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 mother — 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.