The Calling – Part 2
The days after the ritual felt lighter, yet heavier. Anele could sense things she hadn’t before—the subtle weight of unseen eyes watching over her, the hum of energy beneath her feet, the way the wind whispered names she didn’t recognize.
She started dreaming more vividly. Some nights, she found herself walking through rivers, the water parting around her as voices called her name. Other nights, she sat in circles of women draped in cloths of deep indigo, their hands raised as they chanted words that vibrated through her bones.
One morning, Gogo Thandi handed her a bundle wrapped in red cloth.
“It is time,” the old woman said.
Anele hesitated before unwrapping it. Inside lay a small calabash filled with herbs, a white beaded bracelet, and a tiny clay figure—its face eerily similar to hers.
“You must go to the river,” Gogo Thandi continued. “Alone. Speak to them.”
Anele swallowed hard. She had always feared deep waters, yet she knew this was not a request but a path she could not avoid.
That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, she made her way to the riverbank. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and something ancient. She removed her shoes, stepped into the cool water, and closed her eyes.
“I am here,” she whispered.
The wind shifted. The water rippled.
Then she heard it—a deep, resonant voice, neither male nor female, yet both.
“We have been waiting.”
Anele's body trembled, but she did not run.
“What do you want from me?” she asked, her voice barely audible over the rushing water.
Silence. Then, a feeling—a wave of warmth, of knowing, of remembrance.
“You already know,” the voice said.
And suddenly, she did.
Flashes of past lives, of ceremonies, of ancient hands pressing white clay onto her skin. She had done this before, in lifetimes forgotten.
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
She had spent her whole life searching for herself, only to realize she had never truly been lost.
She had simply been waiting to remember...