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The cave breathed with them, cool, damp air that tasted of earth and centuries. Chloe's flashlight beam cut through the darkness, illuminating ancient stone walls slick with moisture. Somewhere deeper in, water dripped in a steady rhythm that echoed like a heartbeat.
"You know," Chloe said, her voice carrying that teasing lilt that meant trouble, "for someone who this morning claimed to hate treasure hunting, you're remarkably good at it."
Behind her, Nadine navigated the uneven ground with practiced ease, her own light sweeping the walls for markings. "I don't hate treasure hunting. I hate when treasure hunters get themselves killed doing stupid things."
“And here I was thinking it was just because you didn’t want me to get dressed”
“Ja that too”
Chloe's laugh echoed off the cave walls, bright and warm. "So romantic."
"I have my moments." Nadine's voice was dry, but Chloe could hear the smile in it.
"Mostly when I'm naked, apparently."
“Chloe”
"What? I'm just stating facts." Chloe glanced back over her shoulder, grinning Nandine "You're the one who tried to convince me we should skip this entirely and stay in bed."
"It was a valid suggestion."
"It was a distraction technique." Chloe turned back to the path ahead, her light catching on an opening in the rock face. "And almost a successful one, I might add. Oh, hello. What have we here?"
The passage opened into a chamber, larger than the tunnel they'd been following. Chloe stepped through first, her light sweeping across the space. The walls were carved with symbols she didn't immediately recognize—not the usual Sanskrit or Tamil she was used to, but something older, more geometric.
"Chloe, wait—" Nadine's warning came a beat too late.
Chloe's light landed on the far wall, and she froze.
A mirror.
It stood alone against the stone, taller than either of them, its surface dark and reflective despite the lack of proper light. The frame was ornate, carved from some black stone that seemed to absorb rather than reflect their flashlight beams. Symbols ran along its edges—warnings, probably, though Chloe had never been particularly good at heeding those.
"Now that," Chloe breathed, moving closer, "is interesting."
"Chloe." Nadine's voice carried a warning tone that Chloe had learned meant stop what you're doing immediately. "Don't touch anything until we know what it is."
"I'm not touching, I'm looking." Chloe circled the mirror slowly, her light playing across its surface. Up close, it seemed to ripple slightly, like water disturbed by wind. "Have you ever seen anything like this?"
"No. Which is why you shouldn't—"
"The craftsmanship is incredible." Chloe leaned in closer, squinting at the symbols. "These markings... I think they might be some kind of ceremonial—"
Her fingers brushed the surface.
It happened instantly. The mirror's surface didn't just ripple—it grabbed, pulling at her with a force that had nothing to do with physics. Chloe felt herself falling forward, or maybe the mirror was falling toward her, and she heard Nadine shout her name, felt Nadine's hand grab for her arm—
Chloe open her eyes she was lying flat on her back. She was outside in a completely place to the cave to the one she was just in. Standing up she took a look around. She seemed to be in a townships of sorts.
It stretched endlessly in every direction, a maze of corrugated iron and crumbling concrete that swallowed the sky. Smoke rose from cooking fires, mingling with dust that never settled. The air was thick with it, grit that coated the throat, that turned sweat to mud on skin.
To her left looking over the Township was table mountain, she was in Cape Town then. How the hell…
A man chasing after a bus gave a yell and started running towards Chloe but instead of diverting to go around her he instead ran right through her.
What the fuck. What the fuck did that mirror do to her?
People seemed to move in every direction but no one seemed to notice Chloe. A small girl walking towards her caught Chloe's attention she was young, perhaps four, stumbled along the dusty path with no parents in sight. Her bare feet kicking up dust, her hair was done up in two small space buns, the careful work of a mother's loving hands, though the dust had already begun to dull their shine.
"Eh, Nadine! Ngena!" (Come on!)
Nadine? Chloe looked at the girl closer. She could certainly pass for a much smaller and younger Nadine. She like the man before walked right through Chloe followed closely by her friend that had called her name.
Okay so if thats some child version of Nadine and nobody could she her, maybe she was inside Nadine’s head somehow?
Chloe looked back towards the child and watched, helpless, as she weaved in and out of the road toward what looked like a junk pile. She wanted to reach out, to warn the child to watch for that piece of glass, to ask her if she was alright, but her hands passed through nothing but memory and dust. All around, people bent over the earth with sticks, digging, searching. This baby version of Nadine jumped from rocks to the tops of rusted car frames to rare patches of earth with practiced ease towards another group of young children running around.
The girl she has come with pulled her towards some kids playing behind a rusted car frame. The ground moved under Chloe's feet which she seemed to have no control over as young Nadine clambered toward the other children. Mountains of twisted metal and broken appliances rose around them like the ribs of some massive, dead creature. A refrigerator door hung at an angle, its white paint blistered and peeling. Tires were stacked in towers that swayed dangerously. Shattered glass caught the sunlight.
Perhaps a memory then? Chloe seemed to have no choice other than to watch as play took over hunger, the children spoke in rapid Xhosa, words Chloe couldn't understand, but the game was clear as they jumped in and out of the rusty car, laughing, screaming, and yelling as the hot sun slowly lowered toward the horizon. One boy found a hub cap and sent it rolling through the maze of junk, the others chasing after it with shrieks of delight.
Nadine was standing on top of the car, squealing as the metal buckled underneath her weight, when her stomach cramped so hard she doubled over. The sound that came from her was involuntary, a small, animal whimper.
The game stopped.
"Masi-hambe," Zola her friend said quietly, her small hand finding Nadine's. (Let's go)
Chloe watched as the two girls bid farewell to the other kids still playing and headed back down the weaving street. The sun had transformed from golden to orange to a sickly copper color. Shadows stretched long and distorted across the corrugated walls. In the distance, a dog barked, sharp, aggressive, the sound of an animal as hungry as the children.
Chloe had of course heard stories here and there of the place Nadine had spent most of her childhood in, but the facts had evidently been muted. Nadine wasn’t one to share much anyway, Chloe probably knew more of her inner working then anyone else, but this was entirely different.
Home was walls of corrugated sheeting and a roof that leaked when it rained. The door hung crooked on its hinges. Inside, the single room was divided by hanging sheets, one area for sleeping for the children, another for the adults, one for living, nowhere for privacy or escape.
A woman sat on a chair next to a small dining table, her head in her hands. It took a moment for Chloe to recognize this woman as Lerato, Nadine's mother. Chloe had met her many times in the present, a woman who danced around laughing, who insisted on feeding everyone more than their stomachs could handle, whose joy was infectious and whose love was overwhelming.
This woman was nothing like that.
This woman was much younger and seemed to have the weight of the world on her shoulders. She held a small baby on her back, secured with a faded cloth. In her left hand she clutched a sheet of newspaper, though she wasn't reading it, just holding it. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs.
"Mama." The word was so small, so hopeful. So heartbreaking in its innocence.
Lerato looked up, and Chloe felt the knife-twist at the expression on her face. Love mixed with shame and helplessness, pride mixed with failure. A mother who would give her child everything and had nothing to give.
"Ndiyaxolisa, sithandwa sam," she choked out. (I am sorry, my love)
A tear sliced through the sweat and dust on Lerato's face as baby Nadine stood frozen for just a moment before she slipped back out of the house and onto the rapidly darkening streets. Ignoring her mothers calls.
The world had turned from the warm gold of sunset to a sickly grey. Every sound was amplified in the growing darkness, a distant dog bark, the scrape of metal on metal, voices raised in argument, a baby crying somewhere close by. The township felt different, even more dangerous and desperate.
They passed by what could be some sort of doctors office, along the side of it was a sign that read NET NIE-BLANKES / NON-WHITES ONLY that too was an indication of where they were and what year it was, while it wasn’t something Nadine often brought up Chloe knew about apartheid and a could of time Nadine’s father David had been very forthcoming about what it was like to live under it.
Chloe watched as Naadine’s bare feet carried her instinctively toward the faint, flickering light of the tuck shop, a small, unauthorized shack that sold necessities and sweets to those who had coins to spare. The path there took her past houses where she could smell cooking, where smoke rose from proper fires, where families sat together for meals.
Chloe saw as something shifted in Nadine's small body. The innocent grace of the junk pile game was replaced by a taut, predatory focus. Her legs moved faster, her small fists clenched. Her eyes narrowed. At four years old she was looking a bit too much like the Nadine Chloe knew, the woman who could kill grown men with her bare hands, who moved through the world like a weapon, who had learned too young that survival meant taking what you needed.
