Chapter Six: The Revelation at Rose Town

 

Considering all of my many travels, I believe I would most like to retire in Rose Town.  Never in the days of life have I seen such an innately pastoral weaving of camaraderie, calmness, and countryside.  May it forever blossom, as I hope to meet it again sooner than later.

 

Traveling Journals, Nomadimouse

 

 

Rose Town, The Mushroom Kingdom

 

It was a very splendid, wonderfully autumnal day in Rose Town, and all the men, women, and children Mushroomers of the peaceful village were out and about.  Of special interest that morning was a pair of traveling Goombas, rumored to be brothers, who had stopped the night before mysteriously at the local inn and then left without explanation before dawn.  Both Goombas and Koopas were not entirely unheard of sights in even a place as isolated as Rose Town, though, so not much beyond the occasional whisper and averted glance was made of it.

 

When two green Yoshies trotted plainly up to the welcome sign, however, a great commotion was made, and many nearby people carefully wandered over.  The mayor was one of this growing crowd, of course, and the pudgy man felt it his responsibility as a respected official to be the first to offer welcome.

 

“We, the folk of Rose Town, are pleased to invite you into our humble community,” he said, pausing to test out the effectiveness of his little speech.  “Oh, right!  My name is Boffle T., the mayor of this village.  I’ll let both of you get acquainted later with the others, but perhaps we could save time by going ahead and getting your names.”

 

Yoshi started to speak, but Ryanoshi had apparently already prepared a reply.  “Splendid to meet you, sir.  I am Ryanoshi, a journeying author just recently moved to Yo’ster  Isle, and this is Yoshi, the world-renowned hero and friend of Mario Mario.”

 

“The Yoshi!” several members of the crowd said aloud, gasping and talking among themselves.  “You know, it does look him.  He’s even more impressive in person.”

 

“An honor it is, indeed, then, to have you two as visitors!” cried Boffle T.  “You must understand that very few Yoshies find need in coming here, despite the close proximity of our homes, and less Mushroomers than that are brave enough to travel through the Pipe Vault.  So you see, this is a very unusual and pleasant surprise!”

 

“Unfortunately,” said Ryanoshi, “we do not propose to stay very long.  Overnight will do, and then we must be on our way.  If I’m not mistaken, that building over there, on the far left, is the Inn.  I visited here once before, and although I didn’t see need to stay at it, I did stop by and meet the owner and her son—very memorable, honest people, the both of them.”

 

“A bit odd, though, or at least the child is.  Always going off about some adventure or another,” said the Mayor, gesturing with a plump, rosy hand.  “Oh, but we are keeping you, aren’t we?  Come on, then, folks, let them breathe.  Back to your businesses, will you all?”  As the townspeople gradually and reluctantly walked off or pretended to be occupied with something else, the Mayor leaned close to Yoshi, said, “And by the way, I’ve heard the tales of your adventures, and I think they are stupendous, truly remarkable!”, and then waddled towards a fountain in the distance.

 

“Very nice meeting you, too,” Yoshi managed, a little shocked by his popularity, but the Mushroomer was already out of earshot.  “Very strange folks.  They seem awfully cheerful, though.  I wouldn’t mind coming here on holiday, sometime.”

 

“You take too many holidays,” said Ryanoshi, laughing.  “And all this from someone who literally lives on an island paradise.  Those dangerous ventures of yours with the Humans made you a bit of a Romantic.”

 

“As far as a species without gender can be, anyway,” said Yoshi, his eyes narrowed.  “I’m tired, though.  I’ll go over and get us a room.  I think I might even rest awhile.”

 

“Fine, fine, I shall have to meet up with you later, then.  For now, I feel like wondering around town a bit, tasting some of the local flavor, browsing three or four of the specialty shops.  I tend to find these rustic cultures much more interesting than the urbanized blends of the Mushroom Village.”

 

Yoshi nodded, yawned, and jogged easily in the general direction of the Inn, though he stopped to admire some of the decorative gardens that were littered along the walking paths of the town.  Ryanoshi, on the other hand, felt himself inexplicably driven towards a house on a hill far to the rear of the marketplace.  Bright gray smoke was tranquilly winding up from one of its two chimneys, and it seemed as good a place as any to visit.

 

~*~*~*~

 

“Zat ist Rose Town?” asked Chef Torte.  “Vhy, zat puny village ist not even populous enough to supply ze charteir membeirs for moi’s imminent fan club!”

