by Paul Mason
For Jenny
– PM
For William and Jack
– KR
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Epilogue
Map
Glossary
Acknowledgements
About the Author
About the Illustrator
Copyright
Ella Stern stopped and peered into the rolling mist. She was sure she’d heard a crackle in the forest, a snapping of twigs. She held her breath and for a moment all was silent and still on the mountainside, then once again she heard the rip and crunch of leaves. There was a dark shape hiding in the trees ahead. She tried to call Uncle Jack but nothing came out.
A gentle breath of wind wafted over the mountains and a gap cleared in the mist, revealing a small dark face peering from a low branch, and a long tail dangling below. Ella laughed. It was a monkey – a langur. For a moment, she had actually thought she’d encountered a yeti. She’d already written the headline: Twelve-Year-Old Girl Discovers Existence of Mythical Creature – Worldwide Sensation!
Ella raised her camera and rattled off a couple of quick shots as the monkey stuffed handfuls of leaves into its mouth, managing to capture the moment before it sprang off further into the forest. She couldn’t wait to share all the photos with April and her other friends when she got back home to New Zealand.
Once she was sure the monkey had gone, she turned away, following the river back to camp. She passed the dense rhododendron trees, their flowers a blaze of colour even in the fading afternoon light, and then she was close enough to hear the crackle of the campfire and see its glow flickering over the tents. Uncle Jack sat on a log, holding his hands to the flames, chatting to Ana the director about tomorrow’s film shoot. Walker fiddled with one of his video cameras and listened.
Near the tents the yak grazed – curved horns lowered, tails swishing. Ella brought her camera to her eye again – she wanted to hold this moment and keep it forever. Here she was, up in the Himalayas, about as far away from home as it was possible to get.
When her parents had first suggested she spend the holidays on location with her TV-star uncle, Ella had actually been a little unsure. She rarely saw Uncle Jack – he was always off in the wilderness, filming something or other. Ella loved his shows. There was Stern Stuff, where Uncle Jack survived the plains of Africa, living with a group of cheetahs. Then came the carnivorous plants series in the Amazon, From Stem to Stern, and her favourite: Stern Times, the polar adventure where he marched with the penguins. Uncle Jack cared about wildlife, and Ella knew if she came on this trip, it would be a great chance to get close to the animals herself. Not to mention this was the first time Jack had ever tried to film something as legendary as a yeti. Besides, she’d finally got the digital camera she’d been saving and saving for. What better place to use it?
In the end, Ella had a choice – a summer stuck at home with sitters, while her parents made one business trip after another, or an expedition deep into the Himalayas on Jack Stern: Yeti Quest. No contest. And what if Uncle Jack actually found a yeti? Now that would be incredible.
On the trek to their campsite, Uncle Jack had told her all about his passion for yeti. Before the trip, Ella hadn’t been at all convinced they were real, but, after listening to her uncle, she was beginning to change her mind. Uncle Jack told her how the people in the mountains knew yeti as ‘wild men’; that some thought yeti could be a species of giant ape, long believed extinct; how an expedition paid for by a famous newspaper discovered a footprint in the mud the length of a pickaxe; that it was rumoured yeti liked to sneak into mountain villages at night to steal cattle if they could.
Jack also told her the story of a famous yeti sighting by an explorer called Ray Stevens. Stevens had taken the first-ever photo of the mythical beast, but later it was pronounced a fake. According to Jack, Ray Stevens spent the rest of his life in disgrace.
“But that’s not going to happen to me!”
As they had trekked, Uncle Jack constantly consulted a little black journal, checking his notes and looking at the map, then finally announcing they were getting closer to yeti habitat.
Ella turned her gaze from the campsite and looked around the mountains. What if Uncle Jack was right and they were close to yeti land? What would it even look like? Were there yeti right here, hiding in the forest? Could they be up higher, where the mountains looked like crumpled paper bags? Or further away still, where the highest peaks gleamed, bright with snow?
A shout broke into her thoughts. “Hey, Ella, how’s that firewood coming? We’re almost out.”
Firewood. Ella looked down at her empty hands.
“Just a sec, Uncle Jack!” she called back. Ella fixed the lens cap back on to her camera and started gathering twigs. By the time she reached the others, she had an armload, which she dumped by the fire.
“Guess what? I spotted a langur!” said Ella. She showed them the display on her camera.
“You’re getting good at those wildlife shots,” said Uncle Jack with a smile.
“Nice,” said Ana.
“So, to wrap things up,” Jack continued, feeding some wood into the fire, “we’ll start with the establishing shots in the morning – I want you to really set the scene, Walker. Remote base camp in the Himalayas … Jack Stern, hot on the heels of the yeti … risking life and limb, et cetera.”
“I could get some long-range shots from downriver, with the mountain backdrop,” suggested Walker, rubbing his beard.
“Perfect,” said Jack. He switched on his torch and opened his little black journal, tracing a line on a hand-drawn diagram with his finger, then comparing it to his map. “And then, if there’s still time on the first day, I reckon we leave the yak behind and explore the forest south of here on foot, trekking down towards the valley.”