The air around the shop was thick with the smells of stale cooking oil and cheap tobacco. A group of men stood nearby, passing around a bottle, their voices low and rough. The lone vendor, a hunched old man with clouded eyes, was busy haggling with a customer over the price of matches.
Nadine didn't hesitate. She didn't approach or beg. She went straight into the dark space behind the wooden counter, her small size an advantage.
Chloe felt her chest tighten as Nadine's hands scrabbled in the shadows. Her fingers closed around something small and soft, a piece of bread, perhaps, or a dry roll. Without thinking, without hesitation, she crammed the food into her mouth in one desperate, aggressive movement. She chewed furiously, barely tasting it.
There was an indistinguishable shout. The world exploded into movement and noise.
The old man had seen her. His hand shot out, surprisingly fast, grabbing at her arm. Nadine twisted away with an eel-like motion, she ducked under his reaching hands and ran.
The world under Chloe shifted, and she felt herself pulled forward like a current had caught her. She could barely see the Nadine she had just gotten to know disappearing into the darkness, running on bleeding feet, swallowing bread that would keep her alive for one more day, before the memory dissolved into smoke.
---------------------
But instead of being back in the cave with her Nadine was she now in a hot dark room. It was small with a dirt floor, the air stifling despite the late hour. The open window let in a rectangle of pale moonlight that illuminated an old bed holding four small bodies tangled together in sleep.
The peace gave Chloe a chance to look around the room. Outside the window, she could see a sort of backyard, a patch of bare earth with a homemade chicken coop constructed from scrap wood and wire. No chickens, though.
Inside the room there was a rail with children's clothes strewn around it, most of them, faded and patched. One poster hung haphazardly on the wall, showing a man with a rugby ball, the colors bleached and faded. All around it were drawings done by children of various ages.
Just as Chloe was about to venture into the room to her left, a scream tore through the still night air.
It was a woman's scream, high and terrified, and it was close.
Listening closer, Chloe could hear the sound of commotion that seemed to be rolling closer and closer to the house like a wave. Shouting, harsh, aggressive. The rumble of truck engines. The crackle of radios.
Still, none of the children in the bed seemed privy to this information.
They slept on, tangled together for warmth and comfort.
But then all at once the world seemed to come alive with noise no longer distant. Dogs started barking, not the lazy barks of pets, but the vicious snarling of police dogs trained to terrify and attack. Sirens blared. Voices started screaming and yelling as glass shattered somewhere nearby.
"BANTWANA, VUKANI, SUKUMANI NGOKU!) (CHILDREN WAKE UP. STAND UP NOW.)
Chloe almost jumped out of her skin as a frantic-looking Lerato came into the room yelling before ducking right back out. Sticking her head into the other room, Chloe saw the outline of a tall muscular man, David, Nadine's father, pulling on pants with shaking hands.
David ran out into the night, his bare feet silent on the earth.
When Chloe turned back, the once peaceful bedroom had turned into chaos. The oldest boy, Davy she presumed, who must have been nine, took off into the night after his father.
Lerato followed them both, her nightdress streaming behind her, her voice joining the chorus of shouts and pleas that filled the township air.
Inside, the baby, Benji, who could only be about two, had woken up and was screaming. His cries were piercing, terrified, he reached for his mother and found only his brother Johannes.
Johannes, who couldn't be older than eight, scooped the toddler into his arms. His face had gone pale, his eyes wide with a fear he was trying desperately to control. As for the girl who could only be Nadine, she looked to be around five, and her face had gone white in the darkness, her small body frozen with terror.
"Khawuleza! Khawuleza!" (Hurry up! Hurry up!) Johannes said, pushing Nadine into the other room. His voice cracked on the words, fear making him sound even younger.
The world around them had gotten even louder. The yelling outside was terrifying, even to Chloe, and she had spent a lifetime stealing from men with whole armies behind them. But these children were tiny. Johannes was a young child himself as he pulled his younger siblings into a cupboard in the main room of the house, a makeshift hiding place created from cardboard and old wood, barely large enough for the three of them.
He tried desperately to calm the baby, one hand pressed gently over Benji's mouth to muffle his screams. The yelling and stomping got closer and closer to the house, the sound of boots on earth like the drumbeat of an approaching army.
Chloe watched Nadine's terror, her whole body shook as she pressed herself against Johannes's side, trying to make herself smaller, invisible, trying to disappear into the shadows of their hiding place. Chloe sank down beside them, her ghostly form passing through the cardboard. She wanted to tell them it would be okay, that they'd survive this, but the words caught in her throat. This wasn't her memory to comfort.
Through a gap in the cardboard, Nadine could see into the main room. Chloe crouched beside her, seeing what the child saw.
The door crashed open. Not knocked, kicked, with the full force of a grown man's boot. The thin wood splintered, the hinges screaming.
Boots entered. Black, heavy, official. They kicked through the family's few possessions, the small table where they ate meals, the chair where Lerato had sat crying just before, the rail where their clothes hung. Everything was overturned, examined, discarded as worthless.
An officer dragged David back into the house by his hair. Chloe felt sick watching it, her hands clenching into fists even though she couldn't touch anything. David's hands were pressed flat against the wall, his body forced into a position of submission, of humiliation. Another officer stood behind him, baton raised.
"Pass! Show me your pass!"
David's voice was steady "Yes, baas. Here, baas."
Papers rustled. Chloe watched Nadine's small body tense as the silence stretched too long. In that silence lay everything, the difference between walking away and being arrested, between going to work tomorrow or disappearing into a prison system designed to break people, between staying with your family or being torn away from them for days, weeks, months.
"This section is expired. Three days expired."
Chloe saw David's shoulders sag infinitesimally.
"Baas, I work at the docks. The office was closed when—"
The sound of a hand hitting flesh echoed through the thin walls. Benji whimpered against Johannes's palm, and Johannes's arm tightened around his baby brother.
"David Ross," the officer's voice was bored, routine. "You're coming with us."
"Please, sir. My children—"
"Should have thought of that before you let your papers expire."
More boots entered. The scrape of furniture being overturned filled the house. Chloe felt sick, her throat tight with tears that couldn't fall.
Through the gap in the cardboard, Nadine watched her father's legs as they dragged him past their hiding place. She bit down on her own hand to keep from crying out, tasted blood, and Chloe watched as Johannes's arm tightened around her shoulders, pulling her close.
The trucks rumbled away into the night, engines roaring, taking fathers and brothers and sons with them. In the silence that followed, a silence more terrible than the noise had been, Chloe heard crying from somewhere outside. Soft, broken sounds that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside a person, from a place where hope had lived before it died.
The kids stayed hidden until dawn. Chloe stayed with them, even though she couldn't help them, even though these were memories and terrors long past. Her earlier curiosity about exploring the memory had diminished entirely. It felt like betrayal to leave three scared children in the dark, even if they couldn't see her, even if this had happened decades ago. She found herself whispering reassurances anyway, words Nadine would never hear but that Chloe needed to say.
Johannes never loosened his grip on his siblings. He held them through the long hours, whispering soft reassurances that everything would be okay, that their father would come back, that their mother would return soon. Lies, maybe, but kind ones.
When they finally crawled out from behind the cardboard, the house felt hollow, echoing. Lerato sat at the table, Davy beside her, both of them staring at nothing. The baby reached for his mother, and she took him with mechanical movements, holding him close but seeming not to see him.
The memory shimmered, and Chloe felt the familiar tug forward.
---------------------
She was still in the same room, but the terror seemed to have left it. Warm morning light filtered through the windows, which had been repaired since the raid. The air smelled of soap and cooking.
The room had changed quite a bit. There was a red patterned rug on the floor, the cupboard where the children had hidden had been replaced with a proper wardrobe, its doors painted bright blue. The walls had been mended, the holes patched.
Next to the front door, puffing her chest out proudly, stood quite possibly the cutest thing Chloe had ever seen.
A six-year-old Nadine stood in a mismatched school uniform that was a size and a half too big. The skirt hung past her knees, the shirt sleeves rolled up multiple times. She had two poofy space buns that her mother had clearly spent time perfecting, and she was absolutely shining with pride as she looked up at her father.
Chloe felt her chest warm, a smile spreading across her face despite everything she'd witnessed.
David was adjusting her collar for the third time, his large hands gentle on the too-big fabric. His face was radiant with pride and something else, triumph, maybe, or vindication.
"Imfundo yinkululeko, ntombi yam. Banokuthatha izindlu zethu, amaphepha ethu, nesidima sethu, kodwa into oyifaka entloko, yeyakho ngonaphakade." (Education is freedom, my daughter. They can take our houses, our papers, and our dignity, but what you put in your head is yours forever.)
