by Michael Ende
“I have no words,” said Shirkry, “with which to thank you for that flash of illumination, O Great Knower. For in that mysterious attic I glimpsed a being of my own kind, an eagle.”
“You are mistaken, Shirkry,” said the owl-faced Ushtu with a gentle smile. “I saw the creature plainly. It was an owl.”
“You are both mistaken,” cried Yisipu, his eyes aflame. “That being is a relative of mine, a fox.”
Shirkry raised his hands in horror.
“Here we are back where we started!” he said. “You alone, O Great Knower, can answer this new question. Which of us is right?”
Smiling serenely, Bastian replied: “All three.”
“Give us time to understand your answer,” said Ushtu.
“All the time you wish,” Bastian replied, “for we shall be leaving you now.”
Bitter disappointment could be read on the faces of the Three Deep Thinkers and of the Monks of Knowledge. They implored Bastian to stay longer, or better still, forever, but with a rather disrespectful shrug he declined.
Whereupon the six messengers carried him and his two disciples back to the tent city.
That night the usual harmony of the Three Deep Thinkers was disturbed by a first radical difference of opinion, which years later led to the breakup of the community. Then Ushtu the Mother of Intuition, Shirkry the Father of Vision, and Yisipu the Son of Reason each founded a cloister of his own. But that is another story and shall be told another time.
That night Bastian lost all memory of having gone to school. The attic and the stolen book bound in copper-colored silk vanished from his mind. And he even stopped asking himself how he had come to Fantastica.
igilant scouts returned to camp, reporting that the Ivory Tower was not far off and could be reached in two or at the most three days’ marches.
But Bastian seemed irresolute. He kept ordering rest stops, but before the troops were half settled he would make them start out again. No one knew why he was behaving so strangely, and no one dared ask him. Since his great feat at the Star Cloister he had been unapproachable, even for Xayide. All sorts of conjectures were rife, but most of the traveling companions were quite willing to obey his contradictory orders. Great wise men, they thought, often strike the common run of people as unpredictable. Atreyu and Falkor were equally at a loss. The incident at the Star Cloister had baffled them completely.
Within Bastian two feelings were at war, and he was unable to silence either one. He longed to meet Moon Child. Now that he was famous and admired throughout Fantastica, he could approach her as an equal. But at the same time he was afraid she would ask him to return AURYN to her. And what then? Would she try to send him back to the world he had almost forgotten? He didn’t want to go back. And he wanted to keep the Gem. But then he had another idea. Was it so certain that she wanted it back? Maybe she would let him have it as long as he wished. Maybe she had made him a present of it and it was his for good. At such moments he could hardly wait to see her again. He rushed the caravan on. But then, assailed by doubts, he would order a stop and think it all over again.
After alternating forced marches and prolonged delays, the procession finally reached the edge of the famous Labyrinth, the immense flower garden with its winding avenues and pathways. On the horizon the Ivory Tower gleamed white against the gold-shimmering evening sky.
Awed by the splendor and beauty of the sight, the army of Fantasticans stood silent. And so did Bastian. Even Xayide’s face showed a look of wonderment, which had never been seen before and which soon vanished. Atreyu and Falkor, who were in the rear of the procession, remembered how different the Labyrinth had looked the last time they had seen it: wasted with the ravages of the Nothing. Now it was greener and more flourishing than ever before.
Bastian decided to go no farther that day and the tents were pitched for the night. He sent out messengers to bring greetings to Moon Child and let her know that he would be arriving at the Ivory Tower next day. Then he lay down in his tent and tried to sleep. He tossed and turned on his cushions, his worries left him no peace. But he was far from suspecting that this would be his worst night since coming to Fantastica.
Toward midnight, soon after falling into a restless sleep, he was awakened by excited whisperings outside his tent. He got up and went out.
“What’s going on?” he asked sternly.
“This messenger,” replied Ilwan, the blue djinn, “claims he is bringing you news so important that it can’t wait until tomorrow.”
