In the flickering light of the storm, the old Bull stood as solid as if he had grown out of the rock. Owlheart and Wolfnose, the two Matriarchs, stood by and watched, their icy disapproval of Lop-ear’s antics obvious.
Eggtusk said, "You’re risking all our lives by wasting time like this."
Silverhair hurried forward. "What are you trying to say, Lop-ear?"
"I can’t tell you!" he cried. "I just know, if we push the trees together, and—"
"He’s going rogue," said Owlheart. The Matriarch lumbered forward and glowered down at the prancing Lop-ear. "I always knew this calf would be trouble. All his talk of changing things. He’s more like one of the Lost than a mammoth."
"Listen to me!" Lop-ear was trumpeting now. He ran to Owlheart, who was turning away, and grabbed at her trunk. "Listen to me—"
Eggtusk inserted his massive bulk between them. "You don’t touch the Matriarch like that."
"But you must listen."
"Perhaps you’ll listen to this," roared Eggtusk, and he tusked the ground.
It was a challenge.
Eggtusk and Lop-ear faced each other, trunks lowered, ears flaring, gazes locked.
Lop-ear was trembling, and Eggtusk seemed to tower over him, his great incurving tusks poised over his head.
Bull mammoths have their own society, a society of bachelor herds independent of the Families of Cows and calves controlled by the Matriarchs. It is a warrior society, based on continual tests of strength and dominance. Normally, unless enraged by musth, a young Bull like Lop-ear would never challenge a giant tusker like Eggtusk — or if challenged, he would quickly back down.
Now Silverhair waited for Lop-ear to stretch his trunk at Eggtusk to show his deference.
But Lop-ear made no such sign.
Silverhair rushed forward. "Eggtusk, please. He didn’t mean—"
But Owlheart was in her way, solid as a boulder. "Stay back, child. This is a matter for the Bulls."
Lop-ear raised his tusks and made the first blow, dashing his tusks against Eggtusk’s. There was a knock of ivory on ivory, as if one great tree was being smashed into another.
The older Bull did not so much as flinch.
Lop-ear raised his head and again stabbed at Eggtusk’s face. This time Eggtusk dipped sideways, so that Lop-ear’s thrust missed. Eggtusk brought his massive head down and slammed his forehead against Lop-ear’s temple.
Lop-ear cried out, and stumbled back.
Eggtusk trumpeted and lumbered forward. Lop-ear turned to face him, both mammoths trying to stay head-on; if either was turned, his opponent could easily knock him down or even stab him.
Still the rain howled around them, still the lightning split the sky, and still the gathering light and smoke-stink of the fire filled Silverhair’s head. She was peripherally aware of the other mammoths: Foxeye’s weary disbelief, Snagtooth’s disdain, Croptail’s childish excitement.
"I don’t want to fight you," said Lop-ear. He was panting hard, and blood was seeping from a wound in his temple. "But if that’s what I have to do to make you listen—"
Wordlessly Eggtusk trumpeted once more and raised his massive tusks. The sleetish rain swirled around them, and water dripped from their cruel tips.
Lop-ear lunged. Once again Eggtusk sidestepped, and he brought his tusks crashing down on Lop-ear’s domed head with a splintering crash.
Silverhair, horrified, trumpeted in alarm.
The younger Bull bellowed, and fell to his knees.
Eggtusk turned again, and his tusks slashed at Lop-ear’s foreleg, cutting through fur and flesh and drawing thick blood.
For a heartbeat, two, Lop-ear did not move. His face was wreathed in steam, and his great form shuddered.
But then, once again, he clambered stiffly to his feet and turned to face Eggtusk again.
Fights between unmatched Bulls are resolved quickly, Silverhair knew. Usually it would be enough for Eggtusk to raise his great tusks for a junior like Lop-ear to back away.
Usually. But this was not a normal fight.
Silverhair tugged at Owlheart’s trunk. "Matriarch, you have to stop this."
Owlheart quoted the Cycle: "To fight is the way of the Bull…"
"This isn’t about dominance," Silverhair said. "Don’t you see?"
But once again Lop-ear was facing Eggtusk. The space between their staring eyes was filled with tangled hair and steaming breath.
With blood smeared over the dome of his head, Lop-ear charged again.
The Bulls met once more in a splintering crunch of ivory. Silverhair saw that their curving tusks were locked together. This was a risky tactic for both the combatants, for the curving tusks could become locked inextricably, taking both mammoths to their deaths.
The Bulls wrestled. Lop-ear bellowed, resisting Eggtusk.
But the older Bull was much stronger. With a smooth, steady, irresistible effort, Eggtusk twisted his head to one side. Lop-ear pawed at the ground, but it was slick and muddy, and the pads of his feet slipped.
It was over in heartbeats.
His tusks still locked to Eggtusk’s, Lop-ear crashed to the ground.
Eggtusk stood over the helpless younger Bull, his eyes hard. Silverhair saw that he might twist farther, surely snapping Lop-ear’s neck — or he might withdraw his tusks and stab down sharply, driving his ivory into Lop-ear’s helpless body.
The storm cracked over their heads, and for an instant the lightning picked out the silhouette of Eggtusk’s giant deformed tusk.
Eggtusk braced himself for the final thrust.
"No."
The commanding rumble made Eggtusk hesitate.
The voice had been Wolfnose’s. The old Cow, once the Matriarch, was coming forward. The rain dripped unheeded from her tangled hair, and only a smear of tears around her deep old eyes betrayed the pain of her legs.
Eggtusk said, "Wolfnose—?"
"Let him up, Eggtusk."
In the silence that followed, Silverhair could see that they were all waiting for the Matriarch’s response. It was wrong for a Cow to interfere in the affairs of Bulls. And it was wrong for any Cow — even a former Matriarch like Wolfnose — to usurp the authority of the Matriarch herself.
But Owlheart was keeping her counsel.
Eggtusk growled. Then he lowered his head, dropped his trunk, and allowed Lop-ear to clamber to his feet.
The younger Bull stood shakily, his hair matted with mud. He was bleeding heavily from the wounds to his leg and temple.
"This must stop," said Wolfnose.
Eggtusk stiffened. "But the Cycle—"
"I know the Cycle as well as any of you," said Wolfnose. Her voice was even, yet powerful enough to be heard over the bellow of the storm.
Once, Silverhair thought, this must have been a formidable Matriarch indeed.
"But," Wolfnose went on, "Ganesha taught us there are times when the Cycle can’t help us. Look at us: lost, bedraggled, trapped… You will win your fight, Eggtusk. But what value is it? For we shall soon die, trapped here between forest and fire — all of us, even the infant. And then what?" She turned her great head and glared at them, one by one. "When was the last time you saw another Family? And you? When was the last time you heard a contact rumble, at morning or evening? What if we are alone — the last Family of all? It’s possible, isn’t it? I tell you, if it’s true, and if we do die here, then it all dies with us — after more generations than there are stars in the winter sky."
And Silverhair, standing in the freezing rain, saw the truth with sudden, devastating clarity. They had become a rabble, a few shivering, half-starved mammoths, a pathetic remnant of the great Clans that once had roamed here. A rabble so blinded by their own past and mythology, they could not even act.