Jake Atlas and the Quest for the Crystal Mountain

by Rob Lloyd Jones

  And what did we see?

  I can’t tell you. I mean, I saw it well enough for the memory to haunt me. I still see it every time I close my eyes, like someone tattooed its image on the back of my eyelids. But I promised I wouldn’t tell. The guardian of the mountain is sacred to the monks of Yerpa Gompa. It lives in secrecy among secluded ranges, far from human eyes, and only emerges from hiding when it senses danger to the Crystal Mountain.

  You may not believe that. I’m not sure I would had I not seen it with my own eyes. But the more people know about it, the more they will seek it out. A value will be placed on it. Hunters will come. Eventually someone will find it, and someone will catch it.

  I made a promise to the monks that I would keep the guardian’s secret, and I intend to honour that too. Just take my word for it – you do not want to seek it, or catch it, or get anywhere near it.

  It’s big.

  And hairy.

  That’s all I’ll say.

  To be honest, I was so terrified that I barely saw much more. My family staggered back, Tenzin and Marjorie too, each trying to protect one another in case the guardian turned against us. But Tenzin was right; the creature seemed to know that we weren’t its enemy. It was only interested in the hunters.

  Even together they didn’t stand a chance against this beast rampaging across the slope. It threw them in the air, smashed them across the snow, destroyed their machines and caused their dogs to cower, whimpering, behind rocks. These hunters had travelled the world, seen crazy things, but none of them had ever witnessed anything so savage. Most of them just fled. A few got past the guardian, but we mopped them up easily enough.

  Mum and Dad did what they were best at, and Tenzin was all flips and flying kicks, which were so incredible that at times I just stopped to watch. Pan and I joined in as best we could, jumping on backs and gouging eyes, and even Marjorie found the strength to hurl a few rocks, although they didn’t achieve much. She looked happy, though. Once the terror of seeing the guardian had passed, and we knew it was on our side, we all looked happy. At one point, around the time the last few hunters fled, taking a pleading Lord Osthwait with them in their jeep, I looked back at the mountain we had come so far to find, the Crystal Mountain, and finally I understood that name. A crystal is something pure and clean, something perfect. Something worth fighting for.

  Moonlight shimmered against its sheer western face, reflecting off ice fields and rock ledges, entrances to caves that hid secrets we would never uncover. The silvery light came together in a curving slash, a crescent.

  The mountain was smiling.

  47

  “You have been on quite a journey.”

  The lama topped up my yak butter tea, and then hung the pot over the fire he’d lit on the mountainside. He breathed in the steam, which for a second seemed to smooth all the wrinkles on his face. He looked at me and smiled. I hadn’t thought anyone could out-smile Tenzin, but this guy had him beat. I wondered if he’d been chosen to lead the monastery just because he had the biggest grin. It seemed as good a reason as any.

  “Did you find your treasure?” he asked.

  I sipped the tea, grateful for its warmth. I’d spent so long in the cold that parts of me still seemed to be thawing.

  “Not this time,” I replied.

  The lama’s glasses glinted as he watched a Himalayan vulture swoop circles over the valley.

  “Ah,” he said, “but perhaps this time you really did.”

  These monks loved speaking in riddles, but I was beginning to understand.

  We stood together watching monks clear rocks from the avalanche that had destroyed their home. It would take them months to rebuild Yerpa Gompa. Once I had healed I’d stay as long as I could to help; not just to keep my promise, but because I wanted to.

  My family had helped Tenzin recreate his chorten from its rubble, and he’d prayed to his monastery’s founder for permission to rebuild his home. But the moment he was reunited with his fellow monks, I think he realized that he had never really needed that permission. He was home.

  He came with us back across Tibet in a jeep that one of the hunters had abandoned. We told our stories, sang songs, stared at a billion stars. Tenzin taught us the yak dance too, as we camped. We kept an eye out for hunters and mercenaries, but we were pretty sure they were occupied with their own problems, for a while, at least. Most had fled without provisions, and we’d sabotaged every other vehicle they left behind. They were tough people, so they would survive, but they’d have a hard time getting across this land. Maybe their journeys would be good for them, like mine had been.

  Marjorie came with us too. She sat in the back of the jeep and didn’t say anything for the whole trip. She kept humming the same tune, with this strange smile – not her usual arrogant smirk, but an actual smile. The humming got pretty annoying, but Mum insisted we let her be. She wasn’t our friend, she was… Well, I don’t know what she was now. Not our enemy.