He gave her a soft kiss on the forehead before kissing his wife, who stood nearby with Benji on her hip. The toddler reached for Nadine, and she grinned at him, making a face that sent him into giggles.
"Ndonwabile ngokuba ndikwazile ukukubona uhamba, uziphathe kakuhle ngoku." (I am happy that I was able to see you leave, behave well now.)
Running around the house behind them, Davy and Johannes were trying to gather up their things, books wrapped in plastic bags, pencils, the last piece of their school uniform. They grabbed Nadine's hand, and the three of them ran out the door, bidding a quick farewell to their mother and youngest brother, who clung to Lerato's skirt and waved enthusiastically.
Chloe watched them run down the dusty street, school bags bouncing, uniforms already collecting dust, voices raised in excitement and nervous energy. Other children joined them from other houses, a growing stream of kids heading toward the school.
The memory shimmered and shifted, and Chloe felt warmth in her chest. For the horror, there was this too.
---------------------
As she opened her eyes again she seemed to still be in the same house, although this time she was just outside in the back yeard watching the two children sitting near the door way. The afternoon sun slanted through the gaps in the corrugated walls, dust motes dancing in the beams. Seven-year-old Nadine sat cross-legged on the floor next to Davy, who was hunched over a battered radio that someone had left for him to look at.
Davy, now twelve, had a collection of tools all around him, a bent screwdriver with tape wrapped around the handle, a piece of wire he'd straightened out to use as a probe, his fingers mostly. The radio's back panel was off, revealing a tangle of wires and components, some already corroded from moisture and age.
"See this?" Davy pointed to a wire that had come loose from its connection. "That's your problem”
He twisted the wire back into place with his fingers, then used a piece of electrical tape to secure it.
"But how did you know that was the problem?" Nadine asked, leaning close.
"Because I've taken apart enough of these to know what they're supposed to look like inside. And because Mr. Dlamini said it stopped working after his grandson dropped it." Davy grinned. "Things break the same way every time. You just have to remember."
"Hand me that rock," he said, gesturing to a smooth stone they used as a makeshift hammer for stubborn components.
Nadine passed it over, watching as he gently tapped a loose connection back into place. It was crude work, but effective.
"The trick is," Davy said, his voice taking on the tone of someone passing down important knowledge, "you don't need expensive tools to fix things. You need to understand how they work. Once you understand that, you can use whatever you have."
He reconnected the battery - two old AA batteries that were probably half-dead - and turned the dial. Static crackled, then faded, then a voice came through, tinny and distant but clear enough.
Nadine's eyes widened.
"People throw things away because they think they're broken forever," Davy continued, clicking the radio off to save the batteries. "But most things just need someone who understands them. Someone patient enough to look." He glanced at his sister. "And people will pay for that. Not much, but enough. Mr. Dlamini will give me two rand for this, maybe three."
"Can you teach me?"
"I am teaching you." Davy started putting the back panel on, using the original screws even though two were missing - he just made do with what was left. "Next time someone brings me something, you'll help. You'll learn what I learned - by doing it, by messing it up, by trying again."
Again smoke seemed to fill the room before Chloe could truly absorb what she just saw.
---------------------
Again Chloe found herself back in the children's bedroom, though it had changed quite a bit since she was last in it. In place of the one large bed there was now a bunk bed and a double.
On the walls were even more posters accompanied by calendars and notes. A map of Africa hung crookedly over one bed. School certificates were tacked up with pride, Johannes's math award, Davy's recognition for reading.
On the floor, hiding just behind the beads that made up the doorway, an eight-year-old Nadine was lying on her stomach, perfectly still.
Chloe could see Nadine's small body tense as adult voices filled the space beyond, her father David's deep baritone giving quiet orders, the scrape of metal on metal as weapons were cleaned and checked, the soft thud of ammunition being counted and distributed.
Davy, now thirteen, seemed to have been appointed the watch. He sat by the single window that faced the street, his young frame already looking a lot more like the man Chloe had met in the present, broad-shouldered, serious, carrying responsibility too heavy for his age. His eyes never stopped moving, scanning the street for police vans, for anything that might signal danger approaching.
And Nadine lay perfectly still, absorbing everything. Chloe lowered herself to the floor beside the child, watching her watch them, seeing the wheels turn behind those dark, serious eyes.
They were talking in rushed, hushed words Chloe couldn't make out, sometimes Xhosa, sometimes English, sometimes Afrikaans, languages shifting as the conversation demanded. She caught fragments:
"—dawn patrol—" "—shot in the back—" "—they sent dogs after the children—" "—need more ammunition for the AKs—" "—informer in the next section—"
Metal clinked against wood as rifles were set down and checked. Chloe could hear the unmistakable slide of a magazine being slammed home, the click of a safety being engaged. Nadine's small body curled tighter on the floor, one cheek pressed flat against the cool surface, her ears drinking it all in.
The voices rose, anger threading into fear. One man thudded the table with his fist. Another hissed, "Quiet, man!" before lowering his voice again.
David's voice cut through, calm and authoritative: "We protect. We don't provoke. Our job is to keep our people safe, not to give them excuses to bring the army into the township."
Agreement murmured through the room. Nadine shifted slightly, and Chloe saw her eyes through the beads, dark, serious, watching her father.
The memory wavered, and Chloe felt the pull forward.
---------------------
She was standing in the sunlight. Harsh, dry, blistering heat that turned the air into something visible, something that rippled and distorted. A schoolyard, by the looks of it, a bare patch of earth surrounded by low buildings with broken windows and crumbling walls.
She was surrounded by hundreds of children in school uniforms, though the uniforms were as varied as the children themselves, some clean and pressed, others patched and fading, all of them worn with pride.
The Nadine next to her was unmistakable, nine years old now, her uniform dusty but neat. She seemed to be fighting the sun's glare to see whatever was gathering the crowd at the front of the yard.
Turning, Chloe could see some older boys climbing on the side of the building, holding onto the bars of the window as they addressed the crowd. One of them was Davy, now fourteen, his voice breaking as he shouted but his words clear and strong.
"Bafika ekhaya lethu, bambulala umntakwethu, kwaye bafuna sigule ukuze basibulale nathi!" (They come to our home, they kill our brother, and they want us to kneel so they can kill us too!)
The group of children at the front yelled back in support, their voices rising in a chorus of anger.
Davy's voice rang out again, raw with emotion: "Basinyanyisa imfundo efanelekileyo, baze basibulale phambi kokuba siphumelele!" (They deny us proper education and then murder us before we can even graduate!)
The children roared, voices cracking with the strain but loud enough to shake the air. Chloe felt the sound in her chest like a drumbeat, hundreds of small fists raised, the rhythm of their fury echoing against the walls of the school.
Nadine was on her toes now, straining to see her brother among the older kids. The sun burned her cheeks, sweat ran down her neck. Chloe stood beside her, her own heart racing even though she knew she was safe, untouchable in this memory.
The chants still shook the yard when Chloe noticed it, the ripple of silence cutting through the children closest to the gates. Heads turned, shouts faltered, the wave of sound collapsing in on itself like a dying breath.
Nadine squinted into the glare just as the first police van rolled in.
It was not one, but three of them, grinding to a halt in the dust. The side doors clanged open and officers spilled out in dark uniforms, riot shields raised, batons in hand, rifles slung across their shoulders. They moved with the practiced efficiency of men who'd done this many times before.
The crowd of children shifted uneasily, a wave of murmurs rising. Some of the younger ones started to cry.
"Phantsi!" one officer barked, his voice amplified by a megaphone. "Down!"
No one moved.
Chloe watched Nadine's body tense, the instinct to flee battling against the way her wide eyes were locked on her brother up by the window. Davy didn't move either. His thin hands still gripped the bars, his voice steady though the fear was rising like smoke.
"We are not dogs! And we have not done anything wrong!" he shouted. His voice cracked on the last word, but the children roared their agreement, stamping their feet in unison. Dust rose around them like a storm.
The first baton came down without warning.
A boy in the front row, maybe twelve, thirteen, folded like paper. Blood sprayed from his forehead, bright arterial red that seemed impossible in the harsh sunlight. He crumpled to the ground, and for a moment there was absolute silence, a collective intake of breath.
Then screams erupted, scattering the chant into raw panic. The yard became a stampede.
"Run!" Johannes's voice cut through the din. He grabbed Nadine's arm, yanking her away from the crush of bodies. He grabbed another girl too, small, maybe six or seven, frozen with terror, and dragged them both through the chaos.
Chloe stumbled with them as the memory pulled her along, the press of hundreds of small shoulders and flailing arms all surging at once. Children fell and were trampled. Batons swung indiscriminately. The air filled with the sound of wood meeting flesh, of children screaming, of officers shouting orders that nobody could hear over the chaos.
