The International Yeti Collective

by Paul Mason

  Dahl let out a groan. “As I feared…”

  Tick carried on, undeterred. “The humans get a good look of me, and then they chase me. When that happens, I can lead them deep into the trees. Then you break into that shell somehow and drag the slabs away.”

  “Only one yeti has ever allowed herself to be seen on purpose, and we know how that turned out.”

  “Well, I can’t get even more banished, can I?” said Tick. “Give me a chance to put things right. Please, Dahl.”

  Dahl chewed it over for a moment. “OK,” he said at last.

  “Really?”

  “I can think of nothing better. But don’t wave your arms or anything silly like that. If the humans believe you’re trying to get their attention, they’ll be suspicious. They must think they’re in control. Humans like that.”

  “Got it,” said Tick.

  Dahl cracked his knuckles. “Are you ready?”

  “What? Right now?”

  “We’ve spent enough time waiting.”

  Tick took a deep breath and clutched his staff. To be seen on purpose! He needed a moment or two to prepare himself.

  “Let’s go,” ordered Dahl. He got to his feet and picked up the Rumble Stick, Tick scrambling up after him.

  Then a fearsome thumping came through the air, like the beating of a ghoulish drum. The yeti ran into the trees as a giant firebird swooped down the mountainside.

  The last pair of humans had gone, following their yak and jackals out of the forest, before Dahl and Tick felt sure that it was safe to cross the river. It appeared the humans had abandoned their search for the sett.

  The yeti inspected the clearing. “Not a trace. The slabs are definitely gone,” Tick sighed.

  “In the wooden shell with the firebird, flying south.” Dahl slumped down on a log. He poked at the ground with the Rumble Stick, barely a hint of light in his eyes.

  “What do we do now?”

  Dahl shrugged. “I do not know.”

  “Maybe we could follow,” suggested Tick. “The firebird looked like it flew towards the warmer lands.”

  “Did you see how fast it travelled? Even if we were able to find it, we would be many moons behind. And who knows where the slabs are heading?”

  “Will they be able to read what’s written?”

  Dahl shrugged. “Not at first. No doubt our writing is as strange to them as theirs is to us, but they’ll find a way.”

  “And then everyone will be in danger,” said Tick. “Every yeti secret, every yeti law, the whereabouts of every yeti sett.” He dropped down beside Dahl and began to sniffle.

  Then a voice called out from the trees, “Hold your tears!”

  Dahl and Tick yelped, tumbling off the log. There was a crackle of leaves, and a little yeti face pushed through the undergrowth.

  “Plumm? Sweet fungus! What are you doing here?” Tick rushed over to her.

  “After the humans chased us by the river, I followed you,” she said to Dahl. “I thought you might need some help.”

  “That was foolish,” grunted Dahl. “But also courageous.”

  “Well, I found a hiding place and watched the humans from the trees. To be honest, I got a little scared. I mean humans – right there! I didn’t dare try to cross the river to find you. But sitting in my hiding place I made this.” She handed Dahl a flat piece of tree bark with marks etched into it.

  “What is it?” Dahl asked.

  “The human writings. I copied them down as best I could.”

  “From where?” asked Tick.

  “From the side of the wooden shell that the firebird took away. Wasn’t that big bird scary!”

  “I still don’t understand,” said Tick.

  “I do, you clever yeti!” Dahl poked the tree bark with a thick finger. “This must be where they’re taking the slabs.”

  “I’d say so,” said Plumm. “You know how in the sett we write names on all the doors and tunnels telling us where things are? This is the same.”

  Tick peered at the strange writing. “Really?”

  Dahl tapped the bark against his head as he tried to think. “We need to find a way of reading it… A yeti somewhere who speaks human.”

  “It still doesn’t change the fact that we’ll never catch up with the firebird, even if we tree-stride like the Earth Mother herself,” said Tick.

  Dahl clapped his hands together. “I have the answer. But it lies back at the sett. Come – quickly! Plumm, make sure you keep that piece of tree bark safe.”

  “It’s good to see you, Plumm,” said Tick as they strode back to the mountain, and raced towards the north face. “You were ever so brave to come back to help Dahl.”