 

“A fan club?  Whee!” shouted the Apprentice gleefully.  “I want to be the first inductee.  Where’s the sign-up sheet?”

 

The foreign Terrapin rolled his eyes and gave his more excitable sidekick a thump on the neck.  “Blockhead!  I haf not even written up ze rules yet.  And besides, you can’t join.  You haf to haf a certain pizzazz.  Like Koop Sinatra or Toad Vayne, a real smash-bang sort of swingeir!”

 

“Oh, well,” the Apprentice sighed.

 

Come on, Cheffie, maybe you’re being too hard on ze little guy, thought Torte.  Zhrow him a bone, at least!

 

“Er, well, I guess you can join,” said the Chef, reluctantly.

 

“You mean it?”

 

“Sure.  But don’t let zat go to your head, now!  Zose hand-drawn, flowery Koopa Day cards you sent out put you on zhin ice, buddy.”

 

“Ahh,” the Apprentice let out a pleasant breath of air.  “Smell that country sky!  I’ve always wanted to live in a place like this after I become a chef.  Yeah, just cooking for a local community, forming the friendships over good food, maybe starting a family—that would be the high life.”

 

“Vell, before you get high, I need you clean,” said Chef Torte irritably.  “Ve still have plenty of verk to do viz ze townsfolk here.  Playing ze part of ze sympazetic bringeir of bad news and ze heroic chef and apprentice villing to cheer eveiryvone up vill be hardeir zan it seems.  Moi might even haf to shed a few fake tears, you know, really pump out ze pazos.  I’ll be zere viz bells on, zough.”

 

“You know, I don’t understand why we always have to shoot for the biggest piece of the pie.  It seems to me, whenever we try and overachieve, the circumstances get the better of us.  Happiness can be obtained through the simplest measures, Frogfucious is said to have spoken, and I believe it.”

 

“You’d believe pigs vere conspiring to initiate a hostile takeover of ze Delfino Isles if a clown told you,” snapped Torte.  “Moi means it!  Vone more verd out of you zat’s crazy and you get ze old vham-bang!”

 

“That’s it!” cried the Apprentice, throwing down his ridiculously tall hat.  “I’m through with being apprenticed to you.  You’re completely insane, cruel, and randomly violent.  I can do much better than this.  As far as I’m concerned, it’s over!”

 

“Oh, come off it,” Torte said and snorted contemptuously.  “Vhat, ist zat like ze fiftiez time you’ve pulled zat vone?  Ve haf to concentrate, here!”

 

“Maybe I overreacted before, but I mean it this time, Master Torte,” said the Apprentice.  “Or should I say, former Master Torte!”

 

“Zat’s it!” screamed Torte.  He grunted, removing his heavy pack and pulling out his wide cooking pan.  “It’s clobbeiring time!”

 

“Eek!” shouted the Apprentice, throwing up his hands and running around with Chef Torte closing fast behind him.  “Eek!”

 

“Get back here, you stupid, stupid idiot!  Gaggh!”

 

The angered chef leapt suddenly, stretching out to grab the hem of the Apprentice’s apron, but the other Koopa was too fast.  Floating and flailing for a brief moment, Chef Torte slammed into the earth and slid a meter or two through the rough dirt, and as if things weren’t bad enough, his oversized head proceeded to plow into an even larger rock.

 

“Uggh!” he groaned.  “Zis just isn’t moi’s veek.  Apprentice?  Vhere are you?”

 

Chef Torte looked around desperately, groaning and pitifully cursing his bad fortune.  The traitorous Apprentice was already a hundred feet down the road, going back along the winding dirt path that curved through the lowlands before Tadpole Pond.  Midas Mountain rose high and misty in the distance, its peaks covered with closely clustered patches of aspen and the yellow sun suspended far above it.

 

“Fine, zen!” he yelled, slamming his fists and shooting up clouds of dust.  “Be zat vay!  Who needs you, anyhow?  Moi sure doesn’t!”

 

“Well, then, if it isn’t a foreign freak!” said one of two abnormally large Goombas approaching from off the main way.  He was a bright, fiery red, and the other was a sickly shade of blue.  They seemed to have come from the menacingly dark, wide expanse of trees known as the Forest Maze.  “Har, har, har!  What luck!”

 

“Since the forest looked too musty to go hunting for mushrooms, we’ll just have some fun with this guy, eh, Red?”

