How my part in this adventure begins....

A publican’s work is never done. I was just starting in on the large stack of filthy beer glasses from last night’s trade, when I heard it.

My name.

My real name.

I was instantly taken back, back across two continents and two great oceans, to my island homeland. To Rama Nui, the “Great Torch.” The isolated, lovely world where I was born and raised, where I learned the ways and ideals of a people who lived with and loved the waters, where I was initiated into my Clan, the Clan of Searfarers and Storytellers. I was taken back in that moment to when our Elders called out my name, choosing me to go with six young fellow members of my Clan. We were being called on to venture forth and to investigate, to learn the ways of the newcomers--the people in the great canoes that sailed from over the horizon. They were the “Strangers,” the ones who would soon find our home island, and perhaps change it forever, change it in ways that the Gods themselves could neither predict nor stop.

Then, I returned to the present. To my pub, to the world of the Strangers whom I had come to dwell among--the only survivor of that band of seven young island seafarers, rescued by a Yankee whaling ship many years ago, and now, living quietly among these people who worshipped a mighty god called Science..

But the voice that had spoken my name--my real name--was not that of a stranger. It was a voice I knew well. I turned and stood impassively, waiting.

“Come then and put aside your dirty beer mugs. There is work to be done, and the Great Waters call us.”

I nodded and gently sat the glass and the soapy rag I held into the dry sink. As we went out the Anvil’s door, I briefly thought about locking it behind me, but then decided to forego that simple act.

I had a feeling that I would not be back.