Since the Magnolia Pavilion was still inaccessible, Xayide had prepared another site for the coronation. The throne was to be installed at the foot of the ivory steps near the palace gate where the winding High Street ended. Thousands of golden censers were smoldering, and the smoke, with its lulling yet exciting fragrance, drifted slowly up the steps and down the High Street, finding its way into every last nook and cranny. The armored giants were everywhere. Only Xayide knew how she had managed to multiply the five she had left into such an army. And as if that were not enough, fifty of them were mounted on gigantic horses, which were also made of black metal and moved in perfect unison.
The armored horsemen escorted a throne up the High Street in a triumphal procession. It was as big as a church door and consisted entirely of mirrors of every size and shape. Only the cushion on the seat was covered with copper-colored silk. Strangely, this enormous glittering object glided up the spiral street unaided, without being pushed or pulled; it seemed to have a life of its own.
When it stopped at the great ivory gate, Bastian stepped out of the palace and sat down on it. In the midst of all that glitter and splendor he looked like a tiny doll. The crowd of onlookers, who were held back by a cordon of armored giants, burst into cheers, but for some inexplicable reason their cheers sounded thin and shrill.
Then began the most tedious and wearisome part of the ceremony. The messengers and delegates from all over the Fantastican Empire had to form a line, which extended from the mirror throne down the entire spiraling High Street and deep into the labyrinthine garden. Every single delegate, when his turn came, had to bow down before the throne, touch the ground three times with his forehead, kiss Bastian's right foot, and say: 'In the name of my nation and my species I beseech you, to whom we all owe our existence, to crown yourself Childlike Emperor of Fantastica.'
This had been going on for two or three hours when a sudden tremor passed through the crowd. A young faun came dashing up the High Street, reeled with exhaustion, pulled himself together, ran till he reached Bastian, and threw himself on the ground, gasping for breath. Bastian bent down to him.
'How dare you interrupt this august ceremony!'
'War, sire!' cried the faun. 'Atreyu has gathered a host of rebels and is on his way here with three armies. They demand that you give up AURYN. If you will not, they mean to take it by force.'
The rousing music and the shrill cries of jubilation gave way to a deathly silence. Bastian turned pale.
Then the three knights, Hysbald, Hykrion, and Hydorn, appeared on the run. They seemed to be in a remarkably good humor.
'At last there's something for us to do, sire,' all three cried at once. 'Leave it to us. Just get on with your celebration. We'll round up a few good men and get after those rebels. We'll teach them a lesson they won't forget so soon.'
Among the thousands of creatures present quite a few were utterly useless for military purposes. But most were able to handle some weapon or to fight with their teeth or claws. All these gathered around the three knights, who led their army away. Bastian remained behind with the not-so-martial multitude, to complete the ceremony. But his heart was no longer in it. Time and again his eyes veered toward the horizon, which he could see from his throne. Great clouds of dust showed him that Atreyu's army was no joke.
'Don't worry,' said Xayide, who had stepped up to Bastian. 'My armored giants haven't begun to fight yet. They'll defend your Ivory Tower. No one can stand up to them, except for you and your sword.'
A few hours later the first battle reports came in. Atreyu had enlisted almost all the Greenskins, at least two hundred centaurs, eight hundred and fifty rock chewers, five luckdragons led by Falkor, who kept attacking from the air, a squadron of giant eagles, who had flown from the Mountains of Destiny, and innumerable other creatures, even a sprinkling of unicorns.
Though far inferior in numbers to the troops led by the knights Hykrion, Hysbald, and Hydorn, Atreyu's army fought so vigorously that they were soon approaching the Ivory Tower.
Bastian wanted to go out and lead his army in person, but Xayide advised against it.
'O lord and master,' she said, 'it is unseemly for the Emperor of Fantastica to take up arms. Leave that to your faithful subjects.'
All day the battle raged. The entire Labyrinth became a trampled, blood-soaked battlefield. By late afternoon, despite the stubborn resistance of Bastian's army, the rebels had reached the foot of the Ivory Tower.
Then Xayide sent in her armored giants, both mounted and on foot, and they wrought havoc among Atreyu's followers.
