Михаэль Энде - The Neverending Story

“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 approaching 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.”