Hidden Carmina

by Adri Sinclair

  Hidden Carmina

  Written for my Daughter, my Carmina, my Treasure.

  First Published in the United Kingdom by Adri Sinclair through Create Space 16 July 2014

  Copyright © 2014 by Adri Sinclair

  First Published in the United Kingdom by Adri Sinclair through Create Space

  Copyright © 2014 by Adri Sinclair

  Edited by Rosie Wilmott

  Illustrated Cover by Danine Fourie – Mamarazzi

  Creative Advisor and Flow – Amber Sinclair

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in, in any form or by any means without that prior permission in writing of the publisher/Author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN ISBN-13:

  978-1500484934

  Thank you:

  There are so many to thank, for your support and understanding with my obsession when I started this.

  I do want to single out my husband Craig and my daughter Amber. You accepted the characters into our home and made them part of our daily lives – for that, I cannot thank you enough.

  To Magda and Fred Cornelius, their sons Linus and Clint, their wives Janice and Eloise, their kids Dian and Alissa… Words cannot begin to say thank you for your support – burnt dinners were sacrificed!

  To Tina Fourie – what would I have done without your calls for more?

  To Maryna Beukes Visser and Ingvild Berglund – You two were my rocks. Thank you for the Editing advice and input.

  To my homie Danine Fourie – You went out to snap my cover in a storm, how on EARTH am I going to say thank you enough for that?!

  To Trudi Botha – Chick… I love you. You were the first to put your hand up and battle the crazy with me when I started. THANK YOU!

  To Sarah-Ann Erasmus, Heidi de Villiers, Rosalien Fourie, D.P. Stevens, Karen Schuyler, Landi Farmer, Andre Beukes, Shaun Runham, Cathy Davidson, Mary Ann Sinclair, Lynn Wilmott, Trudie van Jaarsveldt, Avi van Rooy, Lee Wheatley, Jami Botha, Leigh Anne van Zyl, Leon van Zyl, Damon van Zyl, Tami Mitzi, Michele Egerton, Julie Oldri, Lee Wheatley, Gavin Botha, James Nick Hartley – My Facebook groupies,

  I LOVE YOU!

  Hidden Carmina

  A Stranger in the night.

  I gaze up and notice the colors lashing out of an angry paintbrush over the horizon. The knot in my stomach is a vivid notification, reminding me of being as irritated as the enflamed and ginger tints marking the sky. From where I’m sitting, the towering volcano in the distance looks lonely yet proud. I marvel at the magnitude of nature rendering the likes of me insignificant. I’m just a small biological mass cowering at the foot of a fire goddess; nothing special. The prickly patches of grass and barbed brushes under my naked legs recommend moving. I inspect the scrapes and welts around my hands and knees with renewed vigor.

  By the time I distinguish the human shape from the other obscure and creeping shadows, it was too late. A sense of annoyed inconvenience forces my head to look up at the person blocking my view. What I thought I’d see was a family member. What I see is two deep, gilded eyes set in the moon-pale skin topped with dark hair rivalling black lava. I feel every last nerve recoil into tiny prickly hairs, standing straight up. The view of the man in front of me is a complete opposite rendition to fire goddess I just venerated. He is an enormous portrait hauntingly hanging in mid-air. My mouth dries rapidly but the trio who live in my mind become rather loud and verbal:

  “Run!” and “Hit it!” and “Stay calm dearie, for your safety.” As so many times before in my life, I ignore them altogether.

  His piercing eyes leave mine and my nerves snaps back into a much more appropriate accommodation under my skin. I wonder briefly why his attention is diverted from me. While narrowing his eyes, his stance become more cautious. As if he’s reading my mind, he answers in a soothing, deep, velvety voice.

  “We’re not alone.”

  “I’m not afraid.” I stutter in his general direction. I am. I’m petrified. At this exact minute, I am not sure if it is because of him, or something else lurking in the shadows.

  “You’re not –“ He stops mid-sentence and pulls his fingers through his short, dark mane. His gold-plated eyes meet mine with overwhelming resentment all the while reaching out to me with a tranquil promise. I watch as his mouth opens marginally and I hear him inhale the air around us deeply. His lips push up on one side and I think I see confusion reflecting back at me.

  “You’re human?”

  Something in the manner he said it worries me. What else would I be?

  “Um.”

  Spontaneously, my mind erupts into a song I have learned as a toddler. The gypsies who visit our valley used to sing it to me whenever I became more panicked than usual - which is often, as life would have it. I have cultivated bravery out of necessity – accepting the inevitable nature of being me. Right now I am nervous too, a lethal combination.

  “Then off to reap the corn and leave where I was born/ Cut a stout blackthorn to banish ghosts/ And goblin' brand new pair of brogues to rattle o'er the bogs/ And frighten all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin' ”

  I squeeze my eyes tight, and bellow the song louder and louder until it fills the corners of my awareness. I’m not sure what this will achieve but maybe when I open them, he will be gone.