 

“How predictable,” muttered Torte, pulling himself up and grasping his pan tight.  “Vat do you bozos vant?  Moi ist sort occupied at ze moment.”

 

“We are the famed Goomba Brothers of the newly renovated Goomba Village.  After our boss hightailed it for Kooparian and the last Goomba family left, we just moved right in and took over.  Anyway,” continued Blue, “we’re heading back from our vacation at Seaside Town.”

 

“Famed?  Hah!  Moi haz seen more famous turkeys zan you clowns.  Now, if you vant to do battle, zen let’s get to it.  I’m steamed over zat ignoramus Apprentice of mine’s betrayal, and moi’s itching for a couple of punks to zrash!”

 

“Oh, yeah?” said Red.  “Get ‘em, Brother Blue!”

 

The darker Goomba nodded and jumped forward, his bony head aimed straight towards Chef Torte.  His course was painfully interrupted, though, by a mighty whack from the Koopa’s industrial strength, stainless steel cooking weapon.

 

“Aggh!” shouted Blue, soaring far through the air and landing several yards away.  He flopped around a bit before collapsing limply.

 

“Vas zat all you guys got?”  Chef Torte beckoned his remaining opponent forward.  “Bring it!”

 

“Don’t get too cocky, fatso.  My bro may be weak, but I’m stronger than strong.  I’ll rip your insides out with my teeth!”

 

“Fatso?!” Chef Torte screamed; boiling smoke leaked out of his ears.  “Oh, yeah?  Vell, it’s time to TORTE it up a notch!”

 

The wrathful Terrapin ran up to his fear-paralyzed victim, harshly bringing his pan back and forth across the poor Goomba’s face until it was a mangled, unrecognizable lump of flesh.  Spinning around and giving out a terrible battle cry, Chef Torte finished him off by dipping the pan low and bringing it up hard under the monster’s chin.

 

“Zat’s zat,” said the chef, wiping his hands off and watching gleefully as the second of the Goomba Brothers landed hard beside his sibling.  “Now, zhen, for my acting debut.  Rose Town, here moi comes!”

 

~*~*~*~

 

Meanwhile, Ryanoshi had come to the door of a great two-level house, and it was even more impressive and curious than it had seemed from the entrance of the village.  All along the bright blue eaves were hung fur skins, hunting traps, old knives, and drying garments.  The windows were fogged with dirt and withered mold, and the door was rotten and splintering.  Being a very peculiar sort of creature, though, Ryanoshi found this more encouraging than not.  Whoever lived within was almost certain to be an interesting character.

 

As was readily apparent, Ryanoshi was also the type of Yoshi who had no social tact whatsoever, which meant that simply knocking on a stranger’s door in broad daylight for the sole purpose of having a chat did not strike him as odd.  So, with a fairly confident composure, the green dinosaur rapped twice upon the crumbling entrance and stepped back.  From within came an angry growling and the crash of pots and pans, temporarily leading Ryanoshi to believe that perhaps his idea hadn’t been so good, after all.

 

“If you’re busy, I can come back later,” he called anxiously.

 

“I’m coming! I’m coming!  Hold your anchors, boy!”

 

The door flew open, and there stood a frazzled old seadog with a battered officer’s hat, a spinning rank helm attached to his backside, and a bustling white mustache that covered half of his face.  His eyes were a flaming yellow, full with a stirring past of untold adventures of treasure-seeking and war.

 

“Admiral Bobbery!” Ryanoshi shouted.  “I never expected to—”

 

“Well, keelhaul me!  It’s one of the Yoshies.  Get in here, my lad,” he said, looking furtively around.  “Hurry!”

 

“You’ll have to excuse my coming up uninvited, Admiral, but I was only looking for someone interesting to chat with, as this is a sort of vacation for us.  Oh, but I’m rambling.  I just—”

 

“Whoah, Mr. Yoshi!” said Bobbery, shutting the door carefully behind him.  “Slow down. You said there was another with you?”

 

“You most likely have heard of him.  He’s that Mario’s good friend, Yoshi.”

 

“Mario?!  Of course I know him.  He got me out of my slump, put me back on the open ocean, so to speak.  I was in a bad spot about my lost wife.  She passed away suddenly while I was out sailing, if you must know, and I vowed never to leave her side again, even in death.  Ol’ Mario, though, he reminded me that sailing was who I was, who she had fallen in love with.  He reminded me that it was what she would have wanted, for me to go back out to sea.  A fine Human, that Mario, or the Great Gonzales, or whatever you call him.”

