shtu reached to the floor from a standing position, placing her hands on the rough green stone. When she stretched like this, the curvature in her spine described a perfect upside-down ‘U’. She held this position for several moments, feeling the tension in her back melt away. Then she let her hands walk her body out until she lay flat on the ground. After rolling onto her back, she let her hands walk her body back into an upside-down ‘U’—but with her back facing the floor this time. She felt the very last of the tension evaporate. Ushtu found these stretches—what we might call ‘yoga’—vastly helped her focus her intuition.
She lowered her body back to the floor and enjoyed lying there in rest for some moments. From the center of the room, the light from the floating glowing moonstone pillar pulsated relaxingly, and Ushtu nearly fell into slumber.
Suddenly a giddy feeling came over her. She was to expect guests. And very important ones, at that. They were to aid in the saving of Fantasia from destruction, and she was to aid them!
She smiled in gratitude at the floating pillar, attributing the strong and specific intuitions to it.
Ushtu had led her followers here to the jungle Temple of Muwamath after learning about the strange hovering pillar from one of her Monks of Knowledge whom hailed from the temple. She sought not only to learn the secrets of the floating moonstone, but also she sought to bend its power to her will.
She had accomplished neither.
Her intuition would not allow her to discover the pillar’s secrets, so she could not hope to use its powers . . . whatever they may be. In rare moments—moments of great import—the pillar seemed to gift her strong intuition with more than usual strength. But she could never cause it to do so, no matter how hard she tried.
That was the same with Bastian’s writing, he thought. No matter how hard he tried, he could not force new ideas to spring forth to write about. He could only seem to take inspiration from something else that had impressed him and add to it or write something similar. His creation of the winged mule Pataplan had been based on the Greek myth of the winged horse Pegasus.
And the Oz books, for instance, had been some of his favourite childhood books, so he had tried his hand at an Oz book of his own. Finding it impossible to recreate L. Frank Baum’s style—due in part to being separated by a century of change—Bastian gave up the endeavor for the time being. He then tried to separate the story from Oz—to make it its own story. But regardless of how hard he tried, it would not be separated. Everything about it was Oz-like, and to insist that it wasn’t Oz would only look like direct plagiarism to any reader. So he resigned himself to that and awaited the day he could write it, convincing himself he would work on completely new stories in the meanwhile. But whatever he tried his had at only ended up reminding him of something he’d once read.
There was one story that was nearly entirely unique, but it wouldn’t be written yet. It hadn’t fully been developed in his head just yet, and the notions he needed to build it were slow in coming. And whenever he tried to force himself to write it, it simply would not be written.
He well understood Ushtu’s frustration at not being able to force her deeper intuition to come, as he was unable to force his deeper creativity.
‘Such strange mountains,’ Pataplan said, gazing up at the massive range before them.
‘The Silver Mountains,’ Atreyu whispered, sighing heavily.
‘Why do you sound so sad?’ Pataplan asked, nuzzling Atreyu’s shoulder with his nose.
‘Because-’ Atreyu allowed another deep sigh to escape. ‘I know these mountains well.’
‘Then this place should be a joyful memory, shouldn’t it?’
‘It borders – well, it bordered – the Grassy Ocean,’ the Greenskin explained.
‘The what?’
‘The home of my people. The Silver Mountains bordered it. Now they border the Desert of Colours. It doesn’t seem possible. But there it is.’
‘But why does that make you sad?’ Pataplan whispered.
‘Because it proves my home – my people – my family are gone.
‘Oh.’ Pataplan looked at his new friend for a while, not knowing what to say.
‘Pataplan, tell him he’s still loved,’ Bastian whispered into the book. ‘Pataplan, tell him there are still those who love him.’
‘You’re still loved, Atreyu,’ the colt whispered.
Bastian smiled, but found tears in his eyes, anyway.
‘Who? My people were my family, and now there’s not a one who remains.’
‘Falkor must love you,’ Pataplan said. ‘And . . . I don’t know . . .’
