When The ancestors collect

CHAPTER 40
NARRATOR – POV

Night didn't fall gently.

It dropped like a weight.

The house was loud with silence, broken only by the clink of glass against glass and the low hum of music no one was really listening to. Bottles sat half-empty on the table, some already knocked over, amber liquid bleeding into the carpet like a bad omen.

Sbu took another long drink, wincing as it burned down his throat.

"This is useless," he muttered. "Alcohol doesn't even work anymore."

Andile laughed bitterly from the couch, his shirt half-unbuttoned, eyes red and hollow. "It works. Just not enough."

Khayelihle sat apart from them, elbows on his knees, staring into his glass like it might give him answers. His jaw was tight, his face bruised — not just from his father's punch, but from everything else.

From Olerato. From the baby. From the truth.

"She hates me," Khayelihle said quietly.

Sbu scoffed. "Join the club."

Andile took a sharp sip. "At least Rato still looks at you. Omphile won't even answer my calls."

"That's because you scared her," Sbu snapped suddenly.

Andile's head jerked up. "Oh, here we go."

"No," Sbu continued, anger simmering under the alcohol. "You don't get to pretend this is just bad luck. You lost her because you couldn't control yourself."

"And you?" Andile shot back. "Segametsi is only still there because she's patient. Too patient."

Sbu stood abruptly, chair scraping loudly. "Don't talk about Sega."

"Why?" Andile stood too. "Truth hurts?"

Khayelihle raised his head. "Enough."

Neither of them listened.

"Segametsi deserves peace," Andile continued. "Not a man raised on chaos who thinks shouting is communication."

Sbu shoved him hard in the chest. "Say her name again and see what happens."

The tension snapped.

Chairs fell. Bottles shattered. The room erupted into shouting, hands grabbing, bodies colliding. Khayelihle jumped up, trying to separate them.

"Stop it!" he yelled. "This is exactly what destroyed everything!"

The door burst open.

Two men stepped inside.

No greeting. No warning.

Just cold eyes and anger sharpened by purpose.

"Zulu princes," one of them sneered. "You thought tonight would be quiet?"

Everything froze.

Khayelihle turned. "Who are you?"

The man laughed. "You really don't know how many enemies your family has made?"

Before anyone could react, everything happened at once.

A gun was raised.

A scream tore through the room.

The first shot exploded like thunder.

Glass shattered. Someone yelled. People ran.

The second shot followed almost immediately.

Then a third.

Chaos swallowed the house.

Sbu cried out, collapsing to the floor as pain ripped through him. Blood spread quickly, dark and shocking against his shirt.

"Andile!" someone screamed.

He staggered back, knocking over a table, his face twisted in disbelief before his legs gave out. He hit the floor hard, breath coming in broken gasps.

Khayelihle didn't even hear himself scream.

He felt the impact before the sound — a brutal force tearing through him, throwing him backward. He crashed into the wall, sliding down slowly, his vision blurring.

People were screaming now — women, staff, voices overlapping in panic.

"Call an ambulance!" "They've been shot!" "Oh my God!"

Phones were out.

Flashes went off.

People recorded.

Blood. Bodies. Princes on the floor.

The shooters backed away calmly, guns still raised.

"This is what happens," one of them said coldly, "when blood is disrespected."

They were gone as quickly as they came.

Silence followed — thick, broken only by sobs and laboured breathing.

Khayelihle lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling, every breath agony. His ears rang, the world spinning.

Sbu groaned, trying to move, failing.

Andile's hand twitched weakly.

Blood pooled. Lives hung by threads.

Sirens wailed in the distance — too far, too slow.

Somewhere else in the city, Olerato's phone buzzed.

Once. Twice. Relentlessly.

And the ancestors watched.

Unblinking.

Unforgiving.

Because the warning had been given.

And now—

The price was being collected.

OLERATO – POV

We're outside, trying to pretend life is normal.

Trying.

The evening air is warm, the sky painted in soft orange and purple, like the world doesn't know what it's about to take from us. I'm sitting on a garden chair, my feet stretched out, my hand resting on my stomach out of habit more than intention.

Lindiwe is there. Onthatile. Segametsi. Omphile.

All of us together in one space — something that felt impossible weeks ago.

They're talking, laughing softly at something Segametsi says, but my mind isn't fully present. It hasn't been all day.

I miss him.

Haa… I miss my man so bad.

It hurts in places I didn't know could ache. My chest feels tight, my throat burns, and no matter how much I tell myself I chose peace, my heart keeps betraying me.

"I can't," I whisper under my breath, rubbing my belly. "I just can't."

