by George Hagen
“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
Some 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!”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you,” Gabriel said.
“Maybe you didn’t mean to, but you did,” replied the raven. “Let me remind you that human children take a year just to walk!”
“True.”
In the following week, Paladin made great progress. He learned to take off, land, and hover. The boy and the raven became so accustomed to sharing their thoughts that they could argue without speaking a word out loud. Most of their quarrels had to do with paravolating, because neither knew exactly how to do it.
Could we try flapping our wings at the same time? suggested Paladin.
But I don’t have wings, replied Gabriel.
Don’t argue, just flap your arms instead! Paladin answered.
Flapping his arms for several minutes, Gabriel slumped into a chair, sweaty and frustrated. I feel silly.
You looked ridiculous! laughed Paladin.
You’re not helping very much.
No matter how they tried, they couldn’t merge as Adam Finley had with Baldasarre.
Paladin’s wings developed a handsome blue sheen, and his neck feathers formed a very dignified ruffle around his sleek black neck. He could be quite charming, too. He bowed to Aunt Jaz in the evenings, which Gabriel knew was a high compliment. In return, Aunt Jaz told Trudy Baskin that the bird could be fed in the kitchen.
“But his germs!”
“Trudy, I think we can agree that the bird is quite clean.”
Pamela offered peanuts to the raven, who would now accept them from her with a courtly bow.
“Isn’t he just amazing!” she cooed.
“I doubt he’s any more intelligent than a trained parrot,” snapped Trudy.
Paladin repeated Trudy’s words, with the same snippy tone: “I doubt he’s any more intelligent than a trained parrot!”
Before breakfast, Gabriel would pose a riddle to Paladin.
“When do strawberries get upset?”
“Hmm.” Paladin noticed a jar on the table. “I know,” he said. “When they get in a jam!”
Then Gabriel exploded in laughter, and the bird uttered throk throk throks of glee.
Pamela watched their conversations with quiet yearning. One evening, she came to Gabriel with a favor. “May I please tell Paladin a riddle?”
“Sure,” said Gabriel. “Go ahead.”
“Okay,” she said, looking nervously at Paladin. “It goes like this: Who shows up at breakfast, never appears for lunch or dinner, but comes twice for dessert?”
Paladin cocked his head at Pamela thoughtfully, then said, “The letter ‘s.’ ”
“Yes, that’s it!” said Pamela.
Paladin laughed giddily. Throk throk throk!
“That was pretty good,” Gabriel told Pamela.
Pamela sighed. “I wish I had a raven.”
“I don’t own Paladin,” Gabriel reminded her. “Aunt Jaz told me that I could take care of him but one day he would probably decide to go his own way.”
The girl’s smile faded. “You’re still so lucky!” She stamped angrily upstairs.
Gabriel tried to talk to Pamela later. He paused by her door, listening to the sad song she was playing on the violin. The music stopped for a moment, but when he tapped on the door, it resumed.
The next day on the way home from school, Gabriel complained to Abby about Pamela’s sulk.
“I feel exactly the same way,” Abby admitted. “You’re telepathic. How cool is that? You have a fantastic power nobody else has!”
“Oh, yes, a fantastic power,” mocked a voice. Somes Grindle had just caught up with them. “You’re both so very special just because you know what goes up but doesn’t come down or what’s black and white and red all over! When’s your next club meeting?” he said scornfully. “Don’t forget your badges and T-shirts!”
Glaring at the two, Somes barged past, knocking Gabriel into the fence so that he dropped his backpack.
“Pest!” muttered Gabriel.
Abby stared after Somes. “Poor Somes. I think he feels left out.”
“Yeah, poor Somes,” Gabriel said wryly, picking up his backpack. He left Abby at her gate and crossed the street.
But when he got to his house, he saw two men standing at the gate. The first had a familiar face: he wore a green poker visor and spectacles with extra lenses perched on the corners. Beside him stood a tall gentleman wearing a long tweed coat with a crimson silk scarf around his neck. But the most striking thing about him was the bird sitting on his shoulder—a magnificent raven as white as bone.
Aviopolis
“Ah, there he is!” said Mr. Pleshette to his companion. “Young man, I just came by to see how you were doing with your raven.”
“Okay—why?” said Gabriel cautiously.
Pleshette withdrew his wallet. “I have decided to make you an even better offer for—”
“He’s still not for sale.”
“Not for three thousand? A fine box of Cuban cigars, a case of excellent Madeira wine, or a pair of hand-stitched Italian shoes?”
