The Neverending Story - Coloured Text, Images

by Michael Ende

  “We’re so lucky!” they cried. “Three cheers for Buxifactor Zanzibar Bastelben!”

  Screaming and laughing, the whole great swarm shot upward and whirled away. The hubbub died down in the distance.

  Bastian stood there hardly knowing what his right name was. By that time he wasn’t so sure he had really done a good deed.

  unbeams were fighting their way through the cloud cover as the travelers started out that morning. At last the rain and wind had let up. In the course of the morning the travelers ran into two or three sudden showers, but then there was a marked improvement in the weather, and it seemed to grow warmer by the minute.

  The three knights were in a merry mood; they laughed and joked and played all sorts of tricks on one another. But Bastian seemed quiet and out of sorts as he rode ahead on his mule. And the knights had far too much respect for him to break in on his thoughts.

  The rocky high plateau over which they were riding seemed endless. But little by little the trees became larger and more frequent.

  Atreyu had noticed Bastian’s bad humor. When he and Falkor started on their usual reconnaissance flight, he asked the luckdragon what he could do to cheer his friend up. Falkor rolled his ruby-red eyeballs and answered: “That’s easy—didn’t he want to ride on me?

  When some time later the little band rounded a jutting cliff, they found Atreyu and the luckdragon lying comfortably in the sun.

  Bastian looked at them in amazement.

  “Are you tired?” he asked.

  “Not at all,” said Atreyu. “I just wanted to ask if you’d let me ride Yikka for a while. I’ve never ridden a mule. It must be wonderful, because you never seem to get sick of it. I’ll lend you my old Falkor in return.”

  Bastian flushed with pleasure.

  “Is that true, Falkor?” he asked. “You wouldn’t mind carrying me?”

  “Of course not, all-powerful sultan,” said the dragon with a wink. “Hop on and hold tight.”

  Without touching the ground, Bastian vaulted directly from mule to dragon back and clutched the silvery-white mane as Falkor took off.

  Bastian hadn’t forgotten how Grograman had carried him through the Desert of Colors. But riding a white luckdragon was something else again. If sweeping over the ground on the back of the fiery lion had been like a cry of ecstasy, this gentle rising and falling as the dragon adjusted his movements to the air currents was like a song, now soft and sweet, now triumphant with power. Especially when Falkor was looping the loop, when his mane, his fangs, and the long fringes on his limbs flashed through the air like white flames, it seemed to Bastian that the winds were singing in chorus.

  Toward noon they sighted the others and landed. The ground party had pitched camp beside a brook in a sunlit meadow. There was a flatbread to eat and a kettle of soup was cooking over a wood fire. The horses and the mule were grazing nearby.

  When the meal was over, the three knights decided to go hunting, for supplies, especially of meat, were running low. They had heard the cry of pheasants in the thicket, and there seemed to be hares as well. Knowing the Greenskins to be great hunters, they asked Atreyu to join them, but he declined. Thereupon the knights took their long bows, buckled on their quivers full of arrows, and went off to the woods.

  Atreyu, Falkor, and Bastian stayed behind.

  After a short silence, Atreyu suggested: “How about telling us a little more about your world, Bastian?”

  “What would interest you?” Bastian asked.

  Atreyu turned to the luckdragon: “What do you say, Falkor?”

  “I’d like to hear something about the children in your school,” said the dragon.

  Bastian seemed bewildered. “What children?” he asked.

  “The ones who made fun of you,” said Falkor.

  “Children who made fun of me?” Bastian repeated. “I don’t know of any children—and I’m sure no child would have dared to make fun of me.”

  Atreyu broke in: “But you must remember that you went to school.”

  “Yes,” said Bastian thoughtfully. “I remember school. Yes, that’s right.”

  Atreyu and Falkor exchanged glances.

  “I was afraid of that,” Atreyu muttered.

  “Afraid of what?”

