Icebones tm-3 Read online

  She turned. His broad back, long guard hairs shining, was still visible over a blue-black ridge that poked like a bone out of the hard ground.

  She hurried after him.

  Walking was difficult. The hard ground crumpled into folds, as if it had once flowed like congealing ice, and great gullies had been raked out of the side of the Mountain.

  Her strength seemed sapped. She struggled to climb the ridges, and slithered on her splayed feet down slopes where she could not get a purchase. The air was smoky and thin, and her chest heaved at it.

  She found a gully that was roofed over by a layer of rock. She probed with brief curiosity into a kind of cave, much taller than she was, that receded into the darkness like a vast nostril. Perhaps all the gullies here had once been long tubular caves like this, but their rocky roofs had collapsed.

  In one place the ground had cracked open, like burned skin, and steam billowed. Mud, gray and liquid, boiled inside the crack, and it built up tall, skinny vents, like trunks sticking out of the ground. The air around the mud pool was hot and dense with smoke and ash, making it even harder to draw a breath.

  Grit settled on her eyes, making them weep. She longed for the soft earth of the Island in summer, for grass and herbs and bushes.

  But the Bull was striding on, his gait still languidly slow to her eyes. He was confident, used to the vagaries of the ground where she was uncertain, healthy and strong where she still felt stiff and disoriented. She hurried after him.

  And now, as she came over a last ridge, she saw that he had joined a group of mammoths.

  They were all Cows, she saw instantly. She felt a surge of relief to see a Family here — even if it was not her Family. She hurried forward, trumpeting a greeting.

  They turned, sniffing the air. The mammoths stood close together, and the wind made their long guard hairs swirl around them in a single wave, like a curtain of falling water.

  There were three young-looking Cows, so similar they must have been sisters. One appeared to be carrying a calf: her belly was heavy and low, and her dugs were swollen. An older Cow might have been their mother — her posture was tense and uncertain — and a still older Cow, moving stiffly as if her bones ached, might be her mother, grandmother to the sisters — and so, surely, the Matriarch of the Family. Icebones thought they all seemed agitated, uncertain.

  Icebones watched as the Cow she had tagged as the mother lumbered over to the Bull and cuffed his scalp affectionately with her trunk… And the mother towered over the Bull.

  That didn’t make sense, Icebones thought, bewildered. Adult Bulls were taller than Cows. This Bull had been much taller than Icebones, and Icebones, at fifteen years old, was nearly her full adult height. So how could this older Cow tower over him as if he was a calf?

  There was one more Cow here, Icebones saw now, standing a little way away from the clustered Family. This Cow was different. Her hair was very fine — so fine that in places Icebones could see her skin, which was pale gray, mottled pink. Her tusks were short and straight, lacking the usual curling sweep of mammoth tusks, and her ears were large and floppy.

  This Cow was staring straight at Icebones as she approached, her trunk held high as she sniffed the air. Her posture was hard and still, as if she were a musth Bull challenging a younger rival.

  "I am Icebones," she said.

  The others did not reply. She walked forward.

  The mammoths seemed to grow taller and taller, their legs extending like shadows cast by a setting sun, until they loomed over her, as if she too was reduced to the dimensions of a calf.

  Icebones felt reluctant, increasingly nervous. Must everything be strange here?

  She approached the grandmother. Though she too was much taller than Icebones, this old one’s hair was discolored black and gray and her head was lean, the skin and hair sunken around her eyes and temples, so that the shape of the skull was clearly visible. Icebones reached out and slipped her trunk into the grandmother’s mouth, and tasted staleness and blood. She is very old, Icebones realized with dismay.

  She said, "You are the Matriarch. My Matriarch is Silverhair. But my Family is far from here…"

  "Matriarch," said the grandmother. "Family." She gazed at Icebones. "Silverhair. These are old words, words buried deep in our heads, our bellies. I am no Matriarch, child."

  Icebones was confused. "Every Family has a Matriarch."

  The grandmother growled. "This is my daughter. These are her children, these three Cows. And this one carries a calf of her own — another generation, if I live to see it… But we are not a Family." She sneezed, her limp trunk flexing, and bloodstained mucus splashed over the rock at her feet.

