The International Yeti Collective

by Paul Mason

  “Well, now you’ve found me.”

  “You see, I’m in a bit of trouble. I need a boat. I need to find my way back to the waterway.”

  “Do you know what Orang Pendek translates to in human tongue?” asked Strut (he with bouncing walk). When Tick shook his head, Strut went on. “‘Short person’! I mean, really! Why not ‘strong arms’ or ‘magnificent hair’?” Strut lifted up his fringe and peered at Tick. “Tell me honestly now, do you think I’m short?” He got to his feet, balancing on the branch.

  Tick looked the Orang Pendek up and down. Even standing, Strut’s head was not much higher than Tick’s and Tick was still sitting in the nest. He had never seen such a small yeti. “Of course not, no,” he insisted.

  “I mean they could call us ‘protector of the forest’ or ‘defender of the tiger’. That would be closer to the truth. But short?” Strut snorted.

  “Foolish humans,” said Tick.

  “You said it.”

  Tick paused. He didn’t want to be rude but he was in a bit of a hurry. “Thing is, like I mentioned, I really need to get underground. To a waterway.”

  “Not sure if you’ve ever seen an orangutan. Now that’s what I call short. And what do you think their name means in human?”

  “I have no idea,” sighed Tick.

  “‘Person of the forest’,” snorted Strut. “‘Person of the forest’, a noble name like that, and they come up to here.” Strut patted his shoulder. “Titchy.”

  “You’re probably right,” said Tick. “Now, about that boat.”

  “I brought you some breakfast,” said Strut. He handed Tick a gourd with thick, prickly skin. “You need to peel it.”

  Tick hadn’t realized just how hungry he was. He dug his fingers in and ripped off the skin. At once, the treetop filled with the most pungent of smells – an overpowering stench of rotten cabbage, and onions, and goats. The smell wrapped itself round Tick, running through his fur like fingers with just the right amount of nail. Tick felt dizzy with pleasure. He pulled off a piece of flesh and began eating. Flittermouse flew off in disgust.

  Strut pointed at the disappearing bat. “Your friend? I had one like that come and visit just the other moon. From the Mande Barung. Told me the Mountain Yeti are in a serious kerfuffle. On some sort of quest.”

  Tick put down his fruit. “That’s me – that’s me! I’m Mountain Yeti.”

  “Well, you should have said.”

  “Funny that,” said Tick, getting to his feet.

  Strut started to plait a strand of his hair. “So what’s the plan?”

  “I need to find the waterway and a boat,” Tick explained. “I’m going south.”

  “Yowie country?”

  “No, Makimaki.”

  “Don’t know a lot about them,” said Strut.

  “Me neither until a few moons ago,” admitted Tick. “Can you help me?”

  Strut finished his plaiting. “Oh yeah. No problem. The waterway is close. I’m sure there’s a boat – I heard someone talking about one once.”

  “You don’t know how happy it makes me to hear you say that.”

  “Give us a piece of that,” said Strut, taking the fruit from Tick.

  After breakfast, the two yeti clambered down the tree and Strut took the lead, using his strong arms to pull his way through the undergrowth at great speed, his long hair flowing behind him. Flittermouse threaded her way through the trees above. Tick followed as best he could, sticking to the little yeti’s trail. Low-hanging vines whipped his head as he moved and his face was scratched by leaves.

  It didn’t take Strut long to come up with the goods. In the green of the jungle, on the path ahead, was a boulder, flat and grey. Strut took a quick look around and then scampered up the smooth rock on all fours, Tick following.

  “There,” said Strut. “The waterway.”

  Below the bridge of rock was a river, its water green and still. So still that not a single ripple creased its surface. It didn’t make a sound. It barely looked to be moving as it drifted through the jungle, tree branches dipping into the water. The river was deep and dark, and to Tick’s eyes the best thing he’d seen in moons.

  “Strut, you beautiful, long-haired wonder!”

  Strut beamed and ran his fingers through his hair.

  Beside the river, Tick saw there were branches full of the spiky, smelly fruit, like hornets’ nests hanging from thick stalks. There was a splash as one plunked into the water. It sank into the green, then bobbed up to the surface and floated away.