  “I didn’t really come to help Dahl, silly.” Plumm wrinkled her nose at him. “I came back to help you.”

  When the three yeti neared the north entrance to the sett, Dahl growled to himself.

  “What’s wrong?” Tick asked.

  “The entrance boulder. I hadn’t thought of that. We’ll never shift it – not with you two anyway,” said Dahl. “No offence.”

  “None taken,” said Plumm.

  “The spreading tunnels,” Tick blurted. “It’s how I got out last night. When I saw the firebird.”

  “The spreading tunnels? But that’s a restricted area. Is there anything you do that doesn’t break the rules?” grumbled Dahl.

  Tick led them downhill, into the forest, following his nose. He found the thicket he’d climbed out of before and rolled the much smaller boulder aside. The three yeti stuck their heads into the shaft. “It gets pretty tight in there, especially for those of us with large backsides,” he said. “No offence, Dahl,” he added.

  Dahl snorted.

  Tick pushed in first, on his hands and knees, and disappeared into the gloom, crawling uphill towards the fungusatory. He could hear Plumm shuffling behind him, followed by Dahl, grunting and complaining. At last, they reached the opening of the giant cavern.

  Tick brought his palms together in a loud clap. The sound echoed through the chamber and, one by one, the glow-worms woke up. The little creatures turned on, and a wave of dim light crept over the walls and ceiling.

  “What now, Dahl?” asked Plumm as soon as Dahl had squeezed himself out.

  “First, we need supplies,” he said.

  Plumm and Tick followed as he headed off down a tunnel towards the larder, clapping the glow-worms awake as they ran. Nosh’s pantry lay behind a thick curtain of moss.

  “Let’s hope Nosh left a few crumbs behind,” Dahl said. He pulled a bag down and gave it to Tick.

  “Dried centipedes,” said Tick. He found a sack on the floor to put it in.

  “Spider egg sacs,” said Plumm, handing Tick a jar. “Ginger root, a couple of pine cones and some pine-needle biscuits – it’s not much.”

  Tick climbed up to the top shelf and found a sack of onions hidden right at the back. “At least we have pudding.”

  Dahl shrugged. “It will have to do. Now let’s go back to the farm. There’s something I want to show you.”

  The three yeti padded downwards. It felt eerie moving through the empty sett. The air became heavy and damp, the tunnels narrowed and soon they were deep in the heart of the mountain.

  In the fungusatory, Tick and Plumm followed the Guardian along the maze of paths that ran between the soft earth of the fungus beds towards the stream. There should have been a line of water carriers drifting towards the waterwheel, hanging up empty buckets, collecting full ones, but the rocky edges of the water channel were deserted.

  Dahl stepped down into the passage carved into the rock and trod downstream – the water no higher than his shins. The others followed. Ahead, the channel carved its way through a tiny opening in the cave, and disappeared again into the darkness under a wall of stacked rocks. It was a dead end.

  Dahl turned to the others. “Close your sacks and hold on tight,” he instructed. “Make sure that tree bark is safe. Oh, and hold your breath too. The first bit’s a
little tricky.”

  Before Tick could ask why, Dahl took a step forward and disappeared under the water, air bubbles frothing above his head.

  Tick stared down. “Wow!”

  “Me next!” giggled Plumm, pushing ahead. Taking a deep breath, she pinched her nose and disappeared into the water.

  Then it was Tick’s turn. He clutched his sack and staff to his chest and stepped off the shelf, plunging into the cold water. At once, the current took hold, grasping and pulling with unseen fingers, dragging Tick deeper underwater. He bounced off the smooth tunnel walls, faster and faster. And, just when he thought he couldn’t hold his breath any longer, the tunnel burst open into another cave.

  In the weak light of the few glow-worms hanging from the cave roof, Tick could see Dahl and Plumm standing on the edge of the pool, waving him over. Tick swam towards them and stretched out a hand.

  The dripping yeti stood in a large grotto, with a cluster of stalactites hanging from the ceiling. On one side, there was a thin shelf of flat ground. At the far end, Tick could see that the pool broke into streams heading off into the darkness. And sitting on the bank was a boat.