  Icebones shrank back. "I never heard of mammoths without names, a Family that wasn’t a Family, Cows without a Matriarch."

  One of the three tall sisters approached Icebones curiously. Her tusks were handsome symmetrical spirals before her face. Her legs were skinny and extended. Even her head was large, Icebones saw, the delicate skull expansive above the fringe of hair that draped down from her chin.

  She reached out with her trunk and probed at Icebones’s hair and mouth and ears, just as if Icebones was a calf. "I know who you are."

  Icebones recoiled.

  But now the others were all around her — the other sisters, the mother, the Bull.

  "We were told you would come."

  "I am thirsty. I want water."

  "My baby is stirring. I am hungry."

  The strange, tall mammoths clamored at her, like calves seeking dugs to suckle, plucking at the hair on her back and legs, even the clumps on her stubby tail.

  She trumpeted, backing off. "Get away from me!"

  The other — the Ragged One, stub-tusked, pink-spotted — came lumbering over the rocky slope to stand close to Icebones. "You mustn’t mind them. They think you might be the Matriarch, you see. That’s what they’ve been promised."

  Now the Bull-calf came loping toward her, oddly slow, ungainly. He said to Icebones, "Show us how to find food. That’s what Matriarchs are supposed to do."

  I’m no Matriarch, she thought. I’ve never even had a calf. I’ve never mated. I’m little older than you are, for all your size… "You must find food for yourself," she said.

  "But he can’t," the Ragged One said slyly. "Let me show you."

  And she turned and began to follow a trail, lightly worn into the hard rock, that led over a further ridge.

  Confused, apprehensive, Icebones followed.

  The Ragged One brought her to a shallow pit that had been sliced into the flank of the Mountain. At the back of the pit was a vertical wall, like a cliff face, into which sockets had been cut, showing dark and empty spaces beyond.

  And, strangest of all, on a raised outcrop at the center of the leveled floor stood a mammoth — but it was not a mammoth. It, he or she, was merely a heap of bones, painstakingly reassembled to mimic life, with not a scrap of flesh or fat or hair. The naked skeleton raised great yellow tusks challengingly to the pink sky.

  Icebones recognized the nature of this place immediately: the harsh straight lines and level planes of its construction, the casual horror of the bony monument at the center. "This is a place of the Lost," she said. "We should get away from here."

  The Ragged One gazed at her with eyes that were too orange, too bright. "You really don’t understand, do you? The Lost aren’t the problem. The problem is, the Lost have gone." She circled her trunk around Icebones’s, and began to tug her, gently but relentlessly, toward the shallow, open pit.

  Icebones walked forward, one heavy step after another, straining to detect the presence of the Lost. But her sense of smell was scrambled by the stink of the smoky air.

  "Where were you born?"

  "On the Island," Icebones said. "A steppe. A land of grass and bushes and water."

  The Raged One growled. "Your Island, if it ever existed, is long ago and far away. Here — this is where I was born. And my mother before me — and her mo
ther — and hers. Here, in this place of the Lost. What do you think of that?"

  Icebones looked up at the cavernous rooms cut into the wall. "And was a Lost your Matriarch? Did the Lost give you your names?"

  "We had no Matriarch," the Ragged One said simply. "We had no need of Families. We had no need of names. For we only had to do what the Lost showed us, and we would be kept well and happy. Look." The Ragged One stalked over to a low trough set in the sheer wall. A flap of shining stone dangled before it, like the curtain of guard hairs beneath the belly of a mammoth. The Ragged One pushed the tip of her trunk under the flap, which lifted up. When she withdrew her trunk, she held it up before Icebones. Save for a little dust, her pink trunk tip was empty.

  Icebones was baffled by this mysterious behavior. And she saw that the trunk had just a single nostril.

  The Ragged One said, "Every day since I was born I came to this place and pushed my trunk in the hole, and was rewarded with food. Grass, herbs, bark, twigs. Every day. And from other holes in this wall I have drawn water to drink — as much as I like. But not today, and not for several days."