They burst through the gates in a flood of bodies. The sunlight outside was blinding, harsher even than in the yard. Dust rose in great clouds as shoes pounded the earth, children crying, screaming, shoving against one another in blind panic.
Chloe was carried with them, unable to resist the press of the memory. Her heart hammered in her chest even though she knew she couldn't be hurt, knew this had already happened. Nadine clutched Johannes's arm with one hand, her small face tight with terror but her feet moving on instinct, dodging obstacles, following her brother's lead.
Then it happened.
Near the center of the surge, an officer swung his baton down again, this time with terrible precision. A boy fell like a puppet with his strings cut, his head hitting the earth with a hollow thud that Chloe felt in her bones. His blood seeped into the dust instantly, turning it black-red, and his body lay still.
Too still.
Chloe felt bile rise in her throat. She wanted to look away but couldn't, trapped in the memory's current. She watched Nadine stumble, her body jerking at the sight. A cry ripped from somewhere in the crowd, a different kind of sound, deeper, rawer. Another boy, older, flung himself at the officer with an animal's fury. His fists pummeled against the man's uniform, his shriek of grief and rage cutting through the chaos.
"That's my brother! You killed my brother!"
The officer's response was swift and brutal. His baton came down again, and the grieving boy joined his brother on the ground.
Children screamed, not with fear this time, but with rage. The sound was primal, terrifying, kids who'd finally reached the breaking point. Stones began to fly, ripped from the street, sharp and jagged. They struck shields, helmets, the metal siding of the vans. Each crack of impact was answered with another.
"Masibabulele!" someone screamed. (Kill them!)
Chloe's stomach churned as the memory stretched and warped around her, pulling her deeper into the streets. Nadine ran with the others, her body moving on pure instinct, weaving through the chaos, dodging batons, smoke, and overturned carts.
The riot swallowed the township whole.
Fires burned along alleyways and in front of shattered shops, black smoke curling toward the pale sky. Tear gas canisters hissed, releasing clouds of burning mist that sent people choking and stumbling. Chloe felt every scrape and every bruise as she watched Nadine shove past a toppled cart, narrowly avoiding a boot swinging too close. A shout behind her, a man yelling, swinging a bat, made her duck low, rolling through the dirt. She surfaced, gasping for air, heart pounding.
She caught sight of Davy standing on the remains of a low wall, his face streaked with sweat and blood, fists raised, shouting orders to keep the children moving. "This way! Stay together! Don't stop!"
The riot didn't stop for hours. It didn't stop for days.
Fires leapt from house to house. Looters fought for food and supplies, soldiers fired indiscriminately into crowds. The police withdrew and returned with reinforcements. The violence ebbed and flowed like a tide, retreating only to crash back harder.
Nadine moved through it all, one of countless small figures in a storm of chaos. Her eyes were sharp, always watching, always calculating. As night fell on the second day, the fires cast the township in an eerie red glow. Chloe felt the earth shift under her again, but when it stopped, it seemed she hadn't gone far forward, at most a few days.
The morning dawned in a muted gray, the sun struggling to pierce the smoke that hung low over the township like a burial shroud. The streets were littered with the detritus of chaos: overturned carts, shattered glass, scorched scraps of paper and cloth, and here and there, dark patches of blood congealing in the dust.
The acrid tang of smoke still clung to the air, thick and choking, coating the back of the throat, making every breath taste like ash. The distant crackle of fire reminded everyone that the night's destruction had not yet fully surrendered.
Nadine moved cautiously, her shoulders hunched against the early-morning chill and the tension that had never truly left her. Every shadow, every alleyway, seemed alive with threat. Gangs had moved in during the chaos, taking advantage of the police withdrawal to stake out territory, to settle old scores, to loot what little remained worth taking.
Her feet stirred up the grit underfoot, careful not to make more noise than necessary. Hunger gnawed at her belly, a constant companion. She kept her head down, eyes darting, listening to the faintest echoes of movement.
Finally, the small corrugated home of her family came into view. Smoke curled from the barely intact chimney, and for the first time in four days, Nadine allowed herself a breath of relief. The door was still on its hinges. The walls still stood.
The door creaked as she pushed it open, and the familiar smell of home wrapped around her like a protective cloak, earthy wood smoke, old cooking oil, and the faint sweetness of dried fruit. It smelled like safety. Like survival.
Before she could step inside fully, a pair of arms engulfed her. Strong, warm, insistent. Her mother.
Lerato's voice trembled, soft but urgent. "Mntwan'am, ukhuselekile, enkosi mama." (My baby, you are safe, thank my mother.)
Nadine pressed her face into her mother's shoulder, letting the tears she had refused for four days flow freely. Her small body shook with sobs, fear, relief, exhaustion all pouring out at once. Lerato held her tight, rocking her gently as though she could shake the fear and blood and smoke from her daughter's small body.
Chloe found her own eyes burning, her throat tight. She'd held Nadine through nightmares in the present, but this, this was the source. This was where it had all started.
"Rest," her mother whispered, stroking her hair, her voice thick with tears. "Rest now, my baby. Tomorrow, we will begin again."
David appeared behind them, and Chloe saw his face crumple with relief. He placed one large hand on Nadine's head, and the three of them stood there in the doorway, holding each other, grateful simply to be alive.
The world shifted again.
---------------------
Chloe was back with Nadine but she looked different again, closer to eleven now. Her hair was done back in short cornrows, beads clinking faintly when she moved as if a reminder that she was still a child.
But there was no softness in her stance.
Nadine stood barefoot on the cracked concrete floor of what looked like a storage room behind a tuck shop. The space was cramped, boxes stacked against the walls, the air thick with the smell of stale beer and tobacco. A single bulb dangled from the ceiling, casting harsh shadows.
Across from her, a boy a little older, maybe thirteen, held up his hands, palms flat, letting her strike against them.
Thump.
The sound was dull, awkward. Her knuckles barely landed where they should, her form all wrong.
"No, no," the man watching said, stepping closer. He was thick in the shoulders, his shirt stretched thin over muscle gone soft with age, the smell of tobacco heavy on him. He crouched low, tapped Nadine's elbow with thick fingers.
"Keep them tight. Guard your face. Like this—see?" He demonstrated, his own fists coming up in practiced form. "You're too open. Someone hits you there, you're done. Again."
Nadine reset her stance, beads clicking softly. Her lip was already bitten raw from concentration, her breath sharp in the quiet. She struck forward again—thump—harder this time, more solid. The impact traveled up her small arm, and she felt it in her shoulder.
"That's it. Better. Again."
The boy flinched as she hit again, and again, each strike leaving a faint echo in the cramped room. Sweat ran down her temple, catching in the beads, but she didn't lower her arms. Her muscles burned. Her knuckles were already raw. But she kept going.
Chloe found herself holding her own breath as she watched the rhythm take shape: the swing of arms, the tightening of fists, the whisper of bare feet pivoting against the concrete. She wasn't graceful or practiced yet, but she was relentless. There was something almost frightening in her focus, the way she ignored the pain, the exhaustion, pushing through purely on will.
When Nadine's punches began to falter, her shoulders trembling with exhaustion, the man finally held up his hand.
"Enough."
She dropped her arms instantly, but didn't step back. Her chest heaved, beads glinting with sweat, her small face flushed with exertion.
The man's rough hand came down on her head, not unkindly. "Good. You'll learn. You're small, but you're quick. And you don't quit." He squeezed her shoulder. "That matters more than size. Come back tomorrow."
Nadine nodded, too breathless to speak. As she turned to leave, Chloe caught the expression on her face, determination mixed with hunger.
The ground lurched under Chloe's feet, the smell of sweat and dust bleeding away into thicker, harsher smoke. Beer. Cheap tobacco. The acrid sting of unwashed bodies pressed too close together.
---------------------
When her vision cleared, she was standing in a low-ceilinged room that pulsed with noise. The air was hot and humid, thick with too many bodies pressed into too little space. Men crowded around a makeshift ring, no ropes, no canvas, just a square cleared out on the concrete floor, lit by a handful of dangling bulbs that swung with every movement, casting wild shadows across the walls.
Money changed hands everywhere Chloe looked. Crumpled bills, coins, desperate wagers.
Chloe's heart clenched when she saw Nadine.
Twelve, maybe just turned twelve. Her cornrows were still there, although no beads this time, just clean braids pulled back from her face, practical rather than decorative. She wore an oversized vest tied at the waist, shorts hanging loose on her child-like frame. Her fists were wrapped in strips of cloth already spotted with blood.
She was in the ring.
