Bloodlines - Awakening: Prequel to Medusa from the Lark Song Chronicles

By KD Harris

Charles is a sad and lonely boy. For years, he is beaten down and abused by his family. Two things keep him going — his grandmother and his yearning to change his circumstance.

Cora is a pampered little girl; she is also a drama queen.

These two children have one thing in common. Their families hide incredible … supernatural secrets. Some members of their families can make things just disappear, others seem to kill and maim at will.

The backdrop for this narrative is Jamaica. The island boasts rugged high mountains, mineral springs with curative powers, white coral beaches, and cold drenching waterfalls. Spicy foods, unusual plants and trees, exotic fruits, and the irrepressible Jamaican people, play their part in the magic that is Jamaica. The reader will be transported to a different world — a world where paranormal occurrences are not that unusual.

Although this is young adult fiction, it will also appeal to readers who enjoy some intrigue and suspense, a few tears and a good laugh. This is a tale of love, loss, oppression, escape, and redemption.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514431931

KD Harris

KATHI HARRIS was born and grew up in Kingston, Jamaica. Attending university in the United States, she graduated with a Ph.D. in Higher Education. Since the first publication of Medusa: The Beginning, in 2007, Kathi has written five more novels and a mini-series for TV; and is now focused on writing the screenplay for Medusa. This work brings to a close the series, The Lark Song Chronicles. The second book of this series, Bloodlines – Awakening, was published in 2016, under the pen name, KD Harris. Kathi has authored short stories, poetry, and also plays which were performed by local drama groups. This author lives with her family in Ohio.

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© 2016 by KD Harris.

Library of Congress Control Number:         2015920396

ISBN:                    Hardcover                              978-1-5144-3368-3

               Softcover                                978-1-5144-3245-7

            eBook                                      978-1-5144-3193-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 03/29/2016

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Contents

Thanks

Note To The Reader Regarding The Languages Of Jamaica

Prologue

Chapter 1 Grandmother’s House

Chapter 2 Life Lessons

Chapter 3 Birthday Surprise

Chapter 4 Learning And Accolades

Chapter 5 Games And Magic

Chapter 6 School Days

Chapter 7 Anger And Promises

Chapter 8 A Funeral, A Stranger, And A New House

Chapter 9 New Family

Chapter 10 Changes, Changes

Chapter 11 Salt In The Wound

Chapter 12 Deprivation

Chapter 13 Poochilu

Chapter 14 Provocation And Pandemonium

Chapter 15 Retribution

Chapter 16 Saved

Chapter 17 Dream Or Reality

Chapter 18 Metamorphosis

Chapter 19 Red, Red Blood

Chapter 20 Bus Trip

Chapter 21 Dunn’s River Falls

Chapter 22 Paradise

Chapter 23 What’s In A Name?

Chapter 24 A Country Fair

Chapter 25 Prayers And Punishments

Chapter 26 Neighbors Rally

Chapter 27 Fire! Fire!

Chapter 28 A Confession

Chapter 29 A Self-Fullfilling Prophecy

Chapter 30 Games And Mishaps

Chapter 31 Fear And Vengeance

Chapter 32 Compassion

Chapter 33 Distressing News

Chapter 34 Emma’s Tale

Chapter 35 Chatty’s Tale

Chapter 36 A Revisitation

Chapter 37 Deja Vu

Epilogue

Author’s Note

Glossary For Jamaican Patois

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THANKS

T o my inspiration, my daughter, Deka, who taught me about love, accept ance, and patience.

To my sisters – Marie, Dasneth, and Daslyn. Thank you for your faith in me … for your conviction that I could do this.

To my best friend, Pauline Spencer. I cherish your soothing support, funny comments, insight, and fount of knowledge about all things … well, many things rural. I value your many suggestions, cautions, and informational gifts.

I am beholden to Nancy Seligmann for not only being my reader extraordinaire; but for our gamut of conversations – from the reflective to the ridiculous – which opened up windows to ways of being, now more seen than imagined.

I am very grateful for the enthusiasm with which my friend Jennifer H. Monaghan, took on the task of not only reading, but in not shying away from giving valuable feedback quickly. She helped me focus on making clear, areas in the story which were ambiguous.

I am indebted to my sister Dasneth Richardson, who finished the manuscript in record time, and wrote not one, but two reviews, immediately.

A big thank-you to Gerry Young, for her keen interest as she read the story, and her timeliness in posting the reviews.

I am delighted with the willingness with which my only listener, Rudolph Graham, attended to my readings of portions of the manuscript to him. It was sometimes funny, other times sad, and always nostalgic. Needless to say, his reactions were instantaneous and lively. This was an interesting way to do things, and gave me valuable practice for book signings where I will read and answer questions.