  "How can food grow in a hole?"

  The old grandmother came limping toward them, her gaunt head heavy. "It doesn’t grow there, child. The Lost put it there with their paws."

  "And now," the Ragged One said, "the Lost are gone. All of them. And so there is no more food in the hole, no more water. Now can you see why we are frightened?"

  The old one, with a weary effort, lifted her trunk and laid it on Icebones’s scalp. "I don’t know who you are, or where you came from. But we have a legend. One day the Lost would leave this place, and the great empty spaces of this world would be ours. And on that day, one would come who would lead us, and show us how to live: how to eat, how to drink, how to survive the heat of the summer and the cold of the winter."

  "A Matriarch," Icebones said softly.

  The grandmother murmured, "It has been a very long time — more generations than there are stars in the sky. So they say…"

  "But now," the Ragged One said, "the Lost are gone, and we are hungry. Are you to be our Matriarch, Icebones?"

  Icebones lifted her trunk from one to the other. The grandmother seemed to be gazing at her expectantly, as if with hope, but there was only envy and ambition in the stance of the Ragged One.

  "I am no Matriarch," Icebones said.

  The Ragged One snorted contempt. "Then must we die here — ?"

  Her words were drowned out by a roar louder than any mammoth’s. The ground shuddered sharply under Icebones’s feet, and she stumbled.

  Dark smoke thrust out of the higher slopes of the Mountain. The huge black column was shot through with fire, and lumps of burning rock flew high. The air became thick and dark, full of the stink of sulfur, and darkness fell over them.

  "Ah," said the Ragged One, as if satisfied. "This old monster is waking up at last."

  Flakes of ash were falling through the muddy air, like snowflakes, settling on the mammoths’ outer hair. It was a strange, distracting sight. Icebones caught one flake on her trunk tip. It was hot enough to burn, and she flicked it away.

  A mammoth trumpeted, piercingly.

  Icebones hurried back, trying to ignore the sting of ash flakes on her exposed skin, and the stink of her own singed hair.

  She met a mammoth, running in panic. It was one of the three sisters, and the long hairs that dangled from her belly were smoldering. "Help me! Oh, help me!" Even as she ran, Icebones was struck by the liquid slowness of her gait, the languid way her hair flopped over her face.

  The injured one, confused, agitated, ran back to the others. Icebones hurried after her and beat at the Cow’s scorched and smoldering fur with her trunk.

  The others stood around helplessly. The mammoths, coated in dirty ash, were turning gray, as if transmuting into rock themselves.

  At last the smoldering was stopped. The injured Cow was weeping thick tears of pain, and Icebones saw that she would have a scarred patch on her belly.

  Icebones asked, "How did this happen to you…?"

  There was a predatory howl, and light glared from the sky. The mammoths cringed and trumpeted.

  A giant rock fell from the smoke-filled sky. It slammed into the floor, sending smaller flaming fragments flying far, and the ground shuddered again. Beneath a thin crust of black stone, the fallen rock was glowing red-hot.

  With a clatter, the patiently reconstructed skeleton of the long-dead mammoth fell to pieces.

  "That is how I was burned," the injured sister said resentfully.

  More of the lethal glowing rocks began to fall from the sky, each of them howling like a descending raptor, and where they fell the stony ground splashed like soft ice.

  The mother lumbered up. "We have to get out of this rain of rocks," she said grimly.

  "The feeding place," gasped the injured sister.

  "No," growled the mother. "Look."

  Icebones peered through the curling smoke and the steady drizzle of ash flakes. A falling rock had smashed into the place of feeding, breaking open the thin wall as a mammoth’s foot might crush a skull.

  The Ragged One was watching Icebones, as if this was a trial of strength. She said slyly, "The Lost have abandoned us. Must we all die here? Tell us what to do, Matriarch."

  Icebones, dizzy, disoriented, tried to think. Did these spindly mammoths really believe she was a Matriarch? And whatever they believed, what was she to do, in this strange upside-down world where it rained ash and fiery rock? Surely Silverhair would have known…

  The grandmother, through a trunk clogged with ash and dirt, was struggling to speak.

