Sunrise Lands

"Yeah," Ritva said, putting an arm around her sister's shoulders for an instant. "I miss him too."

They'd been two years short of ten when he rode away to war and never came back, only his body in a box, and their mother was different after that. These days their recollections of him felt faded somehow, as if they were memories of the memories rather than the thing itself. But she could remember the effortless strength as he scooped both of them up, one under each arm, and twirled them around until they were all breathless and laughing…

Then they passed a school where children sat on the steps eating from their lunch boxes.

"Meren aes," Mary said.

Ritva could feel she was making herself cheerful; she nodded agreement as she realized she was hungry too. Time dulled grief, which was a kindness of the Lord and Lady to humankind. The smells of grilling and roasting and frying from the cookshops and taverns and street vendors were making her mouth water.

"E yaxe olgaren nubast gwasolch," Mary went on.

"Yeah, I could use a hamburger and fries," Ritva replied.

The phrase translated strictly as cut-up cow beneath bread with edible roots, but usage had made the modern meaning plain.

"I like that spicy ketchup they make here."

Macy's Traveler's Rest was familiar too; it had been a motel before the Change, though now the courtyard parking spaces held a timber bunkhouse for those with out the rather stiff charge required to rent a room for themselves. The same people owned the grill/bar next door, and beyond that was a public bathhouse with a good reputation and plenty of hot water; between them an alleyway had been turned into a bowling alley-cum- shooting gallery. Voices and an occasional shout and hard thunk came from there as they walked down from their room-the Traveler's Rest was safe enough to leave ordinary gear unattended.

A hopeful voice called out, "You girls new in town?"

The words were unexceptional, but the tone wasn't and neither was the low whistle; from his worn leather clothes, the man was from the outback, probably in town for a spree, and it was only too apparent he and his friends hadn't visited the bathhouse yet. He wasn't much older than they were. Ritva sighed internally; that wouldn't have happened back west over the mountains, but the Rangers weren't quite as familiar here. They both turned so the loungers could see the trees-stars crown on the front of their jerkins and take in the left hands resting casually on the long hilts of their swords. Another of the men started whispering in the ear of the one who'd spoken, but the speaker pushed him aside.

"Anyone can sew stuff on their shirt," he said, then turned what was probably intended to be an ingratiating smile on them.

It would work better without that black tooth, she thought.

The hangers-on had been whiling away time throwing tomahawks at the target down at the other end of the closed-in alley; it was a balk of seasoned oak, and they were throwing hard at a chalked-out human outline on it. You had to throw hard to make a hatchet stick in an oak target fifty feet away, as well as getting the rotation just right-several had hit without the blade striking and bounced back halfway to the thrower's bar. One or two of them had wooden mugs of beer; and throwing edged iron around while you were drinking was truly stupid.

"Toss me one of those," Ritva said with a smile.

"Hey, these are dangerous; the edges are sharp," one of the others said.

He tossed one anyway, slow and underhand. Ritva caught it and flipped it to Mary, who threw it back.

"A couple more."

The men looked at one another; a couple of them gri

"Hathyl hado!" Ritva cried, and suited action to the words: Throw the axes!

Thunk! and the first tomahawk sank into the chest of the target, its handle quivering. Then they had to snatch the hatchets out of the juggle with one hand and throw with the other; that took concentration, but they'd been practicing tricks together a long time. Thunk-thunk-thunk…

"Thanks for the entertainment, boys," Mary said to the spectators politely, and they walked on towards the bar and grill, leaving an echoing silence behind them as the men contemplated the neat grouping in throat, midriff and crotch.

"Rym vin thua

"Well, yes, we were blowing our own horns," her sister acknowledged. "But remember what Aunt Astrid said about spreading legends. That's a help to all the Dunedain who ever come through here in times to come."

Ritva snorted. "Just a conjuring trick, anyway. Tomahawks are more trouble than they're worth."

A couple of the customers scurried back from the windows to take their seats again as the twins pushed through the swinging doors of the bar and grill and into the dim interior, their feet scrutching in the sawdust on the plank floor. A plain middle-aged waitress in a yellow dress and white apron came over. They returned her smile as they pulled out chairs at a vacant table and hung their sword belts over the backs.

"Hi, ladies," she said-they'd been promoted from girls the last time they visited. "Welcome back to town-what'll it be?"

"Two bacon-cheddar burgers, Sarah," Ritva said, and then sighed in exasperation as she realized she'd stopped thinking-and speaking-in English again, and her Sindarin had gotten an amused raised eyebrow.

She repeated it in the common tongue and added, "Mayo

"Dried or pickled?"

"Pickled. Two mugs of root beer."

The twins passed the time waiting for their food by playing mumblety-peg, resting their daggers' hilts on the backs of their hands and trying to set them point down in the floor by flicking them off-they weren't the first by a long shot, to judge by the state of the boards. The hamburgers' smoky richness was a welcome change from venison jerky; hard work outside in cold weather made you crave fats. And they were only ten cents each for patrons of Macy's.

As they left, Mary looked down at the list she'd taken out of a pocket in her black Ranger's jerkin. Bend was a good place to pick up supplies for a trip; routes from north and east and west and south fu

"One steel-axle twenty-foot Conestoga wagon with extra covers for the tilt, spare wheels and hubs and tire rims," she began.

"Nayak!" Ritva said, wincing slightly and thinking of the price: "Painful!"

"It's not our money, sis. Hmmm… shovels, picks, axes, hauling chains, grease bucket and keg of good-quality axle grease, heavy jack, caltrops, lariats, hemp twine and rope, canvas, extra shoes and boots, sweaters, hats, knit socks, underwear, needles and thread, soap, blankets, oilskins and tarpaulins, three tents, saddler's tools and leather, horse shoe blanks for cold-shoeing, small hollow anvil, farrier's tools, nails, lanterns, alcohol for lanterns, flints and wicks for lighters, water barrels and a keg of water purification powder, medicine chest, horse medicine chest…"

"Did you ever wonder how the Fellowship made do with only one pack pony?" Ritva said, looking over her shoulder.

That ordinary-looking man might have been follow ing them. On the other hand, he went into a shop as she watched, so probably not.

"They probably didn't change their underwear or use soap," Mary said.