BOOK FOUR: THE SHADOWS OF GOD
As the armies of the Malakim advance, led by a child of bright and burning power, Benjamin Franklin must summon all his ingenuity for the desperate attempt to preserve, not just the freedom of his country, but its very existence. For behind the wars of humanity there are other wars, fought by aetheric beings of immense strength and conviction.
The Malakim may be angels . . . or demons . All that’s certain is that when the war in heaven is over, there won’t be much–if anything–left of Earth.
As the ruthless forces of Russia lay waste to the New World, English troops make landfall in the east, determined to reconquer the colonies. Trapped in between lies a motley collection of Native Americans, ex-slaves, and refugees of the European catastrophe, led by Franklin and the Choctaw shaman Red Shoes. In that struggle, Red Shoes may prove his most potent ally . . . and his most dangerous threat.
In this stunning conclusion to The Age of Unreason trilogy, the balance of power lies with Adrienne de Montchevreuil, whose grasp of science is the equal of Franklin’s, and whose magic may be stronger even than that of the Choctaw. Only with her help can they hope to defeat the Sun Boy and his Malakim masters. But Adrienne has a shocking secret of her own, calling into question where her true allegiances may lie . . .
From the Trade Paperback edition.
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|Title of eBook: The Shadows of God|
|Release Date: 03-04-2009|
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|Publisher: Random House Publishing Group|
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The Shadows of God
New Paris Benjamin Franklin crouched low on hands and knees, pressing his face toward the ash gray soil. The forest surrounding him chirped, clicked, and hummed lazily in the soggy noontime heat.
A sudden rattling in the branches made him look up, for the forest had proven deceptive, these last few months. Sleepy it might be, but it dreamed of panther, Indian ambush, rattlesnake, and the corpse of Benjamin Franklin.
But it was only a flight of green parakeets, settling into a live oak. For the moment, the forest was not trying to kill Franklin. A Spaniard, this forest: disdaining to do much of anything between noon and three o’clock. So this was a good time to pry at the land’s secrets. Franklin knelt a little lower, wishing the Coweta hadn’t taken his hand lens when they tried to torture him to death. He needed it now. He continued his work with squinting eyes, sat up briefly, scribbled in his book, then peered back at the dirt.
When he heard the footsteps behind him, it was too late. Or would have been, if it hadn’t been a friend.
“Reading our futures there, Sir Wizard?”
Franklin didn’t turn. “Hello, Voltaire,” he said, the belated tingle of alarm fading. “They fascinate me. Look at them.”
The Frenchman crouched beside him, his long arms folded on narrow knees, a merry grin on a face that was mostly pointed chin. “I take it you mean the ants?” he said.
“Of course. See here, how they form a train to supply their city? I followed this one back—it goes to the corpse of an opossum, some twenty yards in that direction. For ants, that would b