May. 28, 2009 - CHAPTER ONE!!!!!! YAY US!!!
Last Man Standing [just coming from me [Syd] I have no idea how this title is going to fit into the storyline. It was HER *points at Pip* fault! She thinks up strange titles and THEN writes the book to fit. I write the book and THEN think up a title. Pip and I are learning quickly that we have very different writing styles. This chapter is a joint effort from both of us, but in future, Pip shall write one chapter and then me the next and so on. Enjoy!]
Chapter one-Caedan
Caedan looked down at his sister, several hours his younger sibling, and a tender smile turned up the corners of his mouth. Corliss was curled up on her straw cot, covered by a thin quilt, breathing peacefully. The blue early morning light illuminated her finely-shapen face so that she looked like a peaceful angel. She was well deserving of the sleep; though she had only seen the snowfalls of seventeen winters, Corliss had to perform the duties better suited to a grown woman. Their father was away to see his family; rumor of a terrible plague springing out of nowhere had circulated around the wide realm and cases in the early stage had recently reached the western regions. The twins' father had been notified that his old mother and younger brother had taken ill, so he had packed his things, leaving the book-binding shop in the care of his son, and had bid his weak bed-ridden wife goodbye before journeying westward.
Caedan could still summon up the memory of the single tear sparkling down his twin sister's sun-browned cheek, the empty feeling he himself had felt, as they watched their father strike out across the realm, walking with long strides, headed for a town where he could gain a horse. Their father had left to tend his family two moons ago, and there had been very little written correspondence during that time. Corliss had worked her hands to the bone keeping a fire in the hearth alive through the last clinging remains of the wintry chill, frosty across the wooded realm, and making sure their mother was comfortable in her bed with plenty of new spring buds to give her color. Caedan had many commissions to fill the hours of his days; the scents of ink and crispy paper clung to his simple homespun clothes and binding cord continually spilled out of his pockets. He spent most of the day in the back room, bent over the battered desk his father used for his work, his fingers flying swiftly in the motions of the trade. Corliss made them a hot soup with crusty bread or a fry of vegetables and rice for their evening meal and they went to sleep as soon as their mother dosed off while being soothed by the sounds of one of her children reading aloud one of the precious books lining the high cedarwood shelves in the main room. Life was busy and quiet; it passed on without tragedy or change, gave them laughter every so often, smiles to one another, an occasional worried glance out the window when Mother's fever was too hot to the touch.
Yet that morning as Caedan stood watching his sister's face, watching her shoulders move up and down with quiet breathing, he had the tingly sensation of something about to occur. There was a restless tension, a resonating shadow lurking over his soul that morning, and Caedan did not like it. Pushing the thick black hair out of his startlingly bright blue eyes, Caedan went into the back room and shoved a large quilt away from a bulky cart made of wood with a stretched canvas awning nailed to the sides of two vertical posts. The cart had handles for pushing and a drawer underneath the flat surface to store books. It was a book shop on wheels, and Caedan fingered it lovingly. He was thinking back to the first time when he discovered his father not only binded the books in need of repair, but also peddled books in the large sprawling city of Raltin, where the one king of the united realms ruled from his great castle, standing tall and stony-cold in the center of clustered houses and inns.
Caedan stopped in his motions, an armful of books weighing him down. The king. Realization struck him and he sat down abruptly. A picture drew itself out in his mind of the election papers tacked onto the town square noticeboard. Since the departure of his father, Caedan had sold the books no one wanted any longer in the bustling marketplace, near the center of the city, yet he had never paid much mind to the announcements of upcoming events and advertising signs. It now came to him; today was the day that the people were to crown their new king. Caedan did not know much of the king the people had voted for in the elections several weeks ago. Indeed, no one knew much about the future king. His wife had run away from him, spouting furious curses against his lazy and abrupt nature, but no one took the half-mad woman seriously. She had run through the city, dragging her two little daughters behind her, and no one had tried to stop her. She had been a spiteful woman and her accusations surely held no truth in them. The king, who had on that day merely been in the running for his high position, had stood on the steps of the inn, watching his wife run from him with expressionless eyes. One of the little girls had tried vainly to fight against her mother's sharp grasp, but a sudden slap to the side of her head had silence her into a tearful sulk. The other was so frightened and limp with shock that she did nothing against her enraged mother as she took them deep into the northwestern woods fringing the outer reaches of the realm.
And this man was to be the new king? Caedan felt an involuntary shudder creep up his spine and he had to clench his fists and close his eyes before the feeling went away. No use despairing of the city people's decision; no matter if it had been made without regard to the opinions of the outer farmers and tradesmen living a few miles south of the great city. No messenger had come with news of the coronation to the woods and farmland of the south. And now the king would be crowned and his ruling would become indisputable law. Caedan could only hope that the king was wiser in his ruling of his people than he had been in the governing of his own affairs.
Caedan stepped outside into the early morning light, dragging the book cart behind him. He left it standing before the front door and walked around the side of the house where a shaggy black stallion, his forelock falling across his thoughtful eyes, stood inside a small stable chewing hay. When Bonthay caught sight of his rider, he gave a soft nicker and tossed his head. Caedan laughed and went to stroke Bonthay's soft muzzle.
