Gabriel Finley and the Raven’s Riddle (6 page)

May 15: Baldasarre and I fly every evening. Each time, it gets easier to merge with him—all I have to do is tighten my muscles and we become one. In the air, I have to remember to be slack. Last night I tried to point out the sunset, and we fell into a spin in midflight because I had taken control of Baldasarre's wing. He was furious.

Do you want to kill us both?
he muttered.
Let me do the flying!

May 17: We tried something different today. Baldasarre leaped into
my
body! We walked into a supermarket. He had never seen so many fruits and vegetables in one place. Suddenly, I felt my head dart down and my mouth grab a grape.

Baldasarre?
I said.
Humans don't eat like birds. Control yourself!

May 19: Baldasarre doesn't like glass. Like most birds, he finds it very confusing. We went to get ice cream today in my body, but he got scared by the glass door and tried to fly away. I felt my arms flapping wildly, but there was nothing I could do until he calmed down.

May 20: This evening we flew around the whole city and landed on the crown of the Statue of Liberty. There is nothing more amazing than looking over the harbor with the city in the distance, thousands of lights from the Verrazano Bridge glittering all the way to the Empire State Building.

I feel so happy
, I told Baldasarre.

He told me not to get too comfortable.
One owl attack can wipe that smile off your face.

But you said ravens are smarter than owls.

Yes, but we're no match for cold-blooded killers.

May 22: Tonight was terrifying. We were flying across the bay and happened to circle the buildings around Battery Park. There's an excellent air current there; Baldasarre loves to glide over the trees and let the breeze lift us up over the city like the smoothest roller-coaster ride. But this time, just as we crested over the skyscrapers, I felt his muscles stiffen.

He looked down behind us and I saw it, moving with us almost like our shadow. It had a huge wingspan, maybe three times that of a raven's.

What is it?
I asked.

That's an owl. Worse—a great horned owl.

We rolled over toward the river, but the owl gained on us without even trying. Baldasarre began flapping frantically to go higher, but the owl matched our climb with barely an effort.

What are we going to do?

The only thing we can: find a place an owl can't go.

I could feel Baldasarre's fear all through me. My heart was thumping like crazy, my wings were sore, and a grim ache in my belly told me this creature would kill us. The great brown-flecked predator swallowed the distance between us in about three heartbeats.

We swooped down between tree limbs in the darkness, but the owl dodged every branch, stem, and bush with the slightest tilt of his powerful wings. We weaved through a row of pillars, and so did the owl, with identical precision. Silent. Deadly. Ever closer.

Finally, Baldasarre spoke in a weary, tragic tone.

Adam?

Yes.

This may be our last minute alive.

Ahead, I could see an enormous construction site. It was a building about a hundred floors high, just a framework of iron girders with a skin of netting to keep the workers safe as they toiled on the edges of the structure.

Let's fly there!
I cried.
Into one of those upper floors. Weave in and out, but be careful to avoid the netting!

Baldasarre did as I said, and we streaked into the skeleton framework of the structure, barely avoiding pillars, wires, and pipes.

The great horned owl had no problem with these new obstacles. I could sense his merciless eyes upon us, getting nearer and nearer.

Baldasarre dodged and careered past the beams, then suddenly dropped down a shaft.

The owl wasn't fooled for a second. It followed us, claws extended for the kill.

I screamed—which came out as a raven's anxious croak.

Abruptly, Baldasarre spun in a tight circle.

The owl kept going, struck a curtain of netting, and fell, down and down, to the ground floor, where it tossed like some great fish caught at sea.

Baldasarre let out a giddy series of throks, gloating at the owl's mistake. We landed on a heap of bricks and watched the creature flop around in front of us, helplessly snagged.

“Ho ho ho!” Baldasarre said. “Look who's in trouble now!”

I jumped apart from him and caught my breath. I felt exhausted, and my legs trembled.

Meanwhile, Baldasarre strutted around the owl, his neck feathers spread out in a cocky display of victory.

“What's stupider than a sparrow?” he taunted. “Two owls!”

The owl struggled against the netting, twisting to escape as it wound itself tighter and tighter. It was a magnificent-looking bird with great brown feathers, huge talons, and large hornlike tufts just above its enormous yellow eyes, but it began wheezing now, the netting tightening around its throat.

“He'll never get out of there,” chuckled Baldasarre.

Although I was relieved to be alive, I couldn't look at this
extraordinary bird without feeling some respect for it. To see it struggle this way was heartbreaking. I kneeled beside it.