‘Tell him I love him, Pataplan,’ Bastian said aloud into the book.
‘And my master?’
Atreyu’s dark eyes cleared for a moment, but then clouded over again. ‘How would you know?’ he said bitterly.
‘Because I do know,’ Pataplan insisted. Just like I knew my master was in the Desert of Colours, I know that my master loves you.’
Atreyu simply stared at the winged one hopefully. Finally he whispered, ‘He was a good friend. I hope it’s true.’
‘It is,’ Pataplan said. ‘And I don’t know who else loves you, but I know that I like you.’ Pataplan smiled his toothy grin. ‘Very much.’
Atreyu couldn’t help but to smile in return. ‘I like you, too, Pataplan.’
Pataplan’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘You do? Why?’
‘Well,’ began the Greenskin, stretching his legs before sitting cross-legged onto the silver grass. ‘Well, because you seem like a brave colt. And sincere. And compassionate.’ Atreyu smiled. ‘And . . . humorous.’
Pataplan looked at him quizzically. ‘But . . . I do not make jokes?’
‘No,’ Atreyu said, trying to keep himself from smiling. ‘Not intentionally.’
‘Well, that’s okay, I guess. I’m thirsty. Is there water anywhere nearby?’
Atreyu couldn’t control his laughter. The randomness of the colt’s young mind amused him.
‘What?’ Pataplan asked.
‘Nothing,’ the Greenskin said hurriedly. ‘Yes, there is a stream just over this mountain.’
‘Can we . . . ?’ But Pataplan didn’t finish his question, fearing it rude.
‘Yes, of course,’ Atreyu answered. ‘I’m feeling thirsty, too. And hungry. Maybe we’ll find something to eat along the way.’
The new friends made their long trek up and around the mountain. Along the way they came through a grove of silvery trees bearing apples, the skins of which – like everything else in the Silver Mountains – were a silvery colour. Pataplan initially balked at eating them, but Atreyu assured the young stallion that they were was delicious as any apple he’d ever eaten. Pataplan quickly discovered that to be the case and indulged on one too many, giving the poor horse a stomach ache.
Bastian’s own stomach growled in disapproval, reminding him that he hadn’t fed it all day, and it now must be half past four.
Good, he thought willfully to himself. He had indulged too much the day before, he thought, and hadn’t exercised for the past few days. Besides, he reasoned, a little hunger never did anyone any harm.
Characters seldom ate in the novels he’d read. Or they seemed to only have grand feasts every few months. Or eating was akin to torment, with meat as tough as boot leather and such. Bastian wrinkled his nose, glad to have been a vegetarian for nearly a decade now.
It is healthy for the system to fast every now and then, he told himself. It would be good to fast today, he thought. But even as he thought it, he knew it would not be so. He knew that like so many times before, his will power would crumble before the power of hunger.
But he could try.
The grandfather clock chimed five.
Atreyu and Pataplan reached the stream, but had only the chance to get a few quick drinks before the entire silvery snake of it was gone.
Pataplan snorted in surprise when he found himself licking silvery dirt. ‘Ugh!’ He spit the ground out of his mouth, tossing his head to the side each time. Atreyu did the same. ‘What happened?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Atreyu, squatting down to take a closer look at where the silvery water had been. He looked along the non-existent stream. ‘It’s as if there has never been a stream here.’
Pataplan gasped, attracting Atreyu’s attention.
‘What, Pataplan?’
‘That mountain vanished,’ he said, nodding to where there had been a mountain beyond the one they’d just crossed. Now there was just an enormous valley.
‘And that one, too!’ Pataplan yelped.
Atreyu looked to his left and saw the nearly translucent mountain there fade from existence. And then the one beside it.
‘Oh, no!’ the colt gasped.
Atreyu followed Pataplan’s gaze to the fading ground beneath them. The mountain on which they were standing was fading.