My baby shifts inside me, a slow roll this time, not playful — heavy.

"You miss him too?" I murmur softly. "I know… I know."

Omphile glances at me. "Rato, you okay?"

I force a small smile. "Yeah. Just tired."

Then—

CHAOS.

Phones start ringing.

Not one.

Not two.

All of them.

At once.

Segametsi's phone vibrates violently on the table. Omphile's rings. Onthatile's lights up. Mine buzzes nonstop, the screen lighting up again and again.

Zulu Princes Shot
Breaking News
Gunfire at Private Residence

Lindiwe freezes.

Her journalist instincts kick in instantly. She grabs her phone, her face draining of colour as she scrolls.

"No," she whispers. "No, no, no…"

"What?" Omphile asks sharply.

Lindiwe looks up at us, eyes wide with shock and horror.

"The Zulu princes," she says. "They've been shot."

The world tilts.

"What?" Segametsi breathes.

"ALL THREE," Lindiwe continues, already dialing. "Sbu. Andile. Khayelihle."

My heart stops.

"No," I say immediately, standing up too fast. "No. Not Lihle. Not again."

My phone rings again.

This time I answer.

"Hello?"

"Olerato Moagi?" a man's voice asks urgently.

"Yes."

"This is the hospital. You're needed immediately. There's been a shooting—"

"No," I cry, cutting him off. "No, no, no—please—"

"Ma'am, please come now."

The call ends.

My stomach twists violently.

Pain shoots through me — sharp, sudden, terrifying.

I gasp, doubling over.

"Rato!" Omphile screams, rushing to me.

"My stomach," I cry. "No, no… Lihle… please… not again…"

Lindiwe is already on the phone, pacing. "Get me sources. Now. I want names. I want conditions. I don't care who you wake up!"

"Rato, breathe," Segametsi begs, tears already streaming down her face. "Please, breathe."

"I can't lose him," I sob. "I can't—"

Another pain rips through me.

"Hospital," Onthatile orders. "NOW."

The drive is a blur.

Sirens. Crying. Prayers whispered and screamed.

Segametsi and Omphile are both crying openly now.

"Please," Segametsi keeps repeating. "Please, God… please don't take him. Please don't take Sbu."

"We can't afford to lose them," Omphile sobs. "Please… our men… please…"

When we arrive at the hospital, it's chaos.

Cameras. Flashing lights. Security trying to hold people back.

"Doctor Moagi!" someone shouts.

I don't even realize I'm running until my lungs burn.

"Doctor Pule!" a nurse calls out. "Doctor Moagi is here!"

"Emergency room," Doctor Pule says urgently. "Now!"

They push me toward the trauma area.

And then I see him.

Khayelihle.

Lihle.

Lying on the bed. Pale. Bloody. Unmoving.

Something inside me snaps.

"No!" I scream, running to him. "No, no, no… not again! Come on, Lihle! COME ON!"

They try to pull me back.

"Doctor, please—"

"I'm a doctor!" I shout. "Move!"

I'm shaking as I reach him, my hands pressing against his chest.

"Stay with me," I cry. "You promised me you'd wait. You promised!"

Monitors beep wildly.

Doctors shout orders.

I don't hear anything except my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

"Lihle," I whisper desperately, my forehead pressing against his. "You don't get to leave me now. Not like this."

On the next bed—

Sbu.

Barely conscious.

His eyes flutter open.

"Olerato…" he whispers weakly.

I rush to him.

He swallows painfully. "Please… tell Segametsi… I love her."

Tears stream down my face.

"I will," I promise. "You hear me? You will tell her yourself."

His lips curve into the faintest smile.

Then his eyes close.

"SBU!" Segametsi screams, collapsing as nurses grab her.

Monitors scream.

Doctors rush in.

"Clear!" someone shouts.

They shock him.

Once.

Twice.

I'm shaking uncontrollably now, another pain tearing through my stomach.

"Doctor Moagi!" Doctor Pule shouts. "Sit down. NOW!"

"I can't," I sob. "I can't leave him!"

They pull me back as another team works on Sbu.

"Clear!"

The shock makes my vision blur.

Everything feels like it's breaking at once — my heart, my body, my world.

I clutch my stomach, crying.

"Please," I whisper to my baby. "Stay with me. Please."

Doctors surround me now.

"Olerato, you're contracting," one says urgently.

"No," I cry. "Not now. Please not now."

But my body doesn't listen.

Somewhere behind me, alarms continue to scream.

Lives hang in the balance.

Love bleeds into fear.