Be careful, Adam. He's a killer
, warned Baldasarre.

“This is an awful way to die,” I replied out loud.

The owl's great amber eyes batted at me through the mesh. They seemed desperate and fearful now.

“If I free you, will you return the favor?” I whispered.

Adam, don't ever trust an owl
, said Baldasarre.
Let's go!

“On your honor?” I asked.

Owls have no honor!
cried Baldasarre.

The owl blinked at me very slowly. I couldn't tell if this was a signal that it had agreed, or if it was just slowly dying.

“It doesn't seem honorable to let it die,” I argued, then reached out and pulled at the mesh around the owl's neck with my fingers. I had to pull strand by strand because the mesh was so tight. The owl's breathing improved. Then I unraveled the mesh from its wings. It didn't stir, but lay on the concrete floor, its feathered chest heaving slowly. It could have pounced on Baldasarre in a split second, but it didn't. Its enormous eyes flickered at me.

Baldasarre was furious.
Adam, we must go!
he cried.

“Remember,” I whispered to the owl, and then I jumped. Instantly we were flying back toward Brooklyn.

All the way, Baldasarre ranted.
Of all the stupid things to do! An owl! Never help an owl! They're all fluff, stupidity, and ruthlessness! We'll never get home! He's probably following with his gang of friends. They'll have us for breakfast and lunch and spit our bones into the river!

The sky was empty, but Baldasarre kept looking back for our assailant.
The city dozed quietly as dawn lit up the eastern sky with a faint purple glow.

By the time we reached my window, I wasn't sure which would have been worse—being an owl's breakfast or having to keep listening to Baldasarre complain about what I'd done.

No sooner had I jumped free of him and dusted myself off than a voice spoke out of the darkness.

“Adam?”

My father was seated in a worn green velvet armchair with a blanket pulled up to his neck. His glasses had fallen onto his chest. He had seen us separate, but instead of looking amazed, his eyes were wide with concern.

May 23: I was too upset last night, but I have to explain why my father was not surprised by what he saw.

First, he took me downstairs and cooked us breakfast.

It was the only meal my father cooked, and he did it very well; he fried eggs so that they were crispy on the edges but runny in the center. He made potato hash in the skillet, browned all over and flavored with pepper and a little cumin and plenty of butter. We ate together while I told him about our adventure, and when I had finished, he folded his hands and looked at me.

“Adam,” he said. “Your older brother also found a raven. He was twelve when it happened, exactly your age. Like you, he became the raven's amicus, and like you, he learned to talk to it in his head. Like you, he could …”

Here, my father looked upward, as if following a bird's flight.

“Paravolate?” I said.

He nodded sadly. “Paravolate. Yes, I remember, that's what he called it, too.”

“You make it sound like a bad thing,” I said. “If you could only try it yourself, you'd understand that it's the most amazing—”

My father interrupted by raising his hand. “Like you, Adam, Corax was an adventurous and clever boy. He loved to fly, and told his secret to a friend, an unfortunate fellow named Thomas, who did not believe him. To prove it, Corax spied on him as a bird, listened to his arguments with his mother, watched from the sky as Thomas stole an apple from an outdoor grocery and ignored an elderly woman who asked him for help picking up her spectacles. When Corax revealed all he had seen, Thomas still could not believe Corax could fly, but he looked terrified and ashamed. This pleased Corax more than anything, for it was power.

“This boy's mother told me he began complaining of hearing voices where there were no people.” My father's voice became low and grave. “Then, about a week later, he was seen, screaming, as he ran in front of a bus. He was killed. Corax promised me he had nothing to do with it, but I saw no sorrow at the loss of his friend—only a defiant, cruel glint in his eyes.”

I shook my head. “I don't want to become—”

“Let me finish,” he insisted. “In just a few months of doing what you have been doing”—here, he pointed angrily at me, then at Baldasarre—
“Corax became a wretched and heartless boy. That picture downstairs? It doesn't begin to show the terrible transformation. His soul was slipping away, leaving a cruel spirit in its place.

“One evening I realized I had to protect him from himself, so I took a hammer and nails and sealed Corax's window so that he couldn't go out on his flight. I locked his door and told him it was for his own good. In the morning, we planned to take him to see a doctor.

“Corax wept that night,” said my father. “The most awful sounds came from his room, monstrous cries like an animal in torment. When they stopped very suddenly, your mother and I felt relieved; but then there was a crash, and we ran upstairs to find that his window had been shattered. He was gone. I stayed up many nights waiting for him, as I did for you tonight, but I never saw him again.”