“I am not a sparrow!” Paladin sputtered indignantly. “Sparrows are idiots! I'm a
raven
, the smartest bird alive!”