Jonah Wimmer

Rewrite: Blood Song (Raven's Shadow Novel)

(To fully comprehend the greatness  of a book like this, prior knowledge of the book is needed. However, I do not have the luxury of rewriting this whole entire book, neither do I think I possess adequate skill to write something nearly as good (maybe in the future). So before or after reading my interpretation of the conclusion, I suggest you read this book; it has my highest level of recommendation and has heavily impacted my love of  the fantasy genre.)

As Vaelin cleaned the blood off his sword he waited in grim silence for the arrival of the Alpirian army host. His sacrifice was monumental in realm history, the fate of a nation in the hands of one man. Though some might beg to differ, this one man had brought an entire army down with his fabled blade, this one man possessed the dark gifts that were so despised and persecuted, this one man was in tune with the song of his blood. In one mighty stroke of his blade he killed the coveted soon to be king, it may have been self defense but the Alpirian people no doubt had made a martyr out of the dead man. He knew his actions would surely lead to a prolonged death, possibly public. The blood had dried while he was deep in thought, caking his silver steel blade. As he continued to meticulously stroked the blade there was an imminent noise, increasing in sound as the swift waves carried the ships closer. Vaelin of course already knew this, the song of his blood had forewarned this long before he would encounter it. The Alpirian host was upon him. They came in droves, taking no chances against the Hope Killer, Shadow of the Raven, son of the destroyer of cities, these were all titles belonging to Vaelin Al Sorna. The agreement was mutual, the Hope Killer for the freedom of the united realm army. Vaelin would be remembered as a monster amongst these people, however, he never intended nor did he act on any selfish needs such as lust, greed, or revenge. He defended himself, and for that, he would forever be known as the Hope Killer. The tone that then took place was an ominous one. He was quickly shuffled onto a boat, free of any grandeur or ceremony he was simply marched to a small room and shackled. It was in a similar position that he would spend the next seven years of his life, in a dimly lit room in the darkest part of a dimly lit dungeon, eating the worst of foods, his only companion the chilling cold who would occasionally raise his voice omitting a brief flow of cool air. After the many years in which he was kept in solitude he received a message, one of great value. “Vaelin Al Sorna, you will be taken to the Meldenean islands, it is there that you will fight the most feared warrior of the isles. A victim of your father's treachery, the Shield of the Isle,” the messenger's voice was brimming with joy, the messenger thought that Vaelin would surely die. Seeing light for the first time in seven years, he shielded his face from the barrage of sun rays. Onward he marched towards the boat, he had maintained much of his muscle and still possessed a superior physique. It was there that he would set sail for the Islands, his father had been there before. Under the king's order he burned more than half of the city, the only thing hotter than those flames was the fuming heat of the people's anger towards him. He was sure that once they heard he had a son they wouldn’t stop until he was dead and now Vaelin would pay for the sins of a long deceased father. A father who had abandoned him at the steps of the First Order. It was there that he discovered himself, and it was where he discovered his gift. Vaelin’s deep thoughts were interrupted by the shouts of a quarter master, whipping the rowers into going faster. He retired to his bed, when he would awake he would be in the Meldenean Islands. The sun set and rose the next day, the people of the Isles waited on the docks, hungry for revenge. The wind carried the ship swiftly to the harbour, it was then obvious that he wouldn’t be greeted with pitchforks and fire, but he most certainly wouldn’t be welcomed with open arms. The walk to his quarters was an eternity, guided by the firm hands of the Meldenean royal guard. Were they trying to torture him? This was one of the houses that burnt down and was never restored, they were crucifying him for his father’s mistakes. He drifted into sleep, his ability to sleep anywhere was one gained on his habitual hunting trips at the order, on snow, on roots, on grass, on weeds, and on rocks. The morning came quickly, the Shield had wanted him to rest more and train, he didn’t want his victory to be one of controversy or be unfair. Vaelin knew this and agreed upon it being the day following his arrival anyway. The rich and powerful sat waiting in the arena while the poor bet on the outcome of the battle in alleyways. There was no ceremony to the battle, it was clear that they wanted it to be quick. He walked at a brisk pace to the arena in a heavy silence, the guards smirked at him thinking that this was for sure the last time they’d see him. He reached the gates of the stadium, eager faces lining both sides of the entrance, they resisted to shout because they too knew this wasn’t right. A son will die because of his father, no, it definitely was not right. He entered the arena doors, some might’ve been intimidated by the bulk and size of them, Vaelin wasn’t. An array of weaponry lay before him; he chose a simple but sharp sword with little embellishment or adornment. When he disappeared and they couldn’t see his fearsome stature they once again started shouting and cheering. They were positive that he would lose, it almost made him laugh. Vaelin loved combat, but what he loved even more was proving people wrong. Watching from the view of a spectator it must’ve been a glorious spectacle, the two most feared warriors, one battling for his life, and one battling for his honor. The shield was muscular, fast, and most importantly in his prime. While Vaelin may have been the more cunning a swordsman out of the two, it had been seven years since he had gripped the handle of a sword. The governor of the Isles wasted no time, as the two men reached the middle of the circular arena he immediately commenced the gladiatorial fight. Vaelin observed the Shield of the Isles with genuine curiosity. But the shield did not like it, his kind and friendly face disappeared and he bared his teeth, Vaelin remained calm. He was like a willow in the wind, bending to his opponent but never breaking. He dodged another of the Shield’s vicious thrusts that tried to spill his entrails on the arenas polished floor. The blood song took control, this fight was over and it had barely begun. He parried a blow to the neck and countered it with a blow to the shield’s head using the flat part of the blade. Fuming, the Shield came after him with the anger of a whole city. Vaelin dodged his attack with a swift side step followed by a parry. Knowing he could end the fight and kill the man with ease Vaelin decided to put the Shield out of his misery. Blocking another volley of blows directed towards Vaelins midsection he dove and kicked the legs out of the Shield. His opponent fell violently and an audible crack could be heard from the highest points of the arena. After re-positioning himself he put the sword onto his opponents chest, the weight of it alone drawing blood. “Finish me,” rasped the fallen man, now absent of all calmness and his charismatic persona. Vaelin did not answer his plea. Instead he spoke directly to the governor, a man who had came to his wealth because of Vaelin.

“There will be no blood shed on this floor, I defeated your champion and was promised freedom,” Vaelin killed only on necessity and spared the life of the shield. The audience could only gawk and look in awe. A monumental upset had just transpired. History was a pond and Vaelin had threw a giant stone in it, affecting not only his realm but the void. In the arena the shock was palpable. The malevolent creatures that had awaited Vaelins death had just been dealt a massive blow. They demanded retribution, they demanded revenge, they demanded war and it was coming.