Ravens and Ruin (Brodyr Alarch #5) by Morgan Sheppard
- Debbie
- Oct 7
- 9 min read
@MorganSheppardAuthor @debbiereadsbooks
@morganjsheppard @debbiereadsbook
In a land where gods still whisper through stone and stream, one man’s forbidden gift may be the key to salvation or ruin.
Two years have passed since Harri was crowned King of Melthkior. Though peace holds above, something ancient stirs beneath the earth. When Ewan—the youngest of Arianrhod’s Brodyr Alarch and now General of the Melthkioran army—unknowingly consumes the flesh of the White Snake, a druidic creature steeped in forbidden magic, he gains the ability to hear the thoughts of beasts, birds, and even the wounded land itself. But such gifts are never freely given.
As shadows gather beneath root and rock, and unrest bleeds through the land, Ewan finds an unlikely ally in Lowri, a healer-warrior of the old ways. Together, they are drawn into a quest shaped by two goddesses known to them: Branwen, mournful and vengeful, and Arianrhod, whose weavings bind fate to flesh. Tasked with three impossible challenges, Ewan must uncover forgotten truths, confront his deepest fears, and navigate the blurred boundary between love and sacrifice.
Ewan and Lowri face a path none have walked before. As the Veil between worlds begins to fray, they must decide whether the power to listen is enough… or if one must speak a truth that could shatter everything.
Ravens and Ruin presents a spellbinding reimagining of The White Snake, weaving together Brothers Grimm folklore and the ancient mythology of Welsh deities. As the penultimate instalment in the Brodyr Alarch series, it continues a sweeping tale of fate, love, and legacy. Sealed with a Curse serves as the unifying thread that binds the series into a single, mythic tapestry.
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From the far side of the well, Arianrhod stepped into view. She stood barefoot at the water’s edge, her toes just brushing the moss-slick stone. A long cloak of silver and shadow spilt around her, woven from mist and the hush between stars. Though the sun blazed above the moor, moonlight wrapped her like a second skin. Her midnight-dark hair was braided through with strands of light so pale they shimmered like starlight caught in silk. Her skin glowed faintly, not warm like fire, but cold as the breath before snow. Her sapphire eyes, deep as dusk, settled unblinking on Ewan.
Lowri inhaled softly, but did not move.
Ewan felt rooted, his boots heavy against the mossy earth, as though gravity itself had thickened.
“You came,” She said.
Ewan knelt before Her. “You called.”
Arianrhod stepped forward, Her voice like the rustle of old leaves. “When you were tricked into consuming the White Snake, you did not merely survive it. You took it in—its knowledge, its power, and its burden. It was no accident. What you swallowed was not just flesh, but memory. Not just wisdom, but a key. This land bleeds, and it will not be healed by crowns or councils. Only one who knows hunger, loss, and fire can walk this path. The White Snake awakens only to one whose path leans toward sacrifice. It is no creature of this age,” She said, her eyes gleaming like twin moons. “It was old when the first hills rose from the sea. It was a god-eater, a burrower through time and marrow. It devoured the will of men, the memory of stones, and it nearly consumed me.”
The grove dimmed, as if Her memory dragged the light downward. “I fought it when the land was young, when the bones of this place were still hot with the gods’ breath. It writhed beneath the mountain roots, its fangs dripping frost, eyes burning through soil like twin suns. I could not kill it, for not even I have that power.” Her voice deepened, heavy with the memory of loss. “So I bound it—with stone, with word, with sacrifice. A menhir sealed it, the great stone pillar sunk into the earth with blood and breath. The wyrm sleeps still, but restlessly..”
Ewan’s voice was hoarse. “And the binding?”
“Was never perfect,” She said quietly. “Such hunger cannot be erased; only watched and honoured, as it is fed the right oaths and silences.” Her gaze sharpened, storm-dark now. “But the Rhunites want more than what was given. They dig where no spade should touch. They speak words they do not understand. Whisper names meant to stay buried. They have been promised dominion over Melthkior’s land, your land, by one of my kind. A god of rot and rupture, one who thrives on unravelling what others have woven.”
Ewan’s breath caught. “Which god?”
Arianrhod’s face tightened. “Celiwrath, the Bearer of Ruin. Where I shaped the stars into order, he flung them into the void. Where I wrapped the land in harmony, he shattered it into blood and teeth.” She stepped closer, as the air trembled. “He told them the Snake could be controlled, that it would bow to their will, that it would carve valleys with its hunger, drown the roots of kingdoms they despise. He gave them the flesh you consumed. They do not understand what they awaken. The bindings stretch thin, and the stone weeps.
“And you,” she said, eyes piercing him, “ate its flesh. Unwitting, unknowing—but not by chance. That which formed the White Snake now runs through you. You are its echo, its mirror.”
Ewan’s blood chilled. “So I’m… its vessel?”
Her tone softened. “You are its counterweight. A knife carved from its own scale. If it rises, you may be the only thing able to stand before it.”
Lowri stepped forward, boots sinking into the moss, as defiance sparked in her eyes. “Then why not end it now?” she demanded. “Tell us how to kill the thing. Bury it for good.”
Arianrhod turned to her slowly. The silver threads in her braid shimmered like frost under moonlight. Her expression held no wrath, no mockery, only a deep, aching sorrow. “Because nothing that ancient dies cleanly,” she said, her voice low but clear. “The White Snake is woven into the bones of the land. Strike it down, and the mountains will bleed. The rivers will forget their names. The land would break, and never be whole again.”