To my niece Patsy Robinson, who never failed to assist me when my computer skills fell short before the task at hand. You are a prize.

But most of all to God, who is my constant sounding board. I am amazed that you continue to put up with my perpetual chatter. I know I must drive you crazy sometimes, when you hear for the umpteenth time, "God it’s me again, guess what I just thought of …. But in fairness, it was you who blessed me with imagination and the gift of storytelling.

I am in awe of the strength you gave me to be tenacious in the face of the daunting task of reworking this novel. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

And of course, to the countless other family members, friends, associates, and well-wishers who helped in their own way so that I could finish writing this book and get it published – I really appreciate your efforts.

Finally, to all the readers who have been waiting – some patiently, others not so much. Here we go!

- KD

In every conceivable manner, the family is link to our past, bridge to our future.

- Alex Haley

NOTE TO THE READER REGARDING THE LANGUAGES OF JAMAICA

E nglish is the official language of Jamaica, but patois, pronounced patwa, Jamaican talk, or Jamaican English, is spoken widely. Though mostly English and African words and their derivatives are used, there are dribs and drabs of Arawak and Spanish words, in the language.

How did this come about? And what do present day Jamaicans retain from the Arawak, and Spanish?

Originally, transition words were needed to help in the communication between the Arawak or Taino Indians and the Spanish. The Arawaks lived on the island in large numbers. The Spanish claimed the island and people for the King and Queen of Spain in 1494, and formally took over the island in 1509. So Arawak and Spanish words had to be learned by both groups. For example, Xaymaca and tobaco, are Arawak words. The name Jamaica, is derived from, Xaymaca. Tobaco, is spelt a little differently in English — tobacco. As time passed, some of the language evolved into a Spanish-Arawak mix, spoken by each side.

The Spanish turned the Arawaks into slaves, causing their numbers to diminish drastically. Africans were brought to Jamaica to replace them. So Spanish and African words were used as a whole, or in part in the new communication endeavor. For example, pequeno, the Spanish word for small, described the African children, but was then appropriated by Africans and turned into pickney. Over time, frequently used words grew into a Spanish-African blend, understood by both groups.

As the number of Arawaks continued to decline, bottoming out into near extinction, many of their words were eventually purged from the newest Spanish-African merger.

This informal conversational language went through the expected changes again, after the British conquest of the island in 1655. It gradually acquired more and more British words, and rid itself of the majority of the Spanish words, and also most of the Arawak words which had survived the journey from the previous Spanish-Arawak union into the Spanish-African one.

The language finally arrived at the British-African fusion.

Today's patois is made up of mostly English words, conscripted and then altered by their African users. In their purest converted forms, these English words have been so transformed, they are almost completely unrecognizable from their English origins. For example, Me en deh shub eh! This means, I was pushing it!

Because some of the African words used, sounded like English words, I imagine that at the beginning of this collaboration of languages, on numerous occasions, not merely confusion, but hilarity, resulted. For example, poto-poto, is an African word meaning mud, or muddy, but it sounds like the English word, potato. Mumu, is an African word meaning dumb, but sounds a bit like the English word, mama.

Only African words, are at various times, used just by themselves in conversation. For example, unu nyam me dakunu? This means, did you eat my pudding?

African and English words are often used together in the same sentence, and can be so intertwined with each other, it is sometimes difficult to distinguish between the two. For example, is so-so bafan, red Ebo people roun me. This means, I only see helpless, fair skinned people around me. This unadulterated patois, is used infrequently in the novel. The modified patois of BLOODLINES, is what is spoken by many Jamaicans.

Sometimes, the African slaves would deliberately confuse or hide what they were saying from the British, by speaking very rapidly, adding to, or subtracting from words, or using newly made-up words. For example, hib eh de gi me! This means, heave it to me, or heft it, and give it to me!

There were also, perhaps, some sounds that did not exist in the African languages, or possibly, the slaves just didn't want to do things exactly the way their masters intended them to. Whatever the reason, some sounds were not used. The th sound is one of them. So: this became dis, thing became ting, and so on.

Another of the countless rules adopted in Jamaican patois, is the British use of the ah sound to pronounce the er sound. So: over is ovah or ova, never is neva or nevah, and so on. Also, endings were sometimes dropped from words, particularly if it was a: d, g, or t. So: mind became mine going became goin, must became mus, and so on.

Many times, him is used instead of he, as in, him goin' now, instead of, he is going now.