  My family were staying here too; we were camping with the monks down in the valley. Mum had taken over the building project. She kept muttering about “health and safety issues”, but she totally loved bossing everyone around. She’d not touched her amulet once since we left the mountain. I wondered if she still thought about what happened here all those years ago with Takara. Defending Kailas and helping these monks – was she still trying to make up for that tragedy?

  Pan, too, seemed happier. She’d made friends with Tenzin and they spent a lot of time talking about complicated religious things. I was a bit jealous at first – Tenzin was my friend! – but after a while it made me smile to see them together. I knew that even after we left, we would see Tenzin again. This place, its legends, its people – it was a part of us now. We’d be back one day. If nothing else I wanted Tenzin to teach me some of his ninja skills.

  Only Dad seemed on edge. It was weird, because he’d always been the most relaxed of us all. He’d apologized a dozen times for leaving me to cross Tibet alone. I assured him it was fine, but that didn’t seem to settle his mind. Since we’d arrived at the monks’ valley he’d kept watch almost constantly. I didn’t know why, and it would take me a long time to find out, but it was obvious that this adventure hadn’t been a good thing for him. Eventually, it would lead to a disaster – but that’s another story.

  So what now?

  Well, we still had a mission. The People of the Snake, and what they were trying to hide – none of that had been solved. We’d not found the answers we were looking for in Tibet, but I was sure the lost civilization would have left other markers. Only, getting this far had almost broken us. Even after we had healed, could we start over? Where, even, would we start?

  All those thoughts whirled in my head as I stood with the lama on that mountainside, sipping yak butter tea. I felt fixed, I felt broken. I was hopeful, and I was full of doubt. And still, actually, full of questions. Some things that had happened on the mission still didn’t quite make sense.

  “What is it you wish to ask?” the lama said.

  Seriously, this guy should have a stage show – as well as his riddles, he seemed to be a mind reader. But since he’d asked…

  Something had nagged at me since that cave in the mountain. If Tenzin was such a great fighter, why hadn’t he tried to stop me firing the gun at the mountain? He couldn’t have known the weapon was broken. The more I thought about it, only one answer made sense.

  “That cave,” I asked. “Did it really lead to the Hall of Records?”

  The lama cleaned his glasses on his robe, blinking in the fierce Tibetan sun. “I doubt it,” he said.

  “But … the Drak Terma led me there.”

  “Did it?”

  Across the avalanche site, Tenzin stopped working and flashed me one of his trademark grins. Did he know what the lama was talking about? Pan noticed too.

  The lama didn’t need to say any more; I understood. After his chorten was destroyed, Tenzin told me he’d known I had the Drak Terma. What I h
adn’t realized was that he’d told the pilgrims we met. He’d warned them I might ask for a translation. Those words they wrote for me were just gibberish.

  Pan looked baffled, but I was grinning now at Tenzin. That entire time he’d been in total control.

  “That cave,” I said. “It was just a cave.”

  “Well, it was probably sacred,” the lama replied. He slid his glasses back on and winked at me. “Everything’s sacred to us.”

  I smiled, but I had another question. “When I came here first,” I asked, “you refused to let us see the Drak Terma. Was that a test?”

  “It was.”

  “So I guess I failed pretty spectacularly,” I muttered.

  “Perhaps,” the lama replied. “Or perhaps not.” He nodded to one of the monks, who had been waiting for this moment. The monk carried over a small wooden box, about the size of a Rubik’s Cube, and held it out for me to take.

  I hesitated, looking to Mum, Dad, Pan and then Tenzin, who had all stopped working to see what was going on. Each of them smiled, signalling for me to accept whatever this was. The monk held it closer, so I put my tea down on a rock and took the gift.

  I almost dropped it in shock as I saw it properly. It was decorated on every side with the same strange script we’d seen on the emerald tablets. Carved on each side, too, was the mysterious symbol of the lost civilization – the snake eating its own tail.

  The box had no obvious lid, although I felt something inside slide and knock against the wood. Whatever it was, it was incredibly light…

  “In there you will find everything you seek,” the lama said. “All the lost knowledge once hidden in the Crystal Mountain. It is yours to use as you see fit, with our blessing.”

  Whoa!