  “You’ve lost some more of your memory,” said Atreyu gravely. “This time it came of changing the Acharis into Shlamoofs. You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Bastian Balthazar Bux,” said the luckdragon—and his tone seemed almost stern—“if my advice means anything to you, stop using the power that AURYN gives you. If you don’t, you’re likely to lose your last memories, and without memory how will you ever find your way back to where you came from?”

  “To tell the truth,” said Bastian, “I don’t want to go back anymore.”

  Atreyu was horrified. “But you have to go back. You have to go back and straighten out your world so humans will start coming to Fantastica again. Otherwise Fantastica will disappear sooner or later, and all our trouble will have been wasted.”

  At that point Bastian felt rather offended. “But I’m still here,” he protested. “It’s been only a little while since I gave Moon Child her new name.”

  Atreyu could think of nothing to say. But then Falkor spoke up. “Now,” he said, “I see why we haven’t made the slightest progress in finding Bastian’s way back. If he himself doesn’t want to . . .”

  “Bastian,” said Atreyu almost pleadingly. “Isn’t there anything that draws you? Something you love? Don’t you ever think of your father, who must be waiting for you and worrying about you?”

  Bastian shook his head.

  “I don’t think so. Maybe he’s even glad to be rid of me.”

  Atreyu looked at his friend in horror.

  “The way you two carry on!” said Bastian bitterly. “You almost sound as if you wanted to get rid of me too.”

  “What do you mean by that?” asked Atreyu with a catch in his voice.

  “Well,” said Bastian. “You seem to have only one thing on your minds: getting me out of Fantastica as quickly as possible.”

  Atreyu looked at Bastian and slowly shook his head. For a long while none of them said a word. Already Bastian was beginning to regret his angry words. He himself knew they were unjust.

  Then Atreyu said softly: “I thought we were friends.”

  “You were right!” Bastian cried. “We are and always will be. Forgive me. I’ve been talking nonsense.”

  Atreyu smiled. “You’ll have to forgive us, too, for hurting your feelings. We didn’t mean it.”

  “Anyway,” said Bastian. “I’m going to take your advice.”

  After a while the three knights returned with several partridges, a pheasant, and a hare. When the party started out again, Bastian was riding Yikka.

  In the afternoon, they came to a forest consisting entirely of tall, straight evergreens, which formed, high overhead, a green roof so dense that a ray of sunlight seldom reached the ground. That may have been why there was no underbrush.

  The soft, smooth forest floor was pleasant to ride on. Falkor had resigned himself to trotting along with the company, because if he had flown above the treetops with Atreyu, he would undoubtedly have lost sight of the others.

  All afternoon they rode through the dark-green twilight. Toward nightfall they spied a ruined castle on a hilltop. They climbed up to it and in the midst of all the crumbling walls and turrets, halls and passageways, they found a vaulted chamber that was in fairly good condition. There they settled down for the night. It was redheaded Hysbald’s turn to cook, and he proved to be much better at it than his predecessor. The pheasant he roasted over the fire was as tasty as you please.

  The next morning they resumed their journey. All day they rode through the forest, which looked the same on all sides. It was late in the day when they noticed that they must have been riding in a great circle, for ahead of them they saw the ruins of the castle they had left in the morning, but this time they were a
pproaching it from a different direction.

  “This has never happened to me before!” said Hykrion, twirling his black moustache.

  “I can’t believe my eyes!” grumbled Hysbald, stalking through the ruins on his long, thin legs.

  But so it was. The remains of yesterday’s dinner left no room for doubt.

  Atreyu and Falkor said nothing, but their thoughts were hard at work. How could they have made such a mistake?

  At the evening meal—this time it was roast hare, prepared more or less competently by Hykrion—the three knights asked Bastian if he would care to impart some of his memories of the world he came from. Bastian excused himself by saying he had a sore throat, and since he had been very quiet all that day, the knights believed him. After suggesting a few effective remedies, they lay down to sleep.

  Only Atreyu and Falkor suspected what Bastian was thinking.

  Early in the morning they started off again. All day they rode through the forest, trying their best to keep going in a straight line. But at nightfall they were back at the same ruined castle.

