Table of Contents
Prologue
Part One: The Mountain Chapter 1: A Hole in the Water
Chapter 2: Finn
Chapter 3: The Mountain of Rhema
Chapter 4: The Black Dragon
Chapter 5: Impossibilities
Chapter 6: Smoke and Swords
Chapter 7: The Descent
Chapter 8: The Krÿsen
Chapter 9: New Things in Old Places
Chapter 10: Training Days
Chapter 11: New Developments
Chapter 12: Fact or Fiction
Chapter 13: Viktor
Chapter 14: Beware the Wolf
Chapter 15: The Rooms
Chapter 16: The Gift
Chapter 17: Charming
Chapter 18: Prowling
Chapter 19: Questions
Chapter 20: Devouring
Chapter 21: Finding Viktor
Chapter 22: Viktory
Chapter 23: A New Plan
Chapter 24: Lost and Found
Chapter 25: Under Foot
Chapter 26: Footsteps
Chapter 27: Doors
Chapter 28: A Narrow Escape
Chapter 29: Healing
Part Two: The Pods Chapter 30: The Unleashing
Chapter 31: The Plague
Chapter 32: Preparation
Chapter 33: Cedar Point
Chapter 34: Resistance
Chapter 35: Rising and Falling
Chapter 36: Ambassadors
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Authors
The Prince Warriors series
Book 1
The Prince Warriors
Book 2
The Prince Warriors and the Unseen Invasion
Book 3
The Prince Warriors and the Swords of Rhema
Unseen: The Prince Warriors 365 Devotional
Copyright © 2017 by Priscilla Shirer
All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America
978-1-4336-9021-1
Published by B&H Publishing Group
Nashville, Tennessee
Dewey Decimal Classification: JF
Subject Heading: COURAGE WAR STORIES TRUST
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 • 21 20 19 18 17
For Jude
Our third-born son.
Our Prince Warrior.
Prologue
Blood dripped from the edge of the blackened shard of metal. One drop, then another, slow and steady, into a large, crudely made iron chalice. The Chief Weaver stood over the chalice, reaching in and pulling out slender threads of bright red. The Weaver’s fingers were long and thin, clever fingers, twisting and forming the threads so quickly no human eye could follow.
But there was no human eye in the room.
On his massive throne sat Ponéros, ruler of Skot’os. He watched the shape unfolding before him: a human form. The beginnings of feet, the mere outline of legs. The legs and feet were most important—they needed to be quick and strong. Ponéros had demanded this.
Around the Chief Weaver, dozens of other weavers lurked, fashioning fingers, hands, arms, shoulders. The slaves brought their work to the Chief Weaver, who added the pieces to his creation, entwining them skillfully.
How much longer? Ponéros spoke impatiently.
The process cannot be hurried, Sire, said the Chief Weaver. Not if you want my best work.
I don’t have time. . . .
Time is not a thing to be feared. The Chief Weaver remained precise and methodical, unruffled by his master’s impatience. He carefully pulled some threads of dark gray fabric that stuck to the scrap of metal and handed them off to another of the weaver slaves, who set about making a set of clothes.
The Chief Weaver had once been a servant of the Source, the true ruler of Ahoratos, the Unseen Realm. But like many others, the servant had crossed the chasm in search of fame, of riches, of admiration. Ponéros had promised him all that and more. The Chief Weaver was one of the lucky ones. He was not kept in a cage. He was allowed his freedom, so long as his work pleased his master. The Chief Weaver knew there would come a time when his master would no longer be pleased—that would be the end of him.
The Chief Weaver had made human suits for Ponéros before. But never like this. There was something quite unusual about this blood—it had come from a Prince Warrior. A young Prince Warrior. The Chief Weaver did not know where Ponéros had gotten it; he could not remember ever having true Prince Warrior blood to work with before. At least, not from a Prince Warrior that was alive and free in Ahoratos. This would be the Weaver’s masterpiece. A perfect specimen. Undetectable.
The Weaver wove together the slim torso, the strong shoulders, muscular arms. He stitched on the hands—large hands with strong, nimble fingers. This was a young human, younger than he had ever made for the Master before. He wondered dimly what the Master was planning.
Then, finally, he placed the head, molding the face. Handsome. Pleasant. A wry smile. Dark hair.
The eyes were most difficult, however. The Chief Weaver could not get them to look quite . . . human. Every other part was perfect. But the eyes had a strange, colorless sheen to them, an emptiness that could not be filled by anything in the Chief Weaver’s arsenal of tricks. The hair would help; he made it longer in front, so that it partially covered the eyes.
When the human suit was ready, the weavers added the clothes—skinny jeans, T-shirt, tennis shoes—and placed it before their master. They backed away, bowing low. They waited in fearful anticipation for his approval.
Ponéros rose and stepped down from his throne, his footsteps making a resounding, clanging noise. His huge shadow fell over the weavers as he picked up the human suit and examined every inch. The Chief Weaver became worried that his master would find some small imperfection and rip the suit apart, forcing them to start all over. It had happened before. And the eyes—there was nothing he could do to fix the eyes.