The messenger, whom Ilwan had picked up by the collar, was a nimbly, a creature bearing a certain resemblance to a rabbit, except that its coat was of bright-colored feathers instead of fur. Nimblies are among the swiftest runners in Fantastica, and can cover enormous distances with incredible speed. When running they become almost invisible except for the trail of dust clouds they leave behind them. That is why the nimbly had been chosen as messenger. After running to the Ivory Tower and back in next to no time, he was desperately out of breath when the djinn set him down in front of Bastian.
“Forgive me, sire,” he said, bowing and panting. “Forgive me if I make so bold as to disturb your rest, but you would have every reason to be displeased with me if I failed to do so. Moon Child is not in the Ivory Tower; she has not been there for a long, long time, and no one knows where she is.”
Suddenly Bastian felt cold and empty inside. “You must be mistaken. That can’t be.”
“The other messengers will tell you the same thing when they get back, sire.”
After a long silence Bastian said tonelessly: “Thank you. Dismissed.”
He went back into his tent, sat down on his bed, and buried his head in his hands. This seemed impossible. Moon Child must have known he was on his way to her. Could it be that she didn’t want to see him again? Or had something happened to her? No, how could anything happen to her in her own realm?
But the fact remained: she was gone, which meant that he didn’t have to return AURYN to her. At the same time he felt bitterly disappointed that he wouldn’t be seeing her again. Whatever her reasons may have been, he found her behavior unbelievable, no, insulting.
Then he remembered what Falkor and Atreyu had told him: that no one could meet the Childlike Empress more than once.
The thought made him so unhappy that he suddenly longed for Atreyu and Falkor. He needed someone to talk to, to confide in.
Then he had an idea: If he put on the belt Ghemmal and made himself invisible, he could enjoy their comforting presence without mentioning the humiliation he felt.
He opened the ornate casket, took out the belt, and put it on. Then, after waiting until he had got used to the unpleasant sensation of not seeing himself, he went out and wandered about the tent city in search of Atreyu and Falkor. Wherever he went he heard excited whispers, figures darted from tent to tent, here and there several creatures were huddled together, talking and gesticulating. By then the other messengers had returned, and the news that Moon Child was not in the Ivory Tower had spread like wildfire.
Atreyu and Falkor were under a flowering rosemary tree at the very edge of the camp. Atreyu was sitting with his arms folded, looking fixedly in the direction of the Ivory Tower. The luckdragon lay beside him with his great head on the ground.
“That was my last hope,” said Atreyu. “I thought she might make an exception for him and let him return the amulet. Now all is lost.”
“She must know what she’s doing,” said Falkor. At that moment Bastian located them and sat down invisibly nearby.
“Is it certain?” Atreyu murmured. “He mustn’t be allowed to keep AURYN!”
“What will you do?” Falkor asked. “He won’t give it up of his own free will.”
“Then I’ll have to take it from him,” said Atreyu.
At those words Bastian felt the ground sinking from under him.
“That won’t be easy,” he heard Falkor saying. “But if you do take it, I trust that he won’t be able to get it ba
ck.”
“That’s not so sure,” said Atreyu. “He’ll still have his great strength and his magic sword.”
“But the Gem would protect you,” said Falkor. “Even against him.”
“No,” said Atreyu. “I don’t think so. Not against him.”
“And to think,” said Falkor with a grim laugh, “that he himself offered it to you on your first night in Amarganth.”
Atreyu nodded. “I didn’t realize then what would happen.”
“How are you going to take it from him?” Falkor asked.
“I’ll have to steal it,” said Atreyu.
Falkor’s head shot up. With glowing ruby-red eyes he stared at Atreyu, who hung his head and repeated in an undertone: “I’ll have to. There’s no other way.”
After a long silence Falkor asked: “When?”
“It will have to be tonight. Tomorrow may be too late.”
Bastian had heard enough. Slowly he crept away. His only feeling was one of cold emptiness. Everything was indifferent to him now, just as Xayide had said.