“That could work,” said Ana, studying the map.
“Then we head off from camp on day treks, a different route each time. If any particular location looks promising, we can shift base.”
“Sounds like a plan, Jack,” agreed Walker.
“Can I help?” asked Ella.
Ana got to her feet. “Sure, you can start by giving me a hand setting up the night-vision cameras. I’d like to get them in place before we lose any more daylight. See if we can capture any nocturnal activity.”
“Great,” said Ella.
While Walker checked that the little black boxes were charged, Ana pointed at the trees above their camp. “Walker, you set up a couple in the woods just above us while Ella and I go across the river. I like the look of the area near that rocky ledge.”
Ella and Ana crossed the river at its shallowest point, stepping from stone to stone, and then climbed the riverbank. Ana chose a nearby
tree and showed Ella how to fasten a band round the trunk, clip on the camera box and switch it on.
“Now tie one of those cloth markers to a branch so we can find it in the morning.”
Ella wrapped a piece of bright orange cloth round a twig and moved further along the slope, following the director. “Do you think we might get one?”
“One what?”
“A yeti.”
Ana pushed a strand of long dark hair behind her ear. She thought for a moment and then shook her head. “At first when we started these expeditions, I thought maybe, just maybe, we might find something. Perhaps there was some truth to all the stories. But we’ve searched the south face of Everest, trekked across the high plateau of Tibet, got lost in the Karakorum ranges – and not a hair. I’m sorry to say that it’s likely to be the same here.”
“But it could be different,” said Ella.
Ana shrugged. “I’m afraid even the studio has pretty much given up. They’ve cut the programme’s budget to pieces. We used to have a full crew, but now there’s just the three of us – and you, of course,” she added. “I don’t mean to throw cold water on the trip. There’s just part of me that wishes we could go back to filming real wildlife, instead of chasing shadows.”
“But maybe you only see shadows because yeti are good at hiding,” said Ella.
Ana laughed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. If I was a yeti, I’d avoid humans like the plague.”
“Last camera,” said Ella, handing it over.
They moved close to the rocky ledge. Ella watched the director biting her bottom lip in concentration as she worked, one eyebrow arched. Ana finished securing the camera, and switched it on, watching for the little light. “OK, that’s all done. The trap is set!”
The daylight had all but deserted them down in the gorge and, even though the sun was still gleaming on the high, snowy peaks, the woods had deepened to a dark purple. Ella shivered, zipping up her jacket as they went back to camp.
Ella liked the young director – the way Ana knew everything about all kinds of animals, the fact that she was so confident travelling deep into the mountains a long way from home. But Ella thought she might just be plain wrong about the yeti.
While dinner bubbled in the pot and the others chatted in low voices around the fire, Ella climbed into her tent and scrolled through some of her photo journal. She’d got pictures of monkeys, more monkeys, vultures soaring on invisible currents above their heads. And the yak – plenty of yak. And tomorrow maybe she’d add a photo of a yeti. How was she supposed to get any sleep tonight?
Ella put away her camera and reached for her torch and a book. There was a tap at her tent flap.
“Come in!”
The zip opened and Uncle Jack’s head popped through the gap. “I thought I’d check to see if you were settled in OK.”
“I’m fine, thanks.” Ella flashed her torch round the tent. “I’ve got my bed all sorted and my clothes are laid out over there.” She pointed to a tidy pile. “And those are my souvenirs.” She waggled the torchlight over a small collection of pine cones, river rocks and moss.
“Looking good,” said Jack. He spied the cover of the well-worn book in Ella’s hands. “Hey – My Family and Other Animals. Gerald Durrell is a hero of mine – he taught me so much about nature. But what’s with all the teeth marks on the cover? I love the book but not enough to eat it.”
Ella laughed. “It’s not that. At home, I like to read sitting up in trees, but I need two hands to climb.” She put the book in her mouth and mimicked climbing.
“Got it,” said Jack with a smile. “Dinner won’t be too long. You need to get the plates and things ready.”
“I’ll be right out.”
Hot dinner round a campfire with her famous uncle, mountains, monkeys and the chance of discovering the yeti. Not too bad at all, thought Ella, reaching for her shoes.
An odd thing about humans, thought Tick as he thrust his spade into the soil for the yumpteenth time that afternoon, was their smell. Or rather the fact they didn’t have one. How was it possible to go through life without a smell?
Tick (he with no time to waste) stopped digging and gazed around at the fungusatory – the walls of the cavern towering high, its jagged ceiling dimly lit by fireflies. On the cavern floor around him, dozens of hefty yeti milled about in the gloom – digging up soil, spreading new spores, turning over compost heaps. Even in the murk, Tick could still make out the unease on their shaggy faces. Worry hung over the fungus farm like a rain cloud.
Word had it that a group of humans had set up their cocoons beside the river, not a thousand strides from the sett. Humans rarely came this far north, and their sudden arrival had sent everyone into a spin. Yeti knew to stay well clear of people, as sure as eating pine cones gave you wind – or at least that’s what every yeti learned.