On the other side stood a boy, also young but taller, heavier in the shoulders. He bounced on his feet with practiced confidence, a grin flashing through the smoke.
The crowd shouted over one another, placing bets, making odds. Chloe caught the words "little kaffir's got no chance" hissed through yellowed teeth, followed by laughter. Her stomach turned, anger flaring hot in her chest even though she couldn't do anything about it.
She really didn't want to watch this child version of Nadine get pummeled.
The fight started with no warning, no bell, no referee. Just violence.
The boy lunged, fists flying with the reckless aggression of someone who'd always been bigger, always been stronger. Nadine staggered under the first hit, the crack echoing in Chloe's bones. Blood burst from her lip, painting her chin bright red. She reeled, her small body absorbing a blow that seemed to fold her in half.
Chloe's hands clenched uselessly.
But then Nadine's eyes narrowed.
She ducked the next swing, her bare feet skidding across the concrete, and snapped forward with a jab, sloppy, but fast. The surprise on the boy's face was almost comical. He stumbled, his confident grin faltering.
The crowd roared, the sound deafening in the enclosed space.
Nadine pressed the advantage, fists hammering now in short, sharp bursts. She didn't have the weight, didn't have the reach, but she had speed. She had training. She had a year of learning to box in the back of a tuck shop, and she had the desperation of a child who knew this money meant she ate tomorrow.
Every punch landed with a sting, pushing the bigger kid back until his back hit the crowd's knees and they shoved him forward again.
The boy swung wildly, desperate now, his earlier confidence shattered. His fist clipped Nadine across the temple, and Chloe gasped as Nadine crumpled to her knees, blinking hard, blood dripping from her nose to mix with the blood from her lip.
The room erupted, cheers and jeers colliding in the smoky air. Money changed hands again, some people already counting their winnings, assuming the small girl was done.
For a heartbeat, Chloe thought she wouldn't get up.
But Nadine spat blood onto the floor, a bright red splash against the grey concrete, pushed herself up on shaking legs, and launched forward. Her fists flew like a storm: jab, jab, hook, jab. The boy tried to defend, tried to counter, but she was everywhere at once, her small size suddenly an advantage as she slipped inside his reach and pummeled his body, his ribs, anywhere she could land a hit.
The boy folded under the barrage, stumbling, his hands dropping to protect his bruised ribs. Nadine's final hook caught him clean on the jaw, and he fell to the concrete with a thud that shook the floorboards.
The crowd went wild.
Chloe felt her chest tighten as Nadine's arm was raised by someone in the ring, a man's hand dwarfing her small one, the smoke swallowing her battered, bleeding grin. For a moment, she looked triumphant. Victorious.
Then, without waiting for the cheers to die down, Nadine and her friend, Zola, Chloe realized, the same girl from the junk pile years ago, and the woman she had been introduced to when she and Nadine had gone to South Africa, snatched the winnings from the man holding the pot and bolted. They didn't linger to bask in the cheers or accept congratulations. They slipped through the crowd like shadows, weaving through the smoke-choked room, out a back door, into the night before anyone drunk enough to have lost money could blame them or try to take it back.
Chloe watched them run through the darkened township streets, clutching their earnings, laughing with the manic energy of survival and triumph mixed together. They didn't stop running until they'd put several blocks between themselves and the bar.
The ground shifted.
---------------------
The night air was thick with smoke and rhythm. The world had shifted, and now Chloe stood in a wide street packed shoulder to shoulder with people. The township had come alive: men and women swaying to music blaring from a battered stereo, laughter spilling from cracked throats, the tang of cheap beer carried on the warm evening air.
Bottles clinked. Men sat on overturned crates, sipping warm beer and arguing good-naturedly. Women danced, spinning in circles and stomping their feet to the infectious beat, their dresses swirling. Around the edges, people sold food from makeshift grills, the smell of spiced meat making Chloe's ghostly mouth water. Children huddled in tight circles, playing poker with unused matchsticks for stakes.
Crouched among them was Nadine.
Fourteen now. Taller, stronger in the shoulders, her body starting to show hints of the woman she'd become. She grinned as she tossed down her matchsticks, leaning back on one hand, a beer bottle resting against her knee. She carried herself with the careless confidence Chloe recognized from the present.
The music thumped. The air smelled of grilled meat, sweat, and gasoline. Chloe could feel the pulse of the street like a heartbeat beneath her feet, alive with joy and defiance.
Nadine laughed as some children danced in the middle of the crowd, their small bodies spinning with abandon, joy untainted by the weight of the world around them. An old woman clapped along, her wrinkled face split by a gap-toothed grin. A man played a makeshift drum, his hands moving in practiced rhythm, and others joined in, bottle caps on strings, wooden spoons on pots, whatever made music.
Chloe found herself almost smiling at the scene, her body swaying slightly to the rhythm despite herself.
Then, without warning, the pulse cracked.
The first sign was the dogs, barking, frantic, the sound cut short by sharp whistles. Then the squeal of tires as police vans barreled into the far end of the street. The music didn't stop right away, the stereo was too loud, but the people did, freezing mid-step, bottles clutched, cards forgotten.
The dancing stopped. The laughter died.
"BALEKA!" (RUN!)
The party erupted. People shoved past each other in blind panic, crates and bottles crashing to the ground, glass shattering. Children screamed. The music finally cut out, replaced by shouting, by boots on pavement, by the sound of batons striking flesh.
Nadine was on her feet instantly, instinct taking over. She grabbed a boy crouched next to her in the poker circle, no older than four, his small hands still clutching matchsticks. The child screamed as the crowd surged around them, dozens of bodies all trying to fit through narrow spaces at once.
Chloe watched as the child's tiny hand locked in Nadine's as she shoved through the chaos, weaving between bodies and overturned chairs. But the police were faster, more organized. Boots thundered. Batons swung with sickening cracks. The hiss of a tear gas canister somewhere behind them sent people choking and stumbling.
In front of them, a young man turned to run and a baton landed with a sickening crack on his head. He dropped like a stone, his body hitting the ground with a wet thud. Blood pooled beneath his skull, black in the harsh lights from the police vans.
Nadine stumbled, nearly falling over the body, pulling the child with her. She ran blindly through the crowds, avoiding policemen and dead ends, finally breaking out into a side street.
The side street was narrow, hemmed in by crumbling walls and rusted fences, the ground uneven with rubble and puddles of stagnant water reflecting the flashing lights of the police vans. Nadine's bare feet pounded against the cracked concrete, heart hammering in her chest as she twisted and ducked, trying to stay ahead of the chaos spilling behind her.
The boy in her arms screamed again, small fists clawing at her shoulders, but she didn't slow. Behind them, the sounds of violence continued, screams, batons on flesh, the crash of overturned furniture.
Smoke and dust choked the air, burning in her eyes and throat, and every so often a baton swung past, catching someone nearby with a sickening crack. Nadine's mind moved faster than her feet, calculating angles, openings, escape routes, all while keeping the terrified child from falling.
A shout came from behind, a man's voice ordering them to stop. Nadine didn't look. She only ran. A barrel of fire from a knocked-over lamp flickered across the wall, the heat searing her arms as she passed. She darted through an alley, dragging the boy past overturned crates and a discarded cart, finally reaching a low tree near a small patch of open ground.
With a grunt, she hoisted the boy over a small bank and into a ravine filled with dirty water, half hidden by scattered bushes. "Stay down," she hissed at him. "Don't move. Don't make a sound."
Then she scrambled up the tree trunk. The branches shook beneath her weight, protesting, but they held. She climbed until she was hidden in the leaves, high enough to see but obscured enough to be safe.
From this vantage point, Chloe could see the street below. Bodies sprawled on the ground, some moving, some terrifyingly still. Smoke curled around overturned furniture. Officers kicked at anyone who moved, dragging people by their hair, their clothes, throwing them into the backs of vans like sacks of grain.
Nadine's chest rose and fell rapidly. She swallowed the bitter taste of smoke and blood in her mouth, eyes wide, watching the brutality unfold. People screamed, cried, cursed. She saw men dragged by their collars, women shoved to the ground, children frozen in terror.
An old woman Chloe recognized, someone who'd been dancing just minutes ago, was struck across the face with a baton. She fell, and the officers just stepped over her, moving to the next person, the next target.
Nadine's hands gripped the branch so hard her knuckles went white. Chloe could see tears streaming down her face, silent and constant.
The memory held for a long, terrible moment, and then shifted again.
---------------------
When it stopped the air felt different. The smoke and screams and chaos of batons on flesh bled away, until Chloe found herself in a different kind of silence. Evening. The sky outside the window burned a muted orange, the air warm with the last touch of sun.
