QUIET! No more excuses. We have lost an army—and a fortress—to a group of children. I will not tolerate this. They must be stopped.
They are Prince Warriors. They are stronger than we thought.
You are afraid of children now? The shadow laughed, a hideous sound. Did you retrieve nothing?
Only this. The Forger raised one mechanical arm and opened its fingers. In its metal hand there lay a small scrap of twisted metal.
They left this behind.
The scrap was charred black, except for one sharp edge that was stained red with blood. A few threads of clothing hung from the jagged tip.
It belongs to one of them, said the Forger, eager to please the master.
The shadow began to laugh, a hideous, echoing sound that made the faces in the throne moan piteously. Even the snakes slithered away in fear.
Aw. They left something behind, Ponéros said. This will serve us well. Call the Weavers. There is work to do.
Keep reading for a sneak peek at book 3 . . .
The Prince Warriors and the Swords of Rhema
Finn ran to the edge of the rocky precipice and skidded to a halt, sending a flurry of pebbles into the deep fog below. His heart beat like crazy in his chest. He couldn’t look down without feeling dizzy. He panted hard, struggling for breath.
The narrow rock he stood on shook as the pounding footfalls of the Forgers closed in. Finn had no idea where he was now. But he knew he had nowhere to go.
* * *
Finn had been out exploring the land of Ahoratos, learning the ins and outs of being a Prince Warrior. After a life spent in the dark prison of Skot’os, the beauty and splendor offered on this side of Ahoratos nearly overwhelmed his senses. Forests with trees as tall as mountains, rivers and streams with water that sparkled like fine jewels, rolling hills choked with wildflowers of every imaginable color. Color itself was something wholly new to Finn, who had lived in a world of endless gray his entire life.
He was about to head back to the Cave when he’d heard a sound—like a cry for help—so pitiful and sad it nearly broke his heart. He’d heard that sound before, coming from his own mouth as he had sat in Ponéros’s prison, losing all hope that he would ever get out. He ran toward the pathetic wail, which led him to a bridge that spanned a deep chasm.
He stopped, gazing at the pretty cobblestoned walkway with the ivy-covered railings. Was this the Bridge of Tears that separated Skot’os from the rest of Ahoratos, the one he had heard about when he was still a prisoner? He wasn’t sure.
But then the cry came again. Finn drew nearer. As he did, he noticed that halfway across the bridge, the rustic cobblestones morphed into black steel girders that disappeared into a thick fog on the other side. He felt a chill run down his spine. Skot’os must lie beyond that fog, he thought. But he knew as long as he stayed on this side of the bridge, he would be safe.
Again the horrible cry of distress filled the air, and a figure emerged from the fog, limping toward Finn over the metal girders. He gasped—it looked like a prisoner of Skot’os. The figure was dragging one of his metal-encased legs behind him, obviously struggling, desperate to escape from that dark, malevolent place. Finn felt a rush of adrenaline—he had to help rescue this prisoner as he himself had been rescued! He had been hoping for an opportunity like this ever since he’d received his armor from Ruwach and begun learning the ways of the Prince Warriors.
Without thinking further, Finn ran over the bridge toward the prisoner, who looked at him pleadingly, whimpering, unable to speak any words.
“I’ll help you!” Finn whispered. “Quickly! Come with me!”
Finn reached out to take hold of the prisoner’s arm—but as soon as he did, he knew he’d made a mistake. The prisoner’s half-human face darkened and hardened, his body lengthened, straightened, new plates of metal taking over the uneven patches of human flesh. The prisoner’s human-looking eyes disappeared behind round red glowing discs. This was not a prisoner at all. It was a Forger.
Finn snatched his hand away and turned to run. The Forger grabbed for his shoulder, but Finn managed to evade him. He glanced back and saw that there were several more of them, charging out of the mist on the Skot’os side of the bridge. They’d lain in wait for him. It was a trap.
Finn was naturally pretty fast, and his boots made him feel as though he were flying over the cobblestones. But the Forgers’ huge steps covered twice as much ground at the same time. Once off the bridge, Finn tried to run back to the Cave, but he wasn’t sure of the way. And he was too busy fleeing Forgers to pay attention to the blinking light of his breastplate.
Now he regretted it. Somehow, he had made a wrong turn and ended up trapped on this narrow ledge, hovering over a seemingly bottomless pit. He skidded to a halt and heard the sound of pebbles cascading into the deep fog below. There was no escape.
His heart pounded. He struggled to breathe.
“Ruwach! Someone! Help me!” Finn cried aloud.
