Михаэль Энде - The Neverending Story

After a short silence Bastian replied: “In a book bound with copper-colored silk.”

“Give us time to understand your words,” said Ushtu. “Let us meet again tomorrow at the same hour.”

When they had gathered in the meeting hall the following night, Yisipu, the Son of Reason, took the floor.

“Again we have meditated on your answer, O Great Knower,” he said. “And again a new question comes to perplex us. If our world, Fantastica, is a Neverending Story and if this Neverending Story is in a book bound in copper-colored silk—where then is this book?”

After a short silence Bastian replied: “In the attic of a schoolhouse.”

“O Great Knower,” said the fox-headed Yisipu, “we do not doubt the truth of what you say. But now we would like to ask you to let us see this truth. Can you do that?”

Bastian thought it over. Then he said: “I believe I can.”

Atreyu looked at Bastian with surprise. Xayide too had a questioning look in her red-and-green eyes.

“Let us meet again tomorrow night at the same hour,” said Bastian. “But not here. Let us meet on the roof of the Star Cloister. And then you must keep your eyes fixed on the heavens.”

The following night was as clear as the three before it. At the appointed hour the Three Deep Thinkers and all the Monks of Knowledge were gathered on the roof of the Star Cloister. Atreyu and Xayide, who had no idea what Bastian was up to, were there too.

Bastian climbed to the top of the great cupola and looked around. For the first time he saw the Ivory Tower far off on the horizon, shimmering in the moonlight.

He took the stone Al Tsahir from his pocket. It sent out a soft glow. He then called to mind the inscription he had seen on the door of the Amarganth Library: . . . But if he says my name a second time from the end to the beginning, I will glow in one moment with the light of a hundred years.

He held the stone up high and cried out: “Rihast-la!”

At that moment there came a flash of lightning so bright that the stars paled and the dark cosmic space behind them was illumined. And that space was the schoolhouse attic with its age-blackened beams. In a moment the vision passed and the light of a hundred years was gone. Al Tsahir had vanished without a trace.

It was some time before the eyes of those present, including Bastian’s, became accustomed to the feeble light of the moon and the stars.

Shaken by what they had seen, all gathered in the great lecture hall. Bastian was the last to enter. The Monks of Knowledge and the Three Deep Thinkers arose from their seats and bowed low to him.

“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.