Man is sometimes used at the end of a sentence. It brings a sense of familiarity to the speakers even if they don't know each other, as in — Come on man. I will pay you bus fare. I sorry to hear you bad news.

Though initially, both the grammar in the language and the pronunciation of words were influenced by the British, Africans, Irish, and Scots, the inflections in the Jamaican speech patterns, give patois its own unique sound. It has echoes and shades of the Irish, and Scots, it is heavier on the African and British.

Much later, the language was affected somewhat by the Rastafarian community. So it is sprinkled generously with phrases like, I man a go flash! This means I have to leave in a hurry.

The amalgamation of these many facets of Jamaican talk, helps to make this patois, unusually graphic, startlingly visual, and remarkably clever.

Especially before independence, this vernacular was frowned on by the upper and middle classes of the Jamaican society. Some Jamaicans saw this as attacking their colloquial speech, and had no desire to change it. They were defensive and offended with the calls to stop, or limit its use. So they railed against, or just ignored this disapproval and spoke patois with renewed vigor.

Individuals like Louise Bennett — Jamaican actress, songwriter, comedienne, and poet — showed off Jamaican dialect very positively in various venues. Large numbers of Jamaicans migrated to England, Canada, South, Central and North America to make better lives for themselves and their families. They took Jamaican English with them and used it in their adopted countries. Much later, Bob Marley, Rastafarian, and reggae superstar, took patois to huge foreign audiences on his international concert tours.

Most Jamaicans are bilingual, shifting back and forth between Standard English in public life and patois in private life as the occasion warrants. Some are not as selective, and mix Standard English and patois at all times, others speak the language all the time in its pure or modified form. There are also regional dialects spoken across the island. These various combinations emphasize to a greater or lesser extent, transformed English words, and African and Rastafarian words.

Sometimes, even though only English words are used, Jamaican talk might be difficult to fathom by people uninformed or unaccustomed to it. Word sequencing and selection, the speed at which it is spoken, and the inflection and rhythm of the speech are some of the reasons for this. For example, The fresh cold mash me up man! This means, I just got a cold, and I feel dreadful.

Some words in the Jamaican dialogue in this book, are spelt in the traditional English manner, even though they would be said differently, in the circumstances depicted. This makes it easier for the reader unfamiliar with Jamaican English, to read and understand. For example: our though written in this way, would be pronounced o-wah, morning would be mawn-in, daughter would be daw-ta. Words that are pretty easily recognizable written as they are spoken, are left as is, for example: afta for after, riva for river or tief for thief.

My focus is therefore more on being true to the texture ... the flavor of Jamaican patois as opposed to accuracy in spelling. So the general meaning of what is said in this book should be recognized and followed by most readers, even if you are from the Caribbean and are fluent in spoken patois, but don't read it very well, or you are a member of the wider international readership.

Obviously, I have not covered every variation with the examples mentioned in this note. So, for you readers who still find the dialogue difficult to grasp, a glossary is provided at the back of this book.

I know that even with this explanation, some of you might be disappointed with the mild form of patois presented in this novel. But be assured that the language is captured in all of its magnificence, in the screenplay for the mini-series.

- KD Harris

PROLOGUE

T hough Cora’s and Charlie’s day together was coming to an end, they intended to squeeze every last drop from the time they had left. The two, though nineteen and twenty, but appearing to be no more than twelve, sat side by side on the bus, surrounded by other individuals, conversation and music.

The song playing on the bus’s radio was, Boom Shaka Laka, the hit song by Hopeton Lewis. It was 1970, and that was the winning festival song for Jamaica’s independence celebrations. Some were moving to the beat and singing along.

"… all join together and sing this song

Boom shaka laka laka boom boom boom …"

Cora and Charlie did not join in these activities, choosing instead to be in their own world, only seeing and hearing each other. Cora pushed her seat-mate playfully with her shoulder. He smiled indulgently at her. They spoke softly, going over some of the more memorable details of their outing. The pair continued to luxuriate in the glow of each other’s company and the beautiful experiences they had enjoyed earlier, at the Somerset Waterfalls.

Unfortunately, before this day ended, it would make some dangerously convoluted twists and turns. But they could not have conceived of such treachery by fate. They remained blissfully unaware … for a while.

So fifteen minutes into their homeward journey, when the bus picked up a group of riders, they could not imagine that evil had just joined them. The picture-perfect segment of their daytrip was over. Unimaginable horror and fear would now be with them for the foreseeable future.

The new commuters were settling into their seats when Cora noticed that a man lingered by the front door. That was a little odd as there were empty seats on the bus. But Cora reasoned that he was talking to the driver, or going for just a short ride with them. However, when she glanced behind her and saw that another man was standing in the aisle, her Uneasy Meter clicked on. He moved to the back of the bus as she watched.

