A Shrine to an Unknown God

VULTURES

"YOU HAD MULTIPLE?" I ask.

"Twins," Evadne confirms.

"So there's two of them?"

"Not anymore."

"What happened?" my mom asks.

"I listened to him. That fucker." Evadne closes her eyes and purses her lips up like she ate a sour lemon. "He told me to leave them out in the woods to die. The same thing a man told me to do with my child the last time something like this happened, a millennium ago. I didn't know I could question him—I still don't, I still can't. So I did what he told me to do."

"And then one of them died," I say.

"Exactly that." Evadne shakes her pointer finger at me. "I went out after a couple of days, wanting to give them a proper burial. One of them had already been eaten by vultures." Her expression, as she talks about her own child's dead body getting eaten by vultures, is strangely calm. "The other one—it was Iamus all over again. It was lying on a patch of violets, being fed honey by a swarm of bees. Still alive. Just barely. But Apollo didn't know that I'd had twins. When I showed him the one that had passed away, he believed it was the only one. So I buried it. And the one that lived—I gave it to a woman that was leaving the island for America. I don't know what happened after that. I just know that I did what I thought was right."

"Do you remember anything else?"

"The surviving child had—the most beautiful eyes. They just about melted my heart."

For a moment, my mother allows herself to look up. Then she quickly looks away.

Beautiful eyes could be either of them. Marisol's eyes are the kind of brown that seem to hold the universe inside of them, they're that deep and that dark and that captivating. Dahlia's are hazel, the color copper is when the light strikes it, a color that ignites a fire inside of you.

"Do you remember what color the eyes were?"

"They were... brown, maybe. A little bit hazel. It was so long ago. Maybe they were green or even blue. And all babies' eyes look the same color, anyways. Until a little bit later."

I drum my fingers against my knees. Dahlia and Marisol look too similar based on the most basic descriptions to be able to tell which of them they were based on the child's appearance. What else can I ask? What the child's hair was like? Both of their natural hair is dark brown and coily. What about skin? Both their skin is brown. Sure, Dahlia's so much lighter than Marisol, but without both of them here to compare them to each other light brown vs dark brown would be way too subjective.

I don't know why I wasted my time coming here. What helpful information did I hope to gleam from Evadne? There's nothing she can tell me that could possibly help me.

Besides, in my heart of hearts, I think I already know who the child is. Reason being? Marisol knows her biological parents. Dahlia doesn't.

It's the only way that would make sense.

But I can't kill her. There's no way. So, instead, I ask: "What do you think I should do?"

"About what?"

"So I don't have to kill anybody. So nobody has to die because of me."

Evadne looks very small and very sad. "I'm just some nymph," she murmurs. "Only known for sleeping with a god and having his bastard child. You don't want my advice. Go ask someone that actually has an answer that could help you. Like a prophet, or a priest. Or even your mother."

My mom picks her head up, eyes like a deer caught in the headlights.

"I don't want some prophet or some priest. I want your advice. It directly concerns your child; you should be involved. And you deserve to be known for more than who you've slept with and what children you've birthed. So help me. Do something now."

"I'm serious. I don't know anything. I would only steer you in the wrong direction."

"Evadne," I insist, "you deserve this. To be able to help your child."

She scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. "If you can even help it."

"I promise you that I will."

She sighs, her eyes seeming to catch fire. "Then I'll tell you what I think you should do." Her jaw is set, her voice so much stronger than it was a minute ago. "Figure out which of your friends is my child. Bring them to me. I'm going to hug the smithereens out of them. And then"—she digs her fingers into the dirt—"they're going to kill their father. Zeus knows that bastard deserves it."