Angels at the Gate (10 page)

Nothing jumps out at me. My skin does not melt with El's fire. The faint scent of cedar touches my nostrils. Tentatively, I reach inside. The interior is lined with thick sheepskin, but nothing is there. Disappointed, I close the lid. They must have taken it with them.

Sleep is far from my reach. I move to the door. Fortunately, Lot's door, well greased with fat, opens soundlessly. Nami trots out beside me. It is night, but it is not dark. Torches burn everywhere, making me blink stupidly for a few moments in the unexpected brightness.

People have spilled into the street as if it is midday market, but they are dressed in their finest clothes. Women wear Egyptian kohl around their eyes and have twisted their hair into oiled braids. It is a chaos in which I cannot find pattern, and there is no sign of Raph or Mika, though by all rights, their heads and shoulders should have been visible above the crowd.

Frustrated, I decide not to wade into such confusion to look for them, but to seek a higher point where I can perhaps spot them. Not far to the east, the land rises sharply. I start that way, Nami at my side, her head high, nose to the wind, eyes bright. It lifts my heart to see her out of her brood for her pups.

The northeastern gate is normally closed by dark, but tonight the gates are thrown open, as though inviting the world to partake in the celebrations. This gate is smaller and less elaborate than the south gate where we entered the city. No one stops me or questions me as I pass through.

Beyond the bright areole of torchlight, I pause to let my vision adjust to the darkness. There is a well-worn path to the right, but from the other direction, a flash of light on an outcropping arouses my curiosity. As though she knows my desire, Nami leads. We are not the first to come this way. It is clearly a path, though not as wide as the first one. I am thankful for the white markings on Nami's legs, because otherwise, she is a brush stroke of darkness in the night.

We wind our way up the steep trail until it splits, the main trail continuing up, and a less traveled path heading toward where I saw the flash of light. That is the way Nami chooses. As a sight hunter, Nami's sense of smell is perhaps not as keen as other breeds, but it is still far superior to mine. I follow until we gain an outcropping, a flat expanse that looks out over the city and the Dead Sea. Light from multiple torches halos the sky above the city walls below and blocks the stars from view. The moon is a bright egg, but its edges are ragged with dark clouds.

I settle on the edge while Nami explores the dark recesses of a cave behind us.

To my surprise, I hear a soft laugh and a gentle, “Your nose cold, Nami.” I turn swiftly to see a tall shadow unfolding from the even darker shadows.

“Do not start, Adir. It is only me, Raph.”

My heart starts a patter. Raph? Did destiny guide my steps, or perhaps El? Then I catch sight of the polished silver disc hanging from his neck and realize the flash of light I had seen from below must have been a reflection of moonlight from his pendant. I manage to croak, “Are we alone?”

Raph drops to sit beside me. “For short time. Mika relieves himself.”

This means I have only moments to win his love forever. I, an inexperienced girl he thinks a boy, a daunting task I have no idea how to begin.

He puts a friendly hand on my back, and my heart catches.

“What brings you here? Curious of the rites?”

Trying to remember how to breathe, I am far too distracted to answer. The spot on my back where his hand rests burns, as though with fire.

Is it a holy fire?

And, just as important, does it linger longer than a friendly man-to-man touch?

And yet again, that would be a matter to be judged in light of one's customs, and how would I know the customs of his people? All these thoughts race through my mind until I remember he has asked me a question.

“What?” I say stupidly.

Nami, who sits at my left side, gives a quiet whine, her attention on the trail.

A portion of the light from the city is blackened by the column that is Mika. He stops, seeing me. “What are you here?” Disapproval stains his voice.

I ignore him because I am busy being furious with myself. I have Raph alone and do I reveal my soul, my longing? Do I uncover my true self so he can see past this disguise of my boyish dress?

No, I sit in silence, unable to answer even the simplest question. The lost opportunity carves an ache in my belly.

Mika remains standing, but Raph and I sit at the outcrop's edge while the moon rises, silvering the sea's dark waters. Raph waves a hand toward the salt formations at the water's edge. “Like snowdrifts.”

As traveled as I am, I have heard stories of snow, but never seen it. My mouth is dry, but I clear my throat, taking advantage of an opportunity to engage Raph in conversation, even if it is about the weather. “I have never seen snow. Is it like white sand?”

