The Dovekeepers - Alice Hoffman [221]
We went through the stone chamber, breathing in the dank air, not stopping until we came upon another set of stairs, which would bring us to a heavy wooden door. That door, once pushed ajar, led us into the open air. There we stood, the bitter reek of smoke claiming us, the wind in threads carrying sparks of the fires that had been set, along with the writhing spirits of the dead.
Revka took my arm, and we gazed at each other, needing no words to understand the pact made between us.
We intended to live.
I kept Shirah’s newborn girl wound in my shawl so that she might remain quiet and unseen, while Arieh rode upon my hip, his dark eyes wide, his hands clutching tightly to my tunic. When we emerged into the night and the door to the tunnel had shut behind us, it was as though we had entered through the first gate to Gehennom, the doorway into the valley of hell. The scene we had stumbled upon hardly seemed like earth but rather a world that was aflame with punishments for the wicked. Or perhaps this was a test for the faithful. Could we face hell and walk through fire without hesitation, or would we sink to our knees and give up the life God had granted us?
We could not go back now. Our world was ravaged, it had disappeared from God’s grasp. Revka and the boys were reluctant to go on, for there were crowds all around and they were afraid we would be sighted. Stay in the shadows, I told them, for that was what I’d done in the wilderness when I wished to go unnoticed by the birds who came to me.
I asked Revka where she had first seen Shirah, for that was where Shirah had instructed me to flee. I assumed she meant for us to run to the dovecotes and hide there, or wait for her by the Snake Gate, but Revka whispered a location that surprised me: She had seen Shirah many times, but she had not clearly seen her for who she was until she stumbled upon her in a cistern, the largest one, situated in the deepest cave carved into this mountain, down hundreds of plaster steps, set in the farthest field. That was where Shirah meant for us to go.
We made our way through the madness around us. Edging around the barracks, we passed the bonfire that was flaming out of control. Bodies had now been heaped upon it, alongside provisions and the remains of animals, all that we had in our warehouses and storerooms. Though the smoke was acrid, I stopped, stunned, for it was there, beside the piles of weapons, that I saw my father for the last time, lying among the slain soldiers.
I went to him and knelt beside him so that I might close his eyes. From his expression I understood that he was now beside his beloved wife, the woman with the flame-colored hair who was also my mother. We had that, at least, in common. Beside him on the ground lay the gray cloak. He might have attempted to escape his fate, but he had taken off the cloak so that he would be seen for who he was, the assassin Yosef bar Elhanan, who had been my father and who would remain so for all eternity.
As I studied his face, serene for the first time, I recalled what he’d said about his talent of stealth. Men often failed to catch sight of what was right before them. They searched for secrets and for what was buried, but what was openly before them in the light blinded them so they could not see. A mouse who went quickly across the table was less likely to be caught than one that stationed itself in the corners of a room, where mice were expected to huddle. An assassin who walks into a room may easily look like any common man if he does so with confidence, with every right to do as he pleases.
I took my father’s cloak. The others followed, and we moved together as if we had formed a cloud, a mist, nothing human. Quickly, we made our way through the orchard where there had once been almond trees, where pink flowers had floated in the