She looked back at Ewan. “They wanted your brother,” she said. “The crown-wearing, oath-keeping king, but Celiwrath whispered a bitter truth into their ears: a knife cuts deeper when it’s already broken, so they turned to you. Not to honour you, but to use you. To wound him. To unmake what he’s built by turning his blood against him. They think if they can twist you, everything Harri loves will fall, including this land.”
Arianrhod lifted her hand. From the Well’s surface, a vision unfurled of a land torn by drought and flood, of mountains trembling, and crops rotting. Beneath it all, the wyrm coiled—vast, stirring, its breath a furnace. “The balance is broken,” She said. “The prison weakens, and its hunger grows. Only one who carries the Snake’s knowing may cross the threshold and bind it again. But to do so… requires a price.”
Ewan swallowed. “What price?”
“The deeper you go, the more of yourself you leave behind. I do not offer you glory. Only the chance to mend what others have shattered.”
She stepped back, and the grove seemed to breathe. “If you fail, the White Snake will rise. And it will not care who loosed it.”
Lowri’s hand found Ewan’s shoulder. “There has to be another way.”
Arianrhod turned to her, studying her, something curious glinting behind her solemn gaze. “He is the other way.”
The wind shifted with a sudden, whispering force, rustling through the moor like a breath drawn sharp between teeth. The ash trees shivered, their slender limbs bending as though bowing to something unseen, ancient, and watching.
Above them, the sky had turned the colour of forged steel. Against it, a single white raven carved a slow, deliberate circle through the air. Its wings caught the dim light like bone polished by time, silent in their sweep. It didn’t call out, only circled once, as if marking the moment, then held its place on the wind, motionless save for the tilt of its wings.
“What must I do?” Ewan asked, not defiant but weary. “You haven’t called me here just to tell me your history. So what happens now?”
“Three tasks. Three wounds in the body of the land. Heal them, and perhaps the balance can be restored.”
Lowri’s brow furrowed. “And if he refuses?”
Arianrhod’s gaze returned to her. “Then the land will fall into silence. The stones will scream. The sun will not rise in the hearts of men. And the curse your people thought broken will simply… change shape.”
She stepped back to the edge of the well. Light gathered at her feet, swirling upward in threads of mist. “Three tasks,” She said. “Mark them well.” Her voice echoed, not in volume, but in gravity. “The first task is to understand the cry of the drowning stone. The second is to heal the beast that hates all men. And finally, the third is to win the love of one who walks in both life and death.”
5 out of 5 (exceptional)
Independent Reviewer for Archaeolibrarian - I Dig Good Books!
This is book 5 in the Brodyr Alarch series. It's not necessary to read the previous books, nor the prequel, but I think it will give you a much better picture about these people and the world they live in.
Ewan is the youngest brother cursed, he serves as Harri's general. Crossing paths with Lowri, a healer of the old ways, sets off a chain of events that neither saw coming.
As I was reading this, I could see, really SEE the things Ms Sheppard writes about. Descriptions of people and places, that sort of thing. The skill has been great in other books. I gave books 1-3 5 stars, but slipped to 4 for book 4, but in THIS book?? The skill shines, bright and hot and throughout the whole book.
Ewan and Lowri are perfect for each other. Ewan can see Lowri's skill as a warrior as well as a healer. She is headstrong and is not afraid to question Ewan.
Lowri can see what's beneath Ewan's outer prickly shell. She lets him have his brooding moments and his time talking to the stones, but she stands beside him, quietly giving him her strength.
There is a line in the book I highlighted. I never highlight anything! It captures Ewan and Lowri's relationship perfectly.
The fire between them never burned high, but it never died.
I found this one a bit darker in places, but not sure why, I just felt, much like Ewan and Lowri felt, the land was off. Not a bad thing, at all! You know me, and my book brain, it needs to get feelings out when it can actually voice them, and it feels this was darker.
Still, totally clean. I will stand by what I said in each of the others. I'm loving that they are. It's not about that in these books. It's about two people, facing the things that are thrown at them, in each and every way, together.
And the things that are thrown at Ewan and Lowri are less physical things and more emotional and testing their faith in the old gods.
Branwen, who is Lowri's god and Arianrhod, who looks over all the brothers, are the gods here.
There is just one brother left, Gerallt. He was the brother who kept a swan wing instead of an arm when their curse was lifted. I've been waiting for his story for so long, and I will wait patiently (or maybe not so patiently!) for his story. I am keen to get into his mind about why he kept it.
As with all these books, they are loosely based around The Brothers Grimm tales and given a Welsh twist. This one is The White Snake. I don't know that story, so I cannot say how true or how far apart these tales are, but Ms Sheppard absolutely NAILED the telling of this story!
Best one so far!
5 full and shiny stars
** Same worded review will appear elsewhere. **
* A copy of this book was provided to me with no requirements for a review. I voluntarily read this book; the comments here are my honest opinion. *
Originally from the United Kingdom, Morgan Sheppard now resides in Germany, although she freely admits to having left part of her heart in Wales. Whilst a writer mainly in the fantasy genre, Morgan is more than happy to share her love of reading amongst the many different genres out there, and can always be found with a book close by.
As well as reading and writing, Morgan spends her time looking after her family and trying to learn German. Unfortunately, a natural aptitude for languages doesn’t appear to be one of her strong points. However, stubbornness is, so she continues to persevere. So far, Morgan is confident enough to order a beer and a pretzel.
You can also sign up for her newsletter to receive a #FREE copy of Disjointed Lives, a short story about friendship and a toxic relationship –
You can also find Morgan on various social media platforms. Find your favourite here: https://linktr.ee/morgansheppard
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