Pataplan took flight, and Atreyu ran as fast as he could down the mountain to the solid-looking ground where the adjacent mountain had been. But before he could reach safety, the ground vanished from below him, and he fell a number of meters. He’d suffered—surprisingly enough—no broken bones, but his hands and arms bled with several wounds and scrapes.
Pataplan alighted beside him. ‘Hurry, Atreyu! All the mountains are gone and the ground is going! Quick! Climb on my back!’
‘But you said you—’
‘I know, but it can’t be helped. Hurry!’
With as many wounds and as much pain as he was in, the Greenskin made a quick mounting, and Pataplan lifted them into the sky.
Atreyu took a moment to look below and saw that no sooner had they lifted from the silver grass than it had faded away completely, now replaced with Salamander City.
Atreyu’s jaw dropped. Salamander City wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near here. That could only mean that more lands had vanished in between. This was more dire of a problem than Atreyu had feared. They had to lift higher into the sky to avoid the flaming city.
‘Look, there’s Falkor!’ Pataplan yelled triumphantly, and flew toward the luckdragon.
‘My friends,’ Falkor boomed across the distance, ‘I thought you were waiting at the Silver Mountains.’
‘We were! But they’re gone!’ shouted Pataplan.
‘Well, let us fly to Ushtu,’ Falkor announced.
‘Who’s Ushtu?’ Pataplan flew to Falkor’s side. ‘Is my master with her?’
‘Ushtu is the Mother of Intuition,’ Atreyu answered. ‘And the Son of Reason told me she now lives in the jungle temple of Muwamath.’
‘But why do we seek her?’
‘Because Pataplan’s original intuition was accurate: his master had been in the Desert of Colours visiting Grograman. I just spoke with the Many-Coloured Death. The monster I went to investigate. A beautiful monster he is, too. His mane and fur flame every colour of the rainbow depending on the colour of sand on which he stands.
‘He was quite shocked to see me, too,’ the luckdragon chuckled. ‘Apart from Bastian and Pataplan’s master, I am the only living creature he has ever seen.’
‘Pataplan’s master?’ Atreyu repeated in confusion. ‘Is that not Bastian?’
The jealousy felt like a stab in Bastian’s gut. Another human had stollen his place in Fantasia.
Falkor laughed. ‘I’m getting to that, my friend.’ He gazed below for a moment. ‘This looks safe. Let’s alight here.’
They landed in a wild tangle of large plants and trees. It looked rather like Perilin, sans the luminosity.
After finding a comfortable place in which to stretch the length of his enormous body, Falkor told of his meeting with the Many-Coloured Death.
‘Grograman told me that he came across a human girl in the Desert of Colours, and that she told him that she knew Bastian and that AURYN had been given to her.’
‘Why would my master give his Glory anyway? She can’t be allowed to wear it!’ Pataplan stomped his hoof angrily.
‘The Glory isn’t his,’ Atreyu said evenly. ‘It belongs to the Childlike Empress. Bastian gave it up to return to his world.’
‘Where was it then?’
‘We were in it.’
‘In?’ You were in it?’ Pataplan snorted. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I cannot explain right now,’ Atreyu apologized. ‘Nor do I think I may.’ The Greenskin turned to the luckdragon. ‘Did Grograman say where she went?’
‘Into the Temple of a Thousand Doors,’ Falkor said.
‘What’s that?’ Pataplan asked Atreyu.
‘I don’t know,’ Atreyu admitted. ‘Falkor?’
‘I didn’t know either. But Grograman explained that it is a place wherein one can find a door to anywhere in Fantasia. And before you ask,’ Falkor laughed, ‘he had no idea whereto she journeyed.’
‘That is why we fly to Ushtu?’ Atreyu guessed, pulling out some dried buffalo meat from his bag to snack on. ‘To see if her intuition can lead us to her.’
‘Right you are my friend.’
'But what then?’ Atreyu asked, ripping a piece of the tough buffalo meat to chew.
