For all you peeps out there that love Earthsea, this is my first attempt at a fic based on it. This first chapter is sort of an intro to the new character and what he is doing on Gont. The whole thing will follow what happened to Tehanu and the others after we left them in the last book. Please R&R and feel free to flame it.I want at least 5 reviews before I carry on. PLEASE!!!!!!!! Ta peepy-squeaks!

Disclaimer: All the characters you recognise are from the Earthsea books by Ursula LeGuin - you'll know they ain't mine coz they are too good!

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The wind blew harshly over the small Isle of Gont. As Brooke stepped off the boat and onto the near-deserted dock, he swayed as it buffeted him, already unstable from his long trip at sea from the Mage School on Roke. He stared about him, uncertain of where to go. Pulling a determined face, he strode up to the nearest person, an old, weather-beaten sailor, and asked him for the directions to the late Aihal's house.

The man stared back at him. " Aihal?" the question sounded in his harsh voice.

" You may have known him as Ogion the Silent," said Brooke in return.

" Ah." breathed the sailor, " Ye be seeking Master Hawk then? And.mistress Goha?"

The man nodded at him, and began rattling off a set of directions, looking Brooke up and down as he did so. Brooke thought he knew the reason. It wasn't because he was dressed in a wizard's robe, as wizards were common on Gont. It was rather because he was from the Kargish lands. He knew that with his fair skin, and tumble of strawberry-blond hair, that he stood out against the red-brown natives of the inner-lands of Earthsea. However, he did not remember his homeland, as he had been brought up in Havnor, the capital city of Earthsea. Now a young man of nineteen, and an apprentice wizard, he was travelling in search of the once famed Arch-Mage of Earthsea. The magic was back in the world, and Earthsea once more had a king, Lebannen, yet it was, for the first time in memory, without an Arch- Mage. The only clue they had was 'a woman on Gont'. However, this was puzzling, as no woman had ever ruled over wizards. Brooke, an eager young man, had made an excuse to go to Gont and hunt out the previous Arch-Mage Sparrowhawk himself and ask him for advice. Far from visiting sick distant relatives, he was desperately trying to solve the puzzle that had all the senior wizards stumped.

Thanking the old sailor warmly, Brooke set off in the direction of Re Albi. Following the winding way through the village in Middle Valley, he tramped down the dusty country roads, a creeping feeling stealing over him that he had made a bit of a misjudgement in coming to the rural island. He was a city boy at heart, and not at all used to these sort of rambling hikes.

When darkness fell, he lodged at an inn, not far from the deceased wizard Aihal's isolated house up in the hills. The next day dawned bright, but with a chill in the strong wind that blew inland from the now hidden sea. Brooke came down from his room, only to find the innkeeper waiting for him, a troubled look on his face.

" Young Master?" said the innkeeper, " There be someone here waitin' t'see ye."

Brooke was taken aback. He had arranged to meet no one. His trip here had been secret and under false pretences. His first thought was that someone from Roke had been sent to find him and bring him back, but he soon found himself corrected as the innkeeper pointed out his visitor.

He went over to the table, and glanced at the young woman before him. She seemed to be slightly younger than him, about sixteen or seventeen, and, from what he could tell while she was sitting down, was small and slender. Her hair was a long, thick, shiny black curtain that she had combed so it fell over the right half of her face, concealing it from view. The other half was the copper colour of the Gont people, heart-shaped with high cheekbones. Her sparrow like black eye twinkled above a small nose and smiling mouth.

" You are the young wizard that has come seeking Sparrowhawk?" she asked him. Her voice was peculiar. It had a whispery, dry quality to it, and Brooke had to lean closer to hear what she was saying.

" Yes," he answered, warily, " But how do you."

The girl raised her left hand to silence his questions. " It is of no matter. He has said he will speak with you, though you realise he is no longer Arch-Mage." It was not a question but a statement. " I have come to guide you the rest of the way."

" Oh," said Brooke, wondering how this girl seemed to know so much about his visit when he had told no one, " Okay then. In that case we had better be better acquainted. I am known as Brooke." He did not tell her his real name, as no man ever revealed his true name unless to a close friend or relative. Sometimes not even then.

The girl's smile widened. " I am known as Therru," she said.

Startled, Brooke looked at her more closely. " But that's a Kargish word. It means burning of a flame. Forgive me, but you don't look Kargish." There was something about her, some kind of unseen force. Like magic, but wilder, stronger. Brooke felt the hairs on the back of his neck creep up.

A hint of sadness came over Therru's face, " My mother.my adoptive mother.she is Kargish."

He said no more, and she got up from the table and beckoned him to follow her. Paying his fee to the innkeeper, who kept giving furtive looks in the direction of Therru, Brooke stepped after her, and they began their travel to Re Albi.

They kept to the rough pathway, the rolling fields and farms around blown in waves by the ever-strengthening wind. Therru marched ahead, her petite figure seemingly un-buffeted by the gale. Brooke, leaning into the wind, trying to force his long legs to keep up with her, stumbled suddenly and fell. Automatically he let out a cry, as the material of his breeches tore, and a cut was revealed on his knee. Cursing himself for appearing so childish, he found Therru standing over him, offering her hand to help him up.

As he took her hand, the wind blew her hair away from her face, revealing it in its entirety. Before he could stop himself, Brooke gasped. The right side of her face was horrifically scarred, her eye disfigured and blind, her lips drawn back slightly. He looked at the hand he was holding to find that, unlike the left hand which was slender and delicate, the fingers had been fused together - it was more like a crab's claw.

Brooke pulled himself to his feet, and Therru stepped back, hurriedly pulling her hair back over her face and thrusting her right hand in pocket of her skirt.

" I'm sorry," she said in her hoarse voice, " You shouldn't have found out like that. I must disgust you." She turned and made to walk on.

Brooke grabbed her thin arm. " No, wait!" he spun her round to face him, " Not at all. It just surprised me." And to his own surprise he found that now the initial alarm was over it didn't bother him in the slightest. In a gesture that shocked even himself, he brushed her hair back, and stroked the scarred side of her face. " I wouldn't call myself much of a man if I judged people on how they looked before I'd even got to know them." Realising he was invading her space, and that he didn't know her well enough to be so intimate, he dropped his hand and grinned apologetically.

Therru smiled, but kept her gaze fixed on the floor. Her skin seemed even redder, fiery. " You would be surprised to find out how many people do. The people of the village, even the ones who call themselves my friends, I see their looks all the time. I'm used to it."

Brooke shook his head in disgust, " They aren't even worth bothering about. You seem much stronger and unafraid then any of them. That is beauty in itself."

She cocked her head on one side, as if considering him out of her seeing eye, " Maybe you should be a bard instead of a wizard." Pausing she added, " I sense your soul is pure. You have not known hardship and grief. You are an innocent, a child of the light. I pray your faith will keep you from the shadow and you will always know happiness." And she walked off.

Before following her Brooke stood and stared at her retreating back. It was not so much the actual words she had said, although they had touched him deeply, but more the language she had spoken. It was the true language, the language of wizards. The language of the making.