The International Yeti Collective

by Paul Mason

  “This is the work of a sophisticated race capable of travelling great distances – possibly by ship. A nation of explorers, not hairy apes, I’m afraid.”

  “But Dr Milligan – I saw them. We all did,” insisted Ella.

  “An elusive Himalayan bear perhaps, a trick of the mind caused by high altitude,” Dr Milligan snorted. “And, when my algorithm cracks the code, we’ll find out which humans carved these slabs. Just a few more weeks, then your Uncle Jack and I will make a huge announcement.”

  Ella closed her eyes and saw the forest again, the mist, the yeti’s sad expression, the fright written on its face. She remembered the jolt across her chest – it wasn’t a feeling she would ever forget. She knew that if Dr Milligan managed to decipher the language, it would prove that she was right and that the slabs did belong to the yeti. But what then? The yeti deserved peace.

  Ella wished she could warn them somehow. Give them a chance to hide. After her part in all this, it would be the right thing to do, wouldn’t it?

  Dahl, Plumm and Tick travelled down the underground stream. They’d been paddling for ages now along the channels with nothing but glow-worms and fireflies for company, and the occasional cave shrimp, which Tick found were crunchy and surprisingly sweet. At the back of the canoe, Tick acted as the rudder, dipping his paddle from side to side, steering the little boat clear of the rock walls.

  “Take us over to that bank. Time to stretch our legs.” Dahl’s voice echoed along the tunnel, breaking the quiet.

  Tick grunted, and steered the dugout towards the shelf of rock. The side of the canoe bumped against the stone and Tick took hold of it while Plumm looped their rope round a stalagmite. The canoe rocked, and lifted up in the water as the Guardian stepped ashore.

  Dahl clapped his hands, waking up the sleeping glow-worms. A universe of stars suddenly dotted the ceiling. Tick clambered out of the canoe and then went to offer his hand to Plumm.

  Tick peered into the gloom, looking for the ancient symbol painted on the wall of the cavern. There it was, on the other side of the water: a large sole and four enormous toes, the big foot. The ancient waterways may have become forgotten and disused, but it was good to know they followed in the footsteps of others.

  “It’s definitely getting hotter, isn’t it?” Plumm said as she bent down and touched her toes. “I mean, when we started off, it was quite chilly down here, wasn’t it?”

  “We travel ever closer to the Mande Barung,” said Dahl.

  “How much longer?” asked Tick.

  Dahl found a sturdy stalactite at the far end of the bank, and began to rub his back up and down along the rough stone. “A moon, maybe less.”

  “I can’t wait to meet a Mande Barung! Are they like us?” asked Plumm.

  “They look a little different, and do some things differently, but we are all kin.”

  “Spider eggs, anyone?” asked Tick. He rummaged in their sack of supplies and passed round an earthenware jar. The three yeti munched in silence.

  Then the hair along Tick’s back bristled. What he had believed to be an extremely large and enthusiastic pair of glow-worms gave a blink. Now he spotted a second pair of glowing eyes, and then a third. All peering out from a corner of the roof at the far end of the cavern.

  “I think someone’s watching us,” said Tick. He reached for his staff. At once, there was a flutter, a beating of wings, a high-pitched squeak, and the eyes were gone. “Bats.” Tick shuddered.

  “Sentries, gone to warn their friends that strangers approach,” said Dahl.

  “The Mande Barung?” asked Plumm.

  Dahl pointed at the boat. “Back on board. We’re closer than we think.”

  Tick crawled to his place at the back of the canoe. “I’m not a fan of bats. Gabb told me she had one caught in her hair once when she was out foraging.”

  “And you believed her?” laughed Plumm.

  “Apparently, it was horrible.”

  “Enough, foolish yeti,” said Dahl.

  Plumm untied the rope and, with a push, they drifted into the middle of the channel, following the mysterious sentries and the flight of their leathery wings.

  *

  It took the best part of a moon after they met the bats to reach the Mande Barung. Paddle stroke after paddle stroke, taking it in turns to rest. At last, they reached another landing shelf, marked with the sign of the Collective. There they secured their boat and climbed upwards through the darkness, knees creaking. Dahl led the way, following his nose in the murk. The passageway had collapsed in places.