What’s so interesting behind us? Charlie asked, as he followed her eyes.

Before she could answer, the bus slowed down. Then it stopped.

Everybody, shut up! The man by the door shouted.

Everybody did. They stared at him, astonished by his rudeness.

I am here to get my baby madda an’ my baby off dis bus, an’ take dem home. Nobody have to get hurt. Just sit dere an’ mind you business. Come on Peaches, bring de baby an’ come. See, Basil is here to help you.

A wail went up from the back of the bus. Everybody turned as one, to watch the sad state of events now unraveling before them.

Why you don’t leave me alone Fitzroy, I want to go back to my madda in Kingston. She did tell me ’bout you, but I neva believe her, an’ now I sorry. I want to go back to my madda. Leave me alone! You strongman, Basil, is not here to help me. Dat is a lie! Him is just here to frighten me so dat I will come wit’ you, Peaches broke down sobbing.

All heads again turned as one, but now to the front of the bus to properly see and hear, how Baby Daddy Fitzroy was going to react to this rejection.

Then there was a commotion behind them. The head and body movements of the passengers were again in synch looking to the back of the bus as they tried to keep up with the unfolding drama. The man who had been walking, was now standing over a young woman who sat by herself. She held a baby close to her bosom. He pulled her out of her seat by the arm. But Peaches held on to the metal top of the seat ahead of her with her very small hand as if stuck to it by glue. While with the other, she gripped her baby fiercely to her. The child began to complain and was quickly shushed by her.

Peaches seemed to be in her late teens, and was diminutive in stature; her head coming up just to under Strongman Basil’s chin. She looked like a little girl, and Charlie expected the man to hit her as his stepfather had done to him so many times when he was a pintsized boy. For an instant, it was as if he was there, right there in his childhood home again, with all the attendant abuse. Then he shook off the graphic image, and was back on the bus with the coercer, and the child-woman Peaches.

Peaches wore a short afro which framed her pretty face in a soft cloud. But that countenance was now somewhat distorted as she glowered at her adversary.

Cora and Charlie glanced at each other, shocked, and then distressed as a tug-of-war ensued.

Let me go Basil! Stop haul an’ pull me! Don’t hurt de baby. Leave me alone! I am not coming wit’ you. I don’t intend for Fitzroy to beat me up an’ ignore me anymore. I say I not coming wit’ you! Peaches yelled at Fitzroy’s enforcer, finally wrenching her arm out of his rough hand and sitting down again. She crossed her ankles around one leg of the seat in front of her; so that the strong-arm man would have more trouble in removing her from that location when he tried again.

Well give me Junior den. De man want him son Peaches, Strongman Basil said in a matter-of-fact tone.

You must be crazy. You t’ink I would give my son to dat man? Junior is just ten months old. Him can’t defend himself from Fitzroy. I can’t defend myself from him, much less dis little baby. Him treat me bad, an’ him ignore Junior. How come all of a sudden him want Junior now? How come all of a sudden him want me? The fiery Peaches screamed at the strongman, angrily brushing the tears from her cheeks.

She was vexed, not only at herself for being in the situation where her terrible life was on display; but now even her tears, unsummoned, were betraying her, making her seem weak.

I have to stop this. She needs help, Charlie muttered.

Give them a chance Charlie, he might be reasonable and allow her to go home to her mother, even if it’s just for a visit. Then Baby Daddy Fitzroy, will miss her, and treat her better if she comes back to him. Or when she goes to her mother, her mother and other relatives will threaten him and make him end this abuse, Cora whispered hopefully.

You honestly believe that? Charles queried.

Cora sighed. Of course, he was right. The situation had to be remedied. But why did her Charlie have to do it? Cora dreaded the inevitable confrontation with the two bullies. These two little men – they were no taller than 5ft 6in or 5ft 8in – had hijacked a bus full of people with just the threat of violence.

You an’ de baby coming wit’ me, or de baby coming wit’ me, is your choice, the enforcer barked emotionlessly.

Peaches kissed her teeth in disgust, and turned her head away from Basil’s intimidating presence. I was living wit’ dat man an’ him neva want me. Him leave me by myself at home all de time to go out wit’ him woman dem. Him only want me when him couldn’t get me. But as soon as him get me, him neva want me anymore. But I figure out why him want me back. Because I was stupid to not only go to live wit’ him, but to stay wit’ him when I find out who him really is, Peaches said, still furiously wiping at her double-crossing tears whose stubborn existence continued to rob her of some of her power.