  Tick wondered if he should gather a few of the fruits for his journey, but Strut had already scurried over the bridge and down the other side of the boulder, swinging himself underneath and using the ridges in the stone like a ladder. Tick scampered after him, and the two yeti lowered themselves down towards the water’s edge. In the shadow of the overhang, Tick saw a crack in the rock, and beside it a neat pile of stones. They were here then.

  Strut made sure there were no prying eyes and then wedged himself through the gap. Tick sucked his tummy in and followed.

  The fissure was deep, dropping steadily downwards – soon it became too dark to see at all, and Tick made do by following the sound of Strut’s feet and the peeps of Flittermouse. Then, at last, the gap opened up into a cavern. Strut clapped his hands together and the glow-worms woke up. When Tick saw the big foot chiselled into the wall of the cave just above the flowing river, he grinned. He looked around the cave for the boat. A murky shape sat on the water, further down the cavern. Tick raced along the bank of the waterway. It was a canoe, full of water.

  “You’ve done it again, Strut!” Tick slapped his companion on the back. Now Tick could see himself aboard his new boat, riding the current, paddling smoothly, Flittermouse guiding the way. He saw the moment his boat caught up to Dahl and Plumm, the astonishment on their faces.

  Tick turned to Strut. “Give me a hand getting it out.” He took hold of the bow, and directed the smaller yeti to the other end. Together, they lifted. There was a crack, and the yeti were left holding two pieces of rotten wood.

  Strut stared down at the hull which was rapidly disappearing. “I don’t think it was meant to do that. I guess it hasn’t been used in a while.” He took a handful of his long hair and twirled it into a topknot.

  Tick sat down with a thump on the riverbank. Flittermouse flapped down to his shoulder and hung from his fur, squeaking.

  “What are you going to do now?” asked Strut.

  Tick sighed and shook his head.

  “You can always stay with us,” said Strut. “Wait till you meet the others. We’re all a bit spread out now the humans have cut down the forest, but my best mate Mould is a real laugh.”

  “I’m sure he is,” said Tick.

  Strut picked at Tick’s hair. “We’ll have to do something about your hair if you’re going to stay. Will it grow longer than this?”

  Get up, fly – get up! Tick shouted inside his head.

  He could hear the fly beginning to buzz. Boat sunk? Then we go back up to the jungle. We do it on foot.

  Too far, way too far. Also, we’d have to swim across a massive ocean.

  Then we carve out a new boat.

  Not enough time.

  How about we tie some logs together?

  We’d never get them down here through the crack in the rock.

  The fly fell silent. Then we do it on foot.

  You already said that one.

  Strut broke the silence. “Now then, we might as well get something to eat. Plenty of fruit by the river.”

  Tick thought back to the hanging fruit – the plunk as it dropped into the water. The fruit floating downstream. “You’re a mastermind, Strut!”

  “Really?”

  Tick got to his feet. “We need lots of spiky fruit, we need some vines, and we need them fast.”

  Strut smiled. “Mastermind. No one’s ever called me that before.”

  Tick finished lashing another spiky fruit to the raft. He c
ounted about twenty now. The raft was almost there – a few more fruit and he’d be ready to push off. It wouldn’t keep him dry but it would float. Tick guessed Dahl and Plumm were halfway to the Makimaki already.

  “Keep ’em coming, Strut!” Tick shouted down the tunnel. “And some more vines too, please!”

  Soon Strut reappeared, his arms full of fruit, vines wrapped round his chest. He dropped the pile of fruit to the floor of the cave, then kneeled down and helped Tick arrange the large gourds in a row. He held them in place while Tick tied their stalks. Then, using the leftover vines, Tick bound the whole lot together.

  “That should do it,” he said. “Did you ever see such a fine raft, eh, Strut? Now let’s launch her.” Together, the yeti heaved the fruit raft over to the stream and dropped it in the current. Tick made sure he held on. The raft bobbed up and down, the dark water burbling underneath it.

  “Look at that!” exclaimed Strut. “You’ll be there in no time.”

  Tick grinned. “Let’s hope so. You ready, Flittermouse?” The bat dropped down from a stalactite and landed on Tick’s chest.

