There is no secret in fire, the diwata told her years later, after they had wed, after the ocean floor’s black mud bubbled to the surface, birthing islands. Others say the maya bird taunted sky, and ocean revealed its hidden contents in epic warfare. But the earthdiver remembers it this way: mighty Lawin dropped her upon the back of the eldest tortoise. Masqueraded as dove, Lawin cooed, Paloma, paloma, dalagang paloma! Amorcita paloma, minamahal kita, paloma! He took her there, he gave her child. She fled deep into the glowing darkness of salt caves, where the virgin draped in sky wept silver tears. She taught young village girls to guard its entrance and wail. O diwata, kaawaan po ninyo ako! But he pursued, captured her. Dalaga, dalaga, dadagitin kita, dalaga! A tent of skins and tools carved of animal bones, these were her dowry.

5.

He took me, from my hole in the clouds. He took me, gripped between his talons. I feared that if I tried to escape, I would fall into the deepest, the bluest ocean. I knew for sure I would drown, for I had lived my entire life in my father’s realm and had never before touched water. When mighty Lawin came with his sugared words, I leaned farther over the edge than I should have. But so pretty, his words. Upon the shell-mound of kind Pawikan, there, Lawin took me and took me, and Pawikan could do nothing. I knew my brothers too would do nothing. There, he tore me in two.

My child, your father’s eyes. My child, one day you will fly.

6.

The child tore at his mother’s breast for he was born with talons and a tendency towards treetops. When he grew old enough to climb, he built a nest in the knotted, ancient tree and refused to descend despite his mother’s calls, despite her tears.

She brought the child rice wrapped in banana leaves. She whispered, tabitabi po, to the air around her. She bowed as she approached the tree’s giant roots which forced up earth and made caves. Ants and the anito lived in these. Everyday she did this. She feared he would starve, but the spirits of the tree taught him to lure and snare bee-eaters, flame-breasted doves. Kalapati, kalapati! Kalapati, kalapati! He’d sing and coo; he’d cradle sunbirds in his claws and then crush their fine bones.

A season ago, hunters’ arrows felled mighty Lawin. After this, she lived alone. She dreamed his plumage adorned elders’ headdresses by firelight. How they’d bare their blackened teeth. How these with the blackest teeth were most beautiful. How she never returned to her father’s realm.

7.