ast hills and valleys of luminous trees and gigantic plants - each glowing brilliantly - began crumbling one by one into dust and fine, coloured sand under the glaring sunlight. 'It's so big!' Pataplan breathed. 'How can we ever find him?' The desert stretched out to the horizon in each direction the young colt turned his head.
'He will be the only person moving in the desert,' Atreyu answered. 'We will see him.'
'But it's so confusing with all the different colours.' As each large plant or tree crumbled, it left a hill of its own unique colour of sand. It was a confounding - albeit gorgeous - sight.
'He's right Falkor.' Atreyu looked down into one of the luckdragon's ruby eyes. 'He could be standing on a mound matching the colour of whatever he's wearing and we could fly right over him, not noticing.'
'We'll find him,' Flakor's voice rang joyously.
'But how?' Pataplan snorted in exasperation.
'With luck!' the luckdragon laughed.
Pataplan grinned, finding Falkor's mood contageous.
Atreyu stiffled a chuckle at seeing Pataplan's grin. It had been a long time since he'd seen an equine's attempt at smiling. It was a comical sight with such a showing of so many teeth. It reminded him of Artax - on the rare occasion the usually solumn Artax smiled - and that flooded Atreyu with a bittersweet wave. It was nice to be reminded of Artax, but it was equally sad to be reminded that he would never again see his horse. The decade since Artax's death still had not fully deadened the hurt.
A tear gathered in Bastian's eye, threatening to fall. But Bastian wiped it away before it could. 'It's so true,' he whispered. Anything that triggered a memory of his mother - happy or sad - saddened him. He had grown to accept that he would never see her again. But he couldn't help missing her. That hurt would never go away. He knew that. And he knew that Atreyu probably felt the same about Artax - who had been so much more than a mount to his friend.
And now his people, Bastian realised. All Atreyu's family and friends - save Falkor - were gone. How wretched Atreyu must feel. A tear slid down to Bastian's cheek before he'd had a chance to wipe it away. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to hug Atreyu in their mutual consolation. The grandfather clock in the living room chimed three.
'Does that mean something?' Pataplan, asked.
Atreyu followed his gaze down to the desert below. Some of the last gargantuan plants standing - though they, too, were beginning to crumble - seemed perfectly planted. Within a patch of dense ultramarine blue palms rose similar palms but with broad firey red leaves. They seemed to arranged into three strange symbols the Greenskin had never before seen. Or if he had, he couldn't remember.
As they disolved into dust, the palms retained their vivid colours in the form of sand.
Atreyu was nearly certain he'd seen those unusual symbols somewhere before, but could not place it. He studied their strange shape to remember. Each of the three comprised of two circles sitting upon the other with a line holding them together.
But they flew little further before Pataplan gasped: 'That dune is moving!'
Atreyu again followed the stallion's gaze. Sure enough, the sea green hill below was moving - or part of it was. It was as if it were a sea with one solitary wave that rippled, and continued to do so on into the next lavender hill.
Instinctivly, the luckdragon flew down to obeserve with the young winged horse following closely behind. The closer they flew the more distinct the shape below them became. But by the same token, the closer they came the more unbearable the firey warmth became. It was as if the monster below - for they had at this point discerned it not to be a hill moving, nor a wave - emited the heat.
Atreyu was used to the blazing sun overhead while out in the Grassy Ocean, but somehow its heat seemed inconsequential in comparison to this. Sreams of sweat ran down his face and down his back. Looking over to the panting Pataplan, he could see the colt was suffering likewise.
'We can go no farther,' Atreyu said begrudgingly.
Falkor chuckled, 'Perhaps not you, my little master, nor our new friend. But have you forgotten that luckdragons are creatures of air and fire? I can fly down and see what this creature is and if it knows where our old friend is.'
Atreyu nodded, but then paused. ‘But what of me?’
‘Well,’ offered Falkor, 'it might be precarious, but you could try climbing onto Pataplan’s back if I fly closer to him.’
Pataplan gasped. Atreyu looked to the colt and saw his eyes were wide with fear.
‘What?’ Atreyu asked, looking along Pataplan’s line of vision to see if there was anything unusual.
‘I mean no offense,’ Pataplan panted, ‘but I was sort of expecting my master to be the first to ride upon my back.’
Atreyu felt a pang of pain and jealousy cut through his head.
Bastian felt a pang of pleasure and embarrassment cut through his head.
Atreyu understood that his jealousy had nothing to do with Bastian directly, but simply that he’d been spurned by the most beautiful stallion he’d ever seen.
‘Atreyu,’ Bastian whispered, ‘I would give him to you in an instant if I could.’ But Bastian had to admit to himself that it was flattering to be awaited.
