The ground shuddered — a single sharp pulse — and the mammoths rumbled their unease.
Autumn said, "I think—"
"Hush!" The brief, peremptory trumpet came from Thunder. "Listen. Can’t you hear that? Can’t you, Icebones?"
Breeze said impatiently, "I hear the burning grass, the hiss of the melting rock—"
"No. Deeper than that. Listen."
Icebones stood square on the ground, pressing her weight onto all her four legs, despite the stabs of pain in her shoulder. And then she heard it: a subterranean growl, deep and menacing.
"We have to get to the higher ground," she said immediately. They were halfway across the valley, she saw, and the eastern slope looked marginally easier to climb. "Let’s go, let’s go. Now." She began to limp that way, her damaged shoulder stinging with pain.
The mammoths milled uncertainly.
"Why?" Breeze asked. "What are we fleeing?"
"Water," said Icebones. "A vast quantity of water, an underground sea locked into the ground. Like the great flood that once burst across this land, scraping out the valley you stand in. And now—"
"And now," said Thunder urgently, "thanks to the shining tusk, that underground sea is awakening, stretching its muscles. Come on."
At last they understood. They began to lumber across the plain toward the eastern wall, trunks and tails swaying.
The ground above the escarpment cracked with a report that echoed down the walls of the valley, and steam gushed into the air. The vast body of water beneath, vigorous on its release after a billion years locked beneath a cap of permafrost ice, was rising at the commanding touch of the great orbiting lens — rising with relentless determination, seeking the air.
7
The Flood
Though the ground was broken and their way was impeded by half-buried lumps of debris, they all made faster time than Icebones — even the calf, who clung to his mother’s tail.
A giant explosion shook the ground.
Her foreleg folded beneath her. She crashed forward onto her knees, pain stabbing through her shoulder.
From the great scribbled scar inflicted by the tusk of light, a vast fountain of steam gushed into the pale sky. Vapor and debris drifted across the sun, turning it into a pale pink smear.
I’m not going to make it, she thought.
And now dust rained down like a dense, gritty snow. Icebones snorted to clear her trunk, and she tasted the blood flavor of the hot, iron-rich dust.
Suddenly she was alone in a shell of murky dust. And the mammoths were no more than crimson blurs in the distance, fast receding.
She supposed it was for the best that the others had not looked back. She had never wanted to become a burden.
She found herself staring at a rock — staring with fascination, for it might be the last thing she would ever see. It was heavily weathered, eroded, pitted and cracked. Its color was burnt orange, but there were streaks of blue-red on its north-facing surfaces, which had been exposed to sunlight longer. It was made of a lumpy conglomerate, pebbles trapped in a mix of hardened sand.
Pebbles and sand, she thought. Pebbles and sand that must have formed in fast-flowing rivers, and then compressed into this mottled rock on some ocean bed. All of it ancient, all of it long gone.
She ran her trunk fingers over the rock’s pocked surface. She found a series of small, shallow pits, a row of them, each just large enough to take her trunk tip.
…They were footprints, locked into the surface of the hardened rock. She probed more carefully at the nearest print. It had six toes. No living animal had six toes. Now its kind was lost, leaving no trace save these accidentally preserved prints.
She felt a surge of wonder. Despite the noise, her pain, despite the imminent danger, despite the rock’s shuddering, she longed to know where that ancient animal had been going — what it had wanted, how it had died.
But she would never know, and might live no more than a few more heartbeats, not even long enough to savor such wonder.
The dusty debris falling over her was becoming more liquid, she thought, and warmer too. The flood was nearing. The ground shook. She huddled closer to her rock.
But a long, powerful trunk wrapped under her belly.
It was Spiral. The young Cow loomed over Icebones as a mother would loom over her calf. She was coated in red dust, and her guard hairs were already damp.
Icebones said, "You shouldn’t have come back. You’ll die, like me. The flood is coming."
Spiral rumbled, loudly enough to make herself heard over the noise of the water. "Yes, the flood comes… like the tears of Kilukpuk."
Icebones felt weary amusement. "You talk now of Kilukpuk?"
"I’m hoping you’ll tell me more of those old tales, Icebones."
"It’s too late. We can’t get to the bank."
"No. But there is an island, further to the north, that might stay above the waters." She grabbed Icebones’s tusks and began to drag her along the bed of the ancient channel.
Icebones tried to resist, digging her feet into the ground, but the pain in her shoulder was too great even for that.
"You must not do this," she said.
"Icebones, help me or we’ll both drown."
Icebones forced herself to her feet.
To the north, the way the ancient waters had once flowed, the land was covered by scour marks, braided channels, heavily eroded islands, sand bars, the scars left by flowing water. The island Spiral had selected was shaped like a vast teardrop, its steep, layered sides polished to smoothness by ancient floods.
Climbing the island’s crumbling walls was one of the most difficult things Icebones had ever done. The strata cracked and gave way, coming loose under her in a shower of rock and pebbles and dust, and each fall brought lancing pain in her shoulder that made her trumpet in protest. But Spiral stayed with her every step, ramming Icebones’s rump with her head, as if driving her up the slope with sheer strength and willpower.
At last they reached the lip of the wall. With a final, agonizing effort Icebones dragged her carcass onto the island’s flat top. She crumpled, falling onto her knees. The surface was smooth hard mudstone, a fragment of the floor of some ancient sea, she thought.
Spiral stood before her, breathing hard, caked with orange dust, her hair ragged: tall and wild, she was a figure from a nightmare. "You are a heavy burden to haul."
Icebones gasped, "You should have left me."
"Too late for that."
And now, through the murky, sodden gloom, more mammoths approached: Autumn, Thunder, Breeze, the calf.
Icebones growled, "What are you doing here?"
"We are waiting for you," said Thunder. "Did you think we would go on without you? And when we saw Spiral bringing you here—"
Lightning flashed. The mammoths flinched.
Where the sky tusk had broken the ground, dust and steam still gushed, crimson red, and over the towering clouds of dust and steam, lightning cracked. Now water was beginning to pulse out of the ground, stained pink by the ubiquitous dust.
Instinctively the mammoths gathered closer, nuzzling and bumping.
Icebones was surrounded by the rich smell of their hair, and they loomed over her as if she was a calf. She snorted. "Some Matriarch. I did not understand the tusk of the sun. I did not hear the movement of the water under the ground until we were in danger. I am the slowest of us all, and have put you at risk."
Autumn said, "But I understood the meaning of the tusk. And Thunder with his sharp hearing heard the water, and understood, and warned us in time. And Spiral used her strength to save you — just as you have used your strength to aid others of us in the past."