A detailed account of the battle for the Ivory Tower would take us too far. To this day Fantasticans sing countless songs and tell innumerable stories about that day and night, for everyone who took part saw it in his own way. Certain of the stories have it that Atreyu's army included several white magicians, who had the power to oppose Xayide's black magic. Of this we have no certain knowledge, but that would explain how, in spite of the armored giants, Atreyu and his followers were able to take the Ivory Tower. But there is another, more likely explanation: Atreyu was fighting not for himself, but for his friend, whom he was trying to save by defeating him.
The night of the battle was starless, full of smoke and flames. Fallen torches, overturned censers, and shattered lamps had set the Tower on fire in many places. The fighters cast eerie shadows. Weapons clashed and battle shouts resounded. Everywhere, through the flames and the darkness, Bastian searched for Atreyu.
'Atreyu!' he shouted. 'Atreyu, show yourself! Stand up and fight! Where are you?'
But the sword Sikanda didn't budge from its sheath.
Bastian ran from room to room of the palace, then out on the great wall, which at that point was as wide as a street. He was heading for the outer gate where the mirror throne stood - now shattered into a thousand pieces - when he saw Atreyu, sword in hand, coming toward him.
They stood face to face, and still Sikanda did not budge.
Atreyu put the tip of his sword on Bastian's chest.
'Give me the amulet,' he said. 'For your own sake.'
'Traitor!' cried Bastian. 'You are my creature! I created the whole lot of you! Including you! So how can you rebel against me? Kneel down and beg forgiveness.'
'You're mad!' cried Atreyu. 'You didn't create anything! You owe everything to Moon Child! Give me AURYN!'
'Take it if you can.'
Atreyu hesitated.
'Bastian,' he said. 'Why do you force me to defeat you in order to save you?'
Bastian tugged at the hilt of his sword. He tugged with all his might and finally managed to draw Sikanda from its sheath. But it did not leap into his hand of its own accord, and at the same moment a sound was heard, a sound so terrible that even the warriors on the High Street outside the gate stood as though frozen to the spot, looking up at the two adversaries. Bastian recognized that sound. I was the hideous cracking and grinding he had heard when Grograman turned to stone. Sikanda's light went out. And then Bastian remembered how the lion had predicted what would happen if someone were to draw the sword of his own will. But by then it was too late to turn back.
Atreyu tried to defend himself with his own sword. But wielded by Bastian, Sikanda cut it in two and struck Atreyu in the chest. Blood spurted from a gaping wound. Atreyu staggered back and toppled from the wall. But at that moment a white flame shot through the swirling smoke, caught Atreyu in his fall, and carried him away. The white flame was Falkor, the luckdragon.
Bastian wiped the sweat from his brow with his mantle and saw that its silver had turned black, as black as the night. Still with the sword Sikanda in hand, he left the wall and went down to the palace courtyard.
With Bastian's -victory over Atreyu, the fortunes of war shifted. The rebel army, which had seemed sure of victory a moment before, took flight. Bastian felt as if he were caught in a terrible dream and could not wake up. His victory left him with a bitter taste in his mouth, but at the same time he felt wildly triumphant.
Wrapped in his black mantle, clutching the bloody sword, he passed slowly down the High Street. The Ivory Tower was blazing like an enormous torch. Hardly aware of the roaring flames, Bastian went on till he reached the foot of the Tower. There he found the remnants of his army waiting for him in the devastated Labyrinth - now a far-flung battefield strewn with the corpses of Fantasticans. Hykrion, Hysbald, and Hydorn were there too, the last two seriously wounded. Ilwan, the blue djinn, was dead. Xayide, holding the belt Ghemmal, was standing beside his corpse.
'He saved this for you, O lord and master,' she said.
Bastian took the belt, folded it up, and put it in his pocket.
Slowly he passed his eyes over his companions. Only a few hundred were left. More dead than alive, they looked like a conclave of ghosts in the flickering light of the fires.
All had their faces turned toward the Ivory Tower, which was collapsing piece by piece. The Magnolia Pavilion at the top flared, its petals opened wide, and one could see that it was empty. Then it too was engulfed by the flames.
Bastian pointed his sword at the heap of flaming ruins and his voice cracked as he declared: 'This is Atreyu's doing! For this I will pursue him to the ends of the world!'
Hoisting himself up on one of the gigantic metal horses, he cried: 'Follow me!'
