Raven (5 page)

“
But
what does it mean?”

“
Tulugaq?” he asked, and I nodded.

“
It is
the great black bird of the sky. The Raven.”

“
It
means raven?” I gasped.

“
You
are surprised, child?” asked Gabriel.

Unsure
whether to tell him or not, while at the same time a little
irritated at being called child, I walked over to boil some water
to bide my time. Maybe he'll think I'm totally mad, I thought.
Although I got the strange impression that nothing would shock him.
I decided to fill him in on what happened on those lonely nights in
England.

“
Just
before I came here I was... visited... by two big black ravens.
They appeared at my window every night and frightened me a little
bit. It wasn't just because they were there, it's because they
knocked at the glass and looked at me. Really looked at me, you
know. Almost as if they knew me. As if they were trying to tell me
something. I don't know. I can't really explain it... I know it
sounds totally crazy...”

But it
turned out that I was right, he was not easily
surprised.

“
The
ravens in London were our ancestors looking out for you in your
hour of need, my dear child. There was no need to fear them. They
were simply there to watch over you. To protect you. Fear not. They
are a part of us.”

It was
difficult for me to know how to react to that. Clearly I couldn't
believe that my ancestors had come back from the dead, in the form
of ravens, no less, to watch over me. Why would they watch over me?
Why was I so special? Surely, if anybody needed to be watched over,
it was my parents. Certainly not me. But ravens? Ancestors?
Please.

My
grand-father took my reaction rather well actually. I guess he knew
that I wouldn't, couldn't, believe something like that. Me, a
teenager who had lived her entire life cooped up in a tiny room
within an apartment block in a big city on the other side of the
world. Nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened to
me.

“
My
dear Lilly... must you keep your hair this way? Black is a colour
of magical power. It is not something you should change unless
nature requires it to be changed. You are beautiful. You look very
much like my son. Your father. Embrace it. Do not hide from
it.”

“
Oh,
and another thing... Lilly.... you can call me Gabriel. Everybody
else does.” He smiled then, and placed his hand on my shoulder
before leaving me alone in the kitchen to my thoughts.

I had
hoped that he would have told me whatever it was that was being
hidden from me, but he didn't. I would have to wait.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Later, I
felt the need to get out of the house and have a look around.
Gabriel had told me not to wander too far and, above all, he
warned, “Do not venture into the forest.”

I had no
idea why I was to avoid the forest, but I did as he said and
instead took the gravel pathway towards the water. I didn't have to
go far.

As I
wandered along the edge of the ice cold blue waters of the Pacific
Ocean, I tried not to dwell on the fact that there was still no
trace of my parents. Even after all these weeks, there was still
nothing. We had been in touch with the British authorities but it
was looking more and more like this case would be shelved. It would
continue to be unexplained. An unsolved mystery.

Instead
of dwelling on recent life-changing events, I attempted to fill my
head with the beauty that surrounded me. From the deep blue ocean
to the bright blue of the cloudless sky and the startlingly
beautiful green islands off in the distance, I was left truly
breathless by its utter magnitude. Having little chance to
appreciate it before now, I thought of how narrow-minded I must
have been while living within London. Why my mother and father had
never told me of the awe-inspiring landscapes to be found here, I
will never know. It was like stepping foot inside the most
magnificent giant oil painting – a true masterpiece that no artist
could ever imitate.

Had I
grown up here, I would never have wanted to leave and everyone I
knew would have been told of its breathtaking
magnificence.

Suddenly
something jumped high out of the water and back again with a loud
plop. I was startled but curious. I searched for more movement but
there was nothing other than the gentle lolling of the soft waves
lapping against the shore.

Finding
a huge piece of driftwood on the little beach, I sat and waited
patiently for it to happen again. I was determined to see what was
capable of jumping right out of the water before my
eyes.

I didn't
have to wait long. Another splash and a plop, and a large fish
revealed itself to me. Having little experience of such things, I
had no idea what type of fish jumped like this – actually, I had no
experience of fish at all – not to eat, nor to catch or even to
look at, other than in school books.

I had never been in the ocean,
nor had I even been on a boat prior to my arrival in Canada.
Narrow-minded, lacking in experience of all kinds and
naïve
is
probably how the people here must see me, I thought,
sighing. If only my parents knew what I was going through. I didn't
blame them, of course I didn't. I just wished they had been more
forthcoming with so many things. And now... perhaps they would
never get the chance.

On the
other hand, had they not disappeared, I would have continued on
that same path. The same boring road with no twists or turns. The
only 'fun' I had ever had was with December, and even then that was
only ever at school. There had never been any excitement, unless
you count the day when some kids had tried to blow up a school
toilet. That was the extent of the excitement in my world. Until
now.

Not even
the stories from the fairy tales I was so fond of could match the
magic that could be found here in British Columbia. Even though I'd
only been here a day or so, I hadn't even realised I was in British
Columbia. I had noticed it on the licence plates of some of the
cars in the area... 'Beautiful British Columbia'.

So I'd
found an atlas in Gabriel's huge book collection and pinpointed
Canada and discovered how vast a country it was. A country that was
divided into a number of different provinces. British Columbia was
the one the furthest to the west of the country and Powell River, I
discovered is right on the west coast, right by the Pacific Ocean.
I was also amazed how close it seemed to Asia and how far from
England.

