“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?”