The Enchanted Confinement
Two hooded figures arrived and their presence alone angered him. For it was monks, so many years earlier, who had enslaved him and left him alone.
We take up the story as the monks return for a second time. Without inclination of why they had come, they built and lit a fire.
Both were similar in appearance, with shaved heads, and eyes dark and stern in the flickering light. Neither spoke in their preparations, both seemed as eager as the other to get everything right. One produced a three inch thick leather bound book from his pack, the other a single drum. There was something familiar in their faces.
One struck a chorus on the drum, the beat a wild cadence of the past. Instantly he recognised the similarity of the song of his demise, yet it was different somehow. The other danced in step to the drumbeat. All around the fire he sprang, leaping here and there. Every pass of the book, now lying opened, he recited its contents.
The beating of the drum reminded him of the anger he had felt of the monks’ abandonment. There was no doubt in his mind, these two were monks, and this was the time, his time. Was this their plan all along: to enslave him, until they had further need of him? The warmth he now felt was not from the fire, but from his anger rising. It burned him to the core. He willed them to succeed. Do it, set me free. He wanted nothing more than to rip off their heads and burn their decapitated torsos. Or should he wait, he thought suddenly. Should he allow them to live, just long enough for them to lead him to their peers? Yes.
The incantational words of old echoed round the valley, to the wild cadence of the drumbeat. The fire flickered and cackled rhythmically. The ground beneath trembled.