  “Guess this tunnel hasn’t been used in a while,” said Tick as the three of them scrabbled at another mound of damp earth blocking their path, Plumm dragging the sack with the piece of tree bark behind her.

  “We are the first in many moons,” Dahl agreed.

  The yeti managed to clear a small gap, and crawled through on their bellies. Tick stopped to eat a couple of earthworms he found wriggling in front of his nose. He passed one to Plumm.

  Plumm slurped it down. “Hmm, spicy.”

  Back on their feet, they followed the meandering tunnel as it wound its way up to the surface. Then the passageway ahead began to brighten from deep black to grey as sunlight filtered down towards them.

  “As of now, we’re on the hush. Super-super-secret mode,” Dahl whispered, poking Tick in the ribs.

  “No snapping of leaves, no cracking of knuckles, no passing of wind, no nothing.”

  Dahl nodded. “We blend in with the trees like we’re trees ourselves.”

  Ahead, they could hear the rustle of a forest and smell the air, unusual and pungent. And then came sunlight, reaching through a thick tangle of leaves. The yeti stopped and shielded their eyes. Dahl took a breath and parted the curtain of greenery. Then he stepped through.

  The land of the Mande Barung was hot and sticky and, for three yeti from the mountains, a little too warm for comfort. It didn’t take long for Tick to work out that their thick, woolly, mountain coats were not suited to the choking air of this place. Still, the three of them flowed through the trees, at one with the jungle. Whoops and whistles and screeches filled the thick covering above their heads. Cicadas buzzed and clacked as they sang their song.

  They climbed up a steep ridge and followed its spine. Looking down over the sweep of the jungle, they could see a river not too far below them – this wasn’t the raging snowmelt they were accustomed to, but a slow, sluggish waterway.

  “What’s that, Dahl?” Tick asked, pointing with his staff at the sweep of trees below them. One of them, right by the river – many lengths taller than the others – shook violently. It was as if someone had grasped the mighty tree by the trunk and rattled it from side to side. There was a pause, when the tree stood still, before it began again. The tree was waving at them.

  Dahl dropped down the side of the ridge, heading for the tree, but when they reached the spot by the riverbank there was no sign of anyone at all. Dahl inspected the giant tree – giving it a good sniff – and seemed satisfied. “Mande Barung were here,” he announced. “They watch.”

  “Well, they can watch me have a swim,” Plumm chuckled. “I’m going in!”

  “Not if I get there first,” said Tick.

  Dahl nodded his approval so Tick and Plumm dropped their sacks and clambered down the muddy bank through the thick reeds to the river’s edge. With a sigh, they plunged into the brown water and rolled over on to their backs.

  “You should come in! It feels so good to be cool,” Plumm called out.

  Dahl placed both hands on the smooth, rounded end of the Rumble Stick and rested his chin on it. “One of us must keep guard.”

  “He never relaxes,” whispered Plumm, scooping up some water and splashing her face.

  Tick shrugged. “He’s the Guardian of the Sett. What do you expect?” After a while, he stood up in the water, feeling the squelchy mud between his toes. “That’s enough – don’t want to lose all my scent,” he said, climbing out and sitt
ing back down beside Dahl.

  “Leech, anyone? I’ve got loads,” said Plumm as she got out, peeling a dark slug off her leg and popping it in her mouth.

  “So where are the Mande Barung then?” said Tick after they’d been sitting on the bank for a while munching.

  “They’ll make themselves known soon enough,” said Dahl.

  As he spoke, there was a sudden rustling from the reeds along the riverbank and a loud slurping from the mud. Two towering shapes burst from the water, oozing filth. Tick reached for his staff as the beasts staggered up the slope, shaking muck from their fur.

  Dahl got to his feet. “I was wondering how long you were going to wait down there, dear Twangg!”

  “There’s no fooling you, is there, Dahl?” said the mountain of slop. Twangg (she who strums instruments) ran a hand across her face and shook off the mud. “I thought we were well hidden.”

