When I told the people this, they asked me to take them to where I’d seen the boat. I led them to the hilltop, where you were still standing, entranced, in the same place I’d left you. The people marveled at the sight of the ship floating in the distance. The flock of great birds perched upon its branches was gone, and it drifted still and naked on the water.

We waited for Otahu to speak. “We will honor them as our guests and invite them to a feast,” he said.

Then Fetu, the sage, spoke: “The Law speaks of all things,” he said, “even of this. It tells us to welcome these strangers but to remain wary of them. These boats carry not gods but people like us. Their tongue, their dress, their ways—everything about them is strange to us. We know not what they seek, nor what they bring. Though these men are strangers to us, they are not strangers to the Law, which sees all and knows all. At the feast, I will cross with their chief to learn his designs.” Fetu finished his discourse with the usual incantation: “Our highest duty is to the Law, and above all else the Law demands this of us: There can be no crossing without a return crossing.”

The Law was our most prized possession, our most sacred jewel. It did not belong to us; we belonged to it. The Law gave life and took it away. All depended on it, all sprang from it, all returned to it. Studying the Law was my greatest joy, and I was Fetu’s favorite student. I sat by his side at all the feasts and ceremonies. He devoted more of his time to me than to any other, teaching the Law’s highest, most secret aspects.

The Law’s greatest gift was the crossing. To look into the eyes of another, to sense the stirring of one’s soul, to be transported into the body of the other and dwell therein until the time came for the return crossing—this was the treasure the Law had bestowed upon us. Our teachings taught the crossing, our songs praised the crossing, our dances acclaimed the crossing. The Law forbade all tattoos except those of eyes. With every crossing, another eye would be etched into our skin, until our very bodies became hymns exalting the crossing.