  “One, two, three four, five/Hunt the hare and turn her down the rocky road -And all the way to Dublin', whack-fol-la-de-da!”

  “Stop that!” he barks at me and I watch as the song evaporate. His hands are digging into my shoulders and he shakes the last notes clear from conscious existence. His hands are big… and cold.

  “You-? “

  “Yes, and you will attract every predator for miles around!”

  “P-Predator? What are they… looking for?” I stammer.

  “I will give you one guess.” he hisses and his eyes bare sharply into my humanity. More anxiety boils and bubbles up to the surface of my skin, and even if he didn’t tell me not to sing, I don’t think I could have continued anyway

  “Get away!” and “Why are you still here?!” and “Listen to him dearie, he has not hurt you…yet.” Again, I don’t acknowledge the permanent campers in my head.

  He stands up with an apprehensive expression on his face at the exact moment the howling starts in the distance. Howling is not a new sound to me at all, but it is much closer than usual. Instinctively I cast my eyes to the night sky, looking for the moon. I know I am too old to believe in the childhood stories of werewolves, but I am here with a person who apparently can read my thoughts and think I will be hunted.

  “Come.” he grunts at me then turns away.

  “No.” I tenaciously whisper to his back.

  The moment I hear myself speak I regret the decision. My mother tells me constantly to weigh my options before surrendering to my stubborn streak. Evidently, I failed to heed said advice and recall it too late.

  The big, tense man stops in his tracks not turning around to face me. Hand rubbing over the back of his neck followed by a little stretch gives me the distinct sense it is me causing the ache he may be feeling. I’ve seen my brother do the same thing, calling me a pain in the neck.

  “Suit yourself.” He shrugs his shoulde
rs. “You may actually be left alone as you’re too skinny to make a proper meal anyway.”

  “How rude.” And hurtful, I add in my mind. I look up to verify again the cycle of the moon. Second quarter. Fantastic! Bad things always happen during a full moon. You can read any story and see it is true. You don’t hear about a fair maiden turning into a meal during a waning moon!

  “Fair maiden?” he snorts humorously.

  I choose to ignore him and concentrate on getting back on my feet. The ground is uneven and I have been sitting in the same position for far too long. Needles and pins creeping up to my ankles and into my calves, further up my thighs numbing my legs. Before my brain can register what is happening with my body, I take a big step towards him and land flat-out in a sprawl at his feet. I feel the blush pushing into my face at approximately the same time as half the earth rips through the skin on my palms and the other half repeats the process on my knees. The gash from my knee towards my shin angrily spits blood back at the rocks in protest.

  “Gods!” he growls at me furiously through clenched teeth and tight jaw, “Let’s give them blood too, it will help your case a lot!”

  Before I can say another word he is standing by my side. A big hand grips below my palm, lifting me from the ground. Kicking out to find something solid to connect with, I find nothing. Gulping down mouths full of air the size of tennis balls which get stuck in my lungs while I try to control the anxiety blistering though the fiber of my being.

  “Put me-“

  “No.”

  “I am fine-”

  “And slow.” He answers while passing me from one hand to the other. My arm and shoulder aching under the tension of suspending my entire body from it.

  “You are so rude!” I now shout at him, fuming.

  “Go on.” the sarcasm drips into my mood resembling hot wax. “Bleed some more and let’s make more noise. Ought to get you the attention you seem to so desperately want,” he taunts me.

  I swallow down any rebuttal I could have as the heated fury give way to a sickening feeling because of the speed we’re moving at. The realm is whizzing past me imitating a bicycle ride. The landscape around me looks like someone’s vindictively smeared all the colors in one direction on an oil painting; dark shadows sweeping up the olive and auburn colors. Either he is exceptionally tall, or supernaturally fast. My heart races along with his strides, scarcely keeping up and I search for anything to help me find my way back home.

  “Both. I can take you home later.” he says and I snarl in response.

  “Very-“

  “-Rude. Yes you said that already. If you don’t have anything of value to contribute I implore you to sing your song again. It is half entertaining.”

  I snap my mouth closed and resolve not to speak to him again. I want to go home.

  “And where is home?” he asks in the velvet covered tone.

  “Valley-“I start and then remember too late I wasn’t going to talk to him. The snicker slinking down from just above my head grating at my mood.

  “I’ll get you back there.”

  “Mind reader hey?” and “Particularly strong” and “Now dearie, don’t sulk, it is so unbecoming and he is ever so handsome!” It is easy to ignore the voices sneaking in their opinions. The thing about these voices is in the habit they have to unnerve me and appear at random. I hear what they say yet I’m always superbly careful not to acknowledge them. They seem to be more persistent on taking front stage if I do.

  The grip against my wrist tightens and my body pulls into him a little closer, almost protective. I find it oddly unsettling to think he’d want to protect me, yet the sum of his attitude and mannerism suggests dangling me towards a playful puppy in a game of fetch would be a lot more appealing.

