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only a pair of large tree trunks lying perpendicular to the shore. The rest of the beach appeared barren. As his eyes fell back to the fallen trees, he suddenly realized that they were more than just dead wood; they were the support frames for a massive raft that lay half buried in the sand.
    The Mongol warrior ran toward the object, not believing his eyes. With each step, he became more mesmerized. Though obviously sitting on the beach for years, perhaps even decades, the ancient sailing craft was still intact. Temur could see it was a double-hulled design, with a single flat deck supported by the two large logs. The vessel stretched over sixty feet but carried only a large single mast, which had rotted away. Though the plank deck had disintegrated, Temur could see that the massive support timbers looked as sturdy as when they were felled. There was no doubt in Temur’s mind that the boat had been an oceangoing vessel. Mahu’s fanciful tale was true after all. Temur excitedly gazed at the remains of the vessel, eyeing a means to escape the island.
    â€œYou shall return me to my home and emperor,” he muttered wistfully to the wooden mass.
    With a native work crew under the direction of the Korean ship’s carpenter put to the task, Temur set about refitting the old sailing vessel. Deck planking was cut and fit from nearby hardwood trees. Coconut husk fibers were braided into sennit cord and tied to the hull timbers and supports. A large reed sail was woven and fitted to the replacement mast, cut from a young tree near the beach. In just a few short weeks, the nearly forgotten ocean voyager was reclaimed from the sands and made ready to ply the waves again.
    To sail the craft, Temur could have ordered his old crew aboard, but he knew that most were afraid to risk their lives again in a daring sea voyage. Many of the men now had wives and children on the island. When he asked for volunteers, just three men stepped forward, along with old Mahu. Temur could ask for no more. It would be barely enough to sail the old craft, but the Mongol commander accepted without question the decision of those who elected to stay.
    Provisions were stocked, and then the men waited until Mahu declared that the time was right.
    â€œThe goddess Hina will offer us safe passage to the west now,” he finally told Temur a week later, when the winds shifted direction. “Let us be away.”
    â€œI shall report to the emperor of his new colony in this distant land,” he shouted to the men assembled on the beach as the twin canoe hull broke through the surf and an offshore breeze launched them briskly out to sea. Loaded with plenty of water, dried fish, and fruit from the local landscape, the ship set sail with enough stores for the crew to survive for weeks at sea.
    As the lush verdant island disappeared in the waves behind them, the men aboard the catamaran felt a moment of insecurity and foolishness. Their deadly struggles on the sea more than a decade earlier came flooding back and they all wondered whether the forces of nature would allow them to survive again.
    Yet Temur was confident. His trust lay in the old man, Mahu. Though the native chief had little sailing experience, he had read the stars with ease and tracked the sun’s movements by day while studying the clouds and sea swells. It was Mahu who knew that the winds to the south of the island turned west in the fall months, which would fill their sails with a steady breeze in the direction home. It was Mahu who also knew how to catch tuna with a line and bone hook using flying fish for bait, which would supplement their diet during the long voyage.
    After landfall disappeared from sight, the sailing came surprisingly easy for the inexperienced crew. Fair skies and calm seas greeted the men each day for a fortnight as they sailed with the wind. Only an occasional squall tested the boat’s sturdiness, and it also gave the crew a chance to collect fresh