  “You were. I may have been a fledgling when I left, but I’d recognize your scent on that tree anywhere,” said Dahl. He touched his hand to his chest, and then to his head. “Take hold of the stone together and it will not feel heavy.”

  “The first pancake is always a mess,” replied Twangg, returning the salute.

  She introduced the other Mande Barung. “This is Plott.”

  “Every vegetable has its season,” declared Plott (he who schemes). “We’ve been sent to fetch you.”

  “The bats from the tunnels told you of our arrival?”

  “A moon ago. We’ve been watching ever since,” said Twangg.

  “These are my companions, Plumm and Tick,” said Dahl. The two yeti also touched their hands to their chests and then to their heads. “We must meet with your elders. We come on a mission that is most urgent.”

  “Then let’s waste no more time,” Twangg said, leading the way back into the jungle.

  “How did you manage to stay hidden underwater for so long?” asked Plumm.

  “Hollowed-out reeds – you use them like straws,” explained Plott.

  *

  The yeti followed the Mande Barung through the jungle. Twangg and Plott shook more mud from their fur as they strode between the trees. Tick reckoned they were about the same size as a Mountain Yeti, with long limbs and big padded feet, but their fur was shorter – more suited to the heat, he supposed. Their heads, however, were quite different. The Mande Barung were cone-headed. Just like a furry pine cone. That explained why Dahl’s head was a bit cone-shaped too.

  “Welcome to our sett!” said Twangg, coming to a stop at last.

  Tick and Plumm looked around. All they could see were more trees.

  “Look up,” said Dahl.

  They followed their Guardian’s gaze. Up in the tallest branches of the tree above them was a giant nest woven out of branches and leaves, as if constructed for a large bird. And then Tick spied another, and another, until he could count more than a dozen. A cluster of leafy homes connected together by vines. In the centre was a large nest, twice as big as all the others.

  “Our sett is always on the move,” explained Plott. “We never rest in one spot for more than a moon or two.”

  Cone-head after cone-head emerged until a hundred eyes or more stared down at them. There were mothers with fledglings clinging to their fur, younglings with mischief in their eyes, and fathers who couldn’t quite keep the look of suspicion from their faces. Tick and Plumm gave an embarrassed wave. Then from the largest nest came a shout of greeting, from a silverback standing tall.

  “Do you bring he who smells the fiercest?”

  “We do,” said Twangg.

  “I am he,” declared Dahl, stepping forward and thumping the ground with his staff. “Dahl, holder of the Rumble Stick. Guardian of the Sett in the mountains to the north. A big chair on its own does not make a leader.”

  “Even a tiny star shines in the dark,” replied the silverback, returning the greeting. “Welcome, Dahl and friends. I am Cadd. As this is our home, so it is yours. Please join me and the elders in my abode.”

  A ladder woven from vines dropped down from the nest belonging to Cadd (he who is sometimes a rogue). Plott held the ladder taut and invited them to climb. Dahl went first, then Tick and Plumm followed. Tick tried not to look down as he pulled himself up, staff between his teeth. The ladder seemed to stretch into the sky. When he finally pulled himself over the edge of the nest, he saw a group of elders reclining on mossy cushions on the nest floor, hands resting on large bellies.

  The tree house was much more comfortable than Tick expected. Its curved edges rose up from the centre into a perfect backrest, covered with the softest moss. After the heavy stillness of the forest floor, it was delightfully breezy in the treetops, surrounded by leaves swishing like fans. There were clutches of berries, mangoes and nuts spread out, hanging just within reach. Tick suddenly felt very hungry.

  Cadd caught Tick’s stare. “Please, help yourself,” he insisted with a kind smile.

  Tick bowed his head and took a handful of nuts.

  Plumm bit into a mango, crunching the stone between her teeth. “I could get used to this.”

  Cadd settled himself back. “I still remember the moon when your family left these parts, Dahl – though I was just a fledgling myself. It’s a pleasure to welcome you back.”

  “I’d forgotten what a joy it is to lie in a nest of the Mande Barung,” said Dahl.