The horse reared, but he bent it to his will and galloped off into the night.
XXIII.
The City of the Old Emperors
HILE Bastian was racing through the pitch-black night miles ahead, his companions were still making preparations for departure. Most were exhausted and none had anything approaching Bastian's strength and endurance. Even the armored giants on their metallic horses had a hard time getting started, and the foot sloggers couldn't manage to fall into their mechanical tramp-tramp-tramp. Xayide's will, which moved them, seemed to have reached the limits of its power. Her coral litter had been devoured by flames. A new conveyance had been built out of shattered weapons and charred planks from the Ivory Tower, but it looked more like a gypsy wagon than a litter. The rest of the army hobbled and shuffled along as best they could. Even Hykrion, Hysbald, and Hydorn, who had lost their horses, had to hold one another up. No one spoke, but they all knew they would never be able to overtake Bastian.
On he galloped through the darkness, his black mantle flapping wildly in the wind, the metallic limbs of his gigantic horse creaking and grinding with every movement as the great hooves pounded the earth.
'Gee up!' cried Bastian. 'Gee up! Gee up!'
The horse wasn't running fast enough for him. He was determined to overtake Atreyu and Falkor at all costs, even if it meant riding this metallic monster to its death.
He wanted vengeance! He would have attained the goal of all his wishes if Atreyu hadn't interfered. Bastian had not become Emperor of Fantastica. And for that he would make Atreyu repent.
The joints of Bastian's metallic steed ground and creaked louder and louder, but still it obeyed its rider's will.
Bastian rode for hours and hours through the endless night. In his mind's eye he saw the flaming Ivory Tower. Over and over he lived the moment when Atreyu had set the point of his sword to his chest. And then for the first time he asked himself why Atreyu had hesitated. Why, after all that had happened, couldn't he bring himself to strike Bastian and take AUR YN by force? And suddenly Bastian thought of the wound he had inflicted on Atreyu and the look in Atreyu's eyes as he staggered and fell.
Bastian put Sikanda, which up until then he had been clutching m his fist, back into its rusty sheath.
In the first light of dawn he saw he was on a heath. Dark clumps of juniper suggested motionless groups of gigantic hooded monks or magicians with pointed hats.
And then suddenly, in the midst of a frantic gallop, Bastian's metal steed burst into pieces.
Bastian lay stunned by the violence of his fall. When he finally picked himself up and rubbed his bruised limbs, he found himself in the middle of a juniper bush. He crawled out into the open. The fragments of the horse lay scattered all about, as though an equestrian monument had exploded.
Bastian stood up, threw his black mantle over his shoulders, and with no idea where he was going, started walking in the direction of the rising sun.
But a glittering object was left behind in the juniper bush: the belt Ghemmal. Bastian was unaware of his loss and never thought of the belt again. Ilwan had saved it from the flames for nothing.
A few days later Ghemmal was found by a blackbird, who had no suspicion of what this glittering object might be. She carried it to her nest, but that's the beginning of another story that shall be told another time.
At midday Bastian came to a high earthen wall that cut across the heath. He climbed to the top of it. Behind it, in a craterlike hollow, lay a city. At least the quantity of buildings made Bastian think of a city, but it was certainly the weirdest one he had ever seen.
The buildings seemed to, be jumbled every which way without rhyme or reason, as though they had been emptied at random out of a giant sack. There were neither streets nor squares nor was there any recognizable order.
And the buildings themselves were crazy; they had 'front doors' in their roofs, stairways which were quite inaccessible and ended in the middle of nowhere; towers slanted, balconies dangled vertically, there were doors where one would have expected windows, and floors in the place of walls. Bridges stopped halfway, as though the builders had suddenly forgotten what they were doing. There were towers bent like bananas and pyramids standing on their tips. In short, the whole city seemed to have gone mad.
Then Bastian saw the inhabitants - men, women, and children. They were built like ordinary human beings, but dressed as if they had lost the power to distinguish between clothing and objects intended for other purposes. On their heads they wore lampshades, sand pails, soup bowls, wastepaper baskets, or shoe boxes. Their bodies were swathed in towels, carpets, big sheets of wrapping paper, or barrels.
