Angels at the Gate Read Online Free PDF

is originally from the city and thinks them dirty beasts of little use, other than as delicacies for the pot.
    â€œWhere are you getting a goat?” Chiram asks, his wide forehead bunched in suspicion. “Your father has no need for a dog to feed.”
    I pull myself straighter and do not mention I have been feeding Nami in any case. She can hardly live on the tiny amount Chiram gives her, even though her breed subsists on less food and water than others. They aredesert creatures, like the camel. “I am working for the goat. I will bring it to you in three days.”
    Chiram rubs the fold of skin at his neck and then pulls on his dark, coarse beard and looks down at me. “Three days, then.”
    D ESPITE THE STONE in my chest, I hurry to a hollow in a hillside where Nami had settled with her pups when we first arrived. She is curled up in the place where their scent lingers. I remember how she paced beside the donkey that carried them, checking every few moments to make sure she could still smell her pups. She did not leave them, even for water. But the past night she spent with me, and hyenas had killed them all. My shoulders sag with the burden of that as I kneel beside her. Her teats are tight and swollen.
    â€œOh, Nami, I am so sorry.” I offer the back of my hand, half hoping she will bite it, as I deserve. Instead, she sniffs my hand and then solemnly licks it, which makes me cry. And that makes my chest hurt anew.
    â€œAdir, what are you doing?”
    I look up at my father, unaware until that moment of his presence. “How do we deserve them?” I ask.
    â€œWhat? Why are you out here and not in the tent resting?”
    I hiccup.
    â€œCome,” he says more softly. “Back to the tent. I have told Chiram to unpack. We are staying a few days.”
    I let him lead me, casting a glance over my shoulder. Nami is nosing the place where her pups had lain, searching for them, feeding her longing with their scent. My heart is breaking for her.
    T HE NEXT MORNING I go about my chores, despite my father’s protests. “They are just bruises,” I tell him. “I am fine.” But the only thing that convinces him is, “A
boy
would not lie around because of a few bruises. Do you want to ignite suspicion?”
    My father told the caravan he wanted the animals to graze another day or two before we left. I suspect he wanted me to rest, but the caravan master’s decision is not questioned.
    I hate staying in the tent. I love the early morning when mists rise inthe hills, kissing the grass with dew. A magical stillness wraps the world before the heat descends.
    Philot always greets me with a bray. My donkey nuzzles my hand before scooping up the date treat with his big lips, nodding his head as he eats, as if he has never tasted such an odd thing before, though I bring him one every morning.
    â€œYou have another day or two to eat and doze,” I tell him. “No packs or traveling, a gift from my stupidity. But,” I add, “that part you do not have to share with anyone.”
    Philot sniffs my hand to make sure he has not missed a date.
    Nami had accompanied me when I checked the animals, but now she will not leave the place she last saw her pups. After the animals are accounted for, I go to her. She lies on her side as if her pups will appear at any moment, eager for her swollen teats. Her tail thumps once at my approach, but she does not move. I kneel to stroke her head. How does a dog express grief? I let my tears fall for us both.
    T HAT NIGHT, WHEN Raph indicates I may enter their tent, I am surprised at my reluctance to do so. It is as if I feel the future splitting here—a stream encountering a stone that forces it to a different course. But I enter. I have made an oath.
    Their tent is simply furnished. I expected something more lavish for El’s messengers, but only a rug, bedding pallets, a bronze bowl, and two plain cups furnish the