But then a strange sort of smile cracked Ponéros’s rigid face.
You have done well, Weaver.
The Chief Weaver bowed again.
Ponéros’s massive body began to ripple along the edges, becoming like liquid, melting down to a dark puddle on the floor. Then the puddle snaked toward the human suit, entering through the feet and creeping upward, filling the suit, giving it shape and form. Suddenly the eyes blinked, the head swiveled, the mouth curled. Ponéros turned to the weavers, spreading his new arms, flexing his new muscles, testing his new legs. He took several steps and stopped, turning, walking again. He had to get the feel of it, of being a human boy, a teenager. The slight slouch, the way the hands went into the pockets. The rhythmic walk, cocky and smooth. All the details had to be right.
The eyes are still . . . telling, the Chief Weaver said. The older ones may suspect something if they look too deeply into the eyes. Perhaps it is best to avoid the old ones completely.
Ponéros nodded.
What will you call yourself, Sire?
Ponéros raised his two hands in the air, closing his fists. His voice had changed, now smooth and pleasant. Human.
“My name is Viktor.”
CHAPTER 1
A Hole in the Water
Let’s race. Girls against boys.”
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br /> Brianna and Ivy stood beside each other, hands on hips, facing Levi and Xavier. It was the day after Thanksgiving, but the weather was strangely warm. The pond sparkled in the sunshine. The kids had spent the afternoon paddling around in the brand-new tandem kayaks that Evan and Xavier’s parents had bought as an early Christmas present for the kids.
“You’re kidding, right?” asked Levi, trying not to laugh. “You think you two can beat us?” Levi and Xavier looked at each other. Xavier was taller, but Levi had twice as many muscles as both girls put together.
“A sloth could beat you two,” said Ivy, flipping her wavy, red hair.
“That’s probably not true, technically,” said Manuel, who sat at the edge of the dock with Evan, tossing fishing lines into the water. Manuel preferred water activities that didn’t require actually getting into the water. “A sloth can only travel at a speed of about .15 miles per hour, while a kayak could reach a speed of—”
“What’s a sloth?” asked Evan.
“Okay girls, let’s do it,” said Xavier, reaching for a paddle. “Last one to the other side of the pond has to buy the winning team a triple-decker sundae at the Snack Shack.”
“Each,” said Levi.
“Deal,” said Brianna. “Prepare to lose your allowance on ice cream.”
“We get the yellow one,” Ivy added. The two girls jumped onto the dock where the kayaks were tied up and took turns getting in.
“What about us?” said Evan, ditching his fishing pole. “I want to race too!” Evan used to be afraid of going in the pond, which was so big it might as well be a lake. It was quite deep and might (he thought) have been inhabited by a sea monster at one time or another. But since his travels to Ahoratos, which included riding a sea monster, those fears had evaporated.
“All that’s left is the rowboat,” said Levi. He and Xavier pulled the green kayak next to the dock so they could get into it. “It might leak a little.”
“I’ll row. You bail.” Evan grabbed Manuel’s arm and dragged him over to the old rowboat on the shore of the pond.
“That doesn’t look seaworthy,” said Manuel doubtfully.
“That’s okay; this isn’t the sea anyway.”
“Don’t forget your life jackets,” said Xavier with a grin. “You know Mom is watching from the kitchen window and will be out here in a second if you don’t put one on.”
“Yeah, I know. She has eyes in the back of her head.” Evan grabbed two life jackets from the edge of the dock and tossed one to Manuel, who held it with a puzzled expression, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to put it on.
Xavier and Levi used their paddles to push away from the dock.
“I think they’ve got something up their sleeves,” Levi said, watching the two girls, who had their heads together as if forming a plan. “Probably going to capsize us or something.”
“Like they could get close enough to try,” said Xavier with a smirk. He turned to the girls. “You ready?”
“Just a sec.” Brianna rested her paddle on her legs and took a tube of lip gloss out of her pocket. She slathered glitter all over her lips.
“You need to fix your hair too?” asked Levi in a jeering voice.
“You’re so funny,” said Ivy. “On your mark, get set, GO!”
The two kayaks took off, the kids paddling furiously away from the dock. The girls called out a chant, “Catch us if you can!”
“Push us off!” Evan had already jumped into the rowboat and grabbed the oars. Manuel put on the life jacket and bent down to push against the stern of the boat. It didn’t budge. He drove his bony shoulders even harder against the boat, his feet sinking into the soft dirt.
“Come on!” Evan urged.
“It . . . won’t . . .” Manuel shoved again, and finally the boat edged away from the shore. Evan stuck the oar into the water and gave it an extra push. The boat started to float free.
“Jump in!” Evan shouted.
“Jump?” asked Manuel, wide-eyed.
“Hurry!”
Manuel took a breath, grabbed hold of the stern, and threw one leg over, his glasses sliding down his nose. The little boat rocked like crazy.
“Whoa, man!” cried Evan. “You almost tipped us over!”