"Are you restless this morning as well?" he asked softly. He smiled at the resemblance between himself and the horse; both had unmanageable black hair and, since his father had often used Bonthay to pull the book cart into the center of Raltin town, both knew hard work. Caedan patted Bonthay's soft shoulder and handed him a sugar cube from his pocket. "I think a long walk will help clear these useless thoughts from my mind," he said. Bonthay turned to look at him quizzically. "Have a day of rest," Caedan told him. Handing the stallion one more sugar cube, Caedan trotted around the house once more and grasped the handles of the cart. He set off at a brisk pace, pulling the cart behind him. The low tops of wood and brick buildings rose into the lightening sky where the large town had been built by the first folk, so many decades ago. The sun was rising in the east, its topaz light burning across the rolling hills, as Caedan pulled the book cart towards the town, breathing deeply. It was so peaceful, here in the dew-crested heart of the morning. Caedan was always reluctant to make trips into Raltin; by nature he was quiet and preferred to use his ears and eyes rather than his tongue. The gentle quiet of the book shop, where the only disturbances were the rustling of pages and his sister calling him to supper, or the occasional disgruntled customer, appealed to him. The calm of his life on the outskirts of the realm with his sister and their mother in the little book shop was a stark contrast to the inner cities where corruption and crime ran rampant. It was growing more and more perilous to journey into Raltin as time went by and nothing was done about the broken government. Now that the elections were over and done with and a new king was to be crowned that day, Caedan prayed that something could be done to bring peace and a stronger reign to the realm.
The three miles into Raltin were soon behind Caedan, and he pushed the gloomy thoughts from his mind as he entered past the tall wrought iron town gates and breathed in the scents of the bustling town; fresh fish being gutted in the alleys, dusty vegetables being stacked in the markets, women's laundry being hung out from the high windows to dry in the sparkling sunshine. Caedan turned down a side road and stopped in front of his favorite delivery. Caedan tipped his head back and studied the squat bakery, the loose tone sides and the fragrant smoke billowing from the chimney. Haliber the baker was pulling two golden loaves from his brick oven to display in the window or to be stacked in the cart kept for the poor and elderly. Caedan leaned in the doorway and grinned at him.
"Well, young bookman," Haliber said in his dusky rumble, dusting off his floury hands upon his rough brown apron, "have you any cookery books for me this fine morning?"
"Aye, sir baker," Caedan replied, working to keep the laughter from his voice; "we just received a good volume on poultry this past eve. Would you perchance be interested?"
Hal threw back his head and his huge stomach shook as he laughed. It was a long-standing joke between the two because everyone in Raltin so admired the baker's breads and pastries that they copied their recipes from the techniques he used, and also because Hal had never used a recipe before in his life. Everything he knew had been knowledge passed down from his father to him.
"Nay, I never put poultry into my cakes and pastries." Hal was still laughing and Caedan smiled. He held the baker, who gave away half the work of his two hands to the less fortunate, in high regard.
"Could I aid you in your deliveries today, Hal?" Caedan asked, but the hearty baker shook his head and tied his apron strings tighter around his ample waist.
"You have yer work, lad, and I have mine. Thank ye all the same."
Caedan nodded. "Very well then; a fine morning to you!" Caedan waved and plodded away, pulling the book cart behind him.
Haliber watched the young man disappear into the thickening crowds. With a dark frown suddenly shadowing his face, he strode back into the bakery and began kneading a large mound of dough with jabbing punches.
"If only I had a son half so considerate," he muttered to himself under his breath.
Hope ya liked it! Come back for more next week [HOPEFULLY *glares at Pippers*]
;-)Syd
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Apr. 22, 2009 - PIPNSYD ARE CO-AUTHORING A BOOK!!! EVERYBODY RUN!!!
Hello to all y'all good people!!!! Yes this is the regular PipNSyd only we are co-authoring a book!!!!!! This is a poem I wrote to fill up this empty space on this blog because we haven't got much of a story yet!
;-)Syd
The death of Pip N Syd or The co-A.
A pathetic comic poem by Sydnee Kate Yavanenski.
"'Tis a sad, sad thing." Some random person said
"But look at them now. Cold and dead.
"They were best of friends, but who would know?
"They left no sign of it to show."
They were bestest buddies, lawfed [luved, loved] each other
Until they wrote a book together.
That was the end of this great friendship
Syd wrote of lawf [luv, love], Pip wrote of a whip.
Pip yelled to Syd "WRITE UP YOUR PART!"
So Syd wrote of a berry and it's death in a tart.
This made Pip mad so she stalked to Syd's house
(And believe me she was NOT as quiet as a mouse)
Pip charged up the stairs, her characters in tow
Syd cowered in terror as Pip stomped on her toes
Pip broke every lamb, every dish, every spoon
Syd looked like this 0_0, eyes big as the moon
"PIPPIN ARMOUR YOU HAVE A BIG NOSE!!!"
Syd stomped her foot as her courage rose
Pip's eyes grew large, about to pop out
(She was very protective of her rather large snout)
Pip clobbered Syd, an unladylike thing
Syd saw so many Pip's, it looked like a gang
Syd fell to the floor (it bruised her knee)
And that was the end of Miss Yavanenski
Pip saw what she'd done and had great remorse
So she took an anger management course
Pip didn't live long after her best friend died
For every night she sat and cried
Her heart was brogan. Oh! How she'd sob
Until she was attacked by a huge, angry mob
They were tired of her cries, her wails and her moans
As Pip lay there, she moans one final moan
"I'm sorry, dear Syd." She said with a sigh
"If you were here, I'd let you poke my eye"
And that is the end *sigh* the tragic end
Of PipNSyd, the very best of friends
Tuesday, April 22, 2009