 

“Mario, over here,” said Ryanoshi, nodding.  “We learned all about his adventures leading up to the clash with the Shadow Queen, over there in Salinia.  The Princess’ vacation there was what brought her to realize the solidarity of the continent.  It is not even a territory of the Mushroom Kingdom, any longer, but I believe a protective alliance still exists.”

 

Bobbery nodded, clearing uninterested.  “Now that we understand each other, may I have your name, young sir?  You seem to know mine, at least.”

 

“Certainly,” said the dinosaur, standing and bowing awkwardly.  “I am Ryanoshi, an author hailing from Yoshi’s Island but recently removed to the Yo’ster Isles several miles south of this land.  If I may ask, what brings you here?  Rogueport is three weeks from Seaside Town, at least.”

 

“Since you seem to know the history of our struggles with the X-nauts and the Shadow Cult, you’ll also recall the Thousand-Year Door,” said Bobbery, his face suddenly grim.  “Well, after we expelled the spirit of the demon from the Palace of Shadow, the door remained a functional entryway into the empty dimension for some time.  One day, though, Professor Frankly discovered a scroll in his collection that made mention of the door, but in an entirely different fashion.  It described it as originally leading to an altar of something called the Breaking Shrine.  Well, sure enough, the Thousand-Year Door soon adopted a new design, and when Goombella, Frankly, and I went inside, there was a sheer face blocking us from entering a room beyond.  According to the scroll, the reason the altar was used to project the image of the Palace was that its potential energy was enough to hold the Shadow Queen’s spirit prisoner.  Additionally, Professor Frankly guesses that the original heroes responsible for containing the Shadow Queen had guessed the purpose of the altar and found it doubly important to construct the Thousand-Year door there.”

 

“The Breaking Shrine is known to me, at least in part.  Russ T. and I researched it some sixty years ago, together, but did not find much beyond the evidence we collected.”

 

“Sixty years ago?”  asked Bobbery, clearly in mild shock.  “It doesn’t show!”

 

“Yoshies live very long.  I myself am over two-hundred, but I have lost the exact age.  It becomes unimportant after so many hatchdays.”

 

“I would imagine so,” said the Admiral, considering.  “In any case, that was the reason I came here.  In fact, I arrived in Rose Town only two weeks ago and have kept well away from prying eyes.  Frankly and Goombella headed north from Seaside Town to the Land’s End region, where other documents of the Professor’s led him to believe another scroll, or at least some information on the Breaking Shrine, would be found.”

 

Ryanoshi sighed heavily and propped himself against a grimy wall.  “No, they will not find a scroll there.  The culmination of Russ T. and my research was the pinpointing of that very scroll, which is now in the possession of Jinx.  For all of our prodding, though, his old sensei assured us it was destined to be kept safe by him and all descending keepers of the dojo.  There our physical clues ended, I am afraid.”

 

“What is wrong?” asked Bobbery.  “You seem burdened.”

 

“It is only that this newest revelation means the Breaking Shrine is a reality.  The existence of one of the altars and the direct evidence of its power could mean little else,” said the Yoshi, turning quickly to face the old Bob-omb behind him.  “What did the scroll say about the larger meaning of the altars?  Did it address the shrine, itself, in any terms other than a simple naming?”

 

“Nothing conclusive, in the Professor’s words.  He did, however, say that the language used indicated it might be an apocalyptic prophesy.  The word “breaking”, especially, contrasted with the Star Spirits’ vague retellings of Plit’s creation, referred to as its forging.”

 

“The Forging Prelude,” muttered Ryanoshi, his eyes dim and lifeless.  “This is much more serious than I thought possible.  No wonder ill premonitions have been affecting Yoshi and me.  If I know anything of omens, they have most likely been visiting many others all over this world.”

 

“You’re spooking me out, kid,” said Bobbery, not bothering to correct the underestimate of the Yoshi’s age.  “What’s on your mind?”

 

“Far too much,” said Ryanoshi, looking up.  “You must tell me why you came here.  Each scroll has something unique to the others, besides the location of the altar, I think.  That was one of the other clues we found.”

