The Neverending Story (6 page)

These purple buffaloes were about twice the size of common bulls or cows; they had long, purplish-red hair with a silky sheen and enormous horns with tips as hard and sharp as daggers. They were peaceful as a rule, but when they scented danger or thought they were being attacked, they could be as terrible as a natural cataclysm. Only a Greenskin would have dared to hunt these beasts, and moreover they used no other weapons than bows and arrows. The Greenskins were believers in chivalrous combat, and often it was not the hunted but the hunter who lost his life. The Greenskins loved and honored the purple buffaloes and held that only those willing to be killed by them had the right to kill them.

News of the Childlike Empress’s illness and the danger threatening all Fantastica had not yet reached the Grassy Ocean. It was a long, long time since any traveler had visited the tent colonies of the Greenskins. The grass was juicier than ever, the days were bright, and the nights full of stars. All seemed to be well.

But one day a white-haired black centaur appeared. His hide was dripping with sweat, he seemed totally exhausted, and his bearded face was haggard. On his head he wore a strange hat plaited of reeds, and around his neck a chain with a large golden amulet hanging from it. It was Cairon.

He stood in the open space at the center of the successive rings of tents. It was there that the elders held their councils and that the people danced and sang old songs on feast days. He waited for the Greenskins to assemble, but it was only very old men and women and small children wide-eyed with curiosity who crowded around him. He stamped his hooves impatiently.

“Where are the hunters and huntresses?” he panted, removing his hat and wiping his forehead.

A white-haired woman with a baby in her arms replied: “They are still hunting.

They won’t be back for three or four days.”

“Is Atreyu with them?” the centaur asked.

“Yes, stranger, but how can it be that you know him?”

“I don’t know him. Go and get him.”

“Stranger,” said an old man on crutches, “he will come unwillingly, because this is
his
hunt. It starts at sunset. Do you know what that means?”

Cairon shook his mane and stamped his hooves.

“I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. He has something more important to do now. You know this sign I am wearing. Go and get him.”

“We see the Gem,” said a little girl. “And we know you have come from the Childlike Empress. But who are you?”

“My name is Cairon,” the centaur growled. “Cairon the physician, if that means anything to you.”

A bent old woman pushed forward and cried out: “Yes, it’s true. I recognize him. I saw him once when I was young. He is the greatest and most famous doctor in all Fantastica.”

The centaur nodded. “Thank you, my good woman,” he said. “And now perhaps one of you will at last be kind enough to bring this Atreyu here. It’s urgent. The life of the Childlike Empress is at stake.”

“I’ll go,” cried a little girl of five or six.

She ran away and a few seconds later she could be seen between the tents galloping away on a saddleless horse.

“At last!” Cairon grumbled. Then he fell into a dead faint. When he revived, he didn’t know where he was, for all was dark around him. It came to him only little by little that he was in a large tent, lying on a bed of soft furs. It seemed to be night, for through a cleft in the door curtain he saw flickering firelight.

“Holy horseshoes!” he muttered, and tried to sit up. “How long have I been lying here?”

A head looked in through the door opening and pulled back again. Someone said:

“Yes, he seems to be awake.”

Then the curtain was drawn aside and a boy of about ten stepped in. His long trousers and shoes were of soft buffalo leather. His body was bare from the waist up, but a long purple-red cloak, evidently woven from buffalo hair, hung from his shoulders. His long blue-black hair was gathered together and held back by leather thongs. A few simple white designs were painted on the olive-green skin of his cheeks and forehead. His dark eyes flashed angrily at the intruder; otherwise his features betrayed no emotion of any kind.

“What do you want of me, stranger?” he asked. “Why have you come to my tent? And why have you robbed me of my hunt? If I had killed the big buffalo today—and my arrow was already fitted to my bowstring—I’d have been a hunter tomorrow. Now I’ll have to wait a whole year. Why?”

The old centaur stared at him in consternation. “Am I to take it,” he asked, “that you are Atreyu?”

“That’s right, stranger.”

“Isn’t there someone else of the same name? A grown man, an experienced hunter?”

“No. I and no one else am Atreyu.”

Sinking back on his bed of furs, old Cairon gasped: “A child! A little boy! Really, the decisions of the Childlike Empress are hard to fathom.”

Atreyu waited in impassive silence.

“Forgive me, Atreyu,” said Cairon, controlling his agitation with the greatest difficulty. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, but the surprise has been just too great. Frankly, I’m horrified. I don’t know what to think. I can’t help wondering: Did the Childlike Empress really know what she was doing when she chose a youngster like you? It’s sheer madness! And if she did it intentionally, then . . . then . . .”

With a violent shake of his head, he blurted out: “No! No! If I had known whom she was sending me to, I’d have refused to entrust you with the mission. I’d have refused!”

“What mission?” Atreyu asked.

“It’s monstrous!” cried Cairon indignantly. “It’s doubtful whether even the greatest, most experienced of heroes could carry out this mission . . . and you! . . . She’s sending you into the unfathomable to look for the unknown . . . No one can help you, no one can advise you, no one can foresee what will befall you. And yet you must decide at once, immediately, whether or not you accept the mission. There’s not a moment to be lost. For ten days and nights I have galloped almost without rest to reach you. But now—I almost wish I hadn’t got here. I’m very old, I’m at the end of my strength. Give me a drink of water, please.”

Atreyu brought a pitcher of fresh spring water. The centaur drank deeply, then he wiped his beard and said somewhat more calmly: “Thank you. That was good. I feel better already. Listen to me, Atreyu. You don’t have to accept this mission. The Childlike Empress leaves it entirely up to you. She never gives orders. I’ll tell her how it is and she’ll find someone else. She can’t have known you were a little boy. She must have got you mixed up with someone else. That’s the only possible explanation.”

