Lost in Ash (The Phoenix Experiment - Book 1)

CHAPTER TEN

"Tell it again, Mom!"

Alva laughed as her son, Atwood, launched himself off his lofted bed and into the oversized bean bag below.

"Atwood! No jumping," Zixin scowled from her side.

She was safe in the crook of his arm, sitting curled up together on the double sofa in their son's bedroom. Amongst them were stacks of books, toys, and electronics. Many of which were unreleased techs or issues.

Zixin stood, walked over to Atwood, and swooped him up. He tossed him up once in the air, before doing a playful groan. "You're getting heavy, buddy."

"Duh, 'cause I'm nine," Atwood stated back as he wrapped his small arms around Zixin's neck.

"I hear kids are the heaviest at nine," Alva added.

Zixin and Atwood shared a look before rolling their eyes. "Mom's silly," Atwood fake whispered to his father.

Zixin chuckled looking over at Alva as he said, "He gets sassier with every story you tell."

"They aren't stories," Alva snapped. The tension in the room was suddenly a crushing force. It made the room seem to freeze as she locked eyes with her husband. So much passed between the wordless looks. She could see him begging her to drop it, and she knew that he heard her hope. Heard the reason. That didn't stop the look of cold disappointment that crossed Zixin's beautifully gentle features. She'd been on the receiving end of that look so often lately.

The sounds of coughing, or truly the sounds of hacking, that made anyone's chest ache just by its echo, reverberated around Atwood's room. Alva felt her world stop as she froze. Helpless to do anything but watch as Zixin cradled their son close. Trying to get the young boy to breathe, to stay calm and not panic. They'd learned early on that panic only made it worse.

There was no point in grabbing the breathing machine that now collected dirt on Atwood's bedside table. It had only ever made things worse anyway. There were no signs of disease or cancer in the boy's lungs, but there was striking decay. No one had been able to explain it. Even Atwood's body didn't register the decay as a threat. It wasn't doing anything to fight it off. It was as if Atwood's body - at the mere age of nine – decided to die.

And there was nothing they could do.

Both of them were doctors by more than one degree. Both had gone through medical school and much more school beyond that. They were highly regarded in their perspective fields, commonly referred to as once-in-a-lifetime minds by their coworkers and other professionals. Neither of them had ever come across a problem they couldn't solve.

Until their son was dying.

Then it all started to fall apart...

"Bàba..." Atwood struggled to push the word out himself, but it made Alva's body relax a fraction. "Can Mom," He wheezed a breath in, and Alva stood walking over to her little family. She placed her small hand on his forward, sweeping away some of his bangs from out of his eyes. It needed to be cut soon. "Tell it again?"

Zixin sighed heavily, Alva noticed how his hands were rubbing slow circles on Atwood's back. She knew he didn't want to put him down, didn't want to miss a single moment he had. She knew because she felt it too. Atwood was their world, and they were losing it.

"There's no better way to hear a legend than curled up in an extra-large bean bag," Alva turned to look up at her husband, a small understanding smile on her face as she tried her best to reassure him.

At first, his eyes searched hers wildly, she could see him about to argue. He had the most expressive face, one of the things that Alva loved most about him. He was authentic. Slowly, she removed her hand from the top of Atwood's head and moved it to cup Zixin's cheek. She didn't say anything, but the small gesture made him nod in agreement before carrying Atwood over to the bean bag.

It took a bit of time for them to all settle in, cuddled together as best they could on the bean bag. While it was extra-large, Zixin still didn't quite fit, but they were close and resting. That was all that mattered.

"In the caves of the most ancient mountains in Madacia," Alva began, her voice soft as she started the legend that Atwood adored.

"In southern Mirka!" Atwood added, having heard it a hundred times before.

Alva nodded, "Yes, in southern Mirka. There on the walls of caves is a legend. A legend of a powerful people. Known for their great kindness to those passing through but known by something even greater for those who stayed. As it goes, whenever the moon would turn red or orange, one person would be given gifts, a feast, and paraded through the village in the most lavish garments. When the red moon would-"

"Or orange!" Atwood reminded.

"Or orange," Alva agreed with a chuckle. "On this moon, a large bonfire would be lit with the chosen person tied to an altar in the center. The wall tells of one brave soul, a woman who chose to stay even when all of her family had left. It is said that the woman had never seen a ritual before, the first one she'd ever experienced she was sitting on the altar."

"That's enough," Zixin grumbled but made no other move to break up the story.

"This is where it gets good, Bàba!" Atwood mumbled in a weak voice, stretching out his tiny hand to hold his father's.

"The carvings of the cave talk about her screams, about how she begged for their help. It was said many mothers couldn't bear it at scratched off their ears. But no one moved to help the woman as she roasted."

"Alva," Zixin scowled again, this time looking up at her with a stern look. A warning that she knew all too well, "I'm serious."

Alva nodded with an uncommitted smile; she heard her husband huff as she went on. "For two days the bonfire raged, while the clouds covered the sky from both the sun and the moon. But on the second night, right when the moon would be at its highest the clouds parted. The moon's beams only touched one spot, where the bonfire had been, and where now there was only a giant pile of ash and rapidly cooling coals. What's next on the wall?"

She watched as the dullness in Atwood's eyes faded just a bit, "The ashes move."

"The ashes move," Alva nodded, placing her hand gently on the boy's chest as he struggled to take in another breath. "The ashes molded into the form of the woman with the help of the wind. When the ash was hardened to flesh by the beams of the moon, it says that there were still tear strains on her cheeks. But what captivates the writers of the walls are her eyes. A furry flared within them, as vengeance and revenge had taken hold over what was thought to be a pure soul. With a newly formed arm, she reached a hand out-"

"I said enough!" Zixin snapped, though he didn't raise his voice, "Come on, bud." He scooped up the boy, placing him gently on his bed. Her husband took his time tucking their son in, whispering sweet words and reminding him of the call buttons nearby in case his breath left him in the night.

Alva patiently waited for her turn, waiting until Zixin moved to leave the room. She watched him retreating before pulling the covers an inch higher over Atwood's chest. She bent forward to kiss his cheek, the metal of the loft bed biting into her abdomen as she did so.

"Why does it scare him?" Atwood asked suddenly.

"It reminds him of something he can't have," Alva answered vaguely while still trying to stay true to the issue. She didn't want to lie to Atwood. "I love you, Atwood."

"I know, Mom. I love you too," he told her on a yawn.

Alva stood there and watched as he blinked slowly once before tumbling into sleep, "Dream big."