Sitnalta (Sitnalta Series Book 1)

by Alisse Lee Goldenberg

  “Please!” she cried out at him.

  It was after breakfast. He had made scrambled eggs. They had eaten them with berries and some buns he had baked the day before. Having finished eating, Sitnalta had risen with her dish in hand. She intended to wash it and put it away in the cave. Najort had gotten to his feet as well, holding his half finished meal. He was about to follow her.

  “Please, Najort,” she said again. “I am only going to the cave. Nowhere else. I do not need you to follow me. I’m a big girl. I can do this myself.”

  Najort appeared mildly hurt, causing Sitnalta to feel badly about what she had said. But she stood her ground. She turned and went to the cave, placed her dish on its shelf and walked back to where Najort had resumed eating. She stood over him.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “I am going for a walk now,” she told him.

  “Do not worry. I shall be finished in a moment.” He nodded towards his eggs.

  Sitnalta held in an exasperated sigh. “No,” she said to him. “I am going alone.”

  Najort opened his mouth to protest.

  “I promise not to go far.” She held up her right hand, as if making a solemn vow. “I will not be gone long.”

  He chewed on his bottom lip, considering what she said. He wondered why her desire for time alone was bothering him so much.

  “I do not like it,” he told her. “Not too long ago, you yourself were worried about herds of soldiers storming our cave. Now you want to go off into the forest alone? I do not like it. No one bit.” He crossed his arms thinking he had won the argument.

  Sitnalta glared at him. “I just want some time to myself. I swear to you I will not act impulsively. I will not go searching out trouble. I will not go anywhere near a river. I will not track evil men on horseback. I will stay safe. Promise.” She smiled at him hopefully, praying he had been won over. “I swear that I’m not doing this to hurt you, or because I’m tired of you, or anything like that. I just want some ‘me’ time.”

  Najort sighed and gave in. “One hour. Then come right back.”

  “Two.” She had won.

  “One and a half.”

  “Two.”

  “All right. But, come right back.”

  Sitnalta gave him her widest grin, and went skipping off into the trees.

  Sitnalta walked slowly among the trees. She had tucked some wildflowers behind her left ear, their red and yellow petals bright against the blue of her hair. She breathed deeply. The air smelled of damp earth and fresh grass. She inhaled it. She loved it. The woods here were heavenly. The trees grew every which way they pleased—reaching for the skies at crazy angles and curves. Their bark was thick with moss. Their order was chaotic.

  The ground upon which Sitnalta walked was spongy with fallen leaves and rot. She loved how everything seemed, to the untrained eye, to be ruled by disorder—so unlike the orchard of home. There the trees grew in regimented rows. Supmylo’s wooden soldiers dispensing their fruit with regularity—right on schedule. Here, in the wild forest, all appeared free.

  She stopped under the spreading branches of an ancient maple. Its trunk was gnarled, with branches reaching up like the twisted fingers of an old man. She fancied she could make out the features of his face in the bark. He was smiling at her, his eyes winking in two knots. She grinned back at him. She looked up, trying to see the sky through his branches. It glowed green through the leaves. She felt as if she were peering at emeralds. Sitnalta cocked her head to the sky, and watched them dance on a light breeze. They were whispering to her—enchanting her. She tried to commit every movement, every word, to memory.

  She suddenly frowned. A small nagging voice was telling her to enjoy her freedom while she still could. She would not have it for long, it said. Sitnalta furrowed her brow, trying to banish such thoughts far away. She strove to recapture the stillness and peace that had been hers only moments before. But the voice persisted. It hissed incessantly, a pesky buzzing, chipping away at her optimism and joy. It told her Supmylo would find her—that she could never escape him—his reach was too far, his strength too great.

  “He will drag you back to his castle and Najort will die,” it said.

  “Be quiet!” she hissed to herself. She pulled her hands free, and stood trembling. The wildflowers had fallen from behind her ear and lay bright on the ground. It had been as if someone had stood beside her—someone real, corporeal—someone who had been whispering these words into her ear. She giggled nervously. Surprised to hear herself laugh, she calmed down somewhat. The very situation struck her as absurd. She came out here for the very purpose of finding some time on her own. She would do just that.

  Sitnalta picked a direction and resumed her walk under the trees. She swung her arms and strode onwards, not caring how silly she might appear to whatever creature may see her. Soon she was humming a tune to herself, making it up as she went along. It cheered her up immensely.

  She was practically skipping when she came upon something very odd, which she would have missed, had it not been for a very large, black squirrel. It sat staring at her with bright, intelligent eyes, and held its forepaws out as if it were praying. Its large, bushy tail twitched from side to side, as if the squirrel were nervous about something. Sitnalta smiled at it. She thought it was adorable! She had never seen a squirrel so big before—especially one with such well-groomed fur.

  “Hello there,” she said in a low voice.

  The squirrel’s ears twitched in fright.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, not really expecting an answer. She crouched down low and reached out her hand, wondering if its fur was as soft as it looked.

  The squirrel responded to this gesture by hopping out of reach and darting under a bush, where it vanished from sight.

