Stephen Baxter - Icebones

The beetle, its trunk arms empty, seemed to rest, as if exhausted. Then it roused itself. It swiveled and began to edge its way back down the crater rim wall.

Autumn growled, "Once mammoths did this. Hauling trees from forests to pits in the ground, where they would be burned and buried. Now, it seems, the Lost have stronger servants even than us."

"Perhaps it is like mammoth dung," Icebones mused. "Where mammoths pass, new life sprouts, for our dung enriches the ground. Maybe the Lost — or at least their servants — are working to build the world, to build life. But why does it continue, now that the Lost have vanished?"

"Because it doesn’t know what else to do," the Ragged One said. "Because nobody told it to stop. Because it is mad, or stupid."

"Everything about the Lost is a mystery to us," said Autumn grimly. Spiral made to protest, but Autumn insisted. "We lived with them, and accepted their gifts of food and water. But we never understood them. It is the truth, daughter."

As the beetle passed, Shoot reached out tentatively with her trunk tip and brushed the sharp edge of its carapace. "It is cold. But it is not wet like ice. And it smells of nothing." She sneezed sharply, sending the dust flying. "It is covered in dust." She began to blow at the carapace, ridding a corner of dust, and exposing a clean, shining surface.

Spiral stepped forward and joined her. So did Icebones, without being sure why. They blew away the dust, or, where mud was caked, they picked at it with their trunk fingers and brushed it off.

Icebones noticed that Breeze hung back, distracted, evidently uncomfortable from the weight of her calf.

The ice beetle continued to work its way down the hillside, its great body tipping up clumsily. It did not react to the mammoths’ attention.

When it reached the level ground outside the crater the beetle began to trundle away, back toward the forest. But now its exposed carapace gleamed silver, free of dust and mud save for a few streaks.

"Do you think it’s moving a little faster?" Autumn asked. "Maybe it needs the sunlight, like a flower."

"I never saw a flower like that," Icebones said skeptically.

"True, true."

There was nothing for the mammoths here, nothing but this insane abandoned creature and its endless, meaningless task. Icebones said, "Let’s go." She took a step forward, meaning to climb down from the crater rim.

But, behind her, Breeze gasped. She had fallen to her knees, her stubby trunk lying pooled and limp on the ground. "Help me."

Autumn growled, "It is the calf. It is time."

Spiral turned to Icebones. "What must we do? Oh, what must we do?"

Icebones felt her stomach turn as cold as a lump of ice. "I suppose the Lost helped you even with this."

Spiral fell back, growling dismally, and Icebones felt a stab of shame.

Autumn said, "The Lost were with us always… But there are no Lost here."

Close at Icebones’s side like a guilty conscience, the Ragged One said softly, "If not you, who else?"

Icebones gathered her courage and stepped forward. Breeze, still slumped to her knees, was straining, her belly distended. "You must stand," Icebones said.

"I can’t."

"Help her," Icebones ordered.

Briskly Spiral and Shoot stepped forward. They dug their trunks and foreheads under their sister’s belly, while Icebones pushed at her rump.

In a few heartbeats Breeze had staggered to her feet, but her legs were shuddering. The two sisters stood close to Breeze, keeping her upright with nudges of their bodies. Even Thunder gently pushed Breeze’s rump, rumbling encouragement.

Breeze, panting hard, leaned forward so her back legs were stretched out behind her. Icebones thought she could see the calf moving within its cave of flesh.

Breeze raised her trunk and trumpeted, straining. There was a sudden eruption of blood and water, a stink of urine and milk.

"I can see it!" Shoot called suddenly. "Look! The calf is coming!"

And Icebones saw it too: in a gush of water and blood, two legs had pushed from Breeze’s vagina. Now a small head and the bulk of a little body was squeezed out, wrapped in a clear, shimmering sheet. For a moment it dangled by its hind legs. Then Breeze gave a final heave.

The calf shot out and plopped to the ground.

Shoot and Spiral, suddenly aunts, hurried forward to the baby, which lay wrapped in its blood-streaked sac on the ground.

Icebones stayed with Breeze, who staggered forward. "You must stay on your feet."

"It hurts, Icebones," Breeze said.

"It’s all right. Just a little longer. Push hard, Breeze. Push—"

Now the afterbirth emerged, a sodden bloody lump that fell limp to the ground.

Breeze sighed, eyes closing, and she fell to her knees. Thunder curled his trunk over her protectively.

"The calf’s not moving," Shoot wailed. "Is it dead?"

Icebones pushed past Shoot and Spiral. The calf still lay where it had fallen. "We have to get it out of the birth sac." She leaned and tried to catch the membrane with her tusk tips, ripping and pulling it. "Help me — but do not hurt the calf."

It seemed to take long heartbeats, but at last they had the amniotic sac free. Shoot hurled the bloody sheet away with an impulsive shake of her head.

Icebones leaned forward to the calf, inspecting it — him! — with her trunk tip. He was a bundle of pale orange fur that was soaked and flattened by amniotic fluid. His legs were spindly stalks, his trunk was a mere thread, and his head was smooth and round, as if not yet formed. He was breathing shallowly, his little chest rising and falling rapidly, and his breath steamed around his face.

Icebones wrapped her trunk underneath the calf, and encouraged Shoot and Spiral to help her. Soon they had him set upright on his skinny, trembling legs. His little eyes opened with a moist pop, and Icebones saw they were bright red. But now he threw back his tiny trunk so it lay on his forehead, and opened his mouth.

"Hungry," he said, his voice a thin, choked mewl. "Cold. Hungry. Oh, let me back…!"

The calf made the suckling cry, over and over, as if he had been taught it by Kilukpuk herself.

"He needs milk," Icebones said. She hurried to Breeze, who still lay on the ground.

Breeze’s eyes were closed, and she was breathing hard, obviously exhausted. "Woodsmoke," she murmured.

"What?"

"That is what he will be called. For when he was born my head was full of smoke…"

"You must come," Icebones said gently.

"Let me sleep, Icebones…"

The calf opened his mouth and wailed, his voice thin and high. "Cold, cold!"

And now, at last, Icebones was at a loss. "Without milk he will die," she said. "I don’t know what to do."

Autumn came forward, her gait stiff. "Let me." And she gathered the little creature in her trunk and guided him forward, pulling him beneath her legs. Blindly, he snuggled at her belly fur until he found the dugs that dangled between her forelegs. Driven by instinct he clamped his mouth to a nipple and began to suckle greedily.

Icebones, astonished, saw thin, pale milk dribble down his cheek. "Autumn — you have milk. But you are not with calf."

"It began when I saw how weak Breeze was becoming. I don’t know why." She eyed Icebones. "You may be Matriarch," she rumbled softly. "But you don’t know everything, it seems."

"I know that you are a good mother," said Icebones. "For you were there when your daughter, and her calf, needed you most."

The calf — Woodsmoke — squeaked his contentment, and Autumn rumbled softly.

It was strange, Icebones thought: just heartbeats old, and yet the calf had already achieved something immensely important, by redeeming Autumn, his grandmother… Perhaps it was an omen of his life to come.