About the book: year / Far across the ocean lies Atlantis - the land of a people confident in their right to drink the blood of their brothers. On the blasted isthmus, among piles of earth and displaced rocks, the slaves of the Grand Canal end another day. Somewhere on the gray waves the ships of Typhon are sailing with new victims - the remnants of the rebellious army of Sevz. Scattered across the tundra and mountains, separated by months of travel and centuries of hostility - in dugouts, caves and plagues, half-fed and hungry - people of different tribes fall asleep - brothers who do not recognize each other. And towards all this from the north, slowly, invisible to the eye, but irresistibly, huge fingers of glaciers, blue from their own cold, are crawling... What knots will all this connect with each other, where will it lead the Earth and its children - to death or general happiness? Promeat knew none of this. He was not a god. For many hundreds of years, legends about those times will be passed on from site to site, from people to people. The Gii will tell them differently than the Cotta, and the Libs will tell them differently than the Boreans. Legends will reach a time when, instead of wise Mothers, the great Sky Rulers, Autocrats, Lightning Shakers will again rise over people. And then the obsequious rhapsodists will come up with a happy ending for the legend - how the king of the gods, Zeus, defeated the daring rebel Prometheus, and then forgave him. But in those autumn days, near the burnt Atla, Promeates defeated in the great battle for human souls. The dead defeated the living!