Sitnalta (Sitnalta Series Book 1)

by Alisse Lee Goldenberg

  “This is why I expect you to surrender to me immediately.”

  “I will never surrender to you,” Sitnalta said to him. She drew herself up to her full height, which towered over Najort, but was nowhere near as tall as her father.

  “Then you are a bigger fool than I thought you were,” Supmylo said calmly. “Surely you don’t want your precious little friend’s blood on your hands? He would never survive a fight with me.”

  Sitnalta hesitated. “I . . .”

  Najort stepped forward, placing himself directly in between Sitnalta and the King. “I am here by my own free will. I could have left several times before you even came. Sitnalta plays no part in whatever befalls me. Do what you will.”

  “You are both fools,” Supmylo spat out.

  Najort wiped his face with a large hand. “Maybe so, but I am happier for it. If being sensible means being like you, I want no part of it.”

  Supmylo let out an angry growl. “I should just kill you both and be rid of all my problems.”

  Sitnalta grabbed Najort’s arm. She tried to pull him back out of range of the King’s sword. She suddenly paused. Hoof beats were heard heading towards them.

  “The torch!” Sitnalta whispered to Najort. “They can see his torch!”

  Supmylo let out a cry of rage. “No! It cannot be! My men have no orders to be out this far. It’s that imbecile King. It has to be.” He turned with fury to his daughter. “You! You have ruined me! You are your mother’s child—an insolent wretch who does not deserve to live. She cursed me when she had you. And now I shall be rid of that curse.”

  Supmylo took a few steps forward, brandishing his sword and torch menacingly. With his torch hand, he roughly pushed Najort out of the way, burning Sitnalta on her arm. With a cry—part in fear, part in pain—Sitnalta stumbled backwards trying to get away from her father. Najort got up off the ground and saw Supmylo inching closer to his Sitnalta. Her face was pale and frightened in the torchlight, and Najort knew he had to get her away from the King. The hoof beats were coming closer, but Najort realized it would probably be too late when help arrived. Najort did the one thing he could think of. He ran forward, putting every ounce of strength and speed into every step. Supmylo was getting closer to the Princess. Sitnalta, panicking, tripped over a raised root on the forest floor, and fell backwards onto the ground. Najort heard Supmylo give out a triumphant cry as he raised his sword to destroy his daughter.

  “Don’t you touch her!” Najort heard himself bellow. His voice sounded alien to his ears. All that anger did not seem like it could come from him.

  Najort threw himself at the King, and the two of them grappled for the sword. It was no contest. Najort was a small being. Honest in spirit, so honest in a fight. Supmylo was a large and powerful man with no scruples. Fairness was foreign to him. Najort managed to succeed in getting Supmylo away from where Sitnalta had fallen, but he could not get the sword out of the King’s grasp. He focused all his energy on Supmylo’s hands, pulling on them, scratching at them, prying his arms apart in an attempt to loosen Supmylo’s grip on the sword. He managed to get the torch away from the King. It fell onto the damp leaves, spitting up smoke and angry red sparks. It was Najort’s folly that he did not pay more attention to the King’s legs.

  All it took was one powerful kick to send Najort sprawling. He landed roughly on his back, all the air pushed out of his lungs. He lay there dazed, trying to get his bearings, trying to breathe. He stared up at the sky, blinking furiously. He shook his head, wondering what had happened. Then he remembered Sitnalta. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked around trying desperately to find her. He spotted her getting up not far away. She turned and looked over to where he lay. He gave her a small relieved smile. She did the same back to him. Then, her features went wide with fear. Supmylo ran toward Najort, sword in hand.

  “I’ll be rid of you, creature!” Supmylo screamed.

  “No!” Najort heard Sitnalta cry.

  Najort made a desperate attempt to get out of the way. He scrambled roughly across the ground. But the King’s sword found him. Supmylo drove it with all of his strength through the troll’s body, pinning him to his beloved forest floor.