She was in the Ross house again. The walls held the laughter of children, the murmur of a mother in the kitchen, the quiet scrape of a chair against concrete. And on the floor in the corner, with a battered cushion beneath her knees, sat Hope.
Hope, who in the present was the wife of Nadine's oldest brother Davy, mother to their three children, and one of the warmest people Chloe had ever met. Chloe had seen the way Nadine's whole face softened whenever Hope entered a room, the way she gravitated toward her sister-in-law like a flower seeking sun.
Hope was younger here, maybe fifteen or sixteen but also so the person she would become. Her hands were steady, parting Nadine's hair with practiced ease, fingers quick as they wove tight cornrows down her scalp.
Nadine sat cross-legged in front of her, leaning back slightly into Hope's touch, a grin tugging at her lips.
"You're pulling too hard," Nadine complained, though her voice was more teasing than serious.
"Don't lie," Hope said softly, her own mouth quirking into a smile. "You like it when it's neat."
Nadine rolled her eyes but didn't move. Chloe noticed the way her shoulders dropped, relaxed. Hope's fingers worked methodically, parting and braiding, creating perfect rows with the skill of long practice.
Chloe settled onto the floor nearby, watching this quiet moment of intimacy, of sisterhood forming between two girls who would become family.
"So," Hope said after a comfortable silence, her voice taking on a playful lilt. "Who was that boy you’ve been walking home with"
Nadine's shoulders tensed immediately. "What boy? Thabo? We just walk the same direction—"
"Mmm-hmm." Hope's tone was teasing but not unkind. "And does he always carry your books too, when he's just going in the same direction?"
"He's being nice."
"I'm sure he is." Hope pulled another section of hair, beginning a new braid. "He's a good-looking boy. Smart too, I hear. You could do worse."
"I'm not doing anything," Nadine said, her voice a little too sharp. Then, quieter: "It's not like that."
"No?" Hope's hands didn't pause, but something in her tone shifted, became more careful. "What's it like then?"
Nadine was quiet for a long moment. Her fingers twisted in her lap.
"You ever feel like..." Nadine started, then stopped.
Hope's hands kept moving, steady and sure. "Like what?"
"Like everyone expects you to be a certain way. And you try, but it just..." She shrugged, the movement small. "It doesn't fit right."
Hope was quiet for a moment, her fingers parting another section of hair. "What doesn't fit?"
"I don't know. All of it. The way the other girls talk about boys. The way they giggle and..." Nadine made a frustrated sound. "I try to care. I want to care. But it's like watching a film I'm not really in."
"Mmm." Hope's hum was thoughtful, not judgmental. "And that bothers you?"
"Shouldn't it? Everyone else seems to know exactly what they're supposed to want."
"Supposed to." Hope repeated the words softly, pulling another braid tight. "That's a heavy thing, supposed to."
Nadine turned her head slightly, but Hope's hand guided her back into position. "You ever feel like that?"
"Sometimes. Different ways maybe, but..." Hope paused, considering. "The world's full of 'supposed to.' Doesn't mean any of them are right for you."
"So what do you do?"
"You figure out what is right. In your own time." Hope's voice dropped lower, intimate. "And you don't let anyone rush you to name something before you're ready."
Nadine was quiet, absorbing this. Outside, children were shouting, playing some game in the street. Inside, Hope's fingers moved through her hair like a blessing.
"Hope?"
"Mmm?"
"Do you think... do you think Davy would understand? If someone wasn't... the way everyone expected?"
Hope's hands stilled for just a breath, then continued. When she spoke, her voice was careful, warm. "Davy loves you more than anything in this world, Nadine. Whatever you are, whoever you become - that won't change."
"And you?"
Hope leaned forward, pressing her forehead briefly against the back of Nadine's head. "I love you too and that won’t ever change"
The silence that followed was different from before. Warmer. Fuller. Nadine's eyes glistened, but she didn't cry. She just sat there, letting Hope's hands work through her hair, letting the moment settle into her bones.
Hope's voice lowered even further, meant only for the girl in her hands. "They will be back before you know it. Davy promised." The braid tightened, neat and perfect. "Until then, you've got me."
Nadine didn't answer at first, but Chloe saw her smile widen, her eyes flutter shut like she was holding the words inside her chest, treasuring them.
"I know," she finally whispered.
For a long time, the room was filled only with the sound of Hope's fingers working through Nadine's hair, the creak of the house settling, and the occasional muffled laughter from the kitchen where Lerato was cooking dinner. The sun continued its descent, painting the room in shades of gold and amber.
"There," Hope finally said, tying off the last braid. "Done. You want beads?"
"Not today. Just the cuffs."
Hope reached for the small box where Nadine kept her hair accessories and selected several metal cuffs, sliding them onto select braids. They clicked together softly, catching the fading light.
"Perfect," Hope announced, sitting back to admire her work.
Nadine reached up to touch the braids, feeling the neat rows, the secure cuffs. "Thank you."
"Always."
The memory began to shimmer.
---------------------
The world shifted, and the air felt different again, lighter, charged with something electric and hopeful.
She found herself standing across the road from what looked like a pub or tavern, its walls crumbling but alive with humanity. A crowd had gathered, spilling out into the street, bodies pressed together in the fading afternoon light. Inside, visible through what once were windows and now were just rusting bars, a television flickered, the only source of the images that held everyone transfixed.
Nadine sat on a rooftop across the street, legs dangling over the edge, close enough to see the screen but separated from the crowd below. A few other kids sat with her, their faces lit by the dying sun and the glow from the television. She was still fourteen, her hair still in the cornrows Hope had braided.
On the screen, barely visible from where they perched, a man was speaking. Chloe couldn't make out all the words from this distance, but she didn't need to. She could see it in the faces of the people below, the way some wept openly, the way others stood frozen in disbelief, the way hands clutched at each other, at children, at anything solid and real.
Nadine leaned forward, her body tense with concentration. Next to her, a boy about her age gripped the edge of the roof so hard his knuckles had gone pale.
"Can you hear what he's saying?" the boy whispered.
Nadine shook her head, but her eyes never left the screen. She didn't need to hear every word. She could feel it in the air, in the way the crowd below had gone absolutely still, in the way even the babies had stopped crying.
Chloe found herself leaning forward too, caught in the gravity of this moment even though she knew how it ended, knew what was happening. The end of apartheid. The beginning of something new.
Around them on the rooftop, other young people had gathered. They sat in clusters, some holding transistor radios to their ears, others just watching the crowd below. The energy was electric, crackling with something that felt like the moment before lightning strikes.
Then, as if the earth itself had exhaled, the crowd below erupted.
The sound hit Chloe like a physical wave, cheers, tears, screams of joy that seemed to shake the very air. People embraced strangers, lifted children onto their shoulders, raised fists to the sky. An old woman fell to her knees in the dust, hands pressed to her face, body shaking with sobs.
On the rooftop, the boy next to Nadine let out a whoop and grabbed her shoulders. "Did you hear that? Did you hear?"
Nadine's face split into a grin so wide Chloe thought it might crack her face in half. The boy jumped on her back, nearly sending them both tumbling off the roof. She caught herself, laughing, and they cheered together, their voices joining the chorus rising from every street, every house, every throat in the township.
"We're free!" someone screamed. "We're finally free!"
Nadine and the others scrambled down from the roof, joining the crowd that had begun to dance in the streets. Music poured from doorways and windows, someone dragged out a makeshift drum, and the rhythm took over, feet stamping, bodies swaying, the earth itself seeming to pulse with joy.
Children wove between adults, shrieking with laughter, their faces painted with hope. An old man grabbed Nadine's hands and spun her in a circle, his gap-toothed smile wider than the sky, tears streaming down his weathered face.
"Do you know what this means, child?" he said, his voice breaking. "Do you know?"
"We're people again! They have to see us as people!" He pulled her into a crushing hug. "You’ll grow up free."
Chloe watched as Nadine spun away, caught up in the celebration. David appeared in the crowd, and when Nadine saw him, she ran to him. He caught her, lifted her clean off her feet despite her being nearly grown, and held her tight. His large frame shook with sobs, and when he set her down, Chloe could see tears tracking through the dust on his face.
He didn't say anything for a long moment. Words would have been inadequate. He just placed one large hand on top of her head, the gesture both blessing and acknowledgment.
"Everything we fought for," he finally managed, his voice rough. "Everything we bled for. It was worth it. You'll see, ntombazana. You'll see what we can build now."
And now this. This moment of pure, unbridled hope.
