and clumsy, her ears and trunk stubby. But Ganesha, of course, loved them both equally, as mothers do.
Now, Ganesha was not called Wise for nothing. She knew the world was changing.
She walked north, to the edge of the Forest, where the trees thinned out, and she looked out over the plains: grassy, endless, stretching to the End of the World. When she was a calf, she remembered clearly, such a walk would have taken many more days.
And if Ganesha stepped out of the Forest, enduring the burning sun of that time, she could see where the Forest had once been. For the land was littered with fallen, rotten trunks and the remnants of roots, within which insects burrowed.
And Ganesha could smell the ice on the wind, see the scudding of clouds across the sky.
The Cycle teaches us of the great Changes that sweep over the world — Changes that come, not in a year or two or ten, not even in the span of a mammoth’s lifetime, but with the passing of the Great-Years.
And that is how Ganesha knew about the great Cold that was sweeping down from out of the north, and how she knew that the Forest was shrinking back to the south, just as the tide recedes from the shore.
Ganesha was concerned for her Family.
She consulted the Cycle — which, even in those days, was already ancient and rich — but she found no lesson to help her.
However, Ganesha was Wise. As she looked into the great emptiness that was opening up in the north, Ganesha understood that a great opportunity awaited her calves.
But to take that opportunity she would have to step beyond the Cycle.
Ganesha called her calves to her.
'The Forest is dying,' she said.
Prima, squat and solid, said, 'But the Forest sustains us. What must we do?'
Meridi, tall and beautiful, scoffed at her mother. 'All you have seen is a few dead trees. You are an old fool!'
Ganesha bore this disrespect with tolerance.
'This is what we must do,' she said. 'As the Forest dies back, a new land is revealed. There are no trees, but there are grasses and bushes and other things to eat. And it stretches beyond the horizon — all the way to the End of the World.
'This land is called a Tundra. And, because it is new, the Tundra is empty. You will learn to live on the Tundra, to endure the coming Cold.
'It will not be easy,' she said to them. 'You are creatures of the Forest; to become creatures of the Tundra will be arduous and painful. But if you endure this pain your calves, and their calves, will in time cover the Tundra with great Clans, greater than any the world has seen.'
Prima lowered her trunk soberly. 'Matriarch,' she said, 'show me what to do.'
But Meridi scoffed once more. 'You are an old fool, Ganesha. None of this is in the Cycle. Soon I will be Matriarch, and there will be none of this talk of the Tundra!' And she refused to have anything to do with Ganesha’s instruction.
Ganesha was saddened by this, but she said nothing.
Now (said Silverhair), to ready Prima for the Tundra took Ganesha three summers.
In the first summer, she changed Prima’s skin. She bit away at Prima’s great ears, reducing them to small, round flaps of skin. And she nibbled at Prima’s tail, making it shorter and stubbier than her sister’s, and she tugged at the skin above Prima’s backside so that a flap came down over her anus.
Prima endured the pain of all this with strong silence, for she accepted her mother’s wisdom. All these changes would help her skin trap the heat of her body. And so they were good.
But Meridi mocked her sister. 'You are already ugly, little Prima. Now you let Ganesha make you more so!' And Meridi tugged at Prima’s distorted ears, making them bleed once more.
In the second year, Ganesha made Prima fat. She gathered the richest and most luscious leaves and grass in the Forest, and crammed them into Prima’s mouth.
Prima endured this. She understood that to withstand the cold a mammoth must be as round as a boulder, with as much of her body tucked on the inside as possible, and swathed in a great layer of warming fat. And so these changes were also good.
But beautiful Meridi mocked her sister’s growing fatness. 'You are already ugly, little Prima, and now with your great belly and your tiny head you are as round as a pebble. Look how tall and lean I am!'
And in the third year, Ganesha took Prima to a pit in the ground, left by a rotting tree stump. She bade Prima lie in the pit, then covered Prima with twigs and blades of grass, and caked the whole of her body with mud and stones. There Prima remained for the whole summer, with only her trunk and mouth and eyes protruding; and Ganesha brought her water and food every day.
And as the mud baked in the sun, the twigs and grasses turned into a thick layer of orange-brown fur, which Prima knew would keep her warm through the long Tundra nights. And so these changes were also good.
But again Meridi mocked her sister. 'You are fat and short, little Prima, and now you are covered with the ugliest fur I have ever seen. Look at my rock-smooth skin, and weep!'