  “I must have frightened it,” Sitnalta mused to herself. That was when her eyes caught sight of a strange indentation in the dirt where the squirrel had been sitting. The part closest to her started out round and then separated into two separate lines, as if it were an oddly shaped semicircle—like a horseshoe. Sitnalta suddenly realized—it’s a hoof print! Her mind reeled, as if every single one of her fears had just come true. But how was this possible? Had they really come this far out? No, she told herself, this could not be happening! This was not true. Part of her thought she should go back, warn Najort. But another part wondered why she should worry him at all. It was just a suspicion. Nothing more.

  Sitnalta sat there in the mud, her knees drawn up to her chest, unsure of what to do.

  “Perhaps I’m being silly,” she said aloud. Her voice seemed to ring out among the trees. “It could just be a hunter.” She unconsciously lowered her voice. “Or perhaps a farmer. No, that would be stupid. Why would a farmer go out riding in the forest? Especially one known to have a man-eating troll in it?”

  She ran her fingers through her hair, thinking. “It’s probably nothing. Why be needlessly scared and worried?” An idea came to her. “If I wanted to be sure, I could just . . .”

  Her plan seemed foolhardy and possibly dangerous, but she was caught up in reckless energy. She straightened out her legs. “Horses have more than one foot. Where there’s one print, there are sure to be others.”

  Sitnalta found herself sneaking through the bushes that grew under the trees. She was practically on her hands and knees. Burs had snared themselves in her hair, painfully pulling as it got caught in the branches. Her dress was torn in several places and had a thick coating of mud all down the front. Her face was covered in dirt. Her hands were scratched raw and were hurting. Despite all of this, she was intent on following the trail. She was confident that there were at least two people on horseback. Neither of them had made any effort in concealing their tracks. Aside from the hoof prints, they had left a trail of broken branches, flowers, and bushes that had been trampled flat into the ground. Some trees had limbs practically torn off. Sitnalta found it all too easy to follow them. The one problem was that she did not know if
the people had passed by moments or days before. She assumed the trail was fresh, but could not possibly be sure. At this point, she did not care one bit. It was an adventure all the same. She was a huntress now, stalking her prey through the wild. It was a refreshing change from being the one who was pursued.

  She had been tracking the horses for an hour when she heard voices a few yards up ahead. Heart thudding loudly in her ears, she crouched low and stayed out of sight, hidden in a blackberry bush.

  “I ain’t goin’ no further, Captain.”

  “You don’t have much choice. Please don’t make my job any harder than it already is.”

  Sitnalta recognized the second voice. It belonged to Ipsinki. She remembered him from the castle. They had always gotten along quite well. He would tell her jokes that would leave her laughing for hours. She smiled to herself at the memory. When had he become a captain though? He had not had the fortune of such a promotion when she was in the castle. What had happened to the last man to have that post? She moved closer.

  “I ain’t tryin’ to be hard on you, sir.”

  “Good,” Ipsinki replied. “Let’s move on.”

  Sitnalta could see them now. There were indeed two men. Ipsinki, and one whose face she could not quite place, though he did look familiar. Ipsinki sat atop a beautiful glossy black stallion. He was wearing full armour. The other man was similarly dressed, seated on a chestnut mare. He was pudgy, with a sullen pockmarked face.

  “Don’t be difficult!” Ipsinki appeared both tired and annoyed. Sitnalta felt badly for him.

  “But. Captain, I don’t wanna get eaten!”

  “King Supmylo says there are absolutely no trolls in this forest whatsoever. Now stop being a child and let’s continue our search.”

  “I dunno if I put much stock in what the King says. He don’t seem to care much for the lives of his men. I mean he is killin’ us off for insubo…insula… not listenin’. That don’t sound like he’s all about our best interests, now does it?”

  Ipsinki looked defeated. “What do you want me to do, Willem?” he said in a low, pained voice.

  Willem! Sitnalta grinned wickedly to herself. She remembered him now. Before she had run away, Willem had been a dishwasher with the castle’s kitchen staff. She recalled he had a real phobia regarding rodents of any type. Sitnalta had thoroughly enjoyed tormenting him because of this. She remembered how she had once caught a mouse that had entered the castle, and then placed it inside one of the large pots he had to clean. How he had screamed when he found it! She still laughed hysterically every time she thought of the look on his face when his hands encountered its fur.

  Sitnalta sat back on her heels, still keeping out of sight, and snickering quietly to herself. How that man had ever become a soldier was beyond her. Her father must be getting desperate. She listened in some more, as Willem continued to plead with Ipsinki.

  “What the King don’t know won’t hurt us, Captain,” he was saying.

  “So, you want to turn back and lie to the King?” Ipsinki sighed. “I don’t think I can do that.”

  Willem nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir. I want to go home. And I don’t want ol’ Supmylo to know. I understand you might have a problem with my idea, sir. But I reckon it won’t do us harm in the long run. No, sir. I just don’t wanna get eaten by no troll, sir.”

  Ipsinki looked away. “It’ll be my head on the block, Willem.”

  “The King’ll never know, sir.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “If you ask me, the Princess, if she’s even still alive, is better off far from the King anyhow.”

  Ipsinki nodded, mind made up. “Let’s move out.”

