Gabriel Finley and the Raven’s Riddle (3 page)

As he walked home after school, Gabriel heard Somes's low voice calling after him. “Hey! Tell me the answers to the homework!”

When Gabriel refused, Somes reached out and raised Gabriel against a fence so that his feet dangled off the ground.

Helpless in the boy's grip, Gabriel shared his answers. But he had another reason for doing this—there was something pitiful about Somes. He felt a little sorry for him.

Now, before we go any further, I must warn you that this is not a story about a bully; it is a story about riddles, ravens, and a remarkable adventure. Still, it is important for you to know how adventures can sometimes begin with the people we least expect.

That evening, Aunt Jaz noticed a rip in Gabriel's jacket. When he explained about being hung from the fence, she peered at him over her horn-rimmed glasses. “Gabriel? You must never give that bully your answers again!”

“Well, he was pretty desperate,” Gabriel explained.

“You must stand up for yourself!”

His aunt made a small fist, which amused Gabriel. He explained that he couldn't
stand up
against a bully if his feet were already off the ground.

Aunt Jaz shook her head. “Your father never had such problems when he was a boy.”

“What kind of problems
did
he have?” Gabriel replied curiously.

His aunt's boomerang eyebrows converged suddenly,
and Gabriel knew he had stumbled upon a very important secret.

“Oh, nothing really,” she said, her eyes doing a little scramble, as if looking for somewhere to escape.

“Aunt Jaz? Won't you tell me
anything
about him?” Gabriel asked.

Now her painted eyebrows tilted in a look of obvious sympathy.

“Oh, Gabriel, I'm a terrible aunt,” she confessed. “You deserve so much better than me!”

Later that evening, in bed with the lights out, Gabriel became aware of his aunt's presence. She kneeled by his bed and patted him. He didn't open his eyes because she was only affectionate this way when she thought he was asleep.

The next morning, he realized she had placed something on his bedside table. It was a small notebook, bound in black leather. If he had opened it, he would have seen that the first page said
The Book of Ravens
, and it was signed in child's lettering—
Adam Finley
—with a small but carefully rendered drawing of a raven beside it.

Adam Finley, of course, was Gabriel's father.

And if Gabriel had started reading it right then and there, he might have forgotten about breakfast, or perhaps even to go to school; but since Gabriel had overslept, he gave the
notebook a quick glance, then stuffed it in his school backpack, planning to take a closer look at it later.

Instead, it was the notebook that was forgotten. It lay in the bottom of his backpack among a pocket pack of tissues, twelve gum wrappers, a worn eraser, and several very short pencils—a place where something might be lost for a long time.

Breakfast

“C
lass? Today, we're going to talk about nutrition and the importance of a good breakfast,” said Ms. Cumacho. “I want each of you to tell us what you ate this morning.”

Somes emitted a deep, unhappy groan. Then he poked a pencil sharply into Gabriel's back. “Gabriel,” he whispered. “Tell me—what did
you
have for breakfast?”

“Oh, Somes,” Gabriel whispered back. “It's not a hard question!”

Somes sniffed. “I never eat breakfast. Tell me what you ate!”

Somes jabbed him, harder, so hard that Gabriel arched his back in pain. “Ouch! Chicken fried rice!” he muttered.

Ms. Cumacho, who had been pulling up the window blinds, turned back to the class. “Somes?” she said. “What did you eat?”

The bully's lips quivered. “Um, chicken fried rice.”

“Chicken fried rice. How unusual!”

Ms. Cumacho wrote this on the blackboard. “Now,” she said, scanning the students before her. “Who else? Gabriel, how about you? What was your breakfast?”

Gabriel paused, faced with a fresh problem. How would it sound if he also said
chicken fried rice
? Then he felt a surge of outrage that he even had to worry about his answer.

“I had chicken fried rice, too.”

Ms. Cumacho's smile faded. “If you can't take this discussion seriously, Gabriel, you can leave.”

“I'm
being
serious,” he said. “That's what I had. It's Somes who—”

Somes uttered a roar and punched Gabriel sharply in the arm. “He's lying, Ms. Cumacho!”

A large purple bruise appeared on Gabriel's arm that afternoon. On the walk home from school, his friend Addison Sandoval gazed at it with admiration.

“Wow.” He whistled. “Looks painful.”

“You have no idea,” muttered Gabriel.

“Well, look on the bright side. Ms. Cumacho saw Somes hit you. He's got detention.”