And all I can think is—

This family was warned.

And we're still paying the price.

NARRATOR – POV

The hospital that night felt like a battlefield.

Bright white lights cut through the darkness, harsh and unforgiving, reflecting off polished floors stained with fear, blood, and desperation. Journalists crowded the entrance, cameras flashing relentlessly, voices overlapping as they shouted questions no one had answers to.

"Your Majesty!" "Is it true the princes were shot?" "Who is responsible?"

The Queen and King arrived surrounded by security, their faces carved from stone, but their eyes betrayed everything — terror, pain, helplessness. The Queen clutched her handbag like it was the only thing keeping her upright. The King's jaw was clenched, his shoulders heavy, as though the crown itself had become too much to bear.

Behind them walked Bab Mthembu, his presence heavy, spiritual, ancient. Emihle followed quietly, eyes red, her hands trembling as she pressed them together in prayer.

The moment they stepped inside, the air changed.

Everything became tense.

Electric.

Like the walls themselves were listening.

Omphile stood near the waiting area, her face streaked with tears, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Onthatile paced back and forth, rage and fear fighting for control inside her. Segametsi sat on a chair, her head buried in her hands, shoulders shaking violently. Lindiwe stood apart, phone in hand but forgotten, her journalist instincts completely silenced by the reality in front of her.

This was no longer a story.

This was blood.

Bab Mthembu stopped in the middle of the corridor. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then spoke — his voice low, steady, but heavy with warning.

"The ancestors are angry," he said.

Everyone went silent.

"The Moagi ancestors are not at peace," Bab Mthembu continued. "Blood was disrespected. Truth was buried. Pain was ignored. And when ancestors are ignored… they collect their debt."

The Queen gasped softly, tears finally spilling over.

"This did not start tonight," Bab Mthembu said, opening his eyes. "Tonight is only the result."

Segametsi let out a broken sob. "Does that mean… does that mean they're going to die?"

Bab Mthembu looked at her for a long moment, then lowered his head.

"Life and death are no longer fully in our hands."

The King's voice cracked. "Where is Olerato?"

As if summoned by his words, Olerato appeared from the emergency wing.

She looked different.

Gone was the composed doctor, the woman who always had answers. Her eyes were swollen from crying, her face pale, her movements slow and heavy. One hand rested protectively on her stomach as she approached them.

All eyes turned to her.

She swallowed hard.

"I… I've seen them," she said softly.

The Queen stepped forward. "My child… tell us."

Olerato's voice shook. "Their condition is very bad."

Omphile covered her mouth, stifling a scream.

"Sbu lost a lot of blood," Olerato continued. "He went into cardiac arrest once. We managed to bring him back, but he's critical."

Segametsi collapsed forward with a cry, Onthatile rushing to hold her.

"And Andile…" Olerato's breath hitched. "He was shot close to the chest. His lungs are struggling. He's unstable."

The King closed his eyes.

"Khayelihle?" the Queen whispered, barely audible.

Olerato's tears finally fell freely.

"He's fighting," she said. "But I won't lie to you… I don't know if any of them will make it through the night."

A wail tore from the Queen's chest as she sank into the King's arms.

Omphile slid down the wall, sobbing uncontrollably. "Please… please… not like this…"

Bab Mthembu stepped forward and gently pulled Onthatile, Omphile, and Olerato into his arms. His voice softened, filled with sorrow and urgency.

"Xolelani, bantwana bam," he said quietly.
"Forgive them, my children."

They clung to him, crying like children who had lost their way.

"Anger has fed this fire," Bab Mthembu continued. "Forgiveness is the only thing that can still speak to the ancestors."

Before anyone could respond, a nurse came running, panic written all over her face.

"Doctors! Doctor Moagi!" she shouted. "Prince Andile can't breathe! His oxygen levels are dropping fast!"

Olerato straightened instantly, pain forgotten.

"What's his saturation?"

"Sixty-eight and falling!"

"We need to intubate now," Olerato ordered, already moving. "Prepare the ventilator. Call respiratory. Get me suction, now!"

The King reached out. "Olerato—"

She turned back briefly, her eyes full of fear and determination. "I won't give up on them."

Then she ran.

The doors to the emergency room slammed shut behind her.

The corridor echoed with cries, prayers, whispered apologies, and ancient words spoken under trembling breath.

Bab Mthembu raised his hands slowly toward the ceiling.

"Ancestors of Moagi," he murmured, "hear us."

Outside, cameras continued flashing.

Inside, lives balanced on the thinnest edge between forgiveness and judgment.

And the night was far from over.