  Sitnalta ran forward and threw herself atop Najort’s body. Her hands became bloodstained as she tried to see how badly he was wounded. It took one look to determine he would not be healed by any means. She took his hand in hers and stroked his face with the other. She tried to focus on him, but his face disappeared behind a wall of tears that soon overflowed, covering her face and splashing down the front of her dress. She was oblivious to anyone else in the clearing. For her, there was just Najort.

  She knelt there beside him, crying quietly. She knew he was still alive. He gripped her hand just as strongly as she gripped his. She could see his chest steadily moving. She could hear his breathing. It was raspy, but still strong. And yet, she knew she would lose him.

  “Najort,” she sobbed. “Najort, can you hear me? Please answer. Please.”

  “Najort,” came a cold hard voice that caused her to jump. “Najort, can you hear me?”

  Sitnalta turned her head and saw Supmylo standing right behind her, a smug look on his face.

  “You monster!” Sitnalta cried out. She let go of Najort’s hand and got to her feet. “You murderer! You twisted, crazy, egotistical monster!”

  “Your words wound me,” Supmylo said, his voice oozing sarcasm. “I came over here for my sword.”

  Sitnalta looked over to where Najort lay. “If you touch him, I will kill you.”

  “I highly doubt that,” Supmylo said. “You are too righteous.”

  Supmylo brushed her aside and began walking towards Najort. Sitnalta looked around wildly, searching the ground. Her eyes caught the still smoking torch lying not far from her feet. She grabbed it and ran up behind Supmylo. Summoning all her strength, all her anger, all her fury, she swung it hard into Supmylo’s head.

  The King’s eyes rolled back into his skull, as he dropped face first onto the ground. Sitnalta stood over him breathing heavily, shocked at what she had done. She dropped the torch and bent over her father. He was still alive. She had not killed him. But he would not be waking again for some time.

  Sitnalta resumed her vigil over Najort’s prostrate form. She pushed his brown curls off of his face and kissed him upon his forehead. His eyes flickered open. Sitnalta smiled at him.

  “Najort,” she said. “Can you hear me?”

  Najort opened his mouth to try to speak. No sound came out.

  “Don’t talk,” Sitnalta told him. “Listen okay? You saved my life. I want to thank you for that. You did a wonderful thing, and I’m afraid I’m going to lose you now. Please don’t leave me. You are my friend and I need you with me. You taught me so much. Stay with me okay? Fight for me. Fight to stay with me. I love you, Najort.”

  A group of horses made its way to where Sitnalta sat with Najort. King Gerald was at the forefront of the group. His eyes took in all that had happened. He dismounted and ran over to Sitnalta.

  “My god, what has happened?” he asked her.

  “He saved my life,” she told him. “He saved me from Supmylo, and Supmylo did this to him.” She turned and looked at Gerald. She had stopped crying. “I can save him. I know how. But I need you to do something for me.”

  “Anything,” Gerald solemnly told her.

  “Stay with him. Keep him awake. Talk to him. Make sure he keeps fighting.”

  “I will do that,” Gerald promised her. “You have my word.”

  With that settled, Sitnalta rose and ran off into the forest with a mission.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Sitnalta tore through the forest in the inky darkness, cursing her lack of light. Her head was pounding and her muscles ached. But she knew she had to reach the cave. She was continually stumbling and tripping. Her mind was not on her journey, but it was back where Najort was lying, with his life slowing ebbing away from him.

  Afte
r what seemed like centuries, she finally reached the familiar clearing. With a stab of pain, she realized that if her plan did not work, Najort would never be there again, caring for his home or walking over his bridge. He would never be able to teach her how to swim. Pushing such thoughts from her mind, she entered the cave.

  In the darkness, it was difficult to find what she was looking for. She ran her hands along the walls, searching. She thought she had had a good idea about the geography of the place that had been her home all that time. Evidently, she had been wrong. She had not counted on the fact that Supmylo’s men had so thoroughly destroyed everything that had once made the cave such a homey place to live. Sitnalta was continually catching her feet on ripped cloth, scratching her hands on shards of broken pottery, and stubbing her toes on smashed furniture. But, somehow, she found the entrance to the hidden chamber. All that was left was to find the coin.

