by Paul Mason
Leeke had known about his mum.
She could have travelled down this very tunnel, couldn’t she? said the idea fly. Could be this water is bringing you two closer and closer.
I sense it too, replied Tick.
The boat drifted in the darkness for a short time before they came to another stopping place, the sign of the Collective chiselled into the cave wall. Near the sign, Tick saw an opening that led to the surface. He tied the boat up and breathed in. His nose twitched. He was sure he could smell ashes and fire.
Take a look. It could be something important, said the idea fly.
I seem to remember you’ve said that before, Tick complained. But something wasn’t quite right, he could feel it.
Tick glanced at the sleeping yeti. Should he wake them? They looked so peaceful. Besides, he didn’t fancy Dahl getting up on the wrong side of the canoe.
He climbed out of the boat, grabbing his staff. Before leaving, he made sure the boat was secure, then padded up the tunnel, the smell of cinders getting stronger with each step. At last, he reached the tunnel entrance, the opening blocked by a boulder. The stone wasn’t too big, and he shoved it to the side, bit by bit. Tick stuck his nose into the gap and inhaled. On the wind came the pungent reek of embers and broken earth.
“I don’t like this, Flittermouse,” admitted Tick. Hanging from his hairy back, the bat peeped in agreement.
As soon as Tick squeezed through the gateway, the smell of burnt wood struck him. He pushed the boulder back into place. Tick could see a path working its way through an outcrop of rocks. He held his breath and threaded his way through. Then he broke out on to the hillside.
Fire.
Flames engulfed the hill, devouring the forest, roaring, spitting, snarling. Branches snapped, embers shot through the air – a firestorm of red and orange. Fire raged through the tallest of the trees, their limbs shaking and moaning. Beyond the flames, just visible through the wall of heat, lay a ruined landscape of tree trunks, shattered and lifeless. More burnt trees than anyone could count, flung down like an army of corpses – the ground below scalded black, scorched and choking in ash.
Tick considered the animals that called this forest home. Soon they would have nothing left. What of the local yeti? Tick saw that if he could clear a barrier through untouched forest before the flames got there then he could save some of the hill. But he and Flittermouse were all on their own. Rushing into things had landed him in trouble before.
Tick hesitated for a moment, then he charged, swinging his staff like a club, beating bushes down as he went. Tick lunged at the shrub nearest him, grabbing hold of the branches. He pulled with all his strength, ripping roots from the ground. Sparks singed his fur, the heat relentless. Flittermouse squeaked in terror. Tick grabbed another bush and heaved, but there were too many to rip out. He had come too late.
Tick spun round to go back and met a barrier of fire. It had swept in behind them, blazing across the hillside surrounding the boulders further up the mountain. All around, there was nothing but flame.
“Flittermouse! Find a way!” Tick yelled.
Tick watched as the bat disappeared into the smoke, pursued by flying embers. He backed away from the flames, the island of untouched hillside he stood on getting smaller and smaller.
Flittermouse swooped back down, wings beating above Tick’s head, buffeted by the current of hot air. She gave off urgent squeaks.
“Straight down the hill? Are you sure?”
Listen to the bat! screamed the idea fly.
Tick stared in horror at the blaze in front of him. Were they really asking him to plunge into that?
Tick backed up as far as he could, away from the raging fire surrounding him. Flittermouse hovered above his head, squeaking. She meant for him to follow her, but the yeti stared in terror down the hillside at the flames towering into the sky. A few trees remained, somehow still standing dark and strong as the fire raged round them.
Tick held his staff out in front of him and took off down the hill, following the bat’s path. Then, before he could stop, he was at the wall of flame – he could hear screaming in his ears before he realized it came from his own throat. Tick picked out first one dark tree trunk, then a second, like islands in the fire. His fur crackled, his eyes stung, but the trees called him on, guarding him from the full force of the inferno. If ever there was a time Tick was glad to be a tree-strider, it was now. Down the hill he sprinted, his feet barely touching the burnt soil, his staff swinging at the flames, beating them back. Acrid air reached down his throat, squeezing his lungs. And with a last scream, just when he thought he could bear it no longer, he was through. Tick stumbled out into the blackened land left behind by the fire, and rolled around on the smoking soil, thrashing at his singed fur. He lay there, gasping for breath, but he was safe. Flittermouse clicked and whistled above his head, and swooped down – landing on his shoulder.