Come on Peaches, why you love to talk so much? Why you letting out all you baby faada business like dis? Strongman Basil questioned, unsympathetic to the distressed young woman’s plight.

"Is not just him business anymore, him make it mine when him show me him true face, an’ now is everybody concern because him come on dis bus upsetting all dese passengers an’ trying to scare me to go wit’ him. But him going to have to find another woman as stupid as me. I wish I did listen to my madda. I wish I didn’t get involve wit’ Fitzroy.

I don’t see my madda for almost a year now. What a wicked-wicked man! Take me out of school, get me pregnant, carry me so far from my madda to live wit’ him, an’ den beat me every day. I am not coming wit’ you. I going home to my madda. If you t’ink me going stay wit’ him till him kill me, you really mad, Peaches said cutting her eyes at Basil and settling more firmly into her seat.

I am telling you for de last time to come on, the tough insisted, still unmoved by Peaches and her tirade.

Junior cried out.

Don’t touch my son. If you do it again, I going fix you business.

There was a scuffle, and the strongman grunted. "I can’t believe you just bite me.

You can’t say I neva warn you, Peaches said, grinning balefully.

You know what, just get up out of de seat an’ come on. You holding up de bus.

The tormentor, Basil, smirked, and reached out to pull Peaches from her seat again.

Charlie was well acquainted with that leer. It was his stepfather’s signature facial expression as he beat Charlie, with great enthusiasm. That hateful sneer, took Charlie right back to his life as a child with his stepfather. The flashback of the ill-treatment he and his mother suffered living with that damnable villain was so intense, Charlie shot to his feet before he could stop himself.

He found himself positioned in the middle of the aisle, speaking loudly. You heard her. She’s made up her mind. She wants to go back to her mother. You’ve been on this bus long enough. It’s time for you to go, both of you.

Yes man, come off de bus. Everybody have de right to change dem mind. Peaches don’t want to be wit’ you anymore. Allow her to go home. You don’t own her, a motherly looking woman said, standing up too and crossing her arms across her chest.

If you don’t come off of dis bus now, we going put you off, a young man said boldly, also standing up.

There were murmurs of agreement from some of the other commuters.

Strongman Basil realized an uprising was in the making. Knowing he had to act quickly before the discontent spread, and changed to outright anger, and the passengers charged, and overpowered him, he turned toward the three ringleaders, and stared at them.

Sit down an’ shut up! He roared.

Motherly Looking Woman and Bold Young Man promptly sat. Charlie did not.

Oh, you are a lion? You bad my brethren? You can stop shot? Basil asked calmly.

Charlie saw the quick movement, then a flash, then he felt a piercing pain. His legs buckled. And his head connected sharply with the metal top of his seat as he fell to the floor of the bus.

Everybody gasped. Peaches quickly covered junior with her upper body, while the rest of the passengers ducked down behind seats. All except for Cora, who still sat up straight, but now with hand over mouth, and eyes wide in astonishment.

"Anybody else want some of dis? Everybody hold down you head! I don’t want to see any movement, The strongman shouted. He turned around slowly looking for troublemakers, and spotted Cora. You want to get shot? Hold down you head!" He bellowed.

You shot, Charlie! I can’t believe you shot him! Cora cried in incredulity, glaring at him.

He started to walk toward her. Cora started to stand. Motherly-looking Woman’s hand snaked over the top of the seat and shoved Cora down forcefully. She pushed her head down. Hard. And whispered in a trembling and urgent voice.

You want to catch you dead today? Stay dere!

Luckily, good sense overrode her anger and Cora stayed put.

The air … the space around Charlie rippled, and then shook violently. Charlie had a feeling of vertigo, as time raced away from him and then halted. The images of the past few minutes sped up as they replayed on the screen of his mind in super-quick seconds. The sound, disjointed. The action, rapid. Without a pause, the entire progression of events played over again in slow motion. The sound was again disjointed. Then all movement ceased for a beat.

Time sped away again and then slowed. It was as if time was engaged in a game of tag. Then all the images just got jumbled up in Charlie’s consciousness. And then it came out almost right – the time sequence before he was shot. Charlie was grateful for this, he now had a queasy stomach.

Charlie heard the coercer shouting. But his voice was still a bit strange, and he seemed so peculiar standing there, his gun thrust out before him. Real time was now passing at an oddly unhurried pace.

What was going on here? Was he the lone individual aware of this upheaval in the natural order of things? Charlie questioned. Perhaps it was the blow to his head that was making him see things differently.

Suddenly, an epiphany dawned – Charlie knew he had somehow affected the normal movement of