  Strut whistled. “I’ve never met a Makimaki. Really ought to one moon, I suppose.”

  “I’ll make sure to say hello from you,” said Tick, tucking his staff under a vine.

  “I wonder how tall they are…”

  “Probably not very. And I bet their hair’s really short.”

  “You reckon?” said Strut. He began plaiting another long strand of his own.

  “Thanks for everything, Strut,” said Tick, giving the yeti salute. “With patience, even the ant can eat an elephant.”

  “A good buttock deserves a comfortable seat.”

  Strut held the raft steady against the bank while Tick climbed aboard. The young yeti lay on his stomach, his legs dangling off the end. Tick pulled out his staff and felt for the bottom of the channel. By shoving against the bottom on each side, Tick reckoned he could steer.

  “Off we go!” he cried.

  Strut gave the raft a push, and Tick and Flittermouse drifted into the darkness, carried onwards by the current. When they were out of sight, they heard the Orang Pendek’s voice calling after them:

  “…atch … ut … or … th … s … ake!”

  Flittermouse gave a puzzled squeak.

  “Sn … k…!” came the shout again.

  Tick shrugged. “Probably something about hair.”

  He pushed himself into a fast rhythm, dipping his staff in one side and then the other, guiding the raft of spiky fruit down the channel. The raft was surprisingly stable, and, when his legs tired of kicking, Tick found that it would take his entire weight if he sat upright.

  Not bad at all, thought Tick. He calculated that he was probably a moon behind the others, possibly two. The fire had cost him time, as had the finding of the waterway and the need to build a raft. But if he kept this pace up he might just catch them. As he propelled himself along, using his staff, Tick worried about whether the humans had worked out how to read the slabs yet.

  *

  In the studio in Jack’s mansion, Ella got out of the way as Dr Milligan hurtled towards his computer on the far side of the room, the wheels on his desk chair squeaking along the floor. The doctor had called them all down for the big reveal. “Finally I’ve cracked it!”

  There was a part of Ella that couldn’t wait to find out the secrets behind the flowery writing, to know all there was to know about the magical yeti. But, once the mysteries were out there, there was no returning. This genie couldn’t go back in the bottle. Jack would share the yeti secrets with his TV bosses. Then the studio would send a huge crew back up into the mountains, and, while the whole world watched, Uncle Jack would chase the yeti into the open.

  Dr Milligan punched the keyboard urgently, then he sat back, polishing his glasses with his tie.

  “Well?” demanded Jack. “We’ve been waiting days for this.”

  “Patience, Mr Stern, patience. We’re on the verge of cracking one of the most important linguistic conundrums ever.”

  Ella focused on the little wheel in the centre of the computer screen, her head a muddle of anticipation and dread. Suddenly the wheel stopped and the screen went blank.

  “What’s it doing?” said Jack.

  “This is it, ladies and gentlemen!” said Dr Milligan.

  A text box flashed on to the screen: Learn one strange ancient way to younger skin.

  Dr Milligan jabbed again. Nothing. He waggled the mouse. Nothing.

  Learn one strange ancient way to younger skin.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. Yeti skin products?” said Jack.

  Dr Milligan wiggled and jabbed some more. “Shhh!”

  Learn one strange ancient way to younger skin.

  “Come on, Dr Milligan, let’s get cracking!” demanded Jack.

  “Shhh, please!” pleaded Dr Milligan, poking at the keyboard.

  Learn one strange ancient way to younger skin.

  “Looks like a virus,” said Ana.

  “No!” Dr Milligan banged the keyboard with his fists.

  Learn one strange ancient way to younger skin.

  “Aaaaaargh,” moaned Dr Milligan, his eyes misting over. “All my work.”

  Ella let out a sigh of relief and then quickly checked to see that the others hadn’t noticed.

  *

  Tick calculated a moon had passed since leaving Strut, without so much as a breath of fresh air or a glimpse of sunlight, only the glimmer of the ever-present glow-worms above his head. The raft squeezed itself through another tight gap, banging on one side of the tunnel and then the other.