 

“I suppose it might be unique,” said Bobbery, thinking back.  “Anyway, the scroll Frankly found foretold of a great evil rising in a mysterious forest to the far south.  While we were here, he thought it best for me to wait up near the Mushroom Kingdom’s only notable woodland area.”

 

“The Forest Maze, then,” said the Yoshi, gripping the edge of a makeshift table hard.  “How could this ancient conspiracy have eluded us for so long, even as we closed in on its trail?  Come to think of it, it was as if something encouraged us to forget about it, despite all the aspects of its mystery that made it terrible.  Anyway, the pieces are falling into place.”

 

Several screams and loud noises were erupting from elsewhere in the village.

 

“Towards the Inn,” said Bobbery, getting up from a wide chair in a corner of the dilapidated room. “Your friend, that Yoshi, is he staying there?”

 

Ryanoshi’s answer was a dash to the front door and a quick flutter down the short hill to the nearest path.  The silent Admiral was not far behind him.

 

~*~*~*~

 

“That’s a lie!” shouted Yoshi, tears streaming down his face.  “You big jerk!  Can’t cook worth chili peppers, so you go around spreading mistruths, eh?”

 

“Oh, come off it, dino brain,” said Chef Torte, his thoughts of acting sympathetic boiled away by his little known hatred for Yoshies.  Not only that, but he didn’t like the way this one had stolen his show.  “I vas zere cooking for ze Autumn Festival, but ze Mushroomer creeps didn’t appreciate my fantastic culinary genius, so I skipped town.  Vonce I reached ze top of Midas Hill, like I already said, VHOOSH!, ze whole valley vas flooded.  Chances are, none of your little friends survived!”

 

There were cries of disbelief and grief all over the Inn.  A sizable crowd had gathered around the melodramatic Terrapin when he had come to town shouting out his news of death and woe.  “What will we do now?  Our dear Princess is dead!  Bowser will attack!”

 

“Darn tootin’ Bowseir vill attack,” said Chef Torte, too caught up in the joy of playing the villain to care much for his former plans of deception and glory.  “And none of you hillbillies vill vizstand ze might of zat reptilian terror.  Mwahahahaha!” he laughed, covering his mouth.  “Vow, zat felt sort of good.  I haf to do zis more often!  Mwahahahaha!”

 

“That’s it, you creep!” yelled Yoshi, wiping his tears away and pulling out the battle sword he had received on one of his many adventures with Mario.  It was marked at the hilt with the insignia of his species and clan.  “If you feel so intent on upsetting these good people and dishing out nasty rumors, then you’d better be prepared to defend your honor.  Whether you’re lying or not, you’re taking way too much glee in this.  Either quiet down and show some respect or accept my challenge, you hack!”

 

“HACK?!” shouted Chef Torte, his uncontrollable anger rising once more.  The clang of metal sounded beside him, and Yoshi looked down to see a menacing pan held dangerously in the Koopa’s claws.  “I haf tried to be undeirstanding.  I mean, I know zat Yoshies can be dumb, brute creatures viz no realization ven it’s time to shut zeir yaps.  Zis has gone too far, zough.  Zat blabbeiring hole on your face ist going to reap you some unsightly blemishes, greenie.”

 

Yoshi yelled out a wrathful call, holding his sword back with both hands, leveling it flat, and charging.  With a simultaneous cry of surprise from the surrounding crowd, he heaved it around in a semi-circle and slammed it down towards Torte’s head.

 

Steel clashed upon steel loudly, sending out a fountain of sparks and chasing the bystanders out of the Inn-turned-battleground.  For a moment, the pair seemed to be of equal strength, but the taller and weightier Terrapin was inch by inch overcoming the adrenaline-rushed muscles in Yoshi’s arms.

 

“Yes!” seethed Chef Torte, pressing his mustachioed mug past the point of conflict and close to Yoshi’s face.  “I can feel you growing veaker, dinobreaz.  Your puny hero strengz cannot hold out much longeir against moi’s buff upper bod!  Zat’s right!  I’ve been verking viz Koopflex; you’re going down!”

 

Yoshi cringed and suddenly released his side of the stalemate forces, momentarily throwing Chef Torte off balance.  With the time remaining, the dinosaur leaned back, whirled quickly around, and brought his heavy tail to smack hard against the Terrapin’s face.  There was a sharp crunch of bones shifting painfully under flesh and a piercing scream that rent the air.