He went back to his tent and took off the belt Ghemmal. Then he bade Ilwan bring him the three knights, Hysbald, Hykrion, and Hydorn. As he paced the ground waiting, it came to him that Xayide had foreseen it all. He hadn’t wanted to believe her, but now he was obliged to. Xayide, he now realized, was sincerely devoted to him. She was his only true friend. But there was still room for doubt. Perhaps Atreyu wouldn’t actually carry out his plan. Maybe he had already repented. In that case Bastian wouldn’t ever mention it—though friendship now meant nothing to him. That was over and done with.
When the three knights appeared, he told them he had reason to believe that a thief would come to his tent that night. When they agreed to keep watch and lay hands on the thief whoever he might be, he went to Xayide’s coral litter. She lay sound asleep, attended by her five giants in their black armor, who stood motionless on guard. In the darkness they looked like five boulders.
“I wish you to obey me,” Bastian said softly.
Instantly, all five turned their black iron faces toward him.
“Command us, master of our mistress,” said one in a metallic voice.
“Do you think you can handle Falkor the luckdragon?” Bastian asked.
“That depends on the will that guides us,” said the metallic voice.
“It is my will,” said Bastian.
“Then there is no one we cannot handle,” was the answer.
“Good. Then go close to where he is.” He pointed. “That way. As soon as Atreyu leaves him, take him prisoner. But keep him there. I’ll have you called when I want you.”
“Master of our mistress,” the metallic voice replied, “it shall be done.”
The five black giants marched off in step. Xayide smiled in her sleep.
Bastian went back to his tent. But once in sight of it, he hesitated. If Atreyu should really attempt to steal the Gem, he didn’t want to be there when they seized him.
He sat down under a tree nearby and waited, wrapped in his silver mantle. Slowly the time passed, the sky paled in the east, it would soon be morning. Bastian was beginning to hope that Atreyu had abandoned his project when suddenly he heard a tumult in his tent. And a moment later Hykrion led Atreyu out with his arms chained behind his back. The two other knights followed. Bastian dragged himself to his feet and stood leaning against the tree.
“So he’s actually done it,” he muttered to himself.
Then he went to his tent. He couldn’t bear to look at Atreyu, and Atreyu too kept his eyes to the ground.
“Ilwan,” said Bastian to the blue djinn. “Wake the whole camp! I want everyone here. And tell the black giants to bring Falkor.”
The djinn hurried off with the rasping cry of an eagle. Wherever he went, the denizens of the tents large and small began to stir.
“He didn’t defend himself at all,” said Hykrion, with a movement of his head toward Atreyu, who was standing there motionless with eyes downcast. Bastian turned away and sat down on a stone.
By the time the five armored giants appeared with Falkor, a large crowd had gathered. At the approach of the stamping metallic steps, the crowd opened up a passage. Falkor was not chained, and the armed guards were not holding him, but merely marching to the left and right of him with drawn swords.
“He offered no resistance, master of our mistress,” said one of the metallic voices.
Falkor lay down on the ground at Atreyu’s feet and closed his eyes.
A long silence followed. Creatures poured in from the camp and craned their necks to see what was going on. Only Xayide was absent. Little by little the whispering died down. All eyes shuttled back and forth between Bastian and Atreyu, who stood motionless, looking like stone statues in the gray morning light.
At length Bastian spoke.
“Atreyu,” he said. “You tried to steal Moon Child’s amulet and take it for yourself. And you, Falkor, were an accomplice to his plan. Not only have you both been untrue to our old friendship, you have also been guilty of disobedience to Moon Child, who gave me the Gem. Do you confess your wrong?”
Atreyu cast a long glance at Bastian; then he nodded.
Bastian’s voice failed him. It was some time before he could go on.
“I have not forgotten, Atreyu, that it was you who brought me to Moon Child. I have not forgotten Falkor’s singing in Amarganth. So I will spare your lives, the lives of a thief and of a thief’s accomplice. Do what you will. Just so you go away, the farther the better, and never let me lay eyes on you again. I banish you forever. I have never known you.”
He bade Hykrion remove Atreyu’s chains. Then he turned away.