  “Well, I’ll be!” Hykrion blustered.

  “I’m going mad!” groaned Hysbald.

  “Friends,” said Hydorn disgustedly, “we might as well throw our licenses in the trash bin. Some knights errant we turned out to be!”

  On their first night at the castle, Bastian, knowing that Yikka liked to be alone with her thoughts now and then, had found her a special little niche. The company of the horses, who could think of nothing to talk about but their distinguished ancestry, upset her. That night, after Bastian had taken her back to her place, she said to him: “Master, I know why we’re not getting ahead.”

  “How can you know that, Yikka?”

  “Because I carry you, master. And because I’m only half an ass, I feel certain things.”

  “So, according to you, why is it?”

  “You don’t want to get ahead, master. You’ve stopped wishing for anything.”

  Bastian looked at her in amazement.

  “You are really a wise animal, Yikka.”

  The mule flapped her long ears in embarrassment.

  “Do you know which way we’ve been going?”

  “No,” said Bastian. “Do you?”

  Yikka nodded.

  “We’ve been heading for the center of Fantastica.”

  “For the Ivory Tower?”

  “Yes, master. And we made good headway as long as we kept going in that direction.”

  “That’s not possible,” said Bastian. “Atreyu would have noticed it, and certainly Falkor would have. But they didn’t.”

  “We mules,” said Yikka, “are simple creatures, not in a class with luckdragons. But we do have certain gifts. And one of them is a sense of direction. We never go wrong. That’s how I knew for sure that you wanted to visit the Childlike Empress.”

  “Moon Child . . .” Bastian murmured. “Yes, I would like to see her again. She’ll tell me what to do.”

  Then he stroked the mule’s white nose and whispered: “Thanks, Yikka. Thanks.”

  Next morning Atreyu took Bastian aside.

  “Listen, Bastian. Falkor and I want to apologize. The advice we gave you was meant well—but it was stupid. We just haven’t been getting ahead. Falkor and I talked it over last night. You’ll be stuck here and so will we, until you wish for something. It’s bound to make you lose some more of your memory, but that can’t be helped, there’s nothing else you can do. We can only hope that you find the way back before it’s too late. It won’t do you any good to stay here. You’ll just have to think of your next wish and use AURYN’s power.”

  “Right,” said Bastian. “Yikka said the same thing. And I already know what my next wish will be. Let’s go, I want you all to hear it.

  They rejoined the others.

  “Friends,” said Bastian in a loud voice. “So far we have been looking in vain for the way back to my world. Now I’ve decided to go and see the one person who can help me find it. That one person is the Childlike Empress. Our destination is now the Ivory Tower.”

  “Hurrah!” cried the three knights in unison.

  But then Falkor’s bronze voice rang out: “Don’t do it, Bastian Balthazar Bux. What you wish is impossible. Don’t you know that no one can meet the Golden-eyed Commander of Wishes more than once? You will never see her again.”

  Bastian clenched his fists.

  “Moon Child owes me a lot,” he said angrily. “I’m sure she won’t keep me away.”

  “You’ll see,” Falkor replied, “that her decisions are sometimes hard to understand.”

  Bastian felt the color rising to his cheeks. “You and Atreyu,” he said, “are always giving me advice. You can see where your advice has got us. From now on I’ll do the deciding. I’ve made up my mind, and that’s that.”

  He took a deep breath and went on a little more calmly: “Besides, you always speak from your point of view. You two are Fantasticans and I’m a human. How can you be sure that the same rules apply to me as to you? It was different when Atreyu had AURYN. And who else but me is going to give the Gem back to Moon Child? No one can meet her twice, you say. But I’ve already met her twice. The first time we saw each other for only a moment, when Atreyu went into her chamber, and the second time when the big egg exploded. With me everything is different. I will see her a third time.”

  All were silent. The knights because they didn’t know what it was all about, Atreyu and Falkor because they were beginning to have doubts.

  “Well,” said Atreyu finally, “maybe you’re right. We have no way of knowing how the Childlike Empress will deal with you.”