“Sorry!” Manuel pulled in his other foot and reached up to hold onto his glasses as Evan started rowing like mad to make up for lost time. They were already twenty feet behind the two kayaks.
Manuel looked with consternation at the water collecting around his ankles. He shivered a little—the water was cold.
“It’s leaking!”
“Grab the bucket! Start bailing!” Evan heaved with the oars. Manuel grasped the little sand bucket that rolled around on the bottom of the boat. It had a big crack in it. He sighed and began dumping small amounts of water overboard, bailing and tossing as fast as he could. He had to stop every once in a while to push his glasses up his nose.
“How far behind are we?” Evan was facing backward as he rowed, so he couldn’t see the kayaks ahead of them.
“Um . . . I don’t know. . . .” Manuel straightened to see around Evan, squinting into the sun. The pond was lined with large willows and had a bend in the middle, so he couldn’t see all the way to the other side. “I don’t see them.”
“Huh?” Evan twisted his head around to see. “They’re probably hiding behind those big trees. They think they’re so funny. Just want us to think they won already.”
Manuel shivered again. “Perhaps we should go back.” The water sloshed up his leg. “I’ve got some homework. . . .”
“No way. We’ll show them we won’t quit.” Evan rowed with renewed energy.
“Wait—what is that?” Manuel nearly stood up, rocking the whole boat.
“You’re gonna tip us! What’s the matter?”
“Look!” Manuel pointed to something over Evan’s head. Evan stopped rowing and turned around. For a moment he didn’t see anything. Then he gasped.
Just ahead of them a dark circle had appeared in the water. It was perfectly round, about five feet wide. It looked like a hole.
A hole in the water?
“What is that? A whirlpool?” asked Evan.
“Can’t be,” Manuel said. “There is not enough current here—”
The boat continued to drift toward the hole. Evan tried to row in the opposite direction, but the boat kept moving toward the hole, as if pulled by an irresistible force.
“Help!” Manuel yelled. “Help!” He started to gasp, his asthma acting up the more scared he got. “I need . . . my . . . inhaler . . .”
“Wait—look!” said Evan. “Do you see what I see?”
Manuel leaned over the edge of the boat to see what Evan was pointing at. There was something shimmering on the surface of the hole. Fuzzy and indistinct at first, it soon took on a definite shape.
“It’s the Crest!” Evan cried. The Crest of Ahoratos. “That means this is—”
“The Water!” Manuel paused, realizing the sheer impossibility of what he had just said. “Wait a minute. The Water? But what is the Water doing here? In this water? On earth?”
“I think we need to go down there and find out.”
“What? Down there?”
“That must be where the others went. Come on! We don’t want to miss out!”
“No, no, no!” Manuel yelped as Evan pulled the oars into the boat, allowing it to steer itself toward the hole. “This is not a good idea!”
“Relax, Manuel! Count!” Evan didn’t feel scared at all, even though it was very peculiar that the Water should appear on earth. That had never happened before. The Water meant adventure. Something amazing was going to happen. He wasn’t about to miss it.
“One . . . two . . . three . . .” Manuel felt his stomach jump up into his throat as the boat edged closer to the hole. He always counted when
he was scared out of his wits. “We need to tell your mother . . .”
“Oh, she probably knows!” Evan gripped both sides of the boat as it tipped forward. He let out a cry of utter joy. “Woohoo!”
“We’re going to die!” Manuel shouted, the sound lost in the rush of the Water all around them, in their eyes and ears and mouths. “Four . . . five . . . six . . .” The boat went vertical and dropped into the hole.
“Like . . . Space . . . Mountain . . .” Evan choked out. He could see nothing but dark. He couldn’t even feel any water—it was like being in a protective tube in the middle of a waterfall. Like the tube rides he’d been on at Splash Zone, although those rides didn’t generally go straight down. He realized then that he wasn’t even in the boat anymore. The boat had disappeared. He was falling feet first, his arms stretched above his head.
“Not . . . having . . . fun!” Manuel’s voice gurgled somewhere nearby.
“I am!” Evan shouted, although the words seemed to go right back down his throat. “BEST . . . RIDE . . . EVER!”
* * *
The next thing Evan knew, he was in the Cave. Bluish, glowing stalactites dripped from the high ceiling, and rows of stalagmites encircled the floor like tiny mountain ranges. Sparks—little white puffs of light that floated everywhere in the Cave—danced around his head. He reached out to try and grab one, as he always did, but it evaded his grasp.
Manuel arrived a moment later, his eyes squeezed shut, two fingers holding his nose closed. He was no longer wearing his glasses. He didn’t need them in Ahoratos.
Evan nudged him. “It’s okay, Manuel. We’re here. We made it.”
“’Bout time you showed up.”
Evan whirled to see Xavier and the other kids already there. They were all in their warrior clothes, as he was: dark gray pants and shirts. They also wore their armor, the white triangular breastplate, the wide, plain belt, the tall boots, and the helmet, which looked sort of like a bike helmet except the surface was faceted rather than smooth.
Evan resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at Xavier. He was nearly ten, too old for stuff like that, even if his older brother still got on his case from time to time.
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