By Paul J. McAuley
On a synthetic international created and seeded with 10000 bloodlines by way of the long-vanished Preservers, younger Yama's ancestry is exclusive, for he seems to be the final closing scion of the developers, closest of all races to the worshipped architects of Confluence. And on an afternoon close to the tip of the area, Yama needs to ultimately recognize the facility he neither expected nor wishes.
In the airborne dirt and dust of many crumbling bureaucracies, Yama searches for an identification and a history-awed and frightened of his ever-growing potential to rouse the negative machines of destruction that his world's absent gods left napping. To the typical folk-the unshaped and aboriginal-he is the achievement of age-old prophecies. To the functionaries of the dep. of Indigenous Affairs, he's a weapon to be molded and utilized in the bloody civil struggle raging on the planet's midpoint-a probably never-ending conflict that pits those that revere the Preservers' legislation opposed to the harmful Heretics who might obliterate all antiquated values and codes of behavior.
But there are nonetheless others who've taken observe of Yama as he pursues the hidden secrets and techniques of his earlier. clever powers older than the Builders-as outdated, probably, because the Preservers themselves -are pursuing Yama in flip. and they'll cease at not anything to regulate his present-and, consequently, the way forward for every little thing that lives-in anticipation of the final word triumph of the Ancients of Days.
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Additional info for Ancients of Days: The Second Book of Confluence
I fear that I have a talent for drawing enemies to myself. There! " The tiny point of blue light had appeared at the foot of the dark wall of the library. Now it began to ascend the stairway. Eliphas knocked out his pipe on the railing of the stairs. His fingers were trembling as he put it away. "We must go on. " Chapter Seven THE GAMBLER YAMA AND ELIPHAS reached the long lawn and its fountain just as dawn began to define the mountain ranges at the edge of the city's wide plain. The library was far below, its towers ablaze with lights, but there was no sign of the hell-hound.
Eliphas smiled. "Not at all. What stands aboveground is only a tenth part of the whole. The stacks and carrels of the archives run far back into the Palace. " "That is suddenly the least of my concerns," Yama said. They found a narrow path at the far end of the long lawn. It wound along the foot of a bluff from which a cluster of square, white, windowless buildings hung, like the cells of a wasp nest. Far below, the hellhound stopped for a full minute, burning in the midst of a steep field of red corn, and then suddenly moved forward at a steady pace, cutting across the field in a straight line toward them.
He was aware of a number of small machines in the chamber, but he could no more hurl them at the hellhound than he could have endangered the village. People were fighting to get through the gate; no escape there. Yama stepped backward as the hellhound swayed toward him, watched by laborers and husbandmen hiding amongst wagons and carts. Eliphas called out. Yama risked glancing around and saw that the old man was standing on top of an overturned cart. A man jumped up beside Eliphas; Yama recognized the gambler who had been playing the shell game outside the bawdy house.
Ancients of Days: The Second Book of Confluence by Paul J. McAuley