Gabriel Finley and the Raven’s Riddle (13 page)

B
y mid-November, the trees on the block were bare. The mornings were crisp as children walked to school blowing billows of steam below Endora's nest. Paladin's feathers had grown in thickly, spurred by the cold. It was time to learn to fly.

Endora gave Paladin all kinds of instructions beforehand, coaxing him to perch on the edge of the nest and flap his wings to test his balance and strength.

“You need to
feel
the air,” she said.

The poor chick did as he was told, but he tottered unsteadily. He didn't trust his wings' ability to bear him aloft. Terrified, he uttered a few hopeless clicks to his mother.

“Try, Paladin!” she urged.

“But I'm afraid I'll drop to the ground! Then someone will find me and put me in a cage forever.”

“Of course you'll fly, my darling,” Endora assured him, but there was an anxious edge to her voice. Her eyes traced the rooftops. She felt danger in the air and saw silhouettes that seemed to vanish moments later.

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 in 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.”