  After that they started out, and before noon they reached the edge of the forest.

  Before them lay sloping meadows as far as the eye could see. Soon they came to a winding river and followed its course.

  Again Atreyu and Falkor explored the country, describing wide circles around their slow-moving companions. But both were troubled and their flight was not as light and carefree as usual. Looking ahead, they saw that the country changed abruptly at a certain point in the distance. A steep slope led from the plateau to a low-lying, densely wooded plain and the river descended the slope in a mighty waterfall. Knowing that the riders couldn’t hope to get that far before the next day, the two scouts turned back.

  “Falkor,” Atreyu asked, “do you suppose the Childlike Empress cares what becomes of Bastian?”

  “Maybe not,” said Falkor. “She draws no distinctions.”

  “Then,” said Atreyu, “she is really a . . .”

  “Don’t say it,” Falkor broke in. “I know what you mean, but don’t say it.”

  For a while Atreyu was silent. Then he said: “But he’s my friend, Falkor. We’ve got to help him. Even against the Childlike Empress’s will, if we have to. But how?”

  “With luck,” the dragon replied, and for the first time the bronze bell of his voice seemed to have sprung a crack.

  That evening the company chose a deserted log cabin on the riverbank as their night lodging. For Falkor, of course, it was too small, and he preferred to sleep on the air. The horses and Yikka also had to stay outside.

  During the evening meal Atreyu told the others about the waterfall and the abrupt change in the country. Then he added casually: “By the way, we’re being followed.”

  The three knights exchanged glances.

  “Oho!” cried Hykrion, giving his black moustache a martial twirl. “How many are they?”

  “I counted seven behind us,” said Atreyu. “But even if they ride all night they can’t be here before morning.”

  “Are they armed?” asked Hysbald.

  “I couldn’t tell,” said Atreyu, “but there are more coming from other directions. I saw six in the west, nine in the east, and twelve or thirteen are coming from up ahead.”

  “We’ll wait and see what they want,” said Hydorn. “Thirty-five or thirty-six men would hardly frighten the three of us—much les
s Sir Bastian and Atreyu.”

  Ordinarily Bastian ungirt the sword Sikanda before lying down to sleep. But that night he kept it on and slept with his hand on the hilt. In his dreams he saw Moon Child smiling at him and her smile seemed full of promise. If there was any more to the dream, he forgot it by the time he woke up, but his vision encouraged him in his hope of seeing her again.

  Glancing out of the door of the cabin, he saw seven blurred shapes through the mist that had risen from the river. Two were on foot, the others mounted on different sorts of steeds. Bastian quietly awakened his companions.

  The knights unsheathed their swords, and together they stepped out of the cabin. When the figures waiting outside caught sight of Bastian, the riders dismounted and all seven went down on their left knees, bowed their heads and cried out: “Hail and welcome to Bastian Balthazar Bux, the Savior of Fantastica!”

  The newcomers were a weird-looking lot. One of the two who had come on foot had an uncommonly long neck and a head with four faces, one pointed in each of the four directions. The first was merry, the second angry, the third sad, and the fourth sleepy. All were rigid and unchanging, but he was able at any time to face forward with the one expressing his momentary mood. This individual was a four-quarter troll, sometimes known as a moody-woody.

  The second pedestrian was what is known in Fantastica as a head-footer. His head was connected directly with his long, thin legs, there being neither neck nor trunk. Headfooters are always on the go and have no fixed residence. As a rule, they roam about in swarms of many hundreds, but from time to time one runs across a loner. They feed on herbs and grasses. The one that was kneeling to Bastian looked young and red-cheeked.

  The three creatures riding on horses no larger than goats were a gnome, a shadowscamp, and a blondycat. The gnome had a golden circlet around his head and was obviously a prince. The shadow-scamp was hard to recognize, because to all intents and purposes he consisted only of a shadow cast by no one. The blondycat had a catlike face and long golden-blond curls that clothed her like a coat. Her whole body was covered with equally blond shaggy fur. She was no bigger than a five-year-old child.