Disclaimer/Author's Note: I do not own Earthsea, and I'm not making a profit from this, so... Well, you know the drill. This is the prologue, it's very short. However, the first chapter is also already up.



Astowell, the farthest isle in the East Reach of the Archipelago, is a small, barren place. It is renowned for nothing and thought of by few but those who live there. Nobody ever goes there, nobody ever leaves. There is no mystery to it because it is like a single boring pebble buried beneath a great beach – unseen, and unknown. It is a hilly place with many knolls and dips, ringed with forbidding cliffs, with no wood and some sparse grass cropped by goats. The people of the two villages – Anlot, the port, and Astolet, a tiny collection of twelve or so huts on the easternmost shore – eat goat's meat and sour berries from the thorny geaskeln bush.

In the world of the Inner Sea, a world of kings of Havnor and mages of Roke, great men and women rise and fall. Things change. In the lonely island of Astowell, nothing changes. It is a place of perfect equilibrium, and always has been. Perhaps always will be.

It is, truly, Lastland. For this story, it is a beginning... and an end.

Nobody in the Inner Sea speaks of Rakkan, one of the greatest Isle Chiefs Astowell has ever seen. Nobody knows of him. Nobody in Astowell speaks of Ged, the Sparrowhawk, Dragonlord and Archmage. Nobody has heard of him.

Astowell is a lonely place which seems boring to almost all.

For that exact reason, it is a haven for secrets.