by Lin Laguna

Humans are simple creatures, echoed her father’s words.

Bighari smelled their mortality, the scent of sweat and soil and blood, when they stumbled into her garden. The sanctuary lay at the center of a verdant, mist-veiled island; every decade, or every century, for time was of no consequence to a goddess, a wayward fisher or two would beach upon its shores. But this time, there were more bodies, young and old, exuding a sullenness about them as oppressive as the thick, tropical humidity.

Peeking behind the garden’s ring of ylang-ylang trees, the humans gawked at the sea of blossoms before them, too stunned to move.

“Look!” called a child. “A lady!”

The humans startled, realizing that a lone woman knelt by the flowers. Amused, Bighari beckoned them closer.

They only stared back, eyes wide as a tarsier’s.

She scanned their emaciated silhouettes and tattered garments—marks of a suffering they had escaped from, but much else she could not intuit. For a moment, she thought these might be the first humans to scorn her invitation. Yet, cautiously, one by one stepped forward, curiosity eclipsing trepidation. A dozen humans soon huddled around her.

Bighari held one hand out, palm facing up. In the center, a ruby pinprick grew larger and larger, forming a pert bud that swelled until five silken petals sprung forth, birthing a vibrant hibiscus. The humans oohed and aahed, heaping adoration upon the goddess.

“Again! Again!” demanded the children.

Beaming, Bighari obliged.

✿

Long ago, when she had shown the same trick to her siblings, they weren’t quite as impressed.

“But what are flowers to stars?” sang Tala, her graceful older sister. Gently, she lifted Bighari’s chin and gestured to the billions of glittering lights all around them, punctuating the fathomless dark. The enormity of the heavens sent a chill down her spine.

“Charming,” scoffed her older brother, Araw, “but what are those pinpricks to the earth’s beacon of life, the brightest star in the sky?” He spread his arms wide like an eagle and blazed with such intensity that Bighari shielded her eyes with one hand and cradled the hibiscus in the other. A plume of celestial fire licked her skin, a searing heat that would have set a mortal aflame.

Beacon of life indeed!

“Brother!” she hissed. “Tigil na!”

Araw hooted in laughter, but lowered his arms. “You sounded like our father there,” he chided, cocking an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”

Bighari grimaced, but said nothing to provoke further teasing. When she glanced down at her palm, her breath caught: the hibiscus had crumbled into a small mound of fine white ash. Before she could close her hand over the remnants, they slipped through her fingers and fell away, not to be denied their freedom.

A dull pang of jealousy coursed through her.

She mourned her precious flower, but did not resent her siblings for their power and pride. Still, she couldn’t help seeing herself as an imposter in their midst. She had no interest in wielding command over humankind, not as they did. Certainly not as their father did.

Instead, she spent as much time as she could far below, cultivating her garden and entertaining stray souls. When she would rush into her father’s council, ever tardy, he would shoot her a scowl.

Humans are simple creatures, he’d proclaim. We strike fear into their prideful hearts, reward them when they are worthy, and discipline them when they dare act our equal. He would narrow his eyes at her, as if trying to make sense of his soft-hearted daughter. They are to entertain you, not you them.

✿

Bighari shook her head free of his words. Why torment herself with his perpetual dissatisfaction when she was surrounded by smiles and laughter? She resumed her conjuring of flowers, summoning one of every shape and color that suited her fancy.

So delighted was she to captivate her new friends that she took no heed of the wind that howled caution, nor the lightning that flashed a warning—her brothers, Kidlat and Hangin, making their way to their father’s council. She took no heed of the darkening sky as Tala and Araw acquiesced to their father’s beckoning. Bighari hummed to herself, resisting the iron tug on her body to follow his command.

Defying that tug sent a thrill through her. How far could she go in ignoring these pesky summons? How long could she cradle this joy in her garden? And… What would happen if she never gave in?

Lost in thought, she formed a white lily in her palm and tucked it behind a human’s ear. When Bighari’s fingers brushed the curve of the woman’s jaw, their eyes met and cheeks flushed in tandem. The lily complemented the woman’s copper skin, amber gaze, and lotus lips—a palette of harmony. The fickle flame of mortality glowing beneath her skin only made her more breathtaking and so alive in a way Bighari would never be.

Suddenly, a bolt of lightning struck the center of her garden. A deafening clap of thunder rang through the air and scattered the humans like mice, darting behind bushes. The lily-woman tugged Bighari’s arm to no avail, so she ducked behind the nearest tree.

The goddess remained still. Her brother’s divinity rang across the space between them like a reverberating gong.

Bighari did not look at him when he spoke and could not breathe until he departed. She knew what he had come to say before the word “exiled” left his lips.

First, ire jolted through her, fierce as Kidlat’s electric lash. Whatever love her father once had for her, his pride clearly outweighed it. After all, what was the loss of one misbehaving dove when he tended a flock of falcons?

Then, grief blew through her, as cutting as Hangin’s gusts and gales. She wept not because she had lost her place at her father’s council, a birthright she had never desired, but that she could not be with her family again, not as they truly were in the heavens.

Through her tears, she saw a shadow emerge from a bush. A chubby-cheeked boy toddled forward and shoved a fistful of fallen jasmine blossoms at her. The lily-woman followed suit, tucking the lily behind the goddess’ ear. More and more humans came forward bearing flowers. Bighari managed a grin through her tears.

How simple it was to lift her spirits. How simply she lifted theirs.

Defiance surged within, a warmth blooming from her heart and bursting through every limb. Bold as the sun, with the hope of a billion glimmering stars, she placed her palm where lightning had marred the earth and shot a wide arc of flowers across the sky, slicing the gloom. The humans gasped, their fear forgotten, and marveled at the sweeping curve of colors, eight bright beams arching up and into the heavens.

She knew her father would only scowl upon her creation. He would find no value in her power, as he never had. Perhaps her siblings would see it too and find solace in the sign she was well.

Spent, she collapsed upon a bed of flowers. The humans hovered over her, concern creasing their brows. She only smiled up at them in gratitude.

She could not give them a new home.

She could not paint constellations to guide their voyage, nor blow wind into their sails.

She could not shine rays from above to nurture the land they would cultivate.

But their despair would be her adversary, every flower and rainbow a reminder of life’s enduring beauty.

❀✿❀

Lin Laguna (she/her) is a Filipino American writer based in Florida. Fueled by matcha, she spins speculative tales of wayward women. When not worldbuilding, she enjoys capturing poignant moments through microfiction and poetry. Her work has been featured in wildscape. literary journal, Cosmic Daffodil Journal, Yīn Literary, and elsewhere. She is pursuing an MSt in Creative Writing from the University of Cambridge. Connect with her @linlagunawrites.