Gabriel didn't get much satisfaction from this.

“You could have just said scrambled eggs or oatmeal or anything,” suggested Addison.

“Why should I lie about breakfast?” Gabriel replied.

It was an uphill walk from school to their houses on Fifth Street. In the fall, acorns dropped from the tall oaks that lined the street, bouncing on car roofs and crunching under the boys' feet. Gabriel noticed a large black bird watching
them from a nest of twigs and leaves overhead. He pointed it out to Addison.

“That's a raven,” said Addison. “You can tell by the beak and the iridescent feathers—they change colors as it turns, see? Ravens are the largest of the corvids, which are a bird family that include crows, ravens, and rooks.”

“I didn't know you knew so much about ravens,” said Gabriel.

“I have to be an expert on these things,” Addison explained. He wanted to run a natural history museum when he grew up.

“I'm an expert on riddles,” said Gabriel as he looked up at the raven.

“What job requires a riddle expert?” said Addison. “It doesn't seem very useful.”

Gabriel remembered his father telling him that riddles were good for the brain. “Athletes have flexible bodies,” he'd said. “But great thinkers have flexible minds.”

Meanwhile, the raven's eyes rested curiously on Gabriel, as if waiting for a reply to Addison's question. When Gabriel remained silent, the raven settled its gaze on an apple core on the sidewalk.

Addison waved his hand at the bird. “Shoo, off you go!” he cried.

“Wait,” said Gabriel. “I think it wants that apple core for its chick.”

The moment he said this, the raven flew down and seized
the core with its curved black beak. It placed one claw forward toward Gabriel, dipping its head graciously, then flew back to its nest.

Addison regarded his friend curiously. “How do you know that's why the raven wants it?”

Gabriel gave him a firm stare. “I just knew what it was thinking.”

“Impossible,” said Addison. “Totally impossible!”

“You have to admit that it seemed to thank me.”

Addison frowned and shook his head. “I doubt it,” he said. “Ravens are mimics, like parrots, but they don't have much intelligence.”

Gabriel stared up at the tree. He was sure the raven had bowed to him.

Paravolating

T
he raven carried her apple core up to the edge of a big nest of twigs and sticks. She was a large, dignified bird—her feathers had a stunning blue sheen to them; her beak was dark and polished, with an elegant curve. She checked the skyline for danger before peering deep into her nest. Then, anxiously, she began rocking from one foot to the other.

“Paladin? My darling, where are you?” she said.

Nothing stirred. The mother raven began to poke about in a panic. “Paladin?” she repeated. “Oh, this can't be! Paladin!”

Out of the sticks, twigs, and gray fluff at the very bottom of the nest, a small dark beak poked through. Pinfeathered and very clumsy, a raven chick wobbled out of its burrow and opened its beak with eyes shut. It would still be a few days before he would be able to see.

“I was hiding, Mother. Just as you told me!”

“Oh, Paladin,” sighed the raven. “Thank the heavens!” She gently caressed the baby with her enormous beak. “I thought I'd lost you.”

She began chewing pieces of the apple core and offered
the pulp to the fledgling, who immediately opened his beak and swallowed in great gulps. When his belly was full he swooned, tipsy with satisfaction, and rested his head against the side of the nest.

“I thought you'd never come,” he said. “I heard wings, so I hid.”

“Very good,” she replied. “You did exactly the right thing.”

“Mother? Must I be afraid of all birds?”

“Not all, my love. Just owls and their kind—eagles, hawks.”

She considered mentioning valravens but decided that her chick was too young to learn about them.

“What about people? I hear them walking below the nest,” asked the fledgling.

The mother raven cast a cautious glance down.

“Most people leave us alone. They fear us, which is a pity, because we were once their best friends.”

“Their best friends?”

“Yes. We even talked to them, but that was a very long time ago. Now only a few humans ever become friends with ravens. Still, when they do, amazing things happen.”

“Like what?” asked Paladin, curious.

“Well, a raven's human friend is called an
amicus.
Once they meet, the raven and his amicus can share thoughts. They can merge as one, and fly as one, which is called
paravolating.
It is a very special bond, Paladin. Your grandfather Baldasarre had an amicus.”

The fledgling felt a sudden tremor of excitement. “Is there an amicus for me, Mother?”

“Perhaps, my love.” The mother raven became thoughtful. She watched the two boys she had just encountered make their way into a house across the street. “If you meet the rare kind of human who appreciates riddles.”