But Tick’s mother must have known something different. When he was just a fledgling, she crossed paths with humans – in broad daylight – and never even tried to deny it. The elders swiftly banished her, and the weight of disgrace still hung around Tick’s neck like a boulder. No one even uttered his mum’s name any more. She had become she of whom no one speaks. The mother Tick remembered was good, and kind, and true. If she had been with humans, there must have been a good reason.
And now humans were right here on the mountain.
Just go and look at them, a little fly of an idea buzzed in his head. Maybe you’ll find answers?
Tick swatted it away. He kneeled down and, with gentle fingers, harvested a handful of tiny fungi, lifting them out and placing them in his basket. With the basket now full, Tick got up and tied the handle to one of the vines dangling from the ceiling. He gave the vine a soft tug and watched as the basket rose to the tunnels above, to be collected by Scatterer Yeti and dispersed on the forest floor and beyond.
It was always the same in the fungusatory, thought Tick. Each yeti in their place, like ants in a nest, their movements steady and methodical – spreading fungi into the world. Just like it was in his father’s time, and his father’s before him. Tick tried to remember his father but it was hopeless – his dad had passed on before Tick had even learned to walk. What had he made of life down here? There had to be more to the world than growing and picking fungi.
“Hey, Tick,” came a voice in his ear, breaking him from his thoughts. It was Plumm (she sweet on the outside with hard centre). Plumm was on watering duty, lugging a bucket. “Did you hear the news – it’s all over the farm – there are humans on the mountain!”
“I heard.” Tick tried to sound unconcerned.
“Oh yeah, humans within striding distance and Tick isn’t interested,” Plumm teased. She put down her bucket and parted the soft fur on her cheeks and found a nit, popping it in her mouth. “What do you think they’re up to?”
Tick shrugged. “I doubt it’s good.”
“Humaaaans, we have nooo smell…” Plumm moaned, raising her hands and reaching for his throat, her face twisted into a grimace.
Tick laughed, raising his hands too. “We waaaant to find your settttt!” he wailed.
A shout came from across the fungusatory. “You two, back to work!” It was Nagg (he who pesters), the fungusatory elder. Tick could see him over by the waterwheel, talking to Dahl, Guardian of the Sett. They were probably discussing the human situation.
Dahl (he who smells the fiercest) was taller and wider than any yeti in the fungusatory, with great shoulders, and arms like tree trunks. In one hand, he held the mighty Rumble Stick – the Guardian’s staff, worn smooth by generations of hands. Dahl’s neck was thick, and his mammoth head rose into a slight cone shape.
“Better hop to it,” said Plumm, lifting her bucket.
Tick bent down and picked up his spade again, pausing at the sight of a large and rather poisonous-looking centipede burrowing back down into the soil. He grabbed hold and showed the wriggling bug to Plumm.
“Want half?”
Plumm shook her
head as she wandered off. “All yours.”
“Suit yourself,” said Tick, munching.
*
The message soon got round the farm that Greatrex was having emergency speaks about the humans in the grub hall before the naming custom that evening. Greatrex the wise, keeper of the carvings, silverback of the sett (he who knows most).
When the final horn sounded soon after, Tick dumped his tools and, when he couldn’t find Plumm anywhere, he mumbled a quiet goodbye to some of the others, and padded out of the fungusatory and into the passageway.
The tunnel climbed to the upper part of the sett, Tick following the signs back towards the yeti dens, though he could have found his way blindfolded. He stopped in his den to wash his hands and face, gave himself a quick run-over with his flea comb and left straight away.
But, when he got to the grub hall, he saw that all the benches were already full. Every yeti in the sett was there, the cavern full of nervous murmuring. He spied Plumm waving at him from the far end of the cavern, her nut-brown eyes dancing with excitement.
“I saved you a spot,” she mouthed. Tick went over and sat down, giving her shoulder a fond pat. His best friend was always looking out for him. Plumm was an orphan too – she knew what it felt like.
At the head of the cavern sat the elders: Greatrex, with Dahl ever present at his right hand, joined by Nagg and the others from the Council of Elders: Lintt, Slopp and Gruff. In front of them, resting on a bed of moss, were the precious slabs. As ancient as the mountains, as ancient as the world itself. Chiselled into the heavy rock blocks, in flowery, old-fashioned yeti script, were the yeti laws. These were the words and history that guided every yeti deed. Legend said the Earth Mother set the laws in stone in the time of darkness, and passed them down to each of her children. Tick learned to listen to the slabs almost before he’d had a chance to break his first wind.
Written in the carvings was the tale of how Earth Mother sent her children out into the world. They spoke of the yeti known as Almas who went north to the land of the high plateau. They were tall and mighty – their legs long, their fur as red as earth. To them fell the duty to protect snow mammals. To the west were the Barmanou, guardians of mountains and glaciers. Across wide oceans were the Bigfoot – carers of mangroves and wetlands – and the Mono Grande, keepers of the toads. In steamy jungles lived the Mande Barung, growers of medicinal plants, and the Orang Pendek with their long hair, the protectors of tigers and forests. They were all there, carved in stone – twenty setts, their tales written in the old writing.