‘Falkor,’ the Greenskin suggested, ‘why don’t you fly us to some safe distance far away from the creature, and we can wait while you go seek it out.’
Falkor nodded his leonel head and flew from the creature. When it was well out of sight, the luckdragon attempted to alight, but could easily see his friends still suffered from the heat.
‘It is as if the whole desert is unbearably scorching,’ remarked Pataplan. ‘Maybe we should fly away from it altogether.’
Atreyu nodded in agreement, so Falkor took to the sky, flying to the border of the desert, landing at the foot of a vast mountain range.
Atreyu dismounted. Pataplan landed rather suddenly and simply stood there for a moment, panting heavily. Atreyu grinned as the colt stretched his wings and admitted: ‘I have never flown that far or that long before. I was too embarrassed to mention it, but I was losing strength.’
‘You need not be embarrassed,’ Falkor’s bronze voice rang. ‘Flying is new to you. You will gain strength with time. And before you know it, you’ll be flying the distance of Fantasia without so much as a bead of sweat.’
Pataplan grinned amidst his panting.
‘Well, if you’ll forgive me, my friends, I’ll be off. And hopefully will return soon with tales of who this creature is and where our friend has gone.’
Atreyu nodded, and the luckdragon lifted into the sky and flew parallel with the rolling dunes back toward the way they had just flown.
Falkor took delight in allowing his fluid body to ripple over the breathtakingly colourful dunes. The gust of wind his close flight caused created a flowing rainbow of sand.
In the distance the luckdragon could see the creature leaping and running. ‘Beautiful,’ Falkor whispered in awe, alighting on a sunny yellow dune. The enormous lion’s fur and mane flamed the colour of the sand on which he stood. The dazzling display of colours that rippled through him as he bounded was nearly hypnotic.
‘The Many-Coloured Death,’ Falkor said to himself, surprised it had taken him that long to understand the obvious. The luckdragon opened his lungs and let his bell-like voice loudly ring: ‘Grograman!’
Like a song sung in a round, the three notes echoed to each other as they bounced around between the hills for some moments before they reached the lion’s distant ears. Falkor saw the Many-Coloured Death halt and circle around to look at him across the rolling colours.
‘Who are you?’ the low voice roared.
Falkor remembered Bastian telling him that he had been the only living creature Grograman had ever seen, and so they had become fast friends. Falkor could utilize their common bond of friendship with Bastian, he thought. ‘I am the luckdragon Falkor. I come in the name of my Saviour and friend Bastian Balthazar Bux.’
Grograman began covering the distance at a relaxed—but determined—pace. Falkor felt compelled to match it.
‘You know my master, Bastian?’ the low voice rumbled like thunder.
‘I do,’ Falkor answered. ‘I have carried him upon my back.’
‘As have I.’ Somehow Grograman was already a dragon’s length from Falkor. ‘Do you fly fast?’
‘I do,’ Falkor nodded his leonel head, suddenly noticing the similarities in Grograman’s.
‘May we fly as we talk, then?’ Grograman asked. ‘I have some work to attend to.’
‘Certainly, my friend. But forgive me: you have no wings.’
‘Nor do you.’ Grograman eyed the luckdragon with an intense gaze.
‘I do not,’ Falkor laughed. ‘Yet I fly regardless.’
‘Though I may not fly so high,’ the Many-Coloured Death admitted, ‘when I run and leap, it may as well be flight.’
Falkor’s bell-like voice resounded. ‘To that I can already attest.’
The Many-Coloured Death merely eyed the luckdragon.
‘Bastian’s friend is my friend,’ Falkor explained.
‘So be it,’ Grograman bowed his enormous head. ‘Never in the unending eternity of my life had I had a friend. Now, suddenly, I have three.’ He bounded off over the hills. Falkor had to fly hard to keep up. And watching the hundreds of colours flash through the Many-Coloured Death was dizzying, but Falkor did his best to follow.
‘How is it that you survive my presence when all else is reduced to ashes?’
‘Because I am a luckdragon,’ rang Falkor’s bronze voice cheerfully.
There passed a long pause before Grograman said: ‘Forgive my ignorance, but what is a luckdragon?’
‘That is a good question,’ Falkor laughed. ‘But for the purpose of your question: luckdragons are creatures of air and fire. I cannot burn because I am comprised of fire already. In fact, being in your presence seems to make me stronger. Fire feeding fire.’ As if to demonstrate, Falkor flew up into the sky and did several intricate loops in but a moment before he’d rejoined Grograman’s side.
‘I see,’ the Many-Coloured Death said.
Again there passed a long stretch of silence as they traveled at an astonishing rate over the forest they were transforming into a desert.
‘I am on a mission,’ Falkor admitted, finally interrupting the silence. ‘I am seeking our friend Bastian. Have you seen him?’