Raph smiles. “More fragile, but hold in your hand.”

I frown. “It is frozen water, is it not? Ice?”

“Yes, it a form of water is. If apply heat, it melts to water, but snow is lighter, like—?” He looks to Mika, who stands on Raph's other side, holding his staff, a long rod that is taller than his head.

Mika shrugs. “Clouds?”

I am intrigued by the concept of holding clouds in my hand, but the wind shifts, bringing the scent of coming rain and roiling dark clouds to obscure the moon's sliver. Before the night is over, I fully expect to be soaked by a downpour, but I am not willing to leave Raph's side. We are close enough that he has actually brushed my arm twice.

While we watch, a line of firebrands forms in the streets below. From our vantage, it appears a blazing snake, weaving a path through the town toward the temple. The sound of drums slides under my skin, pounding my blood to match its rhythm. If it were not for my desire to stay with Raph, I might have heeded the pull to join them.

Over Raph's shoulder, I hear Mika's voice. “This is not The Way.”

Lightning flashes across the sky, and for a moment, night is day.

“They are not our people, brother,” Raph says. “You cannot expect them to honor our truths. They have their own.”

I like that.

Another burst of light in the sky.

“Truth is truth,” Mika says stubbornly.

Below, I see someone exit Lot's house and recognize the almost square shape of Lot. Is he sneaking off to the rites or looking for his missing guests and kin?

Nami whines and presses against me. I stroke her and find she is trembling. “What frightens you, Nami?” I whisper.

At that moment, the air sharpens, lifting every hair on my arms and the back of my neck, as though the sky has drawn a breath. From the corner of my eye, I catch a flash and look up at Mika who stands beside us, looking down at the city. His staff is alive with a corona of light. I have never seen anything like it. Countless tiny particles of blue light dance at the tip, down the shaft, and over his hand and arm.

I grab Raph, digging my fingers into the muscles of his upper arm. He glances at me in puzzlement, then follows my gaze up to Mika, and I hear the suck of his breath. We are silent, all of us, frozen at the wonder and beauty of the softly sizzling light.

Twice more lightning stabs white fingers into the dark sea below us. Thunderous blasts follow, but we cannot take our gaze from the cobalt fire that engulfs Mika's staff and hand.

When the corona fades away, a third bolt crackles into the sea, accompanied by a loud clap of thunder. Lightning ignites a patch of floating pitch the size of Lot's roof, which floats slowly toward Sodom. Wind spreads the fire's oily black breath over the walls and into the city like an augury, where it entwines with the torch smoke of the marchers winding their way toward their destination—the temple where Baal waits for the appointed day to join with his Asherah and arouse the earth.

The Lord appeared again to Abraham near the oak grove belonging to Mamre. One day Abraham was sitting at the entrance to his tent during the hottest part of the day. He looked up and noticed three men standing nearby. When he saw them, he ran to meet them and welcomed them, bowing low to the ground.

—Book of Genesis 18:1,2

W
HEN WE RETURN TO THE
house, Lot is waiting and falls on his face before Mika. When Lot turned and looked up into the cliffs, he must have seen the holy fire on Mika's arm and staff.

“I and my family are yours to command, angel of the most-high god,” he says, lifting his face from the dust, but keeping his gaze averted.

“Angel” in the old stories can carry a connotation beyond a god's messenger, acknowledging a people a step closer to the gods than we, and it is clear Lot is using the word with this meaning.

Mika puts out his hand, “Rise up, Lot.”

“I cannot, lord,” Lot insists, trembling. “Is El angry at the rites of Sodom? My family will not partake of them. I will speak against them!”

I, too, am shaken by what I have seen.

“I am not your lord or your god,” Mika insists.

“You are the mouth through which El speaks. I saw you hold holy fire. I saw it!”

Mika starts to speak again, but then stops and shakes his head. There is nothing he can say. I saw the fire too. Even Raph seems affected, his reddish complexion almost pallid.

If Mika is really Mika-el, an angel of my god, does that mean his brother Raph is also an angel? I do not know how to digest this. Am I in love with an angel? In the stories Sarai had us memorize, such did not turn out well.

