The journey back to the heart of creation felt different this time. Zélie returned to the central, ancient city of Ile-Ife, the spiritual epicenter of the Yoruba world. The air grew progressively lighter, less burdened by the heavy energies of industry or the volatile emotions of the warring gods she had just negotiated with. This journey was not outward; it was inward.
Mama Tunde was waiting for her near a quiet, secluded grove on the edge of the city, a place untouched by the modern world's rush, away from the noise and the burgeoning chaos of the assembling deities. The Grove was simple: just sixteen ancient palm trees in a perfect circle, their fronds whispering ancient secrets in the breeze.
"Orunmila does not appear because you ask him to," Mama Tunde explained gently, her presence here making perfect sense—she was a conduit of this deep, fundamental wisdom. "He appears when the truth is sought with a pure heart. You must perform the divination."
Zélie was no Babalawo (priest of Ifa), but the Ase of the gods within her—the cool stability of Yemaya, the iron will of Ogun—guided her hands. She sat cross-legged on a mat facing a simple wooden divination tray (Opon Ifa). On the tray were laid out sixteen smooth, dark sacred palm nuts (ikin).
"You must cast the nuts and mark the signs," Mama Tunde instructed. "The universe speaks in symbols. Orunmila is the voice of that language."
Zélie picked up the palm nuts, her heart beating a steady rhythm. The process was meditative, connecting her not to the physical world, but to the intricate tapestry of fate. She focused, channeling the energy within her, and performed the rapid, precise movements required, counting the nuts left in her hand, marking the powder on the tray.
She repeated the process, casting the nuts, creating the sacred Odus of Ifa. The air around her grew thick with wisdom, a weightless but profound presence. The scent of the grove shifted from simple earth and leaves to something ethereal, like dry air before the wisest storm.
On her twelfth cast, the pattern revealed a complex, profound sign—a powerful Odu Ifa that resonated deep within her soul.
A soft, golden light enveloped the tray. When Zélie looked up, Mama Tunde was gone. In her place sat an old man, peaceful and timeless, his face a map of the world's history, his eyes holding the entire sky. This was Orunmila.
"You seek balance in a world of extremes," Orunmila said, his voice the quiet rustle of the palm nuts themselves. "You carry iron and water, fire and wind. You are a vessel of conflict seeking harmony."
"I seek the truth of the Veil Sickness," Zélie said, no longer nervous, just focused on the profound presence before her. "And how to fix it."
"The Veil is not breaking, Zélie," Orunmila corrected gently, his wisdom settling into her mind like an irrefutable fact. "It is thinning. The gods have stepped back, and humanity has forgotten their Ori—their inner destiny, their purpose. Faith is the glue that binds Ayé and Òrún. Without it, the space between the worlds thins, allowing chaos to seep in."
"So the gods need to be present again?"
"Not simply present," Orunmila said. "They must reclaim their duties, not just their titles. Ogun must forge the path of progress in a balanced way, not just war. Shango must judge with wisdom, not just anger. Oshun must nurture life, not just grieve her losses. They must remember their original purpose, as given by Olodumare, the Supreme Creator."
"They are gathering now, at Ile-Ife," Zélie said, feeling the weight of the coming confrontation.
"Then the time is right," Orunmila nodded. He reached out a hand, and the sixteen palm nuts rose from the tray, swirling around Zélie, their movements a dance of destiny. They infused her with knowledge, perspective, and the undeniable power of foresight and divine truth. "I am present. The council is complete. Now, you must make them listen."
Zélie stood, feeling complete. She had sought out the pantheon as a simple human girl. Now she was the Scion, the bridge, imbued with the Ase of the gods themselves.
The council of the Orishas was about to begin, and the fate of the world rested on her ability to make the gods act like deities once more.
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