‘Not since so many cycles ago I have lost count.’ Grograman became a shimmering green lion as he paused atop a green dune. ‘He promised to return to me.’ The Many-Coloured Death looked to Falkor with a piercing gaze. ‘But he has sent another in his place.’
‘I think you misunderstand, my friend. Bastian has not sent me I seek him.’
‘Not you,’ the lion said, continuing his leaping from hill to hill. ‘Yesterday, while I was transforming Perilin into Goab, I spied a living creature here—the first since Bastian. At first I thought it was my master finally returning to me. So I ran up to him, roaring: “Bastian!” But when I approached, I saw that it was not Bastian. This creature was similarly shaped to my master—moreso than the similarities between you and me. I thought perhaps this creature knew Bastian, so I asked, and it said that it did. It said it was a good friend of Bastian’s. I then confessed that I had originally thought that it had been Bastian. The creature laughed and said that it was a female human—’
Falkor’s bell-like laughter rang over the hills. ‘Yes, there would be several differences between she and Bastian.’
‘I had met no other being but Bastian until then, so I did not know there could exist two different types of the same creature.’
'Sometimes there are even more than two,’ Falkor said. 'There can be the same sort of creature with differently shaped ears, or differently coloured eyes. Or different shapes of bodies. Luckdragons, for instance, don’t all look leonel like me. Some have more fur. Some look canine. Some even have feathered wings.
‘Why not have different names for the different types?’
‘Because we are all luckdragons. We arrive at the luckiest of times for whoever needs us, and good luck follows them while they are with us.’
Grograman came to a stop atop a magenta dune, his fire crumbing the trees on the next hill. ‘I wonder if there are any other fire lions,’ he said quietly.
A knell of laughter resounded from the luckdragon. ‘I do not think so, Grograman. You are the only one I have ever heard of.’
‘Although I take pride in my uniqueness, it will be a lonesomely unique life.’
Guilt enflamed Bastian’s head. ‘I’m sorry, Grograman. I should have thought of that.’
They were dashing across the hills again.
‘How was it that this human was not engulfed by your flames?’ Falkor asked.
'I asked her the same question,' Grograman said. 'She said she did not know. But then I saw the blazing sun causing a glimmering from the medallion she was wearing. It was the same medallion my master had been wearing-'
'AURYN,' Falkor interrupted, agast.
'Yes,' the Many-Coloured Death nodded. 'I asked her how she came by it, as the last time I had seen it it had been around Bastian’s neck. She told me she was Bastian’s friend, and that it had been given to her.’
'Christa?' Bastian couldn't keep himself from whispering. He always felt a bit strange when he talked to himself. 'She's the only female friend I have. That's human. But . . . how can she have gotten to Fantasia. And how can she have
gotten AURYN?'
Bastian forced the rest of his thoughts to stay in his head. He sometimes worried he was going insane when he whispered to himself. He knew most people did talk to themselves, but he worried he did it moreso than most. He tried to not do it any longer after having been teased about it so constantly as a child.
What he would not whisper to himself was the thought that though he loved Christa dearly as a friend, the idea that she could have stollen his place in Fantasia filled him with hatred. He hoped it was not her after all, that it was some other human, lying and using his name for power.
‘Goodness!’ Falkor said, shaking his head. ‘That is not what I was expecting. But I suppose she is the human come to save us . . . Did she mention where she went?’
‘I took her to the Temple of a Thousand Doors when she desired to leave Goab.’
‘What is this Temple you mention?’
‘It is a place wherein one can find a door to anywhere in Fantasia,’ Grograman explained.
‘And do you know where she desired to leave to?’ Falkor asked eagerly.
Grograman shook his head. ‘And I do not think even she knew to where she went.’
‘Then how are we to find her?’ Falkor wondered aloud.
‘I could take you to the temple door,’ Grograman offered.
‘Thank you, but my friends—whom wait safely outside Goab—would not survive your presence. I pity their flammable bodies, for they shall never know the amazing friend I have found in you.’
‘It is kind of you to say so,’ the Many-Coloured Death said, becoming sky blue as he came to a halt. ‘I, too, have appreciated spending time with you.’
‘I wish we could spend more time together, but I must return to my friends with this news. It is imperative that we find this human, for all Fantasia outside Goab is beginning to disappear. Even the Desert of Colours will vanish if we cannot find her to save us.’
‘Then away, my friend.’ Grograman touched his nose to Falkor’s.
The luckdragon felt a surge of warmth and power. He lifted into the sky and flew faster than ever before, calling behind him: ‘I will return to visit you, Grograman.’
‘Fly true, Falkor!’ the Many-Coloured Death called out after his new friend.