“I owe you,” panted Tick. He struggled to his feet. Looking back, he tried to pick out the secret path between the boulders, the way back down to the waterway. He couldn’t even see the rocks for flames. The last few remaining trees of his escape route were burning now. Tick would have to wait for the fire to run its course, and then try to get back down to the waterway. Dahl and Plumm would wait for him, he hoped.
Flittermouse gave an urgent squeak. “What do you mean humans?” said Tick. He turned and peered at the valley through the smoke. Then he saw it. A cluster of dwellings, the sound of thumping, a gathering of huge yellow beasts with circles for legs and … humans. Tick crouched down low, close to the ground. He watched as a gang of humans followed the flames’ path on foot, clomping through the stubble of burnt bushes. They wore dark coverings over their eyes and wrappings over their mouths. There was a horrible whining, and then a charred tree trunk toppled to the ground, cut down. Tick gulped. Did the humans destroy this forest? But why?
One of the yellow beasts ploughed up the hill towards him, circle legs turning fast, bellowing and wailing as it climbed. Tick saw humans inside, urging it on. Had they seen him? There was nothing for it but to run.
Tick kept low and ran further down the hill, away from the waterway, away from Plumm and Dahl, towards the untouched jungle in the distance, Flittermouse flapping above. This time he was glad for the smoke that wrapped itself round his body, keeping him out of sight. He fled for the treeline.
*
Down in the basement at Uncle Jack’s house, Ella watched as Ana and Walker began filming once again. They’d only been back in the country for a few days, but Uncle Jack was impatient to get going.
Jack leaned over one of the slabs and gazed at the camera. “Ever since I trekked back from the Himalayas with this treasure, I’ve worked tirelessly to learn the secrets of the yeti. It’s lonely work, down here on my own with nothing but these carvings and my thoughts. But I guess it’s part and parcel of being on a yeti quest.” Jack paused, his voice getting more hushed. “Today I think I may have cracked it. I’m starting to believe these slabs are in a language not dissimilar to Demotic, the ancient script of the Upper Nile. The web of mystery gets thicker and thicker.”
“Cut!” said Ana. “That’s a wrap. That’ll do for this scene. Walker, get some close-ups of the writing, and then let’s do some exterior shots.”
“We’re getting close, I can feel it,” Jack said. “Milligan has almost worked out the slabs. The yeti won’t be in the shadows much longer.”
Ella could see she was running out of time. To carry out her plan, she needed to get up into the hills and find the yeti without drawing attention to herself, and she reckoned she knew just how.
Later that day, she asked Uncle Jack to drop her off at the train station at the bottom of the hills just outside Moss Gully. The miniature train with its little engine and bright green carriages was a favourite for tourists – taking people up the winding track into the hills and bringing them back down. Ella told Jack she’d always wanted to go.
“Now are you
sure you don’t mind if I don’t come? It’s just that I’m still kind of busy today with the shooting schedule,” Jack said.
“I’ll be fine,” insisted Ella.
Once she’d bought her ticket, Ella went out into the train yard, found an empty carriage and climbed in. A couple of tourists joined her and the driver closed the metal gates on each carriage with a clang. Then, with a lurch and a screech of wheels, the train pulled out, the engine at the front puffing. Straight away, it began to climb the hillside, the bush close enough to touch. On both sides of the small train, Ella noticed saplings, hundreds and hundreds of them. The train driver explained over the speaker that the railway owner and his team planted them as a way of bringing the hills back to life.