  She went straight for the pedestal, and ran her hands up and down the crudely shaped stone. Her fingers slipped into every nick and groove. She poked and prodded, all the while, a little voice in her head kept singing out that time was of the essence, and she did not have much of it left. She worked at a feverish rate. Her hands were shaking, which she knew was detrimental to her mission.

  Letting out a deep breath, she removed her hands from the rock and shook them out, trying to calm her frayed nerves. When she thought she could handle it, she tried again. This time, it did not take long before she found what she was looking for. Hidden in a deep groove in the stone, wrapped in a torn piece of one of her dresses was Kralc’s coin.

  Sitnalta took it out of its wrappings. Its golden glow immediately lit up the round space she was in. She held it in her bloodstained hand, its light making the red splashes on her skin stand out more than ever. She wondered if she should use it now—heal Najort immediately. But if he has already died . . .

  Sitnalta questioned whether a wish of healing would work on someone who was already dead, then pushed such macabre ideas out of her head. She wrapped the coin back up in its cloth, and decided it would probably be better to use it when she could see Najort with her own eyes.

  Sitnalta got up and left the cave, heading back to where Najort lay with Gerald keeping an ever-vigilant watch.

  ~ ~ ~

  Gerald sat beside Najort, holding his hand and talking endless streams of gibberish. He felt a bit silly, but Najort seemed alert and appreciative of the attention. Gerald had simply run out of interesting things to say, and was now talking about the different crops that were grown in his Kingdom. Sitnalta had been gone for quite some time, and Gerald feared the troll’s strength was waning.

  Supmylo was still unconscious, yet King Gerald felt it prudent to shackle him to a tree should he wake up. He intended to take the King of Colonodona into his custody once this was over, and he felt that none of Supmylo’s people would object too strongly.

  Sitnalta soon came bursting through the trees and sat down slightly breathless beside Najort, across from Gerald.

  “How is he?” she gasped. “Is he any better?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Gerald said. “If anything, he seems weaker.”

  Sitnalta bent over, so that her lips were just barely touching Najort’s ear. “Listen to me Najort,” she said to him, in a voice so low only he could hear. “I’ve brought the coin. Don’t worry about anything. I will make you well again. I promise. Trust me. I love you.”

  Sitnalta straightened up once more and took the coin from its wrappings. Gerald watched in amazement. Sitnalta held the coin in her hand and took a deep breath. Using his last ounce of strength, Najort reached over and took Sitnalta’s hand in his. She looked at him and smiled. Through her fingers, he could feel the warm metal surging with power. He turned his head so he could see her face more clearly.

  “S-Sitnalta,” Najort managed to say.

  “Don’t push yourself,” Sitnalta told him. “You will be all right in a moment.”

  “Let it go. Learn to let things go. I wish,” Najort pushed on quietly, “I wish you your dream—your city—your joy.”

  With that last statement, Najort took his last breath, and died in his forest, lying by the one person he cared for. Gerald watched, and as a tear made its way down his careworn cheek, he watched as the Princess bowed her head and cried.

  Epilogue

  Ipsinki walked through the dungeons to monitor the prisoners. Since King Gerald had taken over and made him the Duke of Colonodona, Ipsinki had made sure that real justice was being done. As a result, the dungeons were emptier than they ever had been under Supmylo’s rule. People were being arrested and punished for true crimes, not just slights against the King.

  Ipsinki paused in front of the darkest and dampest cell. He took the nearest torch off the wall and lit it to peer inside.

  “How are we doing today?” he asked the glowering figure in the corner.

  When he got no response, Ipsinki laughed. “You had better stop sulking and make the best of your situation. You’re going to be here for a long time. Your whole life, in fact.”

  Supmylo rushed the bars with a growl of rage. In the torchlight, Ipsinki could see the full effect that prison had had on the former monarch. His muscles were now wasting away, his face was grey with palour, and his eyes were bloodshot and filled with a wild madness that made him seem more animal than man.

