Михаэль Энде - The Neverending Story

“Never mind,” said Bastian. “Sikanda needs no help. Just stay behind me and don’t get in my way.”

They left the dungeon, slowly climbed the stairs, and came to a large hall. Suddenly all the torches went out. But Sikanda shone bright.

Again they heard the heavy metallic tread of many armored giants.

“Quick!” cried Bastian. “Back to the stairs! This is where I’m going to fight!”

He couldn’t see whether the three knights obeyed his order and there was no time to find out, because Sikanda was already dancing in his hand. The entire hall was ablaze with its sharp white light. The assailants managed to push Bastian back from the top of the stairs and to attack him from all sides, yet not one of their mighty blows touched him. Sikanda whirled around him so fast that it looked like hundreds of swords. And a few moments later he was surrounded by a heap of shattered black armor in which nothing stirred.

“Come on up!” Bastian cried to his companions.

The three knights stood gaping on the stairs. Hykrion’s moustache was trembling. “I’ve never seen anything like it!” he cried.

“Something to tell my grandchildren!” Hysbald stammered.

“The only trouble,” said Hydorn mournfully, “is that they won’t believe you.”

Bastian stood there with sword in hand, wondering what to do next. Suddenly it sprang back into its sheath.

“The danger seems to be over,” he said.

“At least the part that calls for a sword,” said Hydorn. “What do we do now?”

“Now,” said Bastian, “I want to make this Xayide’s acquaintance. I’ve got a bone to pick with her.”

After climbing several more flights of stairs, Bastian and the knights reached the ground floor, where Atreyu and Falkor were waiting for them in a kind of lobby.

“Well done, you two!” cried Bastian, slapping Atreyu on the back.

“What’s become of the armored giants?” asked Atreyu.

“Hollow shells!” said Bastian contemptuously. “Where’s Xayide?”

“Up in her magic throne room,” answered Atreyu.

“Come along,” said Bastian, taking the silver mantle which Atreyu held out to him. And all together, including Falkor, they climbed the broad stairway leading to the upper floors.

When Bastian, followed by his companions, entered the magic throne room, Xayide arose from her red-coral throne. She was wearing a long gown of violet silk, and her flaming red hair was coiled and braided into a fantastic edifice. Her face and her long, thin hands were as pale as marble. There was something strangely disturbing about her eyes. It took Bastian a few moments to figure out what it was—they were of different colors, one green, one red. She was trembling, evidently in fear of Bastian. He looked her straight in the face and she lowered her long lashes.

The room was full of weird objects whose purpose it was hard to determine. There were large globes covered with designs, sidereal clocks, and pendulums hanging from the ceiling. There were costly censers from which rose heavy clouds of different-colored smoke, which crept over the floor like fog.

Thus far Bastian hadn’t said a word. That seemed to shatter Xayide’s composure, for suddenly she threw herself on the floor in front of him, took one of his feet and set it on her neck.

“My lord and master!” she said in a deep voice that sounded somehow mysterious. “No one in Fantastica can withstand you. You are mightier than the mighty and more dangerous than all the demons together. If you wish to take revenge on me for being too stupid to recognize your greatness, trample me underfoot. I have earned your anger. But if you wish once again to demonstrate your far-famed magnanimity, suffer me to become your obedient slave, who swears to obey you body and soul. Teach me to do what you deem desirable and I will be your humble pupil, obedient to your every hint. I repent of the harm I tried to do you and beg your mercy!”

“Arise, Xayide!” said Bastian. He had been very angry, but her speech pleased him. If she had really acted out of ignorance and really regretted it so bitterly, then it was beneath his dignity to punish her. And since she even wished to learn what he deemed desirable, he could see no reason to reject her plea.

Xayide arose and stood before him with bowed head. “Will you obey me unconditionally,” he asked, “however hard you may find it to do my bidding? Will you obey me without argument and without grumbling?”

“I will, my lord and master,” said Xayide. “You will see there is nothing we cannot accomplish if we combine my artifices and your power.”

“Very well,” said Bastian. “Then I will take you into my service. You will leave this castle and go with me to the Ivory Tower, where I am expecting to meet Moon Child.”

For a fraction of a second Xayide’s eyes glowed red and green, but then, veiling them with her long lashes, she said: “I am yours to command, my lord and master.”

Thereupon all descended the stairs. Once outside the castle, Bastian observed: “The first thing to do is find our traveling companions. Goodness knows where they are.”

“Not very far from here,” said Xayide. “I’ve led them slightly astray.”

“For the last time,” said Bastian.

“For the last time,” she agreed. “But how will we get there? Do you expect me to walk? Through the woods and at night?”

“Falkor will carry us,” said Bastian. “He’s strong enough to carry us all.”

Falkor raised his head and looked at Bastian. His ruby-red eyes glittered.

“I’m strong enough, Bastian Balthazar Bux,” boomed the bronze bell-like voice. “But I will not carry that woman.”

“Oh yes, you will,” said Bastian. “Because I command it.”

The luckdragon looked at Atreyu, who nodded almost imperceptibly. But Bastian had seen that nod.

All took their places on Falkor’s back, and he rose into the air.

“Which way?” he asked.

“Straight ahead,” said Xayide.

“Which way?” Falkor asked again, as if he hadn’t heard.

“Straight ahead!” Bastian shouted. “You heard her.”

“Do as she says,” said Atreyu under his breath. And Falkor complied.

Half an hour later—already the dawn was graying—they saw innumerable campfires down below and the luckdragon landed. In the meantime many more Fantasticans had turned up and a lot of them had brought tents. The camp, spread out on a wide, flower-strewn meadow at the edge of the orchid forest, looked like a tent city.

“How many are you now?” Bastian asked.

Ilwan, the blue djinn, who had taken charge of the caravan in Bastian’s absence, replied that he had not yet been able to make an exact count, but that he guessed there were close to a thousand. “And there’s something else to report,” he added. “Something rather strange. Soon after we pitched camp, shortly before midnight, five of those armored giants appeared. But they were peaceful and they’ve kept to themselves. Of course, no one dared to go near them. They brought a big litter made of red coral. But it was empty.”

“Those are my carriers,” said Xayide in a pleading tone to Bastian. “I sent them ahead last night. That’s the pleasantest way to travel. If it does not displease you, my lord.”

“I don’t like the look of this,” Atreyu interrupted.

“Why not?” said Bastian. “What’s your objection?”

“She can travel any way she likes,” said Atreyu drily. “But she wouldn’t have sent her litter here last night if she hadn’t known in advance that she’d be coming here. She had planned the whole thing. Your victory was really a defeat. She purposely let you win. That was her way of winning you over.”

“Enough of this!” cried Bastian, purple with anger. “I didn’t ask for your opinion. You make me sick with your lecturing. And now you question my victory and ridicule my magnanimity.”