The train climbed higher and higher, passing into the hills through one brick-lined tunnel after another, Ella snapping photos along the way. At last, they reached a tall wooden viewing tower.
The bush spread out beneath them, dense and green, with tree ferns fanning their fronds like umbrellas. In the distance was the coast and beyond that, through the haze, Ella could make out islands lurking in the sea. She waited until all the tourists had clattered up the stairs before crossing the train tracks and heading away into the bush. The last train left the viewing station at four. That gave her two hours. Not much time.
As far as she could work out from the cryptozoology pages she’d studied online, there were many possible signs of yeti. Stacks of rocks, trees shaking, broken branches, nests on the ground like those for giant birds, hollows or caves, horses with their manes plaited. It didn’t seem like anyone could agree on what yeti got up to.
Ella pushed on through the bush, a sweet almost peppery smell to the air. She passed by giant trees with trunks like ships’ masts, their bark dappled with silver. Dark vines criss-crossed the bush like hair. Ella made a note of her bearings – working out how to find her way back to the train – and carried on, finding her own path through the trees.
It was dark in the bush now, though beams of sunlight streamed through gaps in the canopy. Ella was glad to be in the cool. Soon she heard water tumbling and found herself at a stream trickling over rocks and boulders, tumbling into a pool. Ella sat by the water’s edge and scanned the hillside around her. This is nuts, she thought. People had searched for yeti hiding places for years with no luck. What could she do in just one afternoon?
She was about to give up and go back up the hill when something caught her nose. It wasn’t the spicy smell she’d noticed before, but it was familiar. Ella closed her eyes. There was definitely a stink. A bit like a rabbit’s hutch. A bit like the lost-property box at school when it was full of shoes. Now where had she smelled it before?
Ella opened her eyes. The Himalayas!
She tried her best to follow the smell but it wasn’t easy. She’d never followed one before. At times, it seemed so close and at others it disappeared entirely. For once, she wished she had a bigger nose.
Ella kept to the edge of the stream, heading down the hillside. And then she spotted a cave entrance carved out by a channel of water, hidden behind thick fern fronds. Just above the surface of the trickling water was a pile of river rocks, neatly stacked, one on top of the other.
Ella gasped. “Rock stack!” She found a hiding spot in the bush where she could keep an eye on the hollow and settled down. She checked her watch – she had just over an hour to make that last train.
Barely making a sound, Ella sat and watched the opening to the cave. But there was no sign of anything. On closer inspection, Ella was beginning to have doubts about the stack of rocks. Perhaps they’d been dumped by the river? They could have been sitting there forever – all covered in moss like that. But then again that stench was no coincidence. She was sure it was a clue.
Ella glanced again at her watch. She needed to get the train back down the hill. She’d have to come back soon and try again. Before she left, she took a few photos so she’d recognize the place.
“Nice train ride?” asked Uncle Jack when he picked her up. “See anything interesting?”
“Oh yeah, the view from the top is amazing,” said Ella. “I want to go again.”
Hidden in the jungle, Tick and Flittermouse watched for hours as the yellow beasts with circle legs tore through the burnt remains of the forest, pounding and hammering the ground. Tick gaped in horror as the humans churned up the earth and tried to flatten what was left of the hillside. What of the tunnel and the waterway below? What about Dahl and Plumm – were they still safe? It had been ages since Tick had got out of the boat – would they have waited all that time? Tick knew he had to reach them. But he just wasn’t sure how with the humans about.
Flittermouse! thought Tick. Why didn’t he think of her before? She could take a message – tell Dahl and Plumm he was on his way.
“Hey, Flittermouse,” Tick blurted, about to ask the bat to fly back up the hill. But then he remembered the boulder covering the entrance – that he’d so carefully put back in place. There was nothing for it but to get back up there himself.
Finally the humans headed back down to their sett. Tick still didn’t move. He waited until darkness before leaving the forest. Then he bounded up the hillside, finding his way back through the charred skeletons of the trees, Flittermouse flapping at his shoulder. Tick squeezed himself in between the cluster of boulders at the crest of the hill and found the entrance to the waterway. Checking to see there was no one watching, he heaved the boulder aside. Tick climbed into the tunnel and pulled the boulder back in place.