Clearly,
had I known when I was younger, I would have taken a lot more
notice in my geography class. Now though, I would simply have to
learn myself. I decided that I would start with Gabriel's ample
book collection, once I had settled in.

As I
admired the giant oil painting that surrounded me, I took a deep
breath, breathing in that lovely scent of the fresh country air,
the ocean and the pebbles around my feet. I could hear the faint
squawks of birds in the distance where they flew from tree top to
tree top and then soared overhead, eye-balling the fish below. But
the breathtaking scenery could not stop my thoughts from once again
returning to my parents, and I felt a little pang of guilt. Guilt
for enjoying myself.

Shivering, I stood up intent on walking a little more to warm
myself up. I continued along the same stretch, carefully climbing
over gigantic pieces of driftwood, clueless as to how such immense
logs of wood could find themselves washed up here. Where had they
come from? Had they drifted for hundreds of miles, thousands of
miles? Or had they just come from around the corner? Probably the
sort of question that every Canadian would know the answer
to.

Canadian. That was me now. Actually, that had always been me.
My father was Canadian, I didn't know about my mother. I was just
born in the UK, wasn't I? Suddenly I had doubts about everything. I
remembered that photo Ben had shown me at the airport. I was just a
baby. I had never seen it before and if I recalled correctly, the
background certainly didn't appear to be London. Could I have been
to Canada before? Could I have been born here? These were questions
that needed answering.

Yes, I
had an English accent that everybody absolutely loved here (they
couldn't get enough of it, which was difficult for me, being such a
quiet girl) but I was Canadian.

Another
splash revealed yet another jumping fish to my side as I turned
away from the water and headed towards a dirt track that I presumed
would take me back to the main road to lead me back home. Home.
Weird that it didn't feel wrong to call it that after so little
time.

I was
just a few metres down the track when a grey cat suddenly appeared
from nowhere. It approached me and began to purr gently at my side.
I bent down to stroke it and it stayed put for just a moment while
it stretched regally before it began walking away from me, towards
the sound of some softly playing music that took me by surprise as
I hadn't noticed any houses nearby. Although the music sounded
foreign, it was beautiful. Slightly eerie.

I
approached, tiptoeing towards the sounds. Leaning against a huge
tree almost twice the width of me, I carefully peered around it to
get a better view of the property. The cat had left me alone and
had wandered up towards the house.

Even
though it was the chilliest day since my arrival, on account of the
cloudless sky, I guessed, I saw an older lady standing outdoors
with her back to me. She was painting. What she was painting, I
couldn't quite see. She was humming loudly to the music as the cat
positioned itself at her side.

Her grey
and white hair was tied up in a bun, revealing an elegant long
neck. She wore a woolly grey poncho that ended in a point just
below her bottom. She was slim and sleek and as she moved, she did
so gracefully.

“
Come
on over, child. I won't bite or scratch you,” she yelled above the
sound of the music. She didn't turn, instead she continued to sing
and paint as if I wasn't there.

I came
out of my hiding place and slowly walked towards her, wondering why
she would say that she won't bite or scratch me.

As I
approached, she finally turned to reveal perhaps one of the most
beautiful faces I have ever seen on a lady of her age. But even
with such beauty, I was startled by her apparent feline appearance.
The way the colours in her hair intertwined with each other
reminded me of the cat that had led me there. Her ears, although
small, appeared to have a slight pointedness to them. And she had
the brightest of light blue eyes. As she looked at me, she smiled a
big hearty smile.

“
I'm
guessing you're Lilly?” she said with a voice that could melt
chocolate. She must have every man in Powell River after her, I
thought.

Nodding,
I held out my hand, “How do you know?” I asked.

“
You
look just like your grandmother when she was young,” she said as
she took my hand, kindly holding it in one and stroking it with the
other. “Plus... you have the same scent,” she added, smiling. “She,
however, didn't have dyed hair!” she said with a laugh. “I'm Rose.
I know your family well.”

Rose. It
suited her.

“
Plus,
not a lot happens around here without me hearing about it. I do
like a bit of gossip and you've been the talk of the town for some
time. People have been gossiping ever since your parents
disappeared. Now, I understand that you probably don't want to talk
about it but I just want you to know that when you do feel like
talking, my door is always open to any of the Tulugaq clan,” she
said matter-of-factly.

“
Tulugaq” I repeated, “my grand-father told me what it meant
this morning. I had no idea. I've always been known as Lilly Taylor
so it's going to take me some time to get used to it,” I
replied.

She
looked shocked. “You didn't know what it means? And you didn't know
that you are a Tulugaq?” she asked, clearly not expecting an
answer.

Shaking
her head, she gently pulled me by the hand and led me indoors. “Boy
have you been kept in the dark.”

We
walked in through the back door that led into a cosy country
kitchen and she suggested I sit down at her breakfast bar while she
placed a pan of water to boil on the hob and prepared a cup of tea
for us both.

“
I
understand from Gabriel that your father changed your surname when
you left the country. I'm sure it was because Tulugaq is not the
easiest of names to pronounce. Especially for those English folk
over there,” she added, smiling.

“
The
word itself, Tulugaq, as you now know, means raven and it has been
your family's name for many generations. There is much more for you
to know but perhaps you are not ready for that yet.”

“
Can
you tell me what you mean?” I asked curiously.

Stopping
what she was doing for a second, she turned and smiled, “Now that
wouldn't be right. It is Gabriel who will tell you but he will only
do so when you are ready. Now, would you like sugar in your
tea?”