Many were pushing or pulling handcarts with all sorts of junk piled up on them, broken lamps, mattresses, dishes, rags, and knick-knacks. Others were carrying enormous bales slung over their shoulders.
The farther Bastian went into the city, the thicker became the crowd. But none of the people seemed to know where they were going. Several times Bastian saw someone dragging a heavily laden cart in one direction, then after a short time doubling back, and a few minutes later changing direction again. Everybody was feverishly Active.
Bastian decided to speak to one of these people. 'What's the name of this place?'
The person let go his cart, straightened up, and scratched his head for a while as though thinking it over. Then he went away, abandoning his cart, which he seemed to have forgotten. But a few minutes later, a woman took hold of the cart and started off with it. Bastian asked her if the junk was hers. The woman stood for a while, deep in thought. Then she too went away.
Bastian tried a few more times but received no answer. Suddenly he heard someone giggling. 'No point in asking them,' said the giggler. 'They can't tell you anything. One might, in a manner of speaking, call them the Know-Nothings.'
Bastian turned toward the voice and saw a little gray monkey sitting on a window ledge, or rather on what would have been a window ledge if the window hadn't been upside down. The animal was wearing a mortarboard with a dangling tassel and seemed to be busy counting something on his fingers and toes. When he had finished, he grinned and said: 'Sorry to keep you waiting, sir, but there was something I had to figure out.' 'Who are you?' Bastian asked.
'My name is Argax,' said the little monkey, lifting his mortarboard. 'Pleased to meet you. And with whom have I the pleasure?'
'My name is Bastian Balthazar Bux.'
'Just as I thought,' said the monkey, visibly pleased.
'And what is the name of this city?' Bastian inquired.
'It hasn't actually got a name,' said Argax. 'But one might, in a manner of speaking, call it the City of the Old Emperors.'
'Old Emperors?' Bastian repeated with consternation. 'Why, I don't see anybody who looks like an Old Emperor.'
'You don't?' said the monkey with a giggle. 'Well, believe it or not, all the people you've seen were Emperors of Fantastica in their time - or wanted to be.'
Bastian was aghast.
'How do you know that, Argax?'
The monkey lifted his mortarboard and grinned.
T, in a manner of speaking, am the superintendent here:*"
Bastian looked around. Not far away an old man had dug a pit. He put a lighted candle into it, then shoveled earth over the candle.
The monkey giggled. 'What would you say to a little tour of the town, sir? To get acquainted, in a manner of speaking, with your future residence.'
'No,' said Bastian. 'What are you talking about?'
The monkey jumped up on his shoulder. 'Let's go,' he whispered. 'It's free of charge. You've already paid the admission fee.'
Bastian obeyed the monkey's orders, though he would rather have run away. He grew more -miserable with every step. He watched the people and was struck by the fact that they didn't talk. They were all so busy with their own concerns that they didn't even seem to see one another.
'What's wrong with them?' Bastian asked. 'Why are they so odd?'
'Nothing odd about them!' said Argax. 'They're just like you, in a manner of speaking, or rather, they were in their time.'
Bastian stopped in his tracks. 'What do you mean by that? Do you mean that they're humans?'
Argax jumped up and down on Bastian's shoulder. 'Exactly!' he said gleefully.
Bastian saw a woman in the middle of the street trying to spear peas with a darning needle.
'How did they get here? What are they doing here?'
'Oh, there have always been humans who couldn't find their way back to their world,' Argax explained. 'First they didn't want to, and now, in a manner of speaking, they can't.'
Bastian looked at a little girl who was struggling to push a doll's carriage with square wheels.
'Why can't they?' he asked.
'They'd have to wish it. And they've stopped wishing. They used up their last wish for something else.'
'Their last wish?' said Bastian, going deathly pale. 'Can't a person go on wishing as long as he pleases?'
Argax giggled again. Then he tried to take off Bastian's turban and pick lice out of his hair.
'Stop that!' Bastian cried. He tried to shake the little monkey off, but Argax held off tight and squealed with pleasure.
'No! No!' he chattered. 'You can only wish as long as you remember your world. These people here used up all their memories. Without a past you can't have a future. That's why they don't get older. Just look at them. Would you believe that some of them have been here a thousand years and more? But they stay just as they are. Nothing can change for them, because they themselves can't change anymore.'