As Tick squeezed himself through the tunnel down towards the waterway, he pictured Plumm and Dahl waiting for him, the boat bobbing on the water. How they’d greet him and Flittermouse, how he’d clamber back in the boat and carry on the journey. But, when Tick got there, the chamber was dark and empty.
Tick clapped his hands to wake up the glow-worms and in an instant he saw the cavern was ruined. Great piles of earth almost filled the hollow, brought down by the humans and their contraptions flattening the earth above, though water still managed to flow along the channel. One thing was sure: there was no boat, no Dahl and no Plumm.
Tick groaned. His friends must have stayed for as long as they felt they could, and then, with soil and rocks tumbling down on their heads, Dahl would have made the call to escape. It was the right call too, thought Tick. He couldn’t have expected them to risk their lives and wait. Now he and Flittermouse were truly on their own.
Tick’s first thought was to dive into the water and swim with the flow, chasing after the boat. With Flittermouse guiding the way, he might catch them. He stepped to the water’s edge, gripping the rock with his toes, but something held him back. He crouched down to force himself to think. Dahl and Plumm were probably long gone – far away down the dark tunnel. He wasn’t the greatest swimmer either. He would need a boat to have any chance of catching them. Tick wasn’t sure he could build one – to start with, it would take time, and to build a boat he’d need trees, which meant several trips down into the untouched forest and back up again. Too risky.
Tick tried to remember the map from the slabs that he’d seen in Leeke’s nest. He was fairly sure the Orang Pendek sett lay to the south. Could he try to get to them and ask for help? Call on the Collective? What had Dahl said? Stronger together.
“What do you think, Flittermouse? Think you can get us to the Orang Pendek?”
The bat gave a chirrup. She reckoned she could.
Tick scrambled back to the hillside and drifted through the darkness, down towards the forest. Once in the trees, he picked up the pace and strode south, his staff gripped in his hand. He kept his eyes on Flittermouse as she darted through the cover of green. “I hope you know where you’re going, my friend.”
Tick ignored the ache in his feet, the stiffness in his knees, and strode from tree to tree. It felt like a lifetime since he had left Plumm and Dahl asleep in the boat that morning and he was exhausted. “Just a little bit longer, Flittermouse,” he pan
ted.
But soon, when his striding became noisy and careless, and he could barely put one big foot in front of the other, Tick knew he had to rest. He came to a stop and leaned against a tree, looking for somewhere safe to sleep. He peered up the tall trunk. He could try to build a nest up high, like the Mande Barung. Flittermouse seemed to think it was a good idea, swooping to the top of the tree and latching on. Tick took a deep breath, and used the last of his strength to haul himself up. He began bending the green branches together, trying not to break them, weaving them into something resembling a nest. But, before he could finish, Tick lay down and fell asleep, Flittermouse on his shoulder.
*
Tick woke up with the chattering of the birds. Flames, blackened trees and beasts of yellow filled his mind. But then he realized that he was safe, high up in the treetops, Flittermouse clinging to his fur. Tick had a knot in his back where a branch had been digging in all night, and his neck was stiff. His feeble attempt at a nest would make a Mande Barung blush.
A strange smell invaded his nostrils. Tick sat up with a start. He wasn’t alone. He spun round in his nest, and there on the branch next to him sat a yeti. A very small yeti.
“I was wondering when you were going to get up,” said the yeti. He ran his hands through the shock of black hair that tumbled down to his waist. He found a nit and popped it in his mouth. “I’m Strut. When warthogs fight, it is the grass that suffers.”
“A small cloud can hide the moon.” Tick touched his hand to his chest and then to his head and introduced himself. “Orang Pendek?”
“That I am.”
Tick beamed. “You don’t know how happy that makes me. I’ve been looking for you.”