 

“Zat smarted!” screamed Chef Torte irritably.  He was rubbing a rather large bruise on the side of his head and muttering curses on his opponent’s tail.  “Moi does not haf vone of zose.  I could beat you eizer vay, but if you vant to play fair, zen don’t use zat behemoz appendage any more, cheateir!”

 

“Oh, fine, you big baby,” said Yoshi, crossing his arms.  “Hand to hand, pan to sword it is, then.  Ready?”

 

“Yes.  Yes, I am,” said Chef Torte calmly, almost eerily.  Apparently, the “baby” comment had not gone over so well.  He raised his pan higher up, so that the wide front faced his rival square on the snout.  “But remembeir, even little babies can haf BIG toys.”

 

“Sniveling brat!” he shouted.  A small dart erupted from a hidden compartment in the Koopa’s misleading weapon, striking deep into Yoshi’s right arm.  “Hmm, a bit off aim, but it vill do.”

 

“You call that fair?” asked Yoshi, his voice sounding drunk and wavering.  “Creep…I’ll get you for…uggh.”

 

“Heh heh!” chortled the chef.  He swaggered slowly over to the Yoshi’s still form and tipped it over with his foot.  “Zey don’t make ‘em like zey used to.”

 

“We meet again, Monsieur Torte,” said Ryanoshi from the entrance of the Inn.  Admiral Bobbery was standing determinedly behind him.  “I always took you for a dangerous sociopath, even as an innocuous culinary amateur.  Have you turned to crime to support your failing career, hmm?”

 

“Smug, as alvays,” spat Chef Torte.  “Ever since you vrote zat unflatteiring review, I haf considered you vone of my many, many arch rivals.  Come to zink of it, I haven’t seen your pazetic reviews in any of ze culture magazines lately, eizeir.  Perhaps boz of us are looking for verk.”

 

“Freelance, on this end,” said Ryanoshi quickly.  “It’s of no importance, though.  You’ve hurt my friend and obviously scared the living daylights out of the townspeople.  Either you hit the road, or the Admiral and I will run you out.”

 

Torte growled viciously, widening his stance.  “Come and get moi!”

 

The grizzled Bob-omb leapt sideways and charged from the left, leaving Ryanoshi to draw his own sword and slowly make his way inward from the other side of the room.  Chef Torte eyed them both cautiously, pan reared back and ready to crush whomever’s face reached him first.  “Zis ist mind-boggling.  Just attack me, already!”

 

Admiral Bobbery charged first but was promptly batted away and smashed into a nearby wall.  The resulting explosion blew out a large section of the plaster and wood framing, and both the Koopa and Yoshi were knocked off their feet.  Ryanoshi’s own sword went flying from his hands and clattered across the floor beneath the Innkeeper’s desk.  The Terrapin, however, was still armed and unsteadily making his way to his feet.

 

“Bad luck for you,” Chef Torte said, raising his pan to deal the knock-out blow.  “Game set and match, for the Cheffie!”

 

Ryanoshi looked anxiously around, and at the last possible moment, he poured all of his strength into the lower half of his body and sent both of his powerful legs plowing into the Koopa’s shell-protected underbelly.  Breathless for a moment, the Terrapin wheezed and staggered back, weakly grasping at his mid-section.  “You son of a Goomba!  I vill strangle you for zat!”

 

Chef Torte limped over to the now completely weakened Yoshi and gave him two harsh strikes with the pan.  “Now, zen,” he said, reaching his long claws around the dinosaur’s neck, “you vill feel ze wraz of Torte!”

 

At that moment, the preoccupied Koopa felt something very disturbing clamp onto the back of his apron.  Something vague was also hissing and growing steadily louder.  Then, and what was probably the most frightening of all, Admiral Bobbery said, “Not today, Koopette Crocker!”

 

“NO!” Chef Torte screamed, releasing his grip on Ryanoshi’s neck and flailing about, trying desperately to knock the Bob-omb off of his body.  The newest fuse had stopped buzzing, and there was a brief period of silence before a very large explosion.  “ARRRGGGHHH!!!”

 

Looking up, Ryanoshi struggled to his feet and crawled over to Yoshi, knowing that Admiral Bobbery would of course survive the blast.  He reached up and pulled out a medical book from his saddle and flipped swiftly through the pages, finally coming to stop on one that fit the symptoms.  “Bobbery!”

 

“Coming,” came the close reply.  The Admiral was fending off the nausea from the explosion and kicking Torte’s limp body off of him.  “Is the poor lad all right?”

