The Celestial Gate by Avital Dicker (great novels to read TXT) 📕

Anise and Mor in one another’s arms. He dropped a kufiyah-wrapped bundle onto the grass. It contained several fresh falafel balls, a large soft sesame pretzel, and several whole tomatoes. “I found an open kitchen window,” he explained, trying not to look at either one.

“You could have been caught,” Anise reproached.

“Yes, but I wasn’t,” he answered angrily. He took out a handgun from his bag and put it down next to the food. “I also found this.” He didn’t add that he’d taken it from a corpse in an alley. The memory made him shiver with disgust. The man had been lying in a pool of blood, and Yam had had to flip him over to get at the weapon. But there was no choice. They had to be able to defend themselves.

Mor and Anise fell on the food, but Yam had lost his appetite. The sight of Anise and Mor in one another’s arms hurt him more than he wanted to admit. Let her do what she wants, he thought in anger. I don’t care.

After Anise and Mor were done, they packed the few leftovers. The sun was setting, and other than some shadowy figures that every once in a while ran through the darkening courtyards, everything seemed calm.

The three crossed the cemetery and turned right onto an unpaved path just outside its perimeter.

“It’s weird, but I remember this place even though I’ve never been here,” Anise said, pointing. “Look – that’s where we turn left, and just beyond there’s a stand of trees. And there’s a bench under the second one,” she said. In fact, just moments later, the three stood under the second tree and stared at the old wooden bench.

“What, are you some kind of witch, or what?” Mor laughed uneasily.

Anise ignored him, for – just like earlier in the tunnel – a strange sensation had spread through her body, and she knew with inexplicable certainty that she’d been here once before. With Yam and Mor. It must be a déjà vu because it’s just not possible, she thought in confusion.

Yam pointed straight ahead. “The gate,” he whispered. Anise looked and her heart skipped a beat when she saw the gate in front of them. The gate that had once been so glorious was now pockmarked and covered in soot.

“Blocked by stones and sad,” she muttered.

“Exactly like my father’s painting,” said Yam. “The only thing missing is the hen.”

“What was the other gate called, the one nobody knows?” Anise asked.

“The Gate of Repentance,” Yam answered, still refusing to look at her.

“There is a Jewish saying: ‘Even the fully righteous cannot stand where penitents stand,’” Mor whispered, trying for cynicism.

“Repentance means regret,” said a thoughtful Anise. In the meantime, Mor aimed the flashlight at the twin gate, which was almost touching the other. The Gate of Repentance, like the Gate of Mercy, was forlorn and impassable.

Anise was aware that her face was drenched in tears she couldn’t control. Walking close, she touched the ancient blocks that had absorbed centuries, maybe millennia, of smoke and dirt, eventually turning black. There must be a way. I refuse to accept we’ve come all this way for nothing, she thought, staring at the bleak gate in despair. A bat flitted low above, almost touching her hair, and Anise drew back in fear.

“Ali said the gate would come to you,” whispered Yam.

“Well, it didn’t,” Anise answered with anger. “It was just a beautiful legend. You were right. There is no God,” she said, swiping at the still-falling tears.

The Fourth Gate

Awakenings

Chapter 19

That night, Amalia, Theo, and Sual went into every courtyard and stairwell in the Jewish quarter, taking cover every time they heard shooting.

Time flew by, but there was still no sign of the children. “Where are you, Mor?” Theo muttered into the dark. Explosions sounded in the distance. Sual’s hands were slick with sweat, and her heart beat wildly.

“We have to find another way,” Theo said. “We’ll never cover the whole city like this, and with every hour we have fewer chances of finding them.”

Amalia couldn’t stop thinking about a pale, hurting Yam, looking at her and Yoav from the doorway before slamming it shut and taking off at a run.

The first rays of sun were peeking over the horizon. They’ll have to seek shelter, it’s too dangerous for them to be out in the daylight, thought Sual. Nothing was hidden from the residents of the narrow streets of the Old City; rumors flew at the speed of light. To this day, remembering the women’s pitying looks her flat belly elicited, she shivered. She remembered Lena, her Christian schoolteacher who lives not far from here; Sual was her favorite student. Perhaps Lena would agree to help them. If the children have come through the Christian quarter and someone’s seen them, Lena will know how to find out, she thought.

As none of them could think of a better option, Theo and Amalia agreed it was worth a try. Sual surprised herself by finding Lena’s house without trouble. But, then again, the city was forever imprinted on her soul. She climbed the stairs to the second floor, with Theo and Amalia right behind her.

Sual knocked. “Lena, it’s Sual,” she whispered in Arabic close to the doorjamb. Theo and Amalia drew their guns and flattened themselves against the wall to cover her.

The door remained closed. After hesitating a beat, Sual knocked again, this time harder. A few moments later, they heard steps inside and a key turning in the door.

Sual breathed with relief. “She’s home,” she whispered gratefully to Theo, but when she turned back she found herself staring straight into the barrel of a gun.

Mor gaped in amazement. A strong wind had blown up, making a dust-spout rise in the air like a tornado. Anise’s eyes stung from the sand, and she couldn’t see where Mor and Yam were. She felt her feet lose contact with the ground as the wind pulled her in, dizzying her and cradling her