  It was such a shock that I almost dropped it. I gripped it tighter, with hands that began to shake. Mum gasped; my sister laughed.

  “I … All of it?” I asked. “The whole Hall of Records is in this box?”

  I was expecting a riddle about how big things come in small packages, but the lama just smiled.

  “This knowledge is not what makes Kailas sacred,” he explained, “but as long as it remains there, the mountain will be a target. Our only request is that you let it be known that you have this information, to any that might seek it.”

  I got it; he wanted to make sure no one else turned up at Kailas with plasma cannons. None would if there was nothing left to find. I knew my family would agree, and so I nodded, still staring at the box and its intricately carved lid.

  “Are you going to open it?” the lama asked.

  The box trembled in my hands. Everyone was watching, waiting. Even the monks scurried closer, eager to see what was inside. But I didn’t open the box. I set it down on the rocks beside my tea.

  “Not yet,” I replied. “There’s work to do here first.”

  I expected one of my family to protest, but none of them said a word. Dad ruffled my hair in a way he hadn’t done in ages, and Pan shrugged, and Mum smiled, and we all got busy working again, helping the monks to rebuild their home. Whatever was in that box, I was certain it would lead to new adventures, fresh discoveries, lost tombs or temples. Maybe, even, it would save millions of lives. But all of that could wait, just for a short time. I had a promise to keep, and a friend to help. Perhaps, I realized, as I gazed at the scene around me on that mountainside, not all treasure is found in tombs.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Rob Lloyd Jones never wanted to be a writer when he grew up – he wanted to be Indiana Jones. So he studied Egyptology and archaeology and went on trips to faraway places. But all he found were interesting stories, so he decided to write them down. Jake Atlas and the Quest for the Crystal Mountain is Rob’s fifth novel, although he has written over ninety other books for children, including non-fiction and adaptations of such classics as Beowulf.

  About writing Jake Atlas, he says, “It began on a rainy day in the countryside. Stuck at home, I watched an Indiana Jones movie and then a Mission: Impossible film straight after. I wondered if you could mix the two: classic treasure hunts but with crazy high-tech gadgets. I especially wanted to set the first adventure in Egypt, a place and history that I’d loved so much since studying it at university. But I didn’t really have a story, just an idea. Then, after becoming a father, I realized that many parents are invisible in stories for young people. I decided to write about a whole family on an adventure together. But not just any family – one with troubles and squabbles, special skills and deep secrets…”

  Rob lives in a crumbling cottage in Sussex, where he writes and runs and moans about mud.

  JAKE ATLAS

  TOMB ROBBER,

  TREASURE HUNTER,

  TROUBLEMAKER

  A couple of days ago I was a schoolboy with terrible grades and even worse behaviour – and a way of causing trouble that drove people nuts.

  Now I am a member of a super high-tech treasure-hunting team searching for a lost tomb so I can save my parents from being turned into mummies by an evil cult.

  Things have moved pretty fast…

  JAKE ATLAS

  TOMB ROBBER,

  TREASURE HUNTER,

  TROUBLEMAKER

  Jake Atlas and his family are on the run.

  They’re on a mission to stop the mysterious People of the Snake from hiding the secret to the history of humankind.

  But the international police are chasing Jake and his family through the jungles of Honduras – one of the most dangerous places in the world.

  The second thrilling Jake Atlas adventure.

  OTHER BOOKS BY ROB LLOYD JONES

  Wild Boy

  Wild Boy and the Black Terror

  Jake Atlas and the Tomb of the Emerald Snake

  Jake Atlas and the Hunt for the Feathered God

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents

  are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used

  fictitiously. All statements, activities, stunts, descriptions, information

  and material of any other kind contained herein are included for

  entertainment purposes only and should not be relied on for

  accuracy or replicated as they may result in injury.

  First published in Great Britain 2019 by Walker Books Ltd

  87 Vauxhall Walk, London SE11 5HJ

  Text © 2019 Rob Lloyd Jones

  Cover illustration © 2019 Petur Antonsson

  The right of Rob Lloyd Jones to be identified as author of this

  work has been asserted by him in accordance with the

  Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced,

  transmitted or stored in an information retrieval system in any

  form or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical,

  including photocopying, taping and recording, without prior

  written permission from the publisher.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data:

  a catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 978-1-4063-8989-0 (ePub)

  www.walker.co.uk