 

“He will be, I think,” said Ryanoshi.  “Just a mild toxin, homemade.  Go fetch the apothecary; she’s a Mole, rather large.  Point out this page to her, and hurry!”

 

Wincing, his vision suddenly growing dark, the Yoshi pushed up his glasses and collapsed.

 

The Mole rushed in on Bobbery’s hills and threw up her hands.  “Land sakes alive!  Quick, boys, in here on the double!  Get these lads and that nasty Koopa, too, over to my house.  Someone go to the well and get some water.  I need it heated, not boiled!”

 

~*~*~*~

 

As a testament to the great skills of Greta the Mole and her assistants, Ryanoshi, Yoshi, and even Chef Torte were conscious by the next morning.  No containment buildings had been erected in Rose Town as none were ever needed, so the fuming Terrapin was hastily blockaded in an abandoned storehouse.  Admiral Bobbery and his two recovering friends, in the meanwhile, were discussing both their own and the disgruntled chef’s fate.

 

“We cannot leave the secret of the scrolls unknown to the Princess Toadstool and the Mushroom Senate,” Ryanoshi said finally.  “Whatever they are, and whatever we may think we know about them, we have to include more people in on the research.  It will probably even come to the point of having the Mario Brothers force Jinx to let us know what’s been passed down to him.  Now, I’ve told you all everything Bobbery and I have surmised and given you my rough estimations about what to do next.”

 

“Excuse me,” said the Mayor, the only other citizen in the room, “but it seems to me you’re overreacting, if it’s not any offense, even though we aren’t used to such matters, as I’ll readily admit.  All we have is this blustery Bob-omb’s word that something weird happened with that old door over in Suluni... am… ia, or wherever.  I can’t just up and evacuate the whole populace for little more than that!”

 

“Blustery!” fumed Bobbery, hopping angrily up on the table.  “This sailor’s word is his bond, Mr. Mayor, and I’ll fight anyone that questions my honor and trustworthiness on the spot!”

 

“Now, now,” broke in Ryanoshi, “I’m sure the Mayor was only worried for the safety of his people.  If you think about it, we are making a lot of loose connections, I suppose.  Sure, something is happening, but this may not even be the forest the scroll is mentioning, and what if the changing of the Thousand-Year Door is something else completely, unlikely as it is?”

 

As Bobbery grumbled something unpleasant and wandered over to his seat, Yoshi’s eyes suddenly grew darker than they had been since the beginning of the meeting.  “Guys, there’s something I haven’t been telling you all.  Uh, Mayor, tell one of the guards to bring Chef Torte in here, shackled, if they must,” he said uneasily.  “I’ve been avoiding this since I didn’t think it could be true, but now everything inside of me is telling me maybe it is.”

 

After the Mayor had gotten up and given the word to fetch the prisoner and then promptly sat back down, Ryanoshi leaned across the table.  “Go ahead and tell us before he gets here, if you will.  It might very well be important to solving this mystery, at least in part.”

 

“Chef Torte said something to the people that made me angry with him before he started gloating over it,” started the dinosaur, clearly uncomfortable.  His eyes were faintly watering, but it might have been the glare from the windowless room’s only candle.  “He said that he saw the entire Mushroom Valley flooded when he was atop Midas Hill.”

 

Someone in the room made a frightening start; it was too dark, though, to tell anything else.

 

“Go on,” said Ryanoshi calmly, but his voice was noticeably shaken.

 

“He… he said that the Koopa Village, the Mushroom Village, everything… all of it was under water.  Some of the townspeople were despairing,” he trailed off.  “Despite the villain that Terrapin is, I could not help but sense it was the truth.  Something within me, as I said.  The premonitions I had been having—the very reason Ryanoshi and I were heading to Toad Town to see Merlon—could have been signs that this was going to happen.  Oh, but Merlon!  He was in Toad Town!  And everyone… Mario, Luigi, the Princess, Toad… everyone we know and care for… all of them could be…”

 

The other three were silent, watching in disbelief and confusion as Yoshi placed a hand over his eyes and quietly wept.  Chef Torte was brought in a few moments later, his face a picture of unyielding wrath.  After the guards roughly pushed him into a chair and clamped the ends of his shackles tight around the support posts, they left without a word.