  Tick had never seen a boat before, but he’d read about them in the Encyclopedia Yetannica at the library and seen a drawing. This boat was wide, with a flat bottom and low sides, and several struts running across it. He could see it was made of a single tree trunk, hollowed out in the middle by fire – a canoe was what they called it. The book said that yeti once migrated great distances in canoes such as these, paddling along secret waterways.

  “It’s been a long time,” whispered Dahl almost to himself. He crouched down and inspected the sides, rapping his knuckles against the wood. He lifted out some paddles and examined them. “You two, scoop the water from the bottom.”

  “You’ve seen this boat before?” Tick said, shovelling water over the side.

  “A long time ago. When I was just a fledgling. My family came to the sett in this very boat.”

  “You weren’t born in the sett?” asked Plumm.

  Dahl shook his head. “My family journeyed from the lands of the south along these waterways. From the Mande Barung.”

  “The Mande Barung!” Tick’s voice echoed through the cavern.

  “My father was Mountain Yeti, but my mother came from the Mande Barung. Is there something wrong?” Dahl rumbled. He eyed the young yeti, eyebrows raised.

  Tick shook his head. “No, no, of course not. It’s just that I never knew. I haven’t met a yeti from another sett before. I didn’t know it happened.”

  “Well, it does.” Dahl pushed the canoe into the stream and gestured for Plumm to get on board – holding its sides while she climbed in. “Well, it did once upon a time,” he corrected himself.

  Plumm grasped hold of the strut in front of her, not daring to move. Dahl gestured at Tick to get in the boat. It wobbled as Tick climbed in, threatening to tip over.

  “Has anyone from our sett gone the other way?” asked Tick, setting down his sack and his staff.

  “There was only one in my lifetime, many moons ago,” said Dahl. He looked Tick in the eye.

  “Mum,” said Tick.

  Dahl grunted. “When she was banished, Jiffi was of a mind to seek out another sett. I told her about the forgotten waterways.”

  “Where did she go?”

  Dahl shrugged.

  “Is she still alive?”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I don’t for sure,” Dahl admitted. “But your mother was one of the best striders I ever saw, Tick. She’s as clever as she is strong. If anyone could survive on her own, it’s her.”

  Tick felt a rush of pride. He tried to picture his mother striding through the trees. But where exactly?

  “This stream goes all the way to the Mande Barung?” asked Plumm, breaking the silence.

  “Yes. There is one among them who can read human tongue,” Dahl said. “A yeti as old as the trees. She will be able to decipher the writing on the bark. I’m also hoping that their sett still keeps messengers – we can trust them to spread the word. Now steady the boat while I climb aboard.”

  Tick and Plumm reached over to the rocky shelf and took hold as the big yeti clambered in between them. With Dahl on board, Tick felt the boat sink low into the stream.

  “Take up your paddles. We must all paddle as one, and the current will help guide us. Plumm, we will follow your stroke.”

  Dahl untied the rope that held the boat against the shelf and, with a push of his hands, they drifted away from the rocks. Dahl dipped his paddle into the water and steered them into the dark hollow. He slapped the water’s surface with the flat side of his paddle – like a clap – and the glow-worms came alive.

  Ahead, the tunnel meandered through the mountainside, bending and curving, the ceiling high enough to be able to sit upright, the sides just wide enough for the boat to fit. Dahl gave the word, and Plumm dipped her paddle in the water, first on one side of the boat, then the other. Tick copied her movements.

  “What’s down the tunnel the other way, Dahl?” asked Plumm as she paddled.

  “The sett of the Barmanou.”

  “So, let me get this straight,” said Tick. “Each waterway connects us with a different yeti sett?”

  “Stop paddling for a moment,” Dahl instructed, “and look at the tunnel wall.” He slapped the water with his paddle – much harder than before – and the glow-worms became brighter.

  Tick and Plumm followed Dahl’s outstretched finger.

  On the cave wall, carved into the stone, was a symbol. It was a circle – like the Earth – that reached from the water’s edge right up to the roof. And in the middle of the circle was a footprint. A large sole and four enormous toes.