The party lasted through the night. Fires were lit in oil drums, casting dancing shadows across the celebrating faces. Food appeared from nowhere and everywhere, shared freely among neighbors and strangers alike. People told stories of loved ones who hadn't lived to see this day, toasting their memory with raised bottles and raised voices.
Nadine stayed close to her father, her brothers, but Chloe could see her eyes scanning the crowd, landing on faces she recognized, on Hope dancing with Davy, on Zola spinning with her own family. There was a lightness to her movements Chloe hadn't seen in any of the previous memories, as if a weight had been lifted that she hadn't realized she'd been carrying.
The memory shimmered, the joy fading slowly like the last notes of a song, and Chloe felt herself being pulled forward once more.
---------------------
The landscape had changed dramatically. Gone were the corrugated iron walls and dust-choked streets. Instead, Chloe found herself standing on a dirt road lined with small houses, proper houses with white clay walls, tiled roofs, and actual gardens. The air smelled cleaner, tinged with the scent of river water and growing things. Trees lined the street. Children played in yards.
Nadine was fifteen now, taller, stronger in the shoulders. She hauled boxes with ease, her movements efficient and practiced.
"Careful with that one," Lerato called out, her voice warm with excitement. She looked younger, lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. The constant tension that had marked her in earlier memories had eased. "My good plates are in there."
Chloe watched the family move their belongings into the house she knew so well from the present. The house where she'd eaten countless dinners, where she'd been welcomed without question, where she'd felt like she belonged.
"Nadine!" David called. "Help your brothers with the bed frame."
She jogged over to where Davy and Johannes were wrestling with a metal bed frame, and together they maneuvered it through the narrow doorway. The three of them worked in easy synchronization, years of siblinghood creating an unspoken language of movement and cooperation.
As the day wore on, the house slowly filled. Furniture found its places. Boxes were unpacked. Lerato hung curtains in the windows, the afternoon sun filtering through them in patterns of gold and shadow. David set up the dining table, running his hand over its scarred surface with something like affection. The boys claimed their bedrooms, arguing good-naturedly over who got which bed.
Benji, now eleven, ran through the rooms with unbridled enthusiasm, claiming every space as his favorite before immediately finding a new one. His laughter echoed through the halls, and Chloe found herself smiling at his joy, so uncomplicated, so pure.
As the sun began to set, painting the new neighborhood in shades of gold and pink, Chloe watched as David and Nadine sat outside on the front step, watching the sun fall behind the mountain in this new land. The silence was broken only by the distant sound of frogs croaking by the river and David's breath as he savored a cigar.
"Tomorrow you start at the new school," David said, his hand resting on Nadine's shoulder. "You and Benji will be among the first."
Nadine nodded, her expression unreadable. Chloe could see the tension in her jaw, the way her hands clenched and unclenched. Starting at a previously whites-only school, being one of the first Black students.
David squeezed her shoulder, seeming to sense her anxiety. "You are strong, my girl. Stronger than you know. Do not let them make you feel small."
"What if—"
"No what ifs." David's voice was firm but gentle. "They will say things. They will do things. Some of them will hate you just for existing in their space. But you remember who you are. You remember what you come from. You are a Ross. You are the granddaughter of a chief. You are the daughter of warriors. And you are going to walk into that school with your head high."
David was quiet for a long moment, smoke curling from his cigar. "Nadine, listen to me. This is your chance. Education in a proper school, with proper books, proper teachers. This is what we fought for. What we bled for. Do not waste it."
"I won't," Nadine promised, her voice barely a whisper.
"Good." David pulled her close, kissing the top of her head. "We are proud of you. Whatever happens tomorrow, remember that. Whatever they say, whatever they do—you are ours, and we are proud."
They sat together in comfortable silence as the sky darkened, watching their new neighborhood settle into night. Lights came on in windows. The smell of cooking drifted from houses. Somewhere down the street, a dog barked, but it was a friendly sound, not the aggressive warning.
The memory shimmered again, pulling Chloe forward.
---------------------
Golden afternoon light filtered through the leaves as Chloe found herself following a group of teenagers down a worn path toward the river. Their voices mixed together, languages flowing in and out of each other with the ease of the rainbow nation they were building, mixed with laughter and the particular energy of kids just released from school.
Nadine walked among them, sixteen now and more at ease in her skin than Chloe had seen her before. Her school uniform was rumpled, tie loosened, blazer slung over her shoulder. She laughed at something her friend said, and the sound was so normal, so teenage, that it made Chloe's chest ache.
"The chemistry test was brutal," one girl complained, adjusting her backpack.
"You didn't study," another shot back.
"Neither did you!"
"Ja, but I'm naturally gifted," the girl said with exaggerated hauteur, flipping her hair dramatically, and they all dissolved into laughter.
The path opened up onto a stretch of riverbank where the water ran clear and cold over smooth stones. Trees leaned over the water, creating pockets of shade that dappled the surface with shadows. The late afternoon sun turned everything golden, peaceful.
"Last one in has to do Thabo's homework!" someone shouted, and chaos erupted.
Reaching the water's edge, the group stripped down to underwear and sports bras without ceremony or self-consciousness, leaving their uniforms in careful piles on the bank. One boy, Thabo himself, cannonballed in first, sending up a spray that made the others shriek.
"Haibo, Thabo! We said we weren't getting our hair wet!"
"Too late now!" he called back, grinning, water streaming down his face.
Nadine waded in more carefully, hissing at the cold, her toes finding purchase on the slippery stones. The water rose to her waist, then her chest, stealing her breath with its icy clarity. She let herself fall backward, floating for a moment with her eyes closed, face turned to the late afternoon sun.
Chloe watched as the tension Nadine carried, relaxed, arms spread wide, hair fanning out in the current.
Someone splashed her, and she came up sputtering, immediately retaliating. A water fight broke out, all of them shrieking and laughing, pushing each other under, forming temporary alliances that dissolved as quickly as they formed. The air rang with their joy, with the particular freedom of teenagers who'd been stuck in classrooms all day and were now gloriously, perfectly free.
After the initial chaos settled, they drifted into smaller groups. Nadine floated on her back near the bank where one of her friends, a girl named Ayanda, was weaving river grass into complicated patterns.
"My mother wants me to apply to university in Cape Town," Ayanda said quietly, focused on her weaving. "Says I should study law, help our people."
"Back into the city?" another girl commented, floating nearby.
"That's the point. She wants me to get out, see the world." Ayanda's fingers moved deftly through the grass.
"Your mother's right," Nadine said, still floating, her voice carrying the lazy contentment of someone completely relaxed. "You should go. You're brilliant."
"What about you? You're smarter than half our class."
"As soon as I get my graduation paper, I'm joining Shoreline." There was pride in Nadine's voice, confidence.
"Yeah, brother!" One of the boys deeper in the water called out, swimming closer. "I'm gonna be right there with you”
"Half our class is going to end up there," Thabo added with a laugh. "The Ross family empire."
"It's not an empire," Nadine splashed water at him, laughing. "You're all idiots."
"Idiots who are going to work for you someday," Ayanda pointed out with a smile.
They floated in comfortable silence for a moment, the current gently pulling them downstream before they kicked back to their original position.
Thabo swam over, interrupting whatever might have been said next. "We're playing chicken. Nadine, you're on my shoulders."
"I'm not—"
But he'd already dove under, coming up beneath her, lifting her clean out of the water. She shrieked, grabbing his head for balance, and suddenly they were all in on it, everyone trying to push everyone else into the water.
Nadine proved surprisingly good at it. Chloe watched as she and Thabo won three rounds before a coordinated attack from two other pairs finally sent them tumbling backward into the river with an enormous splash.
When they emerged, gasping and laughing, the sun had started to sink lower, painting everything in shades of copper and gold. They dragged themselves onto the bank, sprawling on the grass in their wet underwear, steam rising from their cooling skin. The earth was warm beneath them, the grass soft, and for a moment the world felt perfect.
"We should come here every day," someone said dreamily.
"Can't. I have to help at the shop," another replied.
"I have rugby practice."
"Church youth group."
"Study group, that chemistry test really was brutal."
The real world creeping back in, responsibilities and expectations settling over them like familiar cloaks.
But for now, lying on the riverbank with the sun warming her face and her friends' voices washing over her, Nadine looked peaceful. One of the boys started singing, something low and rhythmic, and others joined in, harmonizing without thought. The sound blended with the river's murmur, with the rustling leaves, with the fading light.
Nadine sang too, her voice surprising Chloe with its clarity, its unselfconscious beauty. Chloe found herself wishing she could bottle this moment, could show it to the Nadine of the present and say
Too soon, the light began to fade toward evening, and they reluctantly pulled on their uniforms over damp skin, gathered their bags, started the walk back. But they were slower now, reluctant to let the afternoon go, still singing, still laughing, wringing out hair and teasing each other about who had the worst river hair.