 

His piercing green eyes made a slow gleam across the darkened room.  “Vell, vell, vell, it looks like Yoshi finely realized ze truz of my verds.  I might haf gotten a bit steamed, but it all happened.  Ze capital of your government is drowned… completely destroyed, my friends.  Our kingdom, she ist in chaos.  Lord Bowseir vill undoubtedly strike soon!  And  yeah, it’s sort of bumming me out, too, moi must admit.  Bowseir doesn’t exactly book moi often afteir zat licorice incident—”

 

“We’ve heard enough,” said Ryanoshi, his teeth clinched and his own face now clearly stricken with unfathomable grief.  “Admiral Bobbery, something made you jump at the first mention of the flood.  What…what was it?”

 

The Bob-omb nodded respectfully and gave a deep glare in Chef Torte’s direction.  Even the rough old monster, though, showed signs of grief under his ruffled appearance.  “Since both Yoshi and Chef Torte seem pretty convinced, I might as well say that the scroll we had… well, it foretold a flood as one of the signs of the Breaking Shrine’s coming to life again, so to speak.  The Professor—that’s Frankly—said it translated as striking a Golden City with flame, water, and…other things all in high-speaking, of course.  I was doubtful that Ryanoshi and I were going carefully enough about our assumptions before, but this seals it.  First the feelings, then the scroll research, next the door, and finally this, the flood.”

 

Ryanoshi lifted his head, and his hands were near trembling with some unspeakable emotion.  “There is no turning back, now.  Whatever the Breaking Shrine means, it has affected us beyond imagination, and it is unquestionably deeply involved with the Fate of our world.  Let us all then go forth with these matters foremost on our minds and in our prayers to the Stars, who will not forget us in our hour of need.  We must look for survivors in the Mushroom Valley and also warn the rest of the Mushroom Kingdom of this catastrophe.  Chef Torte is right, for all of his tactless rambling.  Bowser will strike soon and without mercy; he’ll already have known of the flood for some time now.”

 

“My people!” exclaimed the Mayor, his face frozen in horror.  “What shall we do?  We cannot stay here, not when Bowser may be on the march!”

 

“Aye, you can’t,” said Bobbery with a grim and heavy voice.  “He will come in airships, too, a fleet of doom with more firepower than you can withstand.  And who knows?  The forest may contain some evil yet…”

 

“You must take the citizens of Rose Town and flee to Tadpole Pond,” said Yoshi, his strong voice regained.  “Frogfucious is a powerful sage and can protect his haven against many physical forces.  Even more, he has trained his disciples there in the ancient arts of the old fighting clans.  They will protect you, but you must also give him the news so that he may warn the other lands by the rivers and the wind which he speaks through.  I have seen it done before.  Who knows?  He may already be well aware of it by now.  In any case, the fleet at Seaside Port and the armies in Land’s End can prepare for war.”

 

The Mayor nodded wordlessly and stumbled out of the room.  One by one, the rest around the solemn table slowly came to their feet, except the prisoner, of course.  “Vell?!  Vat are you going to do viz moi?  I know I may haf spoken rough before, but I vant to help too!  I can fight!”

 

“I won’t easily forgive you,” said Yoshi toxically, his normally cheerful eyes burning a hole through the Terrapin.  “But he is right.  We need his help, and it concerns him as much as us.”

 

Ryanoshi nodded.  “Besides, with Bobbery, Yoshi and I together, he won’t be able to revolt so easily.  Fine, Torte, you can come.  We’ll just consider your little show yesterday a psychopathic relapse, I suppose.”

 

“Stop making fun of moi!  You should be verrying about your… er… our friends!”

 

All three of them turned to him acidly.  Bobbery leapt proudly over to his lap and stuck his hat under the Terrapin’s chin.  “Don’t EVER mention our friends so lightly, Koopa scum.  We have not the heart to confront it personally, ourselves, right now, and we don’t need you levying it against us.  Besides, they could still be alive.  We shall never give up hope, not while the light of the sun still reigns!.”

 

Fine, Bob-omb, thought Torte smugly, although his face was contorted in false sorrow and guilt.  As long as you get moi out of rooming viz zose frog freaks, I’ll help you, yes, but don’t zink I’ll forget zis treatment.  Chef Torte looks out for numbeir vone only, and you can be sure he does it vell!

 

The candle in the center of the room went suddenly out, and although it was morning and the pure day sky shined without, a deep and dreadful night seemed to close in around them.