Atreyu stood motionless for a long while. Then he cast another glance at Bastian. It looked as if he wanted to say something, but changed his mind. He bent down to Falkor and whispered something in his ear. The luckdragon opened his eyes and sat up. Atreyu jumped on his back and Falkor rose into the air. He flew straight into the brightening morning sky, and though his movements were heavy and sluggish, he soon vanished in the distance.
Bastian went to his tent and threw himself down on his bed.
“At last you have achieved true greatness,” said a soft voice. “Now you’ve stopped caring for anything; now nothing can move you.”
Bastian sat up. It was Xayide. She was squatting in the darkest corner of the tent.
“You?” said Bastian. “How did you get in?”
Xayide smiled.
“O my lord and master, no guards can shut me out. Only your command can do that. Do you wish to send me away?”
Bastian lay back and closed his eyes. After a while he muttered: “It’s all the same to me. Go or stay!”
For a long while she watched him from under her half-lowered lids. Then she asked: “What are you thinking about, my lord and master?”
Bastian turned away and did not reply.
It was plain to Xayide that this was no time to leave him to himself. In such a mood he was capable of slipping away from her. She must comfort him and cheer him up—in her own way. For she was determined to hold him to the course she had planned for him—and for herself. And she knew that in the present juncture no magical belts or tricks would suffice. It would take stronger medicine, the strongest medicine available to her, namely, Bastian’s secret wishes. She sat down beside him and whispered in his ear: “When, O lord and master, will you go to the Ivory Tower?”
“I don’t know,” said Bastian. “What can I do there if Moon Child is gone?”
“You could go and wait for her.”
Bastian turned to face Xayide.
“Do you think she’ll be back?”
He had to repeat his question more insistently before Xayide replied: “No, I don’t believe so. I believe she has had to leave Fantastica forever, and that you, my lord and master, are her successor.”
Slowly Bastian sat up and looked into Xayide’s red-and-green eyes. It was some time before he grasped the full mean
ing of her words.
“I!?” he gasped. And his cheeks broke out in red spots.
“Do you find the idea so frightening?” Xayide whispered. “She gave you the emblem of her power. Now she has left you her empire. Now, my lord and master, you will be the Childlike Emperor. It is only your right. You not only saved Fantastica by your coming, you also created it! All of us—I too!—are your creatures. Why should you, the Great Knower, fear to take the power that is rightfully yours?”
Bastian’s eyes glowed with a cold fever. And then Xayide spoke to him of a new Fantastica, a world molded in every detail to Bastian’s taste, where he could create and destroy just as he pleased, where every creature, good or bad, beautiful or ugly, wise or foolish, would be the product of his will alone, and he would reign supreme and inscrutable, playing an everlasting game with the destinies of his subjects.
“Then alone,” she concluded, “will you be truly free, free from all obstacles, free to do as you please. Weren’t you trying to find out what you really and truly want? Well, now you know.”
That same morning they broke camp, and led by Bastian and Xayide in the coral litter, the great procession set out for the Ivory Tower. A well-nigh endless column moved along the twining paths of the Labyrinth. In the late afternoon, when the head of the column reached the Ivory Tower, the last stragglers had barely entered the great flowering maze.
Bastian could not have wished for a more festive reception. On every roof and battlement stood elves with gleaming trumpets, blaring away at the top of their lungs. The jugglers juggled, the astrologers proclaimed Bastian’s greatness and good fortune, the bakers baked cakes as big as mountains, the ministers and councilors escorted the coral litter through the teeming crowd on the High Street, which wound in an ever-narrowing spiral up the conical tower to the great gate leading into the palace. Followed by Xayide and the dignitaries, Bastian climbed the snow-white steps of the broad stairway, traversed halls and corridors, passed through a second gate, through a garden full of ivory animals, trees, and flowers, mounted higher and higher, crossed a bridge, and passed through the last gate. He was heading for the Magnolia Pavilion at the very top of the tower. But the blossom was closed and the last stretch of the way was so steep and smooth that no one could climb it.