Bastian’s stomach grumbled in defiance. It would not be told to quiet when reminded it had not been fed. Even though, dried meat sounded appetizing at the moment. But he was a vegetarian and so had no dried meat to be eaten. Nor any food, at the moment. The lack of funds had rendered his allotted cupboards in the kitchen bare. So he had taken to stealing food from those of his roommates as of late. It was either that or starve. And it wasn’t exactly stealing, he justified, since the unspoken agreement was that they all shared. But with nothing to offer for sharing himself, Bastian felt guilty for ‘sharing’ theirs. Best to just not eat until he could afford it, he told himself.
‘How is she to help us?’ Atreyu asked after swallowing his meat.
‘She is a human,’ Falkor reminded his friend. ‘And she has AURYN.’
Atreyu nodded. ‘She is our new Saviour.’
Bastian’s throat was desert-dry. He needed so badly to be in Fantasia—and they needed so badly for him to be there—yet someone had stolen his place. It was outrageously unfair.
‘But- but what of my master?’ Pataplan sputtered. ‘Isn’t he the Saviour?’
‘Bastian was the Saviour, but no-one can remember the name he gave the Childlike Empress.’ Atreyu looked lost in thought for a moment.
‘What troubles you, my little master?’ Falkor lifted his leonel head to rest it near the Greenskin.
‘I have just realized something,’ Atreyu said slowly lost in thought. ‘If none of us can remember her name, she must be in need of a new one.’
‘But her names last for as long as we can remember,’ Falkor said.
‘Until we forget,’ Atreyu explained. ‘Until we have all but forgotten the past Saviour.’
‘But that comes with time. Bastian’s visit was so recent, comparatively.’
‘Yes, but nearly everyone has forgotten Bastian,’ Atreyu argued. ‘Only we three seem to remember him. And even we cannot remember the name he gifted her.’
‘So she needs a new name so soon? Why?’
‘I don’t know.’ As the Greenskin shook his head, his blue-black braided ponytail flapped against his cloaked shoulders. ‘I haven’t figured that out. But I don’t think it matters. It’s clear that the Childlike Empress needs a new name, and now there is a human in Fantasia to give it to her. We must find the human and ask that she gift the Childlike Empress with a new name.’
Atreyu looked up and glanced at each of them, as if he’d been under a spell and it had just lifted.
‘I feel it too, my friend,’ Falkor said. ‘It was like déjà vu . . . and yet I remember it specifically happening before. We discovered all that before. They told you as much at the Ivory Tower, didn’t they?’
‘Yes,’ Atreyu nodded. ‘We had nearly forgotten the very purpose of our mission.’
‘But we did remember the mission itself,’ Falkor said, tilting his huge head hopefully.
‘This time. If we do not find her a new name soon, we could forget even that. And then all would be lost.’
‘All will not be lost, my little master!’ Falkor’s bell-like voice rang triumphantly. ‘We shall find her. Ushtu shall tell us where to look.’
‘But we cannot even find Ushtu,’ Atreyu sighed. ‘She herself might have vanished.’ He wanted so much to be caught up in Falkor’s optimism, but the gravity of the situation would not allow him. It seemed hopeless trying to find one solitary person in all of Fantasia—which remained vast regardless of its various vanished lands—to help them find yet another person . . . and all this finding had to be done before whatever force enchanted them had caused them to forget altogether. And then all of Fantasia would vanish forever. How was it to be done? Atreyu buried his head in his arms.
‘Do not look so downcast, my friend,’ Falkor laughed. ‘Do you not recognize this jungle?’
Atreyu looked up and glanced about him.
‘The Temple of Muwamath is just ahead,’ Falkor laughed. ‘Forgive me, Atreyu, I do not mean to laugh at you. But I should think after all this time you would know to trust in my luck.’
A smile found its way to Atreyu’s lips. ‘Forgive me, Falkor, for I should have.’ He hugged the luckdragon’s great neck, not even able to completely wrap his arms around its pearly scales and fur. Finally he felt Falkor’s hope warm him.
‘Come along, Pataplan,’ the Greenskin patted the winged stallion with rough affection. ‘Let us go to Ushtu!’