Chapter Two: The Omen
The spires of the Royal Mushroom Palace unfolded with blushes of red and blue, dipping back down at intervals to lower domes and copper roofs that bled light in the noonday sun. Stained glass windows glowed under gothic arches along the east wing, which opened out into a vast, walled garden with high hedges and a full acre of crops. It was the most peaceful part of the castle, staffed only by a handful of groundskeepers and a few silent guards.
Princess Peach cherished her hours in the garden, long mornings spent walking through the endless maze of exotic shrubs and statues, and a magnificent fountain rimmed by stone benches. It was her sole sanctuary in a life of almost constant dependence and recognition, and a becalmed eye in the brutal storm of politics.
She was leaning over the basin of the grand fountain, in fact, at the very moment Frogfucious’s young disciple met the Goomba child at the harbor. Her mind was marked with a frustrating mesh of worries over the new strife within the Advisory Council over the recent massing of troops from the Koopa Kingdom near the Barrel Volcano, and now this sudden, inexplicable crisis that escaped all her powers of intuition.
If only she could...
“Princess!” a nasally voice cut through her reflection. “Oh, Princess, I have found you at last!”
She kept herself from wincing, barely, but refused to look up. “Yes, Counselor Perigord, I am here. What is the matter?”
The Mushroomer approaching her was gaunt and sickly, even from a distance, so that his purple vest hung loosely from his neck and dragged over the path beneath him. He carried a gnarled cane with a Raven’s dark head at the crown, and leaned on it whenever he stopped, as if he would collapse without it.
“I have looked for you everywhere,” he said, unnecessarily, and dabbed at his face with a handkerchief. “It has come to the Council’s attention that the Royal Shaman has discerned an ill omen in his prognostications. I cannot imagine you would conceal such a thing from your own counselors, but I thought you may have heard-”
“I have heard nothing of the kind,” she said, with perhaps too much alacrity. “I am more interested, Counselor Perigord, in where you got the information.”
“Why...” he floundered, “from Merlon himself.”
“Impossible,” she said, and stood up, already smoothing the brilliant pink folds of her dress. “I spoke with him not two hours ago.”
“Well, it is a source very close to him, I assure you, whose identity is well protected by the secrecy of the Council... And rest assured, this source’s fidelity is beyond question,” he added. “I’m certain I don’t have to remind you, Princess, that Merlon has concealed his findings from us before.”
“All for our own good, or else to hold out for a greater clarity of vision,” she said, and tossed a single glance at him before turning back to the fountain. “He is not all-knowing, but his advice has never failed to help us, and he has never led us astray by hasty predictions.”
The skeletal Mushroomer’s reserve was breaking down. “Unfortunately, Princess, the Council does not share your trust in that sorcerer. We will be forced to carry out a full investigation into the matter. It is my duty, of course, to let you know of our intentions.”
“I wish you luck,” she said, peremptory and indifferent.
The counselor may have huffed at this, but either way, he turned around and hobbled back towards the castle in his peculiar way. His departure left a thread of tension extending across the open space in the hedges, breaking