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snorted again. “Men!”
    And to be sure, my brother-in-law has been a wanderer for many a year. Best not to mention that right now! Rudi thought. They’ll be easier when we’re gone and have left this little reminder behind.
    The warriors stood gravely impassive, lean strong-armed muscular men; the hair was shaved off the sides of their heads, stiffened into a roach above and braided into a queue behind. They wore leggings and breechclouts, mostly covered by well-sewn jackets of sealskin or rabbit pelts or woven mohair adorned with shell beads—a few pair of Angora goats had come with the mainland refugees—and soft boots of folded and sewn leather turned fur side in laced up their calves with thongs. Their weapons were harpoons, spear-throwers for the darts held across their backs in hide quivers and knives and hatchets at their belts, but they’d obviously come in peace.
    For that matter, those are tools of the hunt rather than made just for man-killing , Rudi thought. Though doubtless they’d be stout fighters at need. Ingolf said they’d beaten off raids by Eaters from the mainland. Nor do timid men hunt whale in boats like those!
    The women wore leggings too, but under knee-length tunic-dresses, and their hair was mostly in long braids. They smiled and spoke and signed as they unloaded bundles from the craft; smoked and salted fish, jerked goat meat, sacks of cornmeal and beans and potatoes, dried vegetables and edible seaweed, and the carcasses of deer and rabbits along with baskets of scallops. Rudi gave a mental sigh of relief; that would ease his band’s logistical problems considerably. His mouth watered a little at the thought, the more so as the women briskly stoked up the fires and went to work.
    He nodded gravely to the chief of the Sea-Landers, in a gesture that was almost a bow.
    “My thanks to you, Kills Orca,” he said sincerely to the stocky, deep-chested older man.
    These people weren’t poor, as his generation judged such things; their goods were well made if simple, and they didn’t look as if they went hungry often. He didn’t suppose they would starve because they were feeding his folk from their winter stores, though they numbered half as many as the whole tribe; but this food was something they would not have as a reserve against ill fortune, and it had been won with sweat and effort and sometimes danger.
    The first scents of roasting venison made his stomach rumble; it had been a while since he’d had fresh meat, and the mainlanders who brought the Sea-Land tribe seed corn and spuds had apparently also had garlic and herbs along.
    Kills Orca was what the man’s wife translated the name as; she was about his age, in her forties, and her gray-streaked braids had been yellow once. Her English came fluently, though a bit halting and mushy with lost teeth; she’d been nearly a woman grown at the Change, and now showed every one of the hard years and many children.
    “Strong Man”—she indicated Ingolf and went on as her husband spoke in his own sonorous tongue—“saved our son Frank . . . High Wave . . . when this was a place of bad magic. Now you’ve made that go away, so our homes are safe. You are friends. Friends help each other.”
    “Indeed they do,” Rudi said gravely.
    “Threefold return,” Mary said unexpectedly.
    “For good or ill,” Ritva added. “Ingolf’s getting it, and we as well.”
    Rudi nodded; that was the way the world worked . . . though it could be a very long time indeed before the Powers reckoned up the balance.
    “As ye sow, so shall ye reap,” Ignatius said; which was another way of putting the same thing.
    “Tell Kills Orca that I hope he will accept these gifts from us,” Rudi said, making a gesture with his open hand.
    They were lavish, thanks to the Gisandu’s helpful cargo of salvage from the dead cities. Stainless-steel blades for knives and spearheads, hatchets and axes, fishhooks and imperishable nylon cords and nets, woodworking