When Gabriel shook his head, Mr. Pleshette frowned. “I see. Disappointing, very disappointing indeed. Then allow me to introduce you to Mr. Crawfin here.”
“How do you do, young fellow?”
The gentleman beside Pleshette had not spoken; it was the bird.
“Oh!” said Gabriel to the bird. “Fine, thank you!”
“Let me introduce my amicus,” said the white raven. “Mr. Septimus Geiger.”
Gabriel took another look at the tall man. He wasn’t much older than Pleshette, but his hair was white and his skin was rugged, like that of someone who had traveled great distances in all kinds of weather.
“A pleasure, my lad, a great pleasure,” said Septimus Geiger, shaking Gabriel’s hand. Casually, he reached into his pocket and tossed a mouse into the air.
The white raven caught it in a swift movement and devoured it. Then the bird tilted his head curiously at Gabriel. “So, my young friend, what’s the difference between a churchgoer and a donkey?”
“A churchgoer and a donkey?” said Gabriel. “Hmm.” He thought for a moment. “Well, a churchgoer sits and prays, but … I’m sorry. I don’t know the answer to that one.”
“One sits and prays, the other spits and brays!” Crawfin chuckled, his laugh as rusty as a garden gate. Cachh! Cachh! Cachh!
Septimus regarded the bird sternly. “As riddles go, I don’t think it’s especially funny. At least, it’s not worth all that cackling!”
Crawfin turned to Gabriel. “I think it’s a pip!” He nibbled at Septimus’s ear. “I deserve an extra mouse for that riddle.”
“I think you’ve had enough,” scolded Septimus.
The bird stared at his amicus. “Do I tell you when you’ve eaten too much?”
Sighing, Septimus dug into his pocket, produced another small white mouse, and held it up by the tail. Crawfin gulped it down in an instant.
All this time, Mr. Pleshette had been glancing impatiently at his watch. “As we have no further business to discuss, I’ll be on my way,” he said, looking miserably at Gabriel.
“Bye,” said Gabriel.
When Pleshette reached the end of the block, Gabriel expected the shopkeeper to turn and offer him something else ridiculous, like a bearskin coat and snowshoes, but the man rounded the corner and disappeared.
“Poor Pleshette,” said Crawfin. “He doesn’t understand that a raven and his amicus have an unbreakable bond. Septimus and I go together like salt and pepper.”
“Eggs and bacon,” added Septimus.
“Fish and chips,” said Crawfin.
“I have a fine eye for valuable things—” said Septimus.
“And I have the talent
for stealing them,” added Crawfin. “I’m the one with the courage and—”
“No, I’m the one with the courage,” protested Septimus.
“You have all the courage of a hedgehog!” snapped Crawfin.
As they argued, Gabriel began to wonder what they wanted from him.
“Dear boy,” said Septimus, sensing the boy’s confusion, “we bring news of your father.”
Nothing else could have convinced Gabriel to invite such strangers into his house. Eagerly, he led them down to the kitchen. There was no sign of Trudy, which was a relief.
“So, about my father …,” Gabriel said. “Where is he? What’s happened to him? Is he okay?”
Septimus raised his hand. “He is in fine health, I assure you. Until just recently, I was imprisoned with him in Aviopolis.”
“Really?” said Gabriel. “Do you know where Aviopolis is?”
“Of course I know where it is,” whispered Septimus, pointing downward with dramatic emphasis. “Corax’s dim, cavernous realm lies miles right beneath us! A maze of polished stone, marble, anthracite, and alabaster. A city of birds, ruled by Corax and his hordes of valravens. In its center lies a fortress containing thousands of prisoners. Your father and I were captives together with only bread, water, and friendship to sustain us. He wants nothing more than to come home, dear boy. I promised I would aid his escape, which is why I am here!”
Gabriel couldn’t believe his good luck. “And you say it’s miles beneath us? Where exactly—”
“I understand you have a raven friend?” interrupted Crawfin.
“Yeah, but—”
“Well, we must be introduced immediately!” said Septimus.
“But I really want to know more about my dad,” Gabriel replied.
“Patience, lad. One hand washes the other, does it not?” said Septimus.
This was an odd reply, but Gabriel saw that he had no choice but to fetch Paladin. When he explained about the visitors the young raven raised his neck feathers warningly. If they came with Mr. Pleshette, are you sure they can be trusted? he asked.
Septimus is a friend of my father’s, Gabriel explained.
You mean, he said he’s a friend of your father’s, the raven corrected him.