'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. T sent them ahead last night. That's the pleasantest way to travel. If it does not displease you, my lord.'
T 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. T didn't ask for your opinion. You make me sick with your lecturing. And now you question my victory and ridicule my magnanimity.'
Atreyu was going to say something, but Bastian screamed at him: 'Shut up and leave me be! If the two of you aren't satisfied with what I do and the way I am, go away. I'm not keeping you. Go where you please! I'm sick of you!'
Bastian folded his arms over his chest and turned his back, on Atreyu. The Fantasticans who had gathered around were dumbfounded. For a time Atreyu stood silent. Up until then Bastian had never reprimanded him in the presence of others. He was so stunned he could hardly breathe. He waited a while, then, when Bastian did not turn back to him, he slowly walked away. Falkor followed him.
Xayide smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile.
In that moment Bastian's memory of having been a child in his world was effaced.
XXI.
The Star Cloister
NINTERRUPTEDLY new emissaries from all parts of Fantastica poured in to swell the army of those accompanying Bastian on his march to the Ivory Tower. It proved impossible to take a count, because new ones kept arriving while the counting was in progress. Each morning an army several thousand strong got under way. And each night it set up the strangest tent city imaginable. Since Bastian's traveling companions varied enormously in shape and size, some of their night lodgings might have been mistaken for circus tents, while others, at the opposite end of the scale, were no bigger than a thimble. Their vehicles also showed astonishing variety, ranging from common covered wagons and diligences to the most extraordinary rolling barrels, bouncing balls, and crawling containers with automotive legs.
Of all the tents the most magnificent was the one that had been procured for Bastian. The shape and size of a small house, it was made of lustrous, many-colored silk, embroidered with gold and silver. A flag affixed to the roof was decorated with Bastian's coat of arms, a seven-armed candelabrum. The. inside was furnished with soft blankets and cushions. Bastian's tent was always set up at the center of the camp. And the blue djinn, who had become his factotum, stood guard at the entrance.
Atreyu and Falkor were still among -the host of Bastian's companions, but since the public reprimand he hadn't exchanged a word with them. Secretly, he was waiting for Atreyu to give in and apologize. But Atreyu did nothing of the kind. Nor did Falkor show any inclination to humble himself before Bastian. And that, said Bastian to himself, was just what they must learn to do. If they expected him to back down they had another think coming; his will was of steel. But if they gave in, he'd welcome them with open arms. If Atreyu knelt down to him, he would lift him up and say: Don't kneel to me, Atreyu, you are and remain my friend ...
But for the time being Atreyu and Falkor brought up the rear of the procession. Falkor seemed to have forgotten how to fly; he trudged along on foot and Atreyu walked beside him, most of the time with bowed head. A sad comedown for the proud reconnaissance flyers. Bastian wasn't happy about it, but there was nothing he could do.
He began to be bored riding the mule Yikka in the lead of the caravan, and took to visiting Xayide in her litter instead. She received him with a great show of respect, gave him the most comfortable seat, and squatted down at his feet. She could always think of something interesting to talk about, and when she noticed that he disliked speaking of his past in the human world, she stopped questioning him about it. Most of the time she smoked her Oriental water pipe. The stem looked like an emerald-green viper, and the mouthpiece, which she held between her marble-white fingers, suggested a snake's head. She seemed to be kissing it as she smoked. The clouds of smoke which poured indolently from her mouth and nose changed color with every puff, from blue to yellow, to pink, to green, and so on.
'Xayide,' said Bastian on one of his visits, looking thoughtfully at the armored giants who were carrying the litter. 'There's something I've been wanting to ask you.'
'Your slave is listening,' said Xayide.
'When I fought your guards,' said Bastian, 'I discovered that there was nothing inside their shell of armor. So what makes them move?'
'My will,' said Xayide with a smile. 'It's because they're empty that they do my will. My will can control anything that's empty.'
She turned her red and green gaze on Bastian. For a moment it gave him a strangely eerie feeling, but quickly she lowered her lashes.
'Could I control them with my will?' he asked.
'Of course you could, my lord and master,' she replied. 'You could do it a hundred times better than I. I am as nothing beside you. Would you care to try?'
'Not now,' said Bastian, who was rather frightened at the idea. 'Maybe some other time.'
'Tell me,' said Xayide. 'Do you really enjoy riding an old mule? Wouldn't you rather be carried by beings you can move with your will?'
'But Yikka likes to carry me,' said Bastian almost peevishly. 'It gives her pleasure.'
'Then you do it to please her?'
'Why not?' said Bastian. 'What's wrong with that?'
Xayide let some green smoke rise from her mouth.
'Oh, nothing at all, my lord. How can anything you do be wrong?'
'What are you driving at, Xayide?'
She bowed her head of flaming red hair.
'You think of others too much, my lord and master,' she whispered/ 'No one is worthy to divert your attention from your own all-important development. If you promise not to be angry, I will venture a piece of advice: Think more of your own perfection.'
'What has that got to do with Yikka?'
'Not much, my lord. Hardly anything. Just this: she's not a worthy mount for someone as important as you. It grieves me to see you riding such an undistinguished animal. All your traveling companions are surprised. You alone, my lord and master, seem unaware of what you owe to yourself.'
Bastian said nothing, but Xayide's words had made an impression.
Next day, as the procession with Bastian and Yikka in the lead was passing through lush rolling meadows, interspersed here and there by small copses of fragrant lilac, he decided to take Xayide's advice.
At noon, when the caravan stopped to rest, he patted the old mule on the neck and said: 'Yikka, the time has come for us to part.'
Yikka let out a cry of dismay. 'Why, master?' she asked. 'Have I done my job so badly?' And tears flowed from the corners of her dark eyes.