He got no reply.
The Forgers closed in on him, their metal hands reaching out to grab him. Finn knew he was done for. He would turn back into the half-metal prisoner he’d been before. No. He couldn’t let that happen. He wasn’t going back there again.
Then he remembered his shield. He pulled the tiny red seed out of his pocket and thrust his arm out before him. The shield burst forth from his tightly closed fist, a spray of brilliant red lights creating a dome of protection around him. The Forgers stopped in their tracks and roared, waving their metal arms around angrily.
Finn let out a breath of relief. He kept his arm straight out and tried to take a step forward, pushing back against the strength of the Forgers with his shield. But they appeared to be immovable. He tried again with no luck. He kept his arm erect but began to feel the pressure of the Forgers mounting as they closed in on him. Pushing. Pressing. He struggled to keep his shield deployed.
As he stood there, protected but still surrounded, he wondered what he should do. He felt the ground under his feet shift as he struggled to keep his footing.
He glanced down and saw a crack forming in the rock of the precipice. In a moment it would break off, and he would fall into the pit.
“Tell me what to do!” he called out, hoping Ruwach, wherever he was, could hear.
The orb of his breastplate began to spin, churning out words that hovered in the air before him.
Resist the enemy, and he will flee.
Finn remembered this instruction from The Book the last time he’d been with Ruwach in the Cave. That word rolled around in his mind.
Resist.
The only other time he’d heard about resistance was from his high school football coach during weight training. “The heavier the resistance, the more muscle you will build. The stronger you will become!” he had bellowed over the clank-clank sound of the heavy metal plates.
Resist the enemy, and he will flee.
Build strength.
Heavier. More muscle.
Finn steeled himself, gathering all his strength and focusing it on the arm that held the shield. This was all he could think to do. He opened his mouth and let out a thunderous growl as he pushed his shield into the Forgers with all his might. Then he took one step toward them.
Resist . . . resist . . .
He took another step, gasping for breath, every muscle in his body straining to the breaking point. He could feel the rock he stood on give way; he could hear the ominous cracking, the showering of pebbles as it began to break off. He kept his focus on his shield, moving, pushing, resisting.
His renewed resolve seemed to weaken the Forgers, for now they were inching backward, their heavy iron feet kicking up dust and dirt that lodged in their metal joints, causing them to stumble.
Resist!
The faltering of the Forgers gave Finn new energy, and he pushed harder and harder,
leaping over the crack just as the rocky precipice broke free. He teetered on the edge of the chasm, throwing all his weight into the force of the shield. He thought his arm might break from the effort, but he kept it out straight, his fist clamped on the seed. He took another step. And another.
Resist.
Soon he was clear of the edge and gaining traction, pushing the now powerless and clumsy Forgers backward. A new plan formed in his mind. He sidestepped to the right so that the Forgers were forced to swivel with him. Now they were the ones with their backs to the precipice.
Finn let out a yell, a brawling victory cry as he thrust the Forgers steadily backward, his resistance as lethal to them as kryptonite to Superman. The Forgers howled as if in pain, waving their arms helplessly.
Finn was practically running now as he steered the Forgers right to the edge. With one last powerful thrust he sent them reeling over the cliff. He watched as all of them cascaded into the mist below, disappearing from view. He stood motionless for several seconds, shocked and paralyzed at the sound of their pitiful cries. As the noise subsided, Finn retracted his shield and stared out into the empty distance.
He closed his eyes and let out a long, long breath. It was over. He’d done it. He’d faced the Forgers and beaten them. But instead of pride, he felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Without the guidance of Ruwach, the instruction from the Source, and the power of the armor, he would never have prevailed.
“Well done, Prince Finn.”
Finn whirled to see Ruwach standing behind him, his hands folded into the long sleeves of his purple robe, his face still invisible in the deep hood. Finn knelt at once, bowing his head. He always did this when Ruwach appeared to him; Ruwach had taken away his metal parts and made him whole again. Flesh, again. His only desire now was to serve Ruwach and the Source with all of his being.
Suddenly Finn noticed that Ruwach was not alone. The other Prince Warriors he’d met in the Cave walked up beside him, looking at Finn quizzically. They seemed surprised to find themselves here. With him.
“What happened?” said the tallest one, Xavier. Where’d those Forgers go?”
Finn pointed silently to the edge of the cliff.
“What . . . they just—went over?” said the youngest, Evan. He looked shocked.
“Did you throw them off?” said another kid, Levi.
Finn shrugged. “I just . . . resisted.”