  “But I believe this is not a social visit.”

  Dahl shook his head. “I fear not.”

  The Mande Barung listened intently as Dahl told them of the troubles from start to finish. Tick’s face burned like coals when Dahl recounted the bits he played a part in, but he noticed Dahl didn’t mention him by name.

  “I see,” said Cadd when Dahl had finished. “This really does spell trouble. Never in my life has such a thing happened.”

  “Nor mine.”

  “But how can we Mande Barung help you on your quest?” asked one of the elders.

  “Just ask and it shall be done,” said another.

  Dahl motioned at Plumm. “Youngling Plumm here was clever enough to write down what we think is the destination of the slabs. She copied down the human words from the shell they placed them in.”

  Plumm rummaged around in her sack, and found the precious piece of tree bark. Cradling it in her hands, she passed it over. Cadd studied the bark and gave it a good sniff.

  “Our sett is ignorant of such learning,” continued Dahl. “We need to speak with Leeke. Is she still among you?”

  “The keeper of the slabs still tree-strides with the best of us,” said Cadd, “though, with every passing cycle, she becomes…”

  “More eccentric?” finished one of the other elders.

  “Eccentric, yes,” said Cadd. “But come, let us speak with her.”

  *

  Tick had never seen a yeti quite like Leeke (she who smells pleasingly like onions). Her hair was completely white, the cone of her head enormous and her eyes a startling shade of blue. Even though Leeke examined each of them as they gathered in her nest, to Tick it seemed like she was staring right through them.

  “He who smells the fiercest, I’m glad to see you once more,” Leeke chortled.

  “And I you, she who sees all,” Dahl replied.

  “What is it you wish of me, malodorous one?”

  “Please tell us, what does this say?” asked Dahl, handing her the bark.

  Leeke studied the bark, her lips moving silently. “It is in human tongue,” she pronounced at last.

  “And?” prompted Dahl.

  “Fragile. Moss Gully, New Zealand.”

  “Fragilemossgullynewzealand?” said Plumm.

  “Fragile means likely to be broken,” explained Leeke. “Moss Gully is the place. New Zealand is a name for the land – one of the human names for the home of the Makimaki.”

  “Makimaki?” asked Tick.

  “Yes. Perhaps the most distant of Earth Mother’s setts,” explained Leeke. “Let us consult the carvings.”


  She rummaged around in the leaves behind her and pulled out a large bundle wrapped in soft bark. She undid the wrappings and put them to one side. Now, there in the middle of her nest, lay ancient slabs made of wood. Leeke inspected each slab in turn, before turning them over and studying the next.

  Tick was puzzled. “Your slabs aren’t carved out of stone like ours.”

  “Wood is lighter to carry when we move around,” explained Cadd. “And easier to carve – if from time to time we want to make changes.”

  “You can do that?” asked Plumm.

  “Rivers alter their course; seeds grow into tall trees. Things change. Why not our laws?” said Leeke. “The old ways teach us many things, but in life we should look into our hearts and then choose our own trail.”

  Tick was stunned. He hadn’t heard an elder say anything like that before. He gave Plumm a look, one shaggy eyebrow raised. He could see his friend was just as surprised.

  Then Leeke found the slab she was looking for. “Ah, here we are. The Makimaki. And journeying along the south passage to the far reaches of the world travelled the younglings known as the Makimaki. To them were assigned the birds who stroll upon the ground, whose feathers are like silk, who shall never know the safety of flight…

  “Their land is known in human tongue as Aotearoa: land of the long white cloud. It is also called New Zealand,” Leeke explained, tapping Plumm’s piece of tree bark.

  “Is the south passage the same underground waterway that brought us here?” asked Dahl.

  “The very same,” agreed Cadd.

  “But didn’t we already reach the end?” said Tick.

  At this, Cadd and Leeke both chortled.

  “No, no. The web of waterways is as long and as wide as the world itself.” Leeke pointed to a map etched into the slabs showing a snaking line of tunnels. “First, you will need to pass through the land of the Orang Pendek.”