'Not at all,' Bastian hastened to reassure her. 'You've been carrying me so gently all this time, you've been so patient and willing that I've decided to reward you.'
'I don't want any other reward,' said Yikka. T just want to go on carrying you. How could I wish for anything better?'
'Didn't you once tell me it made you sad that mules can't have children?'
'Yes,' said Yikka, 'because when I'm very old I'd like to tell my children about these happy days.'
'Very well,' said Bastian. 'Then I'll tell you a story that will come true. And I'll tell it only to you, to you and no one else, because it's your story.'
Then he took hold of one of Yikka's long ears and whispered into it: 'Not far from here, in a little lilac copse, the father of your son is waiting for you. He's a white stallion with the white wings of a swan. His mane and his tail are so long they touch the ground. He has been following you secretly for days, because he's immortally in love with you.'
'With me?' cried Yikka, almost frightened. 'But I'm only a mule, and I'm not as young as I used to be.'
'In his eyes,' said Bastian in an undertone, 'you're the most beautiful creature in all Fantastica just as you are. And also perhaps because you've carried me. But he's very bashful, he doesn't dare approach you with all these creatures about. You must go to him or he'll die of longing for you,'
'Myohmy!' Yikka sighed. 'Is it as bad as all that?'
'Yes,' Bastian whispered in her ear. 'Arid now, goodbye, Yikka. Just run along, you'll find him.'
Yikka took a few steps, but then she looked back again.
'Frankly,' she said. 'I'm kind of scared.'
'There's nothing to worry about,' said Bastian with a smile. 'And don't forget to tell your children and grandchildren about me.'
'Thank you, master,' said Yikka, and off she went.
For a long while Bastian looked after her as she hobbled off. He wasn't really happy about sending her away. He went to his luxurious tent, lay down on the soft cushions, and gazed at the ceiling. He kept telling himself that he had made Yikka's dearest wish come true. But that didn't make him feel any better. A person's reason for doing someone a good turn matters as much as the good turn itself.
But that made no difference to Yikka, for she really did find the white, winged stallion. They married and she had a son who was a white, winged mule. His name was Pataplan and he made quite a name for himself in Fantastica, but that's another story and shall be told another time.
From then on Bastian traveled in Xayide's litter. She even offered to get out and walk alongside so as to give him every possible comfort, but that was more than Bastian would accept. So they sat together in the comfortable red-coral litter, which from then on led the procession.
Bastian was still rather gloomy and felt a certain resentment toward Xayide for persuading him to part with his mule. He kept answering her in monosyllables, so that no real conversation was possible. Xayide soon realized what the trouble was.
To guide his thoughts into different channels, she said brightly: T would like to make you a present, my lord and master, if you deign to accept one from me.'
She rummaged under her cushions and found a richly ornamented casket. As Bastian tingled with eagerness, she opened it and took out a belt with chain links. Each link as well as the clasp was made of clear glass.
'What is it?' Bastian asked.
'It's a belt that makes its wearer invisible. But if you want it to belong to you, my lord, you must give it its name.'
Bastian examined it. 'The belt Ghemmal,' he said then.
Xayide nodded. 'Now it is yours,' she said with a smile. Bastian took the belt and held it irresolutely in his hand.
'Would you like to try it now?' she asked. 'Just to see how it works?'
To Bastian's surprise, the belt was a perfect fit. But it gave him a most unpleasant feeling not to see his own body. He wanted to take the belt off, but that wasn't so easy since he could see neither the buckle nor his own hands.
'Help!' he cried in a panic, suddenly afraid that he would never find the buckle and would remain invisible forever.
'You have to learn to handle it,' said Xayide. 'I had the same trouble at first. Permit me to help you, my lord and master.'
She reached into the empty air. A moment later she had unfastened the belt and Bastian was relieved to see himself again. He laughed, while Xayide drew smoke from her water pipe and smiled.
If nothing else, she had cheered him up.
Now you are safe from harm,' she said gently, 'and that means more to me than you can imagine.'
'Harm?' asked Bastian, still slightly befuddled. 'What sort of harm?'
'Oh, no one can contend with you,' Xayide whispered. 'Not if you are wise. The danger is inside you, and that's why it's hard to protect you against it.'
'Inside me? What does that mean?'
'A wise person stands above things, he neither loves nor hates. But you, my lord, set store by friendship. Your heart should be as cold and indifferent as a snow-covered mountain peak, and it isn't. That's why someone can harm you.' .^ 'Someone? What someone?' "''"" .
'Someone you still care for in spite of all his insolence.'
'Speak more plainly.'
'That rude, arrogant little savage from the Greenskin country, my lord.'
'Atreyu?'
'Yes, and that outrageous, impertinent Falkor!'
'You think they'd want to harm me?' Bastian could hardly keep from laughing.
Xayide bowed her head and said nothing.
Til never believe that,' said Bastian. 'I won't listen to another word.'
Xayide still said nothing. She bowed her head still lower.
After a long silence Bastian asked: 'What do you suppose Atreyu is plotting?'
'My lord,' Xayide whispered. 'I wish I hadn't spoken.'
'Well, now that you've started,' Bastian cried, 'tell me everything. Stop beating about the bush. What do you know?'
'I tremble at your anger, my lord,' Xayide stammered, and true enough, she was all atremble. 'But even if it costs me my life, I will tell you. Atreyu is plotting to take the Childlike Empress's amulet away from you, by stealth or by force.'
For a moment Bastian could hardly breathe.
'Can you prove it?' he asked.
Xayide shook her head.
'My knowledge,' she murmured, 'is not of the kind that can be proved.'
'Then keep it to yourself,' said Bastian, the blood rising to his face. 'And don't malign the truest, bravest boy in all Fantastica.'