“Eros! Not so fast!” I laugh as I chase my toddler down the beach. The sun beats down on us, warming me from the inside out, and the gentle waves lap at my feet. The only way today could be more perfect is if Ares would come home.
Eros stops at a scattering of driftwood near the entrance to a cave we’ve explored a dozen times before. Kneeling in the sand, he picks through the crude rope and logs, and I crouch down beside him.
“What are you looking for?” I murmur. He ignores me, but suddenly he beams and pulls something from the wreckage.
“Sell!” he declares, and he sets a white-and-coral spiral shell in my palm. Out of all the shells we’ve found on the beach together—one for each day Ares has been gone—this is the most beautiful. I turn it over in my hands, admiring its perfection. I miss him. Badly. And though I’m usually good at hiding it from Eros, seeing this triggers something in me. The love I have for my son isn’t the same kind of love I have for Ares, and I want that back. I need that back.
While I’m struggling not to tear up in front of him, Eros toddles off again, this time toward the caves. My vision blurs, and I wipe my eyes as I rise. “Eros, no, baby, not without me.”
He keeps going, naturally, and I follow him. He’s immortal, and nothing can hurt him. That doesn’t mean I want him to get lost, though.
As I close in on him, however, I spot something in the sand. Footsteps. Not Eros’s small, uneven ones, but large enough for an adult. For a man.
Pocketing the shell, I scoop Eros up and balance him on my hip. He lets out a cry of protest, but I kiss his hair and follow the path toward the cave. The footsteps soon turn to drag marks, as if whoever it was could no longer hold his own weight. Did Ares return without telling me? But why would he leave behind the remains of a raft, and why would he go this way instead of back toward the waterfall?
No, whoever it is must be hurt, and no mortal battle could ever injure Ares. It isn’t him.
“Hello?” I call as I swallow my disappointment. No answer. I poke my head inside the cave, smaller than the one we live in, and I have to squint to make anything out in the sudden darkness. “Is anyone here?”
A rough cough. I hold Eros tighter, and with a wave of my hand, a cheerful fire forms in the middle of the cave. Huddled in the nearest corner is a young man dressed in rags. Everything about him is dark: his matted hair, the stubble on his cheeks—even his skin is tanned to a leathery brown.
A horrible smell reaches me, and I wrinkle my nose. Blood. The smell of violence and war. Without letting go of Eros, I approach the huddled figure. Shadows dance on the walls of the cave, confusing his shape, but eventually I make him out.
He’s bent in ways a body isn’t supposed to be. His legs are mangled, and it’s a miracle he was able to leave footprints at all. Part of his chest is concave, as if he had been hit by a large rock, and his breaths are labored. But at least he’s breathing. At least he’s alive.
“Eros,” I say, setting my son down. “I need you to do exactly as I say and follow me home without wandering off. Do you promise?”
Eros nods solemnly, somehow aware of the gravity of the situation despite how little he is. He latches onto my leg, and I wave my hands. It’s tricky, and the young man groans, but his broken body rises in the air.
I float him out of the cave, and after three seconds in the sunlight, he passes out. From pain or the shock of being held up in the air without any discernible source, I have no idea. Either way, at least I won’t have to dodge any questions.
Even though I know Ares would have a fit if he found out, I bring the injured young man back to the grotto. He moans as I place him on the pillows, and blood browned by time stains his hands. This isn’t good. This really, really, really isn’t good.
I settle Eros in a corner with a basketful of flowers to chain together. I need all the concentration I can get right now.
Apollo?
I push the thought into the sky as hard as I can. Sunset’s coming soon, which means so is Olympus as it hovers eternally between day and dusk, and that makes this marginally easier. Unless he’s off somewhere wandering the world. Apollo isn’t exactly a homebody.
I hold my breath. Not that I need to breathe anyway, but it’s the thought that counts. Ten seconds pass, then fifteen, then twenty. I’m about to send it again when—
Aphrodite? There’s a tinge of surprise coloring his thought. What’s going on? Are you all right?
I sigh with relief. I found a mortal, and he’s dying, and I don’t know how to heal him.
Several more seconds pass. Zeus is watching me. If I go to you, he’ll track you down.
I hesitate and glance around the home Ares and I have made. If Apollo comes, it could mean giving up all of this. Everything we’ve built, every perfect moment together—maybe even Eros. No telling if Daddy would let him stay in Olympus. I might lose all of this for a single mortal life.
The young man in the corner lets out a soft, agonizing sob, and my heart breaks. Screw it. If Daddy wants to come find me, let him. He will never take my family away from me.
I don’t care. He needs your help. I project an image of the island to him, along with an imprint of where it would be from Olympus. The sunset must be close now. Hurry.
While I wait for Apollo, I sit beside the young man and touch his cheek—the only part of him that isn’t bloody or bruised or both. His breaths come in gasps, but he remains unconscious. From the pain, I think, but I don’t understand how he could possibly register the brutality done to his body and still be alive.
As the forest rustles with its nighttime sounds, my brother finally arrives. He kneels beside the stranger, shooing me away, and I sit back on my heels and watch anxiously. It’s been too long, I’m sure of it, but Apollo doesn’t hesitate. He holds his hands over him, and golden light glows in the space between. I’ve never seen him heal someone before. I know he can do it, of course, but for a mortal this far gone…was it even possible?
Eros toddles over to me and wraps his pudgy arms around my neck. I pull him into a hug, burying my face in his hair. His curls are the exact same shade as Apollo’s. It’s a silly thing to think about when a man’s life hangs in the balance, but it gives me some small measure of comfort.
At last Apollo pulls away. I don’t know how long it’s been, but Eros is asleep in my arms, love radiating from him as if he knows how much I need it right now. Maybe he does. My son is gifted in ways I’m just beginning to understand, and I hold him tight. “Is he going to live?”