  The two men rode off together, leaving Sitnalta’s spirits significantly lifted. When she was sure they were far from where she was, and she was safe, she crept out of her bush, brushed off her dress, and headed back to Najort’s cave. She was very late, and she was sure he would have some questions for her regarding what she had been up to.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Aud sat in the library not knowing why she was there. A cup of cold tea was in her right hand. She was not drinking it. A book lay open in her lap. She was not reading it. She had randomly picked it off the shelf and set it upon her lap, opened at a random page. Aud was not meeting anyone in the library that day. Especially not King Gerald. Since she had come to the decision not to encourage his attentions in any way, she had been avoiding him for days—avoiding not being an accurate term for her actions. She had, in fact, been purposely running into him by accident, then treating him overly cordially and coolly. Each encounter left her feeling wretched and small. She had no explanation for her masochistic behaviour. In fact, this behaviour was exactly why she was sitting in the library with her cold tea and unread book. She let out a heavy breath.

  “This is ridiculous!” she hissed at herself. She got up, put the teacup down, deposited the book back on the shelf, and left for her bedroom.

  Aud marched through the halls until she reached her room. She entered and loudly shut the door behind her. Untying her apron, Aud crossed the room, kicking off her shoes at the same time. She neatly folded her apron and placed it atop her bureau. She reached up and undid her bun. Aud ran her fingers through her white hair and shook her head, loosening the strands. It felt so good on her scalp to have her hair free. She smiled to herself.

  A knock at the door startled her, causing her to jump.

  “Who’s there?” she gasped.

  “Aud, open the door,” said a slightly irritated masculine voice.

  Aud’s brow crinkled as she tried to place it. She knew it from somewhere. She did not budge.

  “Aud,” it sounded again. “Open the door.” It sounded as if his patience was wearing thin.

  Aud still did not move. She would never dream of letting a strange man into her bedroom.

  “Aud,” it said once more. “It has never been a habit of mine to barge into a lady’s room uninvited. But if you refuse to open this door . . .”

  Aud’s brow creased further. “King Gerald?” she asked.

  “Yes, Aud, who else would it be?” the voice confirmed.

  Aud scrambled forward to let him in. King Gerald looked around in interest. He took in her meager furnishings: bed, bureau, basin, and wicker chair. Her one decoration was a drawing of herself with a young blue-haired girl. He recognized the girl as Sitnalta, in spite of the crude, childish rendering of the piece.

  The two adults stood in an awkward silence that stretched out for miles. They stared everywhere except at each other. King Gerald cleared his throat. Aud occupied herself by smoothing out nonexistent creases in her long black skirt with her hands. She absently shuffled her feet. He rubbed at his arm. He cleared his throat again. She sniffed. Gerald concluded he could not take much more of this.

  “What are we doing?” Gerald asked Aud, exasperated with the entire situation.

  Aud looked at him, bewildered. “Excuse me?”

  “We are acting like children!”

  Aud made a disbelieving sound in the back of her throat. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “I mean,” Gerald said. “We are standing here ignoring each other, practically . . .”

  Aud interrupted him. “This was not my idea. I was not the one who came banging on the door, demanding to be let in!”

  “Banging?” Gerald stared at her, mouth agape. “I was not banging! I knocked. Politely. Furthermore,” he went on. “I’m not the one skulking around the castle searching me out, just to ignore me by putting on various superior airs!”

  Aud was greatly affronted. “I put on superior airs? I did? How dare you say that?”

  She stood facing him—hands on hips, eyes blazing. Inside, she was shaking. A mere few days before, she would never have even dreamt of speaking to a king in such a manner.

  “Yes, you did.” Gerald stood by what he said, despite the fact that inside, he was quaking at Aud’s rage. She looked like a force to be reckoned with. He wen
t on anyway. “Aud, I do not understand your behaviour towards me. Especially since not too long ago, we were getting on so well. What happened?” He appeared genuinely hurt.

  Aud felt herself losing her resolve. Looking at the King, she desperately wanted to apologize to him. Make everything go back to the way it was. She wanted her friend back. Her heart was telling her to go for it. But her head was telling her it would never work. Whatever was happening between her and King Gerald had no right to exist. She sighed. “I do not want to discuss it,” she managed to get out. “You should just go. It’s better this way. Leave me alone.”

  “I disagree.”

  Aud saw that King Gerald was standing squarely in front of the bedroom door, her only exit. She desperately wanted out of the room. She shook her head, mouthed the word “no.”

  “I disagree,” Gerald repeated. “Your attitude towards me has changed so completely. I would be lying if I said it did not hurt. If I have offended you in any way . . .” He held up his hands, palms up, a gesture of peace.

  “You did not offend me.” Aud’s eyes were downcast. Seeing Gerald act this wounded pained her more than she would care to admit. “You were, you are, the perfect gentleman,” she whispered.

  “Then, what happened?” His eyes pleaded with her. This woman meant more to him than he ever imagined anyone would.

  “It would never work.” Aud felt as if she were sinking. She felt lost.

  “What would never work?” King Gerald looked at her. She looked so alone. She begged him to leave with her eyes. He refused her request.