The Gathering Night by Margaret Elphinstone Page B

remember!’
    We all had to paddle as my father steered us through the seaweed-covered rocks that guard White Beach Island. My arms were so tired! But my ears were busier than my arms. White Beach Island was my Birth Place, long before Amets ever came among the Auk People. I listened just as hard as Amets to every word my father said. Some of you have every reason to be glad I did – but that’s another story.
    The sea turned from grey to green as our boat slid in with the waves over sandy shallows and waving forests of brown weed. Starfish scuttled away from the shadow of our boat. Shafts of evening Sun slanted across the island. Long shadows reached towards us from every rock and hummock, as if the island were stretching out its arms to its returning daughter. I stood up in the bows, eagerly scanning the shores of my Birth Place. As we slid into the bay the shadow of the island swallowed us. A cold finger of onshore breeze touched my shoulder. Then I saw a small boat in the hollow at the top of the beach. Whose was it? I caught my breath in excitement. But now the sand was growing so close I could see the ripples in it under the water, and little coils of worm cast. A wave caught us. We rode in on the curve of it and landed on firm sand.
    As soon as we grounded I leaped ashore, clutching the hide-tail to pull the boat in, but I could hardly wait to hand it to Alaia, who jumped on to the sand after me, Esti bouncing on her back. I could see the camping place. I scrambled joyfully up the slippery dunes.
    â€˜Haizea, come back! There’s work to do!’
    â€˜I’ll be quick!’
    It was at White Beach Camp that I came back into this world, and it’s there I’ve been happiest ever since. I love the long days, and the nights that grow just dark enough to show the stars in their courses. I love the bright Moons of the still-young Year. The sound of the Open Sea was in my ears when I drew my first breath, and whenever I go back to White Beach Camp I greet it as my friend. I love the changing moods of the sea, and the rough days when there’s no path back to where we came from. When the boats can’t put to sea the island of White Beach Camp is the whole world, and when I first came back to it I thought it was just the right size: not large and difficult, but contained and perfect. Yet the thing that makes White Beach Camp the place that it is – the very reason why I love it so – is that even in the best Years of all we’re only there from Auk Moon to Seed Moon. We come after the auks have arrived, and we leave before they do; otherwise there’d be nothing to eat on days when the sea’s too angry to let us fish or seal.
    After that long winter on our own I was excited about seeing our family again. And someone was here already! I ran past our shell heaps – the oldest ones were almost covered over with bright green turf – on to the soft turf of the Camp, still barely trodden. A small fire simmered in the hearth. Someone had laid wet seaweed over the whitened drift-logs to keep it in.
    And someone had pitched a tent – a small hunting tent with a wolf-fur flap over the door. Using wolfskin for a door flap! That was showing off! I knew who it was. It would be like him to arrive early, maybe with one of his younger brothers. The hide was hooked back from the door to let in the morning Sun. But the Sun was looking the other way by now.
    â€˜Haizea is here!’ I shouted. ‘And my father’ – I called out his name – ‘and Amets! And Nekané, and Alaia! And Esti! We have a new cousin for you! We have ESTI!’
    No one answered. I pushed the dogs aside and peered into the dim tent. When I looked into the small space I felt the boat still rocking inside my head. A big bearskin was spread in the sleeping place. I knew that bearskin! I remembered very well how six men had carried that bear into Gathering Camp, and I also remembered the