"Woman is life and power. She is goodness. Venerate her, for out of her womb spring the light and darkness of the future. Fear her, for it is she who will save us."

  The Book of the Earth

  Dara's knee hurt so much; it felt impossible to even stand. Yet, she now limped her way slowly down the quiet street, Malen's little hand in hers. The girl's now shaved head made her look smaller and fragile somehow. Dara thought about times when she'd been just a baby. The little white dress reached her to the balls of her feet, and so did the dress Dara had on. Dara had shaved her head. It was an old custom, not very common anymore. But Dara had wanted to remove something physical from her body, like Sothiya had been taken from her soul. And Malen had insisted on doing the same when she saw what her mother had done to her hair. She'd let the funeral pns be taken care of by the monks, so this would be a traditional ceremony. Buddhism has no completely fixed rules for how a funeral must be carried out – instead, there are customs that vary between areas and local cultures. Dara didn't care, anyway. She wanted to honor Sothiya the way she hoped he would've liked to be, but other than that, the ceremony meant little to her. She had begun questioning her faith a long time ago, even before Malen. Now, with Sothyia's death, she no longer believed. Not in this, at least. Other, far more disturbing beliefs had taken the pce of the warmth and light that her Buddhist faith once had provided her.

  The monks in front of them carried the coffin. Dara, her daughter and mama Fha were the only participants in the mourning procession, apart from the priest and the monks. It was by choice. Dara ignored telling neighbors and friends about the funeral because she couldn't stand the sympathy. It was also the reason for the funeral taking pce only five days after the accident, and not the customary seven days. Her injuries made it near impossible to stand and she was nauseous from the pain, but she wanted this over with. No ceremony would ever bring Sothiya back to her. She felt relieved they were alone there, and she knew in her heart Sothiya would've understood.

  Dara caressed the back of her daughter's hand with her fingertips. She knew there was a possibility Sothiya's death had to do with Malen. Dara realized as much. But she had understood something else with Sothiya's death: he'd been right. Malen may be the reason, but she was not to bme. Quite unlike any normal three-year-old, Malen quickly understood the meaning of her father's death. She was devastated. She refused to eat, sleep or talk. She spent hours in Dara's arms, her little head leaning against her mother's chest, quiet tears streaming down her face. In those moments Dara felt like she would perish. Losing Sothiya was unbearable. But watching Malen grieve was impossible. Dara had tried to talk to Malen about what happened - she had to be so traumatized - but Malen refused to speak about it and Dara felt so powerless. They sat on the porch earlier that morning, holding each other's hands, when Malen finally decided to say something. She told Dara the reason for her heartbreak wasn't that her father was dead. She cried because they were going to put her father in the ground, and that was the one pce she could never visit him. Dara tried to comfort, well aware this meant more than she could comprehend. It didn't matter if she understood it or not. Malen had an already chosen path and all Dara could do was try to follow her along the way, help as much as she could. They decided not to bury Sothiya. Dara informed the monks that she wanted him to be cremated and the ashes to be scattered. Being told that her father would not be buried seemed to reassure the girl, and this day, the day of the funeral, she seemed visibly happier. They had continued the morning after Malen opening up with talking about fun memories, things they'd done as a family. They decided to build a house temple, a shrine, entirely in Sothiya's honor when they got back from the ceremony – Dara was unsure if this was to be deemed bsphemy, but she didn't even care the least. This was their home, their family. Their hurt. The scouted the house for tokens and memorabilia, things to put in their little shrine, things that reminded them of Sothiya in some way. Dara gave Malen one of the shells she'd picked on the beach that day. A cone shell with beautiful, brown patterns on a white, pearlescent background.

  "This one symbolizes our wonderful day by the sea. We had a nice time there, on the beach, didn't we, darling? We'll put it in our little daddy temple." Malen twisted and turned the shell in her little hands. Then she held it to her ear and listened. She looked at Dara and said:

  "I don't hear the sea, mama. I hear Dad."

  Now, as they walked behind the monks on their way to the crematorium, Dara noticed the girl was holding the shell in her hand. The tears threatening to break free had Dara gasping for air. Her sweet girl.

  After the funeral, Dara sought out Visoth. She found the monk in the temple garden and with Malen by her side she walked up to him but said nothing. She had no more words. Visoth looked up and noticed her, put down his rake, pulled off his gloves and wiped his hands on the orange tunic before walking up to the woman he had known all her life. He embraced her as a father would have done but never a monk. Then he squatted down and hugged Malen as well, who hugged back, still with the shell in her hand.

  "We have to get out of here." Dara sipped the tea she had been given and looked into his concerned eyes. Malen was sleeping further along in the temple as the sun was setting.

  "I know. Of course, I'll help you as much as I can, Dara. To begin with, I must admit to keeping secrets from you."