  “You would love that, wouldn’t you?” Supmylo spat angrily. “You come here nearly every day to gloat. I will have my vengeance for this. Your head will be the first to roll. I will see to it personally. You first, followed by my ungrateful daughter and her harlot of a governess. Then I will leave Gerald here to rot, just as he has done to me.”

  Ipsinki held his ground. “You don’t scare me anymore,” he said. “You don’t scare anyone actually.”

  With that, Ipsinki turned and walked off down the hall, listening to Supmylo screaming and threatening him with every breath. Each word was like a song in the former captain’s heart.

  ~ ~ ~

  King Gerald sat beside his Queen under the shade of a spreading oak tree. He sighed in contentment as he watched Sitnalta ride her horse around the castle grounds. He had never known happiness so complete. Queen Aud sat working on a needlework piece, looking up every time Sitnalta shrieked with laughter, shaking her head at the Princess’s seemingly unladylike behavior. Some days, Aud still couldn’t believe how far she had come—starting as the Princess’s governess, rising to become her guardian, and now, Queen of the land. Each morning, she felt she had to pinch herself to be sure she was not dreaming. This was her life now, and she loved every second of it.

  “When do our guests arrive?” she asked Gerald.

  “Soon,” he replied.

  It had been a year since that night when Sitnalta’s life had changed so completely. In that time, King Gerald had shocked his Kingdom by marrying Aud, and the two of them had taken Sitnalta on as their own child, ruling both Sarrin and Colonodona, making the Kingdoms one. It had ushered in a time of peace and prosperity, for which the people had been praying for some time. Their King and Queen were beloved, and ruled with integrity rather than fear.

  For the first time, Princess Sitnalta knew what it felt like to have a true family. She still mourned her friend Najort, but with Aud and Gerald’s love and support, her tears were increasingly replaced with smiles and laughter. It helped that her home was now in Sarrin, where she grew to love spending her days amongst the flowers in the garden, learning what each blossom was called, and weaving them into coronets for her and Aud to wear. Her hair still hadn’t grown back to the length it had been, but the shoulder-length peacock blue strands were now growing longer by the day, much as the Princess was growing ever taller.

  A servant approached the King and Queen to inform them that the delegation had arrived. King Gerald rose and called Sitnalta over. She turned her horse and cantered over to him.

  “Our guests are here,” he told her as she dismounted.

  “The isla
nders?” Sitnalta asked.

  “The King and Queen have come with their son to sign a trade agreement.”

  “It’s amazing that this new land has come out to trade with us,” Sitnalta said. “I’ve never heard of them before. I wonder what they’re like.”

  “I hear that where they’re from is quite different then what we’re used to here.”

  “I wish we could go there one day,” Sitnalta said. She smiled widely. “I have always wanted to see the ocean, walk on a beach, and collect seashells. It must be utterly divine!”

  “When they’re here, you can ask them all about it. But please do not overwhelm them. Please behave for me.” Gerald said.

  Sitnalta laughed. “I always behave for you.”

  King Gerald smiled warmly at the Princess. “Of course you do.”

  A tall man and woman were led towards them. Sitnalta looked hesitantly at them. She still felt wary around new people. Their hair was chestnut brown, as were their eyes. They had full lips and dark skin. Their faces were open and friendly. Sitnalta felt her nerves ease away. There was nothing to fear here.

  King Gerald led them to the bench to introduce them to his wife, and Sitnalta saw a young man standing awkwardly behind where they had been standing. She walked over to him, noting that he resembled them in looks, if not in stature. She was at least a half-foot taller than he was.

  “Hello,” she said to him. “I am Princess Sitnalta. You must be the Prince.”

  The boy looked up at her. As their eyes met, Sitnalta gasped. She had only seen eyes that exact colour, with that exact expression of openness and honesty, on one other person.

  “Do I know you?” Sitnalta asked him.

  The boy smiled at her. “Did you find your happiness?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry?” Sitnalta was taken back.

  “I said ‘hello,’” he said.

  Sitnalta was at a loss for words. She knew that what she was thinking could not possibly be, and yet her heart told her that this boy was real.