Afeallan

"Chapter" Seventeen

“Líchama, may I have a word with you?” Léas said as he approached from behind in the hallway, putting his hand on Líchama’s rotund shoulder. Léas lead Líchama to the administration room. He locked the door. “Líchama, you and Byldan have been spending a lot of time together when I’m away, are you not?”

“Yes, I suppose we have. Why?”

“Líchama, you know as well as I that appearance is the key to running a city. What do you think people will say if they see Byldan, the wife of their king, walking and talking with the second in command?”

“That’s a valid point, I never really thought about it.”

“Sit down, Líchama. Take a seat on that cot there.” Líchama had not noticed the cot. Líchama sat on the cot. “Now, Líchama, there’s something I’m going to have to do, do you understand.”

“I guess so. What are you going to have to do?”

“Take off your clothes, Líchama.” Léas reached into his desk drawer and retrieved some twine. Líchama shed his clothes. “Lay down, Líchama, I can’t very well do this with you sitting up,” Léas chuckled passively. “Your belly will get in the way.”

Líchama lay down. “What are you going to do?” It was Líchama’s first real show of emotion. Fear.

“Hold onto the side of the mattress, will you? This will be very uncomfortable.” Líchama grasped the sides of the mattress. “Now, don’t let go. Just squeeze real tight now.” Líchama gripped and tried to raise his head to watch Léas over his gut. Léas looped the cord around and began to pull the two ends into a tight knot. Líchama whined, winced, kicked. Léas repeated the procedure, looping the string around itself.

“Why are you doing this?” Líchama wailed, not letting go of the mattress. Unable.

“It’s for your own good.” Léas, wrapping the cord so it would be tight and secure enough, stood from his kneel to retrieve another object from his desk. He took his quill, wiped all the ink away, sterilized it in a candle flame. “This will keep you from getting infected.”

“What’s gonna keep me from getting infected? Infected from what?”

Léas ignored him, carrying on. “In a couple days, the gangrene will set in and it will all go away. They’ll simply fall off.” Líchama screamed and thrashed his legs as Léas inserted the feather. “Hold still, Líchama. Almost through.” Líchama shrieked again, scaring away two birds perched on the window sill. Léas hushed him by placing his mouth over Líchama’s, stifling him with a kiss. Líchama fainted from the pain and depravation of oxygen. “It’s finished,” Léas said, removing himself, as if Líchama could still hear. He laid down next to Líchama in the cot, behind him conforming to his contours, soothing him, petting his sweaty brow. “It will all be over soon.”