Chink!! Chink!! Chink!! Chink!!
In the center of a room, above a bed made of hay, a slim old man wearing tight black shorts and a skirt woven from leaves danced around the bed.
The man had bracelets woven with bits of iron that clinked together to produce a chime as he moved.
In both hands, he carried a calabash from which incense burned, the smoke and scent filling the room.
On the bed the man danced around lay the sickly body of a young boy with blonde hair, and at the side of the bed knelt an old lady.
Like her husband, the woman had white hair, but unlike him, she held a bead on her forehead and clasped her hands together, letting out soft mutterings.
Showing unwavering dedication despite the stillness of the body on the bed, the old couple continued their antics for several minutes. Then the old woman lowered her hands and, picking up a bowl containing a green liquid, brought it to the boy's lips.
Carefully, she poured some of the bowl's contents down the boy's throat, then sat back and observed him, her hands clasped once more.
The old woman's face looked pious and full of faith, the only discrepancy being her twitching brow.
As the seconds passed, her brow twitched harder and harder, until she finally burst out:
"Stop being a nuisance."
"Me, a nuisance?" The old man froze, one foot lifted in the air, the bowl in his hands held up.
"Yes! With all the noise you're causing, how is his spirit supposed to come back?"
"You're complaining about me? How about you, feeding him that evil concoction?
With that thing in his throat, how is he supposed to breathe and return to life?"
"You dare! That is sacred water, water blessed by the Holy Mother! You better apologize!"
"You apologize too! You called the Dance of the God Kaliso a nuisance!"
Silence passed for a few seconds. Husband and wife stared at each other, and then—
"I'm sorry."
The words left their mouths at the same time, and their eyes immediately returned to the body on the bed.
"I didn't think we were still so attached to him, after everything that's happened," the old woman said quietly.
"He was always here with us. How could we not be attached to him? We both knew this day would come."
"It still hurts," the old woman added, bringing her wrinkly hands to her face and wiping away a tear.
"As it should," the old man replied, placing his hands gently on his wife's shoulders from behind as she picked up her stick and pushed herself to her feet.
Holding his bowl, the old man stared down at the boy for a few seconds, then turned toward the large leaves stacked to the side. A sigh left his lips, echoed by another from his wife, but then a groan rose from the bed.
"Why are you crying?"
Arghh!! The old man dropped his bowl and spun around.
Arghh!! The old woman swung her stick down.
Arghhhhhh!!
The screams echoed through the room—two from the husband and wife, and a third from the boy on the bed, who had his hands over his head, groaning in agony.
"Why'd you scare me like that?!" the old woman berated, while the old man blinked in disbelief at the sight of the boy moving.
"Garve, you're alive!" the old man said, stepping forward, though he was slow in his reaction. By then, his wife had already dropped to her knees as if her back wasn't wrecked, rubbing the spot where she had smacked the boy with her stick.
"Next time, don't scare me like that!"
"Yeah," the old man chimed in sadly, glancing down at his broken bowl and the scattered contents on the floor.
"Next time, say something before you speak."
"You should listen to Grandma," he added again, nodding vigorously.
Recovering from his sorrow over the broken bowl, he moved toward the bed, but a sharp stare from the woman on her knees halted him. Without needing to be told, he quietly removed the bracelets from his wrists.
"How do you feel?"
"He took my blessed water! Can't you see he's fine?" the old woman declared.
"Look at how red his face is! Your concoction nearly killed him!"
"Killed him? Are you blind?! Can't you see it brought him back to life?!"
The husband and wife began bickering, conveniently forgetting that someone who was supposed to be dead was now awake and watching them. The confused boy had to speak once more.
"Who are you people?"
His words instantly caught the couple's attention. They quickly cut off their argument.
"Sorry, Garve," the old woman said. "I'm Grandma, and this is Grandpa. How are you feeling?"
There was a brief silence before the boy spoke again.
"My body feels a bit weak, but compared to last time, it's a lot better. But why are you calling me Garve?"
"Oh, sorry. What do you want to be called?"
"Not what I want to be called, but who I am."
"And who are you?"
"I am Alexander the Third. Do I have to tell you how to properly address me?"
Considering they were old and likely the ones who had healed him, Alexander didn't care much about formality. But being called Garve? That was something else entirely.
Given their age, they could call him son and he wouldn't mind, but Garve?
"Alright, we'll call you Alexander from now on," the old man said, his wife nodding along.
But Alexander was not satisfied.
Sure, they were old, but when had anyone ever spoken his name without at least a touch of reverence or respect?
Even his enemies completed his name when they cursed him.
What weird priest and priestess did they take me to? the great conqueror wondered.