  “The International Yeti Collective. A union of nineteen mighty setts, each linked by waterways deep in the Earth. Once there was much travel between us, a sharing of knowledge. We were united.”

  “The Collective,” murmured Tick.

  They floated past, and the sign vanished once more into shadow. “What happened to the Collective? How come we don’t hear about it any more?” asked Plumm.

  “It’s a sad history,” said Dahl, laying his paddle across his lap for a moment. “Things began to unravel long before I was born. Each sett became so wrapped up in their own interests they lost sight of the greater good. Some yeti mistakenly thought it was better to go it alone. Soon setts stopped attending Collective meetings, thinking them a waste of time, until bit by bit, cycle by cycle, they were abandoned altogether. Cracks formed between us where before there were none.”

  Dahl paused and looked around the tunnel. “The Collective had more or less broken up by the time my family came to the mountain down this waterway. We were one of the last families to move between setts, and me just a fledgling, or so I was told.”

  Seeing his great hulk squashed into the boat, Tick couldn’t imagine Dahl was ever a fledgling.

  “I’ve often wondered what we yeti could achieve if the Collective were reborn,” Dahl sighed. “I know in my heart that we’re stronger together than apart. Particularly at times like this when danger lands at our feet.”

  “Then perhaps some good will come of visiting another sett,” Tick said.

  Dahl began paddling again. “Let’s pick up the stroke. We have a long way to go.”

  *

  Uncle Jack’s place on the outskirts of Moss Gully was huge. More mansion than house, with a swimming pool and tennis court, surrounded by sweeping grounds that led up to the hills behind. In the basement, Jack had his own sound studio and editing suite. Ella was there to watch the crate with the slabs safely delivered by a team of removal people. Uncle Jack had used all his star power and more to get the slabs back from the mountains, the crate unopened. Ella was impressed.

  Uncle Jack placed the carvings in the care of Dr Milligan, a linguistics professor. According to Ana, Dr Milligan was the best there was at ancient language
s. All the same, Uncle Jack made the doctor sign a strict confidentiality agreement. No one was to hear a peep about the slabs until Jack decided the time was right.

  Dr Milligan was so excited when he first saw the stone carvings, he had to have a little sit-down, a glass of water and a biscuit. Then, under his watchful eye, the slabs were each placed on tables in the studio and lit by soft light, like artefacts in a museum.

  Now, finding herself in the basement on her own, Ella ran her hands over the stone. Her hands were touching where yeti hands had touched, she was sure of it.

  “No touching!” hissed Dr Milligan, coming down the stairs. “What are you doing down here? These are not toys.”

  Ella blushed. “I know they’re not. They’re amazing.”

  The look of irritation dropped from Dr Milligan’s face and the professor breathed in, eyes closed. “You can smell the centuries, the passing of time.”

  “Any idea what it’s all about yet?”

  Dr Milligan shook his head. “Deciphering an ancient language is not something you do in an afternoon, but I believe the language is not dissimilar to early Demotic.”

  “Demotic?”

  “The ancient language of the Upper Nile – two and a half thousand years old.” Dr Milligan pulled a magnifying glass from his pocket and peered at the slab in front of him. “See the individual chisel marks, each so precise? The writing – so delicate, so detailed? These are quite simply the archaeological breakthrough of the century.”

  “But we were up in the mountains. These aren’t from the Nile – they’re yeti.”

  “These carvings are the work of an ancient and enlightened race of humans. Your yeti theory is too hard to swallow.”

  “We saw them,” insisted Ella. “They definitely weren’t human.”

  “But where’s the evidence?” asked Dr Milligan. When Ella said nothing, Dr Milligan wagged a finger at her. “Interesting, isn’t it, that for all the talk of yeti throughout history, we still have no proof? These carvings are probably Demotic, which is utterly remarkable in itself. Here, look at this.”

  He pointed out a picture. It looked like a map of the world – one of those olden-day ones where things weren’t quite the right shape or in the right places. Ella fancied she could see the continent of Africa and across the world there was a blob she guessed was Australia. Next to the blob was a tiny speck. Was that New Zealand?