“You did indeed,” said Ruwach. “They didn’t anticipate that you would.”
“Who? The Forgers?”
Ruwach nodded. “They did not expect one so young or newly freed to know the secret power of resistance.”
Finn lifted his head a little in a humble sort of pride.
“You were tested,” Ruwach continued, “and now you have been strengthened by your resolve. You are ready now.” He paused as if in thoughtful reflection. “In fact, you all are.” He extended one of his long arms out to encompass the kids.
“Ready? For what?” said the girl named Brianna, tilting her head.
Ruwach’s arm stretched up; his white glowing hand emerged from his sleeve, one long finger pointing toward something in the distance. Finn and the children all turned to look in that direction.
Ruwach was pointing to the tall mountain that stood at the very center of Ahoratos, the one that they’d marveled at before. Its peak was still invisible underneath a veil of clouds, but only for a moment. When Ruwach pointed, the clouds began to separate, pulling back like a curtain to reveal the top of the mountain fully for the first time. It was entirely flat, as if the tip had been cut off.
“Cool,” whispered Ivy, the girl with the red hair. “A volcano.”
“Possibly a fumarole,” said the boy with the glasses, Manuel. “Although I’ve never seen anything quite like that.”
A thick, white vapor, like steam, emanated from the flat peak of the mountain. It did look an awful lot like a volcano. Except different. For although the mountain appeared very still and calm, they could sense a movement within it, like the pulse of blood pumping through a vein. Somehow, the entire mountain seemed to rise and fall steadily. And they were certain that they could hear a soft wispy sound ascend from its flattened peak, each hushed exhale in cadence with the steady rhythm.
It was as if the mountain were . . . breathing.
“The Mountain of Rhema,” Ruwach said. He spoke the words very quietly, as if even he were awed by them. “The mountain awakens when it is time.”
“Time for what?” Xavier stepped forward, his eyes glued to Ruwach.
“Time for you to receive your swords.”
Acknowledgments
With extreme gratitude to . . .
. . . my incredible ministry partners at B&H Publishing Group. Dan, Michelle, Rachel, and Jana, I am so extremely grateful for your investment in this work. Thank you for prioritizing this story and these characters. It’s an honor to equip the next generation of Warriors with you.
. . . the creative genius of Gina Detwiler. Collaborating with you on this manuscript has been a joy. This story could not have been as rich and thrilling without your input. Your creativity astounds me, and your dedication inspires me. Thank you for the gift of your skilled pen. It has helped me to put this book into the hands of young readers everywhere.
. . . Lois Elizabeth Farris, the newest Princess Warrior in our family. God’s got big plans for you, sweet girl.
. . . Jerry Shirer—You are the inspiration for Mr. J. Ar. He’s the embodiment of maturity and strength in this series, and that is exactly what you are to me. Thank you for being a provider, visionary, friend, husband, and champion for me. Most of all, thank you for being a warrior—a Prince Warrior.
. . . Jackson and Jude—Your father and I have great expectations for you. The journey of faith that the Lord has planned for you will be epic. We are praying that you will be strong and courageous followers—Prince Warriors—who will take the risk and go with God. I can tell you with all assurance that it will be worth it.
. . . my father, Dr. Tony Evans, and my grandfathers, James Basil Cannings and Sherman Arthur Evans. The adult male figures in these stories are named after you. Your choices and faithfulness have shaped the trajectory of our lives. Your life and legacy live on in us—your children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.
About the Authors
Priscilla Shirer is a homemade cinnamon-roll baker, Bible teacher, and best-selling author who didn’t know her books (The Resolution for Women and Fervent) were on The New York Times Best Seller list until somebody else told her. Because who has time to check such things while raising three rapidly growing sons? When she and Jerry, her husband of sixteen years, are not busy leading Going Beyond Ministries, they spend most of their time cleaning up after and trying to satisfy the appetites of these guys. And that is what first drove Priscilla to dream up this fictional story about the very un-fictional topic of spiritual warfare—to help raise up a new generation of Prince Warriors under her roof. And under yours.
Gina Detwiler was planning to be a teacher but switched to writing so she wouldn’t have to get up so early in the morning. She’s written a couple of books in various genres (Avalon and Hammer of God, under the name Gina Miani) and dramas published by Lillenas and Drama Ministry, but she prefers writing (and reading) books for young people. She lives in Buffalo, New York, where it snows a lot, with her husband and three beautiful daughters. She is honored and grateful to be able to work with Priscilla on The Prince Warriors series.
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The Prince Warriors and the Unseen Invasion Page 20