  Safe Landing.

  Blood is rushing back into my arm as I am re-connected with the earth without warning. I spill onto the ground with equal force to an unexpected mudslide. Soundless, I rub my wrist and arm in an effort to stimulate circulation back into it, tears stinging behind my eyes at the unbearable ache. It feels as if the bones were crushed and the sweltering bruises forming like bangles remind me of the times I accidentally singe my arm on the hot oven racks while cooking. Stubbornly, refusing to speak, I hold back the tears threatening to brim. I maneuver awkwardly into a position which would aid me in standing up without having to use my hands.

  “Oh…” his head whips around into my direction. He pushes me back onto the soft, dry covers.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice soothing again, rich and creamy. “I’ve hurt you. I’m sorry. Let me have a look. No, no please, don’t pull away.”

  If you had told me a moment ago this brute of a man would be so gentle, so precise and comforting in the way he touches me, I’d have told you about the possibility of having lost a few brain cells to a beer bottle. His trembling cold hands smoothly cover my left wrist. He looks so sad and remorseful so I offer a weak smile.

  “I’ve had worse, it doesn’t hurt so much.” Part of this is unquestionably true. I am the clumsiest of all our family. Just waking up is a stumble in itself. I terrify the other kids on sport days, though they are all excessively polite about it. The connection between my brain and body is malfunctioning or delayed. My mother often comments how the exact opposite is true about my brain to mouth functionality. I look at the hand-print-bangle and try not to think about how much it hurts.

  The big, handsome human shape shakes his head in my direction and sighs. His movements mesmerize me.

  “You’re a terrible liar.” Taking my hand for inspection, he concludes: “There’s no infection. I’ll clean and cover those too.” He points to my knees “It should heal without scars.”

  It is my turn to shake my head at him.

  “You are an atrocious liar too. The slash on my knee is going to leave a whopper, along with the various others I already have on display in the general area.” I am surprised to be able to finish my sentence and not have him interrupt me or cut me short. Getting up, he throws a warning look at me.

  “Please don’t stand on my bed again. Your feet are rather dirty”

  “Your-“

  He rolls his eyes and moves away from me.

  “Yes, my bed. I harbor no intention to be inappropriate with you at all.”

  “Yes, not even throw me for the wolves.” I grumble under my breath. This seems to tickle him and I see his shoulders shaking while pouring warm water into a bowl before returning.

  “Nope, nor dangle you for a game of fetch, no. Hold still please.”

  His hands move fast, making me contemplate whether or not he is touching my skin at all. His movements are slight and calculated and under my watchful eye I don’t miss the bandage virtually wrapping itself around each knee, appearing almost eager to be there. I look down at him, his hair so unruly and his skin so pale. I reach out to touch his arm with my hand, to slow him down. I don’t get near it. Without shifting, he moves his arm out of my way and eventually gets up. Silently I look on while he burns the bloodied swabs and pours the water down the drain followed by bleach and hot water.

  “I have to make my way home. It is… dinnertime with my family. Don’t leave here please. You are safe but I cannot say the same if you should. There is food in the fridge, help yourself. I will escort you home afterwards.”

  My hand rubs over the cover and I nod. I stare at him as he makes his way towards the door thinking that there must be a fairytale somewhere to warn you about handsome giants with gentle touches. Before leaving, he turns with a dazzling smile.

  “This brute’s name is Liam.”

  Lonely regrets.

  The tears break through and streak across my face in a race to my chin. I am tired and hurting and hungry! How long past dinnertime is it? Mother and the others are going to be furious at me. Nothing new for me, to be precise, but I do not try to purposefully annoy them. I am so incompetent next to them, which is what led to me running away today. I didn’t want anyone to
get hurt, least of all my brother. Realizing I’m falling down the stairs, it was too late to warn anyone. All the food was spoiled and preparations had to start over. He was right, I am a clumsy idiot. It’s not like I don’t know this. I did try. It is our mother’s birthday after all and I ruined it.

  I curl myself around the pillows on the cover and sob into them wretchedly, remembering Jarrod’s words in pain and anger.

  “Just because you’re nothing special you can’t keep spoiling everything.”

  Maybe they won’t miss me. Things surely went better after I left and perhaps…. Perhaps I could just stay here and not get underfoot.

  I close my eyes, drifting off into sleep.

  ** Dreams that are nightmares that are dream inside nightmares**

  “Don’t let go, please, I will do better!” I am begging to an invisible hand painfully dangling me by my wrist.

  “Don’t let me fall, I beg you!”

  The darkness around me is pressing against my chest comparable to a heavy weight. It threatens to crush my ribs.

  The hand is relaxing around my wrist and I scream louder, more desperate. “Please! No! Don’t let go!”

  My feet kick out around me, I twist my body in several directions looking for something solid to support my body.