Gabriel Finley and the Raven’s Riddle (31 page)

“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 upon 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

S
teady 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

A
bby 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.