All of this Prima endured.
At the end of the third summer, Ganesha presented her two daughters to the Family.
She said: 'I will not serve as your Matriarch any longer, for I grow tired and my teeth grow soft. Now, if you wish, you can choose to stay with Meridi, who will lead you deeper into the Forest. Or you can join Prima, and learn to live on the Tundra, as she has. Neither course is easy. But I have taught you that the art of traveling is to pick the least dangerous path.'
And she had Prima and Meridi stand before the assembled Family.
There was Meridi, tall and bare and lean and beautiful, promising the mammoths that if they followed her — and the teachings of the Cycle — they would enjoy rich foliage and deep green shade, just as they had always known. And there was Prima, a squat, fat, round bundle of brown fur, who promised only hardship, and whose life would not follow the Cycle.
It will not surprise you that most of the Family chose to stay with beautiful Meridi and the Cycle.
But a few chose Prima, and the future.
So the sisters parted. They never saw each other again.
Soon the trees were dying, just as Ganesha had foreseen. Meridi and her folk were forced to venture farther and farther south.
At last Meridi came to a place where Cousins lived already. They were Calves of Probos, like us, but they had chosen to live in the lush warm south many Great-Years ago. They called themselves
All of Meridi’s renowned beauty made absolutely no difference.
As the Cold settled on the Earth and the Forest died away, Meridi and her Family dwindled.
Meridi died, hungry and cold and without calves.
And now not one of her beautiful kind is left on the Earth.
Meanwhile Prima took her handful of followers out onto the Tundra. It was hard and cold, but they learned to savor the subtle flavors of the Tundra grasses, and Prima helped them become as she was — as we are now.
And her calves, and her calves’ calves, roamed over the northern half of our planet.
Ganesha, you see (concluded Silverhair), was not like other Matriarchs.
Some say Ganesha was a dark figure — perhaps with something of the Lost about her — for she defied the Cycle itself. Well, if that is so, it was a fusion that brought courage and wisdom.
For Ganesha found a way for her daughter Prima to change, to become fit for the new, cold world that was emerging from inside its mask of Forest. None of this was in the Cycle before Ganesha. But she was not afraid to look beyond the Cycle if it did not help her.
Thus, through paradox, the Cycle renews itself…
No, Icebones (said Silverhair), the story isn’t done yet. I will tell you what became of Ganesha herself!
Of course, she could not follow Prima, for Ganesha had grown up in the Forest, like her mother before her, and her mother before that, in a great line spanning many hundreds of Great- Years.
And so — when the Cold came, and the Forest dwindled — Ganesha sank to her knees, and died, and her Family mourned for many days.
But as long as the Cycle is told, Ganesha will be remembered.
15
The Huddle
Silverhair heard the ugly cawing of the Lost.
She turned and looked back along the beach. She could see sparks of red light breaking away from the dim glow of the camp. Evidently they had done with Snagtooth, and were pursuing her once more.
She staggered along the beach. But her hind legs were still tightly bound up, and she moved with a clumsy shuffle. The stolen mammoth skin lay on her back; she could feel it, heavy as guilt.
By the low sunlight she could see the pack ice that still lingered in the Channel, ghostly blue. She could smell the sharp salt brine of the sea; and the lapping of the water on the shingle was a soothing, regular sound, so different from the days of clamor she had endured. But the cliff alongside her was steep and obviously impenetrable, even were she fully fit.
She came to a place where the cliff face had crumbled and fallen in great cracked slabs. Perhaps a stream had once run there.
She turned and began to climb up the rough valley, away from the beach.
It was difficult, for the big stones were slippery with kelp fronds. The ropes that bound her hind legs snagged and caught at the rocks…
Something exploded out of the sky.
She trumpeted in alarm. She heard a flapping like giant wings — but wings that beat faster than any bird’s. And there was light, a pool of illumination that hurtled the length of the beach.
Silverhair cowered. Air gushed over her, as if from some tamed windstorm, washing over her face and back; the air stank like a tar pit.
The source of the beam was a thing of straight lines and transparent bubbles, with great wings that whirled above it. It was a great bird, of light and noise.
The Lost had forgotten Silverhair. They went running toward the light-bird, waving their paws.
Carefully, still hobbled by the ropes on her hind legs, Silverhair limped away toward the heart of the Island.