Only Nami appears unaffected by the presence of holiness. She strides into Lot's house with regal poise, as if it is now part of her territory.

Finally, Lot composes himself enough to stand, and I slip off to my pallet, though I am unable to sleep. I keep seeing Mika's staff and arm engulfed by cold fire and the black smoke from the burning pitch spreading across the city. What does it all mean?

T
HOUGH
I
SLEEP
fitfully, the city's dawn catches me dozing. Nami's cold nose on my neck rouses me from the warmth of my pallet. I throw on my garments. Everyone appears to sleep deeply. Raph has his arm thrown over his cheek. Mika's back is to me. I am certain whatever they carried to the overlook is back inside the box that lies between them. Perhaps they meant to hide it in the cave, but my presence changed their plan. When we came down from the cliff, Raph carried it wrapped in the bearskin that now again covers the chest. I would love to slide that skin aside and open the box, but I do not dare. Raph is a warrior and probably sleeps as shallowly as a wolf. I have not decided what Mika is. But whatever is underneath the fur, it is something they wish to keep secret.

Alone, Nami and I slip onto the street that runs the length of the city from the northeastern gate to the southern gate and out to the massive burial grounds. The road is stark, deserted by all but an occasional reveler staggering back to his house. Even the dogs are still asleep, and we are not challenged. The east tower gates remain open, and just outside them, we turn this time to the right, walking beside the eastern wall to the river that runs down from the cliffs. It turns with the slope of the land and feeds the fields below. If the Vale relied on water from the Dead Sea, it would be a desert. Most wadis are dry gulches or riverbeds that only fill when the spring or winter rains come, but a few, like this one, are fed from sweet water whose source is underground.

Sodom's idea of plumbing is the privacy behind one's house. I prefer a place between boulders. Nami is not so particular. The fresh waters of the wadi run nearby, and we both are happy to drink from it. I take the opportunity to wash.

It is still early, and on our return, I climb the cliff where the blue fire struck Mika. Below, a thick mist covers the calm silk of the Dead Sea. Like the city, she gives no indication of the violent storm that plowed her surface last night. Nor is there sign of what burned, although not far out from shore, I can see men in small boats hauling in the pitch that floats like black flatbread on the surface.

The wind shifts, and the stink of rotting eggs rides with it. The Dead Sea's nature is complex. It is beautiful, yet poisonous. No life can survive in it. From its depths comes the black pitch and noxious gases, yet the pitch has made many men wealthy, including my father, despite his protestations to Lot. The run to Egypt is a long, hot journey but one with great rewards. With such a dowry, even the problem of my slightly flawed nose can be overcome.

I slap my leg and Nami bounds to my side. My heart is light. Somewhere in the turmoil of the night, I have decided to shed my persona as a boy and marry Raph, although I will not do so until I can speak with my father. He will be pleased and know what to do. No one is his equal at negotiations. I will talk Raph into joining us. Mika can come too, if Raph wishes and if his angel's mission allows it. And then I will not have to leave Father or my beloved caravan. How can my father not approve? Though Raph is not of our tribe, his people and ours are connected, as Lot said, and he is an angel's brother. That has to be something of account.

T
HE FOLLOWING DAY
, Chiram's son, Danel, arrives with instructions from my father. With the money earned from the black donkeys, we are to buy five camels for the desert journey to Egypt and return with them and with the pitch pots he has purchased to Lot's tents.

Lot advises us on the location of the best pitch, and we purchase the camels outside the city gates where traders come with livestock to sell or trade. Other merchants who cannot pay the tax required for a place inside the Gate are here as well. Young slave boys run about bare-chested,
identifying customers for their masters and hawking the extraordinary quality of their particular animals or merchandise.

We hire help to pack the camels with the pitch and our water, which are the heaviest items. The rest goes on our donkeys. Danel brought Philot and two other donkeys with him. Though Mika and Raph left most of their possessions at the tents on Lot's land, they brought one donkey between them to carry their belongings and the box of mystery. Raph has retrieved that beast from the stable and piled the fur-covered chest and their pallets atop her. Between the donkeys and the camels we have purchased, we do not have much we have to carry ourselves, a luxury.