  Tick dropped his legs into the water and kicked, the sound echoing down the tunnel. The raft picked up speed, hurtling along, knocking into the rocky walls and carrying on. Then up ahead, in the darkness, Tick saw a flicker of light on the surface of the water. A small flicker but enough to catch his attention. The glimmer reappeared for a moment and then disappeared. There was something in the waterway.

  Tick hauled his legs out of the channel. The raft groaned, water sloshing over the top. He sat upright, as close to the centre as he could, holding on to the vines with one hand, his staff in the other, and they flowed over the spot where the flicker had been. There was nothing.

  Tick breathed a sigh of relief – it was just his eyes playing tricks on him. “False alarm.”

  Then the raft shuddered, and suddenly pitched to one side. Flittermouse screeched as she escaped into the air. Tick plunged into the dark water and spun round, scrabbling for the raft, hands searching. His fingers closed round a vine. He heaved, kicking out at the water, clawing his way to safety along the spiky fruit. A glistening shape broke the surface to his right, carving through the water with a hiss, then it was gone.

  Tick felt something wrap round his legs, thick like the trunk of a tree. It took hold and tried to wrench him from the raft. He held on with all his strength. Flittermouse swooped down and grabbed his fur, her wings beating, trying her best to help, but it was no use. Whatever held Tick was too strong.

  Tick plunged under the surface, the creature wrapping its way round his body. He could feel slimy skin and powerful muscle. Tick still held on to his staff but he couldn’t raise it. His arms were pinned. He screamed, air bursting out of his lungs. He saw the head of the beast now, the stony eyes, the wide jaw, the cold, expressionless face. Tick heard Strut’s voice again. Too late, he understood what the yeti had been trying to tell him. Watch out for the snake! Snake! He felt too dizzy to fight any more. So this was how it ended.

  Then the serpent let go. The coils unravelled in a flash and it shot off into the darkness. Tick burst to the surface, chest heaving. He spun round in the water, trying to get his bearings. The raft was gone, the snake too.

  Tick dugs his toes into the rocky bottom of the channel. With his free hand, he felt for the tunnel wall. It was too slimy to hold on to and the water sucked at his legs, stronger than before, pulling him on.

 
Then a gargling sound reached out through the darkness, growing louder. It built up until it was a steady howl, bouncing off the tunnel walls, a roaring that seemed as if it was all around. Tick had a nasty feeling inside.

  “Flittermouse – go and look!” he said. The bat soared off down the tunnel as Tick turned round and tried to swim in the opposite direction, his arms pulling, his legs kicking. It was no use.

  Flittermouse returned, trilling urgently.

  At the same time as he heard the word ‘waterfall’, Tick lost his fight against the current. He banged against the side of the tunnel, barrelling downstream. Then the young yeti seemed to hang in the air for a moment, before dropping, screaming, into the void.

  Tick tried opening his eyes but his eyelids were like stones. There was a desperate throbbing in his head and his shoulders ached too. He struggled to lift his hand to his face and felt along the side of his head. His fingers found a large bump and pulled back as pain rushed down his neck.

  Tick remembered the angry pull of the current. He remembered a scream and flying through the darkness, and not much after that. Where was he? Taking a deep breath, he propped himself up on his elbows. He could hear the rushing of water – his fur was still wet, the river close by. Tick’s fingers reached across the damp stone and felt his staff by his side.

  He rolled on to his back and clapped his hands, making his head ring. The glow-worms woke up. Using his staff to keep himself steady, Tick pushed himself up on to trembling feet. In the gloom, he could see his raft – or what was left of it – smashed against the rocks. Above the wreckage, there was a big foot carved on to the wall. A squeak came from Flittermouse, hanging from the cave roof.

  “Just about, I think,” Tick replied. “You?”

  Flittermouse peeped back. She was fine, and there was a way out to the surface.

  “Show me.”

  Flittermouse dropped from the hanging rock and flew towards a deep crevice in the stone. Keeping one hand on the rock wall, Tick edged his way uphill after the bat, each step sending a jarring sting to his head.

  Further on, Tick could see the gloom lightening a little. Flittermouse flew onwards and Tick rested, panting against the rock, waiting for her to come back. After a short while, the small bat returned to report that the coast was clear, and that it was night.