  Her daughter stepped closer. "What did you say?"

  "The tube," the old one said. "The lava tube."

  The others seemed baffled, but Icebones understood. "The great nostril of rock… It is not far." I should have thought of it. Silverhair would have thought of it. But I am not Silverhair. I am only Icebones.

  She waited for the grandmother to give her command to proceed. But, of course, this old one was no Matriarch. The mammoths milled about, uncertain.

  "We must not leave here," said the burned sister. "What if the Lost return? They will help us."

  At last her mother stepped forward and slapped her sharply on the scalp with her trunk. "We must go to the lava tube. Come now." She turned and began to lead the way. The others followed, the Bull pacing ahead with foolish boldness, the three sisters clustered together. The Ragged One tracked them at a distance, more like an adolescent Bull than a Cow.

  As they toiled away into the thickening gray murk, Icebones realized that the grandmother was not following.

  She turned back. To find her way she had to probe with her trunk through the murk. The smoke and ash were so thick now it was hard to breathe.

  The grandmother had slumped to her knees, and her belly was flat on the ground, guard hairs trailing around her. Her eyes were closed, her trunk coiled limply before her, and her breath was a shallow labored scratch.

  "You must get up. Come on." Icebones nudged the old one’s rump with her forehead, trying to force her to stand. She trumpeted to the others, "Help her!"

  The grandmother’s rumble was weak, deep, almost inaudible over the shuddering of the rocky ground. "Let them go." She slumped again, her breath bubbling, her body turning into a shapeless gray mound under the ash.

  Icebones feverishly probed at the old one’s face and mouth with her trunk. "I will see you in the aurora."

  One eye opened, like a stone embedded in broken flesh and scorched hair. "There is no aurora in this place, child."

  Icebones was shocked. "Then where do we go when we die?"

  The old one closed her eyes. "I suppose I’ll soon find out." Her chest was heaving as she strained at the hot, filthy air. She raised her trunk, limply, and pushed at Icebones’s face. "Go. Your mother would be proud of you."

  Icebones backed away. She was immersed in strangeness and peril, far from her Fa
mily — and now she was confronted by death. "I will Remember you."

  But the grandmother, subsiding as if into sleep, did not seem to hear, and Icebones turned away.

  It was the greatest volcano in the solar system. It had been dormant for tens of millions of years. Now it was active once more, and its voice could be heard all around this small world.

  And, across the volcano’s mighty flanks, the small band of mammoths toiled through fire and ash, seeking shelter.

  2

  The Songs of the World

  The blazing rocks continued to fall from the sky, splashing against the stolid ground.

  The rocky tube shuddered and groaned. Sometimes dust or larger fragments of the inner roof came loose, and the mammoths, huddled together, squealed in terror. But the tube held, protecting them.

  The darkness of night closed in. Still the ash snow fell thickly. The cave grew black. The mammoths tried to ignore the hunger and thirst that gnawed at them all.

  Sometimes, in the darkness, Icebones heard the others snore or mumble. Icebones felt weariness weigh on her too. But she was reluctant to fall back into the dark, having emerged from that timeless, dreamless Sleep so recently.

  She felt compassion for these wretched nameless ones — but at the same time her own fear deepened, for it was apparent that there was nobody here who could help her, no Family or Matriarch or even an experienced, battle-scarred old Bull.

  She wished with all her heart that Silverhair was here.

  The morning came at last, bringing a thin pinkish light that only slowly dispelled the purple-black of night. But the ash continued to fall, and there was a renewed round of rock falls.

  The mammoths were forced to stay cooped up together in the lava tube, bickering and trying to avoid each other’s dung, which was thin and stinking of malnourishment.

  By mid-afternoon, thirst drove them out. They had to push their way through ash which had piled up against the mouth of their long cave.

  The world had turned gray.

  A cloud of thick noxious gas continued to pump out of the summit of this immense Fire Mountain, and a gray-black lid of it hung beneath the pink sky, darkening the day. Ash drifted down, turning the rocky ground into a field of gray smoothness over which the mammoths toiled like fat brown ghosts, every footfall leaving a crater in fine gray layers.