“What is this mission?” Atreyu asked.

“To find a cure for the Childlike Empress,” the centaur answered, “and save Fantastica.”

“Is she sick?” Atreyu asked in amazement.

Cairon told him how it was with the Childlike Empress and what the messengers had reported from all parts of Fantastica. Atreyu asked many questions and the centaur answered them to the best of his ability. They talked far into the night. And the more Atreyu learned of the menace facing Fantastica, the more his face, which at first had been so impassive, expressed unveiled horror.

“To think,” he murmured finally with pale lips, “that I knew nothing about it!”

Cairon cast a grave, anxious look at the boy from under his bushy white eyebrows.

“Now you know the lie of the land,” he said. “And now perhaps you understand why I was so upset when I first laid eyes on you. Still, it was you the Childlike Empress named. ‘Go and find Atreyu,’ she said to me. ‘I put all my trust in him,’ she said. ‘Ask him if he’s willing to attempt the Great Quest for me and for Fantastica.’ I don’t know why she chose you. Maybe only a little boy like you can do whatever has to be done. I don’t know, and I can’t advise you.”

Atreyu sat there with bowed head, and made no reply. He realized that this was a far greater task than his hunt. It was doubtful whether the greatest hunter and pathfinder could succeed; how then could he hope . . .?

“Well?” the centaur asked. “Will you?”

Atreyu raised his head and looked at him.

“I will,” he said firmly.

Cairon nodded gravely. Then he took the chain with the golden amulet from his neck and put it around Atreyu’s.

“AURYN gives you great power,” he said solemnly, “but you must not make use of it. For the Childlike Empress herself never makes use of her power. AURYN will protect you and guide you, but whatever comes your way you must never interfere, because from this moment on your own opinion ceases to count. For that same reason you must go unarmed. You must let what happens happen. Everything must be equal in your eyes, good and evil, beautiful and ugly, foolish and wise, just as it is in the eyes of the Childlike Empress. You may only search and inquire, never judge. Always remember that, Atreyu!”

“AURYN!” Atreyu repeated with awe. “I will be worthy of the Glory. When should I start?”

“Immediately,” said Cairon. “No one knows how long your Great Quest will be. Every hour may count, even now. Say goodbye to your parents and your brothers and sisters.”

“I have none,” said Atreyu. “My parents were both killed by a buffalo, soon after I was born.”

“Who brought you up?”

“All the men and women together. That’s why they called me Atreyu, which in our language means ‘Son of All’!”

No one knew better than Bastion what that meant. Even though his father was still alive and Atreyu had neither father nor mother. To make up for it, Atreyu had been brought up by all the men and women together and was the “son of all”, while Bastian had no one—and was really “nobody’s son”. All the same, Bastian was glad to have this much in common with Atreyu, because otherwise he resembled him hardly at all, neither physically nor in courage and determination. Yet Bastian, too, was engaged in a Great Quest and didn’t know where it would lead him or how it would end.

“In that case,” said the old centaur, “you’d better go without saying goodbye. I’ll stay here and explain.”

Atreyu’s face became leaner and harder than ever.

“Where should I begin?” he asked.

“Everywhere and nowhere,” said Cairon. “From now on you will be on your own, with no one to advise you. And that’s how it will be until the end of the Great Quest—however it may end.”

Atreyu nodded.

“Farewell, Cairon.”

“Farewell, Atreyu. And—much luck!”

The boy turned away and was leaving the tent when the centaur called him back.

As they stood face to face, the old centaur put both hands on Atreyu’s shoulders, looked him in the eye with a respectful smile, and said slowly: “I think I’m beginning to see why the Childlike Empress chose you, Atreyu.”

The boy lowered his head just a while. Then he went out quickly.

His horse, Artax, was standing outside the tent. He was small and spotted like a wild horse. His legs were short and stocky, but he was the fastest, most tireless runner far and wide. He was still saddled as Atreyu had ridden him back from the hunt.

“Artax,” Atreyu whispered, patting his neck. “We’re going away, far, far away. No one knows if we shall ever come back!”

The horse nodded his head and gave a brief snort.

“Yes, master,” he said. “But what about your hunt?”

“We’re going on a much greater hunt,” said Atreyu, swinging himself into the saddle.

“Wait, master,” said the horse. “You’ve forgotten your weapons. Are you going without your bow and arrow?”

“Yes, Artax,” said Atreyu. “I have to go unarmed because I am bearing the Gem.”

“Humph!” snorted the horse. “And where are we going?”

“Wherever you like, Artax,” said Atreyu. “From this moment on we shall be on the Great Quest.”

With that they galloped away and were swallowed up by the darkness.

At the same time, in a different part of Fantastica, something happened which went completely unnoticed. Neither Atreyu nor Artax had the slightest inkling of it.

On a remote night-black heath the darkness condensed into a great shadowy form.

It became so dense that even in that moonless, starless night it came to look like a big black body. Its outlines were still unclear, but it stood on four legs and green fire glowed in the eyes of its huge shaggy head. It lifted up its great snout and stood for a long while, sniffing the air. Then suddenly it seemed to find the scent it was looking for, and a deep, triumphant growl issued from its throat.

And off it ran through the starless night, in long, soundless leaps.

The clock in the belfry struck eleven. From the downstairs corridors arose the shouts of children running out to the playground.

Bastian was still squatting cross-legged on the mats. His legs had fallen asleep. He wasn’t an Indian after all. He stood up, took his sandwich and an apple out of his satchel, and paced the floor. He had pins and needles in his feet, which took some time to wake up.

Then he climbed onto the horse and straddled it. He imagined he was Atreyu galloping through the night on Artax’s back. He leaned forward and rested his head on his horse’s neck.

“Gee!” he cried. “Run, Artax! Gee! Gee!”