The Raven Saga Box Set

Chapter 6

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 treetop to treetop 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 grandfather 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?"

I nodded as she dropped a heaped teaspoonful into the hot tea and swiftly stirred it before handing it to me.

"Rose?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Did you know my parents? I mean, before they moved to England?"

"I knew your father, Jack, well, but not... not your... your mother. She wasn't from around here. I believe she was a city girl," she sighed, "I am astounded that you know so little about your parents, your family and your ancestry. We are proud of our heritage here. I do know why you have been kept in the dark, but like I said... that's a conversation Gabriel will have with you when you are ready."

More like when he's ready, I thought.

Changing the subject altogether, Rose led me into the living room, where I noticed about six cats laying in various places - a sofa, a soft rug, on top of a cabinet. Any nook and cranny seemed to have a cat curled up tightly inside it. The sound of soft, gentle purring floated into my ears. It was so calming that I could easily have curled up with them for a nap.

"These are my babies," pointed Rose, "I won't bore you with all their names. There are 11 of them altogether... for now anyway."

We sat where there was a free space, and immediately three cats jumped onto her lap, and another two rubbed themselves against her legs, purring even louder than before.

I looked around and noticed that almost every painting on the wall was of some kind of feline animal. A wild mountain lion, a domestic siamese, a ginger tom, a black puma, a lynx. The most beautiful image was of a white tiger – the animal seemed ready to jump out of the frame and into the living room. I stood up to take a closer look and saw that they were all painted by a person called Rosa Lima.

"Did you do these, Rose?" I asked. "They're absolutely amazing. So lifelike."

"Why thank you, dear, that's very kind of you. They are all mine. Rosa Lima is my real name. It's Portuguese actually. My great-great-grand-father was originally from Portugal, and he married a local girl so you could say I have Portuguese blood." As she answered me, it was then that I noticed her eyes appeared to have changed colour. No longer were they bright blue, but so dark that they reminded me of treacle. I had never seen anything like it. Or was I mistaken? Perhaps it was merely a trick of the light?

"Is that what language the music was earlier, Portuguese?" I queried, recalling that lovely music with the foreign words that, along with the cat, had enticed me towards Rose's house.

"Why, yes, that's right. It's my favourite song. Canção do Mar – Song of the Sea. It's traditional Portuguese music called Fado. Do you like it?" Rose asked me.

Nodding, "I love it," I answered, and she stood up and went to her stereo and pressed play again before returning to her soft brown leather armchair with slightly ripped arms.

Together we sat in silence and listened to the beautiful sounds of Rose's favourite song.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The following day I discovered that the birthday party for Ben's brother was to be held at Gabriel's house... my house. My home. And as I looked forward to the company of my new family, I got stuck in and helped wherever I could.

Meredith and Sonya turned up early in the day to give the place a good clean. I used a vacuum cleaner for the first time ever to clean all the floors while the two of them dusted the wooden surfaces and washed the kitchen from top to bottom before we started preparing the food. Both women were completely taken aback at discovering that I had never cooked anything in my life before staying with Dorothy and June. In fact, they were even more upset when I told them everything I had ever eaten had come out of a tin.

“Goodness, it's amazing that you still look relatively healthy. A little pale, perhaps, and certainly very thin. You could obviously use some good home cooking and some fresh vegetables,” said Meredith as she turned me around to take a good look at me.

“I think we need to teach you how to cook, too,” said Sonya. “It would be nice for Gabriel if you were able to help him cook a nice dinner every now and then,” she added. I agreed, excited at the prospect of spending some more time in the kitchen to learn a new skill, after my kind old neighbours had taught me the basics.

If only my mother had been more like them. Meredith patted me on the shoulder and gave my hand a squeeze as if I'd spoken aloud.

For the first time in weeks, I actually felt safe and more importantly... loved. It was strange being rallied around by fellow family members when all I'd ever known were my parents, and they had never rallied around me for anything. There had never been anyone else.

As the two women laughed and joked with me, I smiled a sad smile. It would have been wonderful to have grown up like this, in this environment, I thought. In fact, it would have been wonderful to have been able to share some moments like those with my parents. What I wouldn't have given to have them there with me then, all of us laughing and joking together. But they were not there. They were still missing. I felt a tugging in my chest, and just for a second, I thought my eyes might well up with tears.