  Dara nodded. She'd understood that much. She would've been angry now if he'd still insist on pretending, after everything that had happened. But she suspected he'd tell her. She'd felt his guilt radiating off of him all day. Visoth sighed, then got up and went to get a book from a silver box. He returned and held it in his hand, caressing it lightly with his fingers. It was pale green, in velvet, with worn covers.

  "This is the Book of the Earth. It is not the only copy of it, but there are not many. A few weeks after Malen was born, I received this book. It was sent to me by a brother in Europe."

  "A monk?"

  "No, not a monk. A brother. That word has a sad ring in our ears after the Khmer Rouge, so here we call them kinsmen. We belong to a different faith than Buddhism. We recognize Buddhism, and any other religion, as well, of course, but our faith is the one from which all other religions are born, so essentially, they are the same. Our faith is the original one. Faith in the holy mother.

  "Virgin Mary...?" Dara felt confused, Christianity was the st thing she'd expected to have anything to do with any of this. Visoth smiled.

  "No, not that mother. This is so much bigger than the Christian God, or Buddha, or Alh, Jesus, Mohammed, Vishnu... they are all no more than children of the first mother. Every religious thought ever made springs from her. The mother of everything and everyone. The mother of nature and the nd and the earth, of life and rebirth. She is the mother of God. Siddhartha's mother. Mother of Alh. She is the mother of us all. She is the mother of our earth. The mother goddess." Dara shook her head.

  "I don't understand how you can be a monk in a Buddhist temple and confess to another faith at the same time?"

  "They are not in opposition to each other, Dara. No faith is really the opposite of another, this is just the limitation of humans driving us to believe so. We are not good at preserving our history. We forget so easily. We make the same mistakes again and again, because of our forgetfulness and our eager to move forward. This is the reason we now have several different religious beliefs in the world, when all it is, is variations of our one, true faith." The monk seemed to collect his thoughts a bit before continuing. "Try to imagine a pce that existed many, many thousands of years ago. In this pce, at that time, a mother told her son a story. The son grew up and told the story to his children, who then told their children. For generation's, this was the way to preserve the story. As the family spread, so did the story. At some point a child grew up and moved to another tribe, maybe to another part of the world even. They brought the story with them, but now there's only one person to keep the story from changing instead of many, and several generations pass. People moved and moved again, and when a story is spread this wide it will morph. It's only natural, we use our imagination to add things we like, we forget details that doesn't seem important at the time but ter alters the story completely. And somewhere between then and now someone realized there is power in the story, so they changed it for their own benefit. To gain more power, to control others, for wealth, greed or even love. A story meant to make people feel connection to each other is now a weapon, something that can be used to kill and oppress – all in the name of their version of the story." Visoth sighed.

  "The resembnce... when you think about it this way it is almost impossible to not see the resembnce between the different religions of the world." Dara Understood where the monk was going with this. It was mind-blowing.

  "Indeed. The one called God could easily be called Alh, the one called Mohammed could just as easy be called Siddhartha or Vishnu or Jesus... they are all versions of the same story, told by a mother to a son thousands and thousands of years ago. A story meant to create a moment of closeness and love between a mother and a child. A magical story with a purpose, such as giving a father the pride of hearing his son tell the story once taught to him. The point of the story was never to control one and give power to another. It was never intended to be used as a reason to murder or destroy. The story was a mother's way to ensure her son knew his legacy. A mother, proud of her creation." Dara put down her empty teacup.

  "A beautiful way to describe faith. But that doesn't expin what this mother wants with Malen." The monk took a deep breath as he gnced at the sleeping child.

  "For a child to be conceived, there needs to be a father." Dara pinched her brows together at the words. For some reason she'd forgotten about that part. The monk looked at her, eyes so sad it made Dara's heart ache with worry. "The mother wanted to create. Her first creation was the father. She needed him in order to create the world. She is the earth, her body is the earth, but there had to be a seed. He pnted the seed in her, and after it was done the mother considered him used and discarded of him. This was a mistake." Visoth got to his feet with a heavy sigh. He collected the tea pot and came back to fill their cups once more. "The father realized that, to the mother, he was no more than one of her creations, and he hated her for using him like she had. Millenniums passed as the mother created. She then made her next mistake: she chose a son to carry her story into the future. The way of the rashers was born. The father, being the first of her creations, was so filled with hate when he found out he once again had been ignored, that he himself decided to create. He cimed the heavens as his and he created his demons."

  "Demons...?" Dara would have ughed out loud four years ago. Today the word filled her with dread. "So... the mother is the earth. And the father is the heaven. Why do I feel like I've heard this before... but the good is in heaven and the bad is in the ground, and not the other way around?"