"You look like a drowned rat, Thabo."
"Rather that than look like you."
"That's it, you're doing your own homework."
More laughter, echoing through the trees as they made their way back toward town, toward homework and family dinners and the ordinary responsibilities of teenage life.
The memory shimmered, and Chloe felt the pull forward, but she held onto this one a little longer.
---------------------
They'd set up a temporary camp on a stretch of rocky coastline somewhere in Mozambique, the ocean stretched endlessly before them, grey-green and restless, waves crashing against the stones in a rhythm that almost felt peaceful after days of gunfire and tension.
Nadine was twenty-one now, and the change was striking. Gone was any trace of the teenager from the river. She wore her Shoreline uniform, a rifle slung across her back, her hair pulled into tight braids. But she was still young. That's what struck Chloe most, how young they all were.
A group of them sat in a rough circle around a small fire, passing around bottles of warm beer and some biscuits someone had scavenged. The sun was setting, painting the ocean in shades of copper and blood
"I'm just saying," one of the men was arguing, "if you had to fight one, would you rather fight a horse-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized horses?"
"That's the stupidest question I've ever heard," another replied, but he was grinning.
"Obvisusly the duck is worse," Nadine cut in, and Chloe felt her chest warm at the familiar teasing tone. "The horse-sized duck has reach and that beak could take your head clean off."
"But a hundred tiny horses? They'd trample you!"
"You could skop them, though. Like little balls."
"That's assuming they attack all at once. What if they're strategic? What if they swarm?"
The argument devolved into laughter, into increasingly ridiculous hypotheticals. What if the duck could fly? What if the tiny horses could climb walls? Someone suggested that a horse-sized duck would probably be too heavy to support its own weight and would just collapse. Someone else pointed out that duck bones were hollow so maybe it wouldn't be that heavy.
Someone found a deck of cards, and they started a game that seemed to involve more cheating than actual rules. Nadine won three hands in a row, and when accused of counting cards, she just shrugged with a smile that was pure mischief.
"Can't prove anything."
"Agh, you're a proper skelm, Ross."
"Heh, you’re just gatvol 'cause you lost."
One of the women, Zola, Chloe realized with a start, younger but unmistakable, leaned against Nadine's shoulder. "Don’t bet your boots Thando"
"Oh God," Thando groaned, but he was laughing too. "That needs to die, I thought I was going to have to leave it there."
"You nearly did! We were pulling so hard I thought your leg was going to come off!" Zola mimicked the scene, pulling on an imaginary leg, her face contorted with exaggerated effort.
"I was legitimately worried about losing the boot," Thando admitted. "I would have had to hike home without it”
"You were worried about the boot?" another boy laughed. "You were sinking into a swamp with rebels half a kilometer away and you were worried about your boot?"
"Priorities, man. Priorities."
As full darkness fell, they built the fire up higher, the flames casting dancing shadows across their faces. The conversation drifted to quieter things, dreams of what they'd do when they got home, memories of people they'd lost, hopes for futures that felt both impossibly far away and tantalizingly close.
"I want to open a restaurant," one boy said thoughtfully. "Somewhere nice. Tablecloths and everything."
"You can't cook," another pointed out.
"I'll learn. How hard can it be?"
"Very hard, apparently, based on that thing you made last week."
"That was experimental!"
"It was inedible."
Nadine lay back on the stones, hands behind her head, staring up at the emerging stars. Zola lay beside her, their shoulders touching in comfortable familiarity.
---------------------
Chloe gasped, her eyes flying open.
Cold cave stone. Damp air. Her flashlight casting shadows on wet walls. She blinked hard, her head spinning slightly as reality reasserted itself.
Next to her, Nadine pushed herself up to sitting with a muttered curse in Xhosa.
"Fuck, are you alright?"
"Ja, I think so, are you?"
"Yeah," Chloe said after a moment. "That was fucking weird."
"Understatement." Nadine rubbed her face. "How long?"
Chloe checked her watch. "Two minutes. Maybe three."
"Felt like longer."
"Much longer." Chloe sat up, testing her limbs. Everything worked. No injuries, no lingering effects except the disorientation.
Nadine was already on her feet, offering Chloe a hand up. Her grip was solid, grounding. Real. Chloe took it gratefully, letting Nadine haul her upright. For a moment they just stood there, hands clasped, both of them oriented but not quite ready to move yet.
"Check your gear," Nadine said finally. “Let's get out of here before that thing decides to do something else."
They retrieved their packs from where they'd dropped them near the mirror. Neither looked back at it. The thing stood there in the darkness, obsidian and ancient and wrong in a way that made Chloe's skin crawl now that she knew what it could do.
The tunnel back felt longer than it had on the way in. Their footsteps echoed off stone, accompanied by the steady drip of water somewhere in the darkness. Chloe kept her flashlight beam trained on the uneven ground, focusing on not tripping rather than on the images still flickering at the edges of her mind.
Behind her, Nadine moved with her usual efficiency, but Chloe could hear the slight catch in her breathing. Not panic, nothing like that, Nadine didn't panic. Just processing. Recalibrating
.
When they finally emerged into sunlight, Chloe immediately flopped down on a fallen log with dramatic flair, dropping her pack beside her.
"Right. New rule. We don't touch mysterious magical artifacts without significantly more research first."
"We have that rule already."
"Then I need to actually follow it this time."
Nadine sat down next to her, less dramatically but just as heavily. She pulled out her water bottle, took a long drink, then passed it to Chloe.
For a while they just sat there, letting the normalcy of the jungle, the birds, the insects, the breeze, ground them back in the present. Chloe found herself grinning despite everything.
"What?" Nadine asked.
"You were adorable."
Nadine groaned. "No."
"The space buns. Oh my god, Nadine, the space buns."
"I was four."
"You were adorable. I'm getting your mom to find me pictures."
"You absolutely are not."
"I absolutely am." Chloe leaned against her shoulder. "That's going to be my phone background."
"I'll delete it."
"I'll print copies. Laminate them."
Nadine laughed, shoving her. "You're the worst."
Chloe tilted her head to look up at her. "Also, you were terrifying at twelve. I watched you win that boxing match and genuinely felt bad for that kid."
"He was fine."
"He hit the ground like a sack of potatoes."
"Dramatic." But Nadine was smiling now. "You weren't exactly mild-mannered yourself."
"What did you see?" Chloe asked, genuinely curious. She knew her own childhood had been different from Nadine's, easier in most ways, harder in others. But it occurred to her now that she had no idea what Nadine had actually witnessed.
"You at eight. Running around temple ruins in India with your dad. You found a pottery shard and acted like you'd discovered King Solomon's mines."
Chloe laughed. "I was very serious about archaeology."
"Still are." Nadine bumped her shoulder.
"I loved those trips with him." Chloe's smile softened. "Mum came on some of them too”
They fell into comfortable silence. A monkey howled somewhere overhead, followed by the rustling of leaves as something, probably the monkey, leapt between trees. Normal jungle sounds. Normal day.
Except they'd just experienced decades of each other's lives in the space of a few minutes.
"This is weird, isn't it? We already knew all the stories. The broad strokes, anyway. But seeing it—"
"Different," Nadine agreed. "Not bad different. Just different."
"No, not bad." Chloe thought about it. "I knew about apartheid. I knew about the township, the raids, Shoreline. But seeing you as a kid, seeing how you survived all that and still became someone who laughs at stupid jokes and saves people and lets me drag you on ridiculous treasure hunts—"
"You don't drag me. I come willingly."
"You complain the entire time."
"That's different."
Chloe grinned.
More silence. Easier now. The disorientation was fading, leaving behind just the memories themselves, strange and intimate and somehow not intrusive. Like looking through an old photo album you'd heard about but never seen.
"We should probably destroy that mirror," Chloe said eventually.
"Definitely. Can't leave it here for some other idiot to find."
"Hey, we're not idiots."
"You touched the obviously cursed magic mirror."
Nadine stood, offering her hand again. Chloe took it, letting herself be pulled to her feet. They gathered their gear, checked their supplies. Work mode again. Back to business.
"Explosives?" Chloe asked.
"Explosives." Nadine started walking back toward their camp. "Enough to bring down the entrance. Seal it off."
"Very thorough."
"I don't do half measures."
"No, you really don't."
They walked in comfortable silence for a while, following the path they'd marked on the way in. The jungle was hot and humid, but the canopy provided shade. Birds called overhead. Life continued, completely indifferent to magical mirrors and memory magic.