  "Let me ask. Darkness, blood, dirt, moon... these are all mysterious and potentially evil things, right? And opposite to it is light and sky and day and spirit."

  "Yes."

  "It's merely semantics. Who, do you think, have anything to gain from humanity fearing darkness, and what's below ground, and blood and soil and the moon? The father did his work. He made us all value what he could offer as pure and true, so we would shun and fear the spirit of the mother."

  "Oh. I never thought about it that way."

  "Of course not, sweet child. These are doings long before you ever existed. They were 'truths' long before you were born. Why would you question them?" The monk gave her a moment before he continued. "The mother loved all her children, but she loved her daughters the most. She gave them the magic of creating life, she gave them the moon and the moon bleed – a monthly celebration for every woman where she let her blood run free so it could fertilize the earth. She gave them power and strength. But favoring her daughters was the mother's third mistake. For the father saw opportunity. He created his demons so he could manipute men to turn against the mother – and against her daughters."

  "I think I might know where this is going."

  "I think you do, for you are one of her daughters. The father whispered in men's ears. He sent his demons to corrupt men, to pursue them to wage war against the women. He sent his demons to poison the earth, and as the crops rot and storms took what the mother had put in the earth to feed her children, humans got afraid. The men – the father – took advantage, and told sons of the earth to ensve women, to cage them, to kill them, to mutite them. He told them women were the reason for their misfortune, that they imposed a threat that needed to be controlled, and worshiping the mother would lead them to disaster. The mother stood silently by as her daughters were imprisoned, sughtered and abused. She refused to help her children. She refused to take sides. She waited patiently for her sons to come to their senses, but they were too far gone and delirious with power, and they no longer cared about the mother. It angered her, so she cursed them. She cursed men, but in doing so she cursed her daughters as well." Dara stared at the monk.

  "Are you serious? Do you actually think all of this happened?"

  "Dara. I know it did. I've lived for 168 years, and I've not only seen the demons with my own eyes. I've fought them."

  "168?!"

  "Yes. And I will live for many more – if the champion of the mother fulfils her destiny." Dara felt tears filling her eyes.

  "Malen."

  "Maybe. This is the crux of the curse. The mother was angry with her children for not defying the father. She felt as if her sons abandoned her and her daughters stood passively by, letting themselves be put in shackles. So, she decided: before humanity had run its course, two daughters would be born. They would both have the mother's light within them. Amazing, terrific powers no man or woman had possessed before them. They would not be entirely human; the mother's blood would run through their veins. One would have the power of the earth in her. The power to save us, to destroy the father and his demons. One would have the power of the skies. The force to end all and everything. Chance will decide who is destined to what and not even the girls will know until they meet. When they do, the battle for humanity begins. And ends."

  "That fucking bitch." The monk chuckled at Dara's profanities, but he understood what she felt.

  "The father obviously realized the potential danger, so he added a curse of his own: should the girls never to meet at all, the mother would have to give her creation over to him. The mother accepted this, but she secretly gave her rashers powers beyond what ordinary humans have. She made them promise to always and forever protect the girls, to use any means necessary and to live and die for the prophecy to never be lost. And – and this is my personal belief – as a mockery to the father, she decided the men who were destined to pnt the seed of these children, the fathers, would have tremendous power of their own – but they would have to surrender it all, including their lives, to their daughters at birth."

  Dara stared at Visoth.

  "You knew Sothiya would die. You knew all along and you didn't tell us." They stared at each other for what seemed like forever. Dara wanted to kill him. She had never hated a person like she hated the monk in this moment. She never hated the man she killed as she now hated the man in front of her.

  That was, until she saw the tears in his eyes. On his cheeks. She saw the years, the burden, the pain. The pain – oh, the pain. The man in front of her had never lived. Not for himself. His entire existence centered around her daughter. He had no other purpose. And it was a painful knowledge. To know you, yourself, never mattered. Visoth may not be entirely human, but he had a human soul. Human longings. Human feelings. Human pain.

  "Damn it!" Dara got to her feet and paced, anger and sorrow and hurt and fear all mixed into a storm in her chest.

  "I'm so sorry, my child. I know I've failed you. I thought I had no other choice. I had to protect Malen. I will always and forever protect Malen. She had to come before Sothiya. Before you. Before all of us."

  "He was the love of my life, monk." Dara sunk to her knees in front of Visoth, who knew better than to touch her. 168 years of living did come with experience.

  "He was. He always will be. He visited me, you know. He came here to ask me questions. About Malen. I told him as much as I could. I told him he would die."

  "What?" Dara wasn't sure she wanted to hear this, but she knew she had to. Sothiya knew...?

  "I told him about mador len. He seemed satisfied, but then he came back. He said he'd looked it up, that he knew it didn't mean what I had told him. He was such an intelligent man. Such an amazing human being. His death is a loss to us all. I understood he needed to know, so I told him about the prophecy. I told him about his part in it, and what it meant to be the father to a destined child."

  "No. Oh, Sothiya... Why did you do that to him? He was already in so much pain."

  "Do you know what he said when I told him? He said 'I have already fulfilled my destiny. I gave the woman I love a child, and I got to love the child that is mine. I have all I need. If my destiny is to die, I will welcome it, if it means Dara and Malen get to live. Together.' Dara, he knew what was coming and he accepted it because you had already given him all he wanted in life. Your love, and your daughter."

  Dara cried. For the first time since Sothiya died, she really cried. Her heart cried. Her heart was broken but Sothiya would still forever be in her soul. Visoth waited. His hand on hers.

  "Who are you, monk?" Dara's voice trembled, but her hand under his was steady.

  "I am rasher. My task in life is to preserve the scriptures. The history of our mother: the Book of Earth, Rain, Life, and Death. I have the ability to hide from others when needed, I can see into another person's soul, and I live an unnaturally long life. I have but one purpose. To serve the mother.

  "I'm not sure she deserves it. She doesn't seem to like men."

  "You recognize this, because you yourself live in a world where women aren't appreciated, where you are subordinated to all men simply because you're a woman. You know what it's like to have no other value than that which others decide for you. It's quite ironic, don't you think? You sympathize with me, with the destiny the mother put upon me because I am a man, because you are a woman and your destiny has been put upon you by the men of this world."

  "Ironic isn't the word I would use."

  "I know, sweet Dara. However, I need you to understand something. The world made it hard for rashers to spread the story of the mother and with time we were silenced. War, famine, technology, other religions. There is so much to stand up to if one wishes to tell the story of the mother. We stopped. No one wanted to listen. We focused instead on preparing for, and when the time would come, protecting the girls. But even though most of the world forgot, some parts didn't. Societies, cults. Men, and with time even women. The same men who once altered the story to their own agenda. They grew their own beliefs, one worse than the other. Some believe that the world will fall into their hands if they kill the girls. Some believe they can capture and control one of them to be able to control destiny. Some... just want death. They are just evil."

  "They are after Malen."

  "They are. I've kept you safe so far, but I fear I've reached the extent of my capabilities. They may have found her. You are in danger."

  "Whatever happens, my daughter will die. By the hands of lunatics, or that other girl, or the father and his demons, or the mother herself. Whatever I do, she will die."

  Visoth didn't answer. He didn't even look at her. Instead, his gaze went to something behind her. Dara felt that all too familiar tingle down her spine. She didn't want to turn around. But she did it anyway.

  There was Malen. The sun had set, but Malen shone so bright it could be midday. Lungs, heart, blood vessels and veins – they were all visible through her transparent skin. She wasn't asleep anymore, instead she was sitting up, legs crossed. She looked at Dara with eyes that glowed like nterns. Then she stretched out her little hand towards Dara. Her fist clutched around something. She opened her hand and in that moment the light was gone. She was a regur girl again.

  "Mama. Listen." In her hand was the seashell. The one Dara had given her.

  "Oh sweetheart." Dara got up and walked over to her daughter, knelt in front of her, and put both her hands around the girl's outstretched hand.

  "Listen, mama. It's for you."

  Dara hesitated. Something in her fought her on this, on reaching out and taking the shell from her daughter's hand. But she did, anyway. She took it and slowly brought it to her ear.

  At first we heard nothing more than the characteristic shhhhhh that people like to say is the ocean waves making an echo but Dara knew was nothing more than physics: a hollow space making a sound when put against the ear. She met Malen's gaze, smiled at her in a reassuring way. Then she heard it.

  Singing.

  Sleep, my darling, sleep.Don't cry, my baby.Your rice with honey,Is already prepared.

  When you wake upI'll feed you.After you've eatenYou'll py over here.If there's a chore,I'll call you,No need to go farTo get you.

  Don't cry, my love,I'll hold you in my arms.When you grow upYou'll go to school,You'll gather knowledge,You'll learn.One day, my love,It will help you.

  Don't cry, my love,I'll worry.I need to earn a livingTo take care of you.

  It was Sothiya's voice. It was the lulby he had sung to Malen every night, up until five days ago. Dara couldn't understand it, it was impossible, but Sothiya was somehow in that seashell and Malen had known about it. Sothiya, whom Dara burned to ashes just a few hours ago. Sothiya, who wasn't going into the earth because Malen didn't want him to. Sothiya, who would not return to the mother but instead be spread with the wind. To the skies.

  Dara cried out. But Malen put her little hand on top of Dara's.

  "You don't have to be sad anymore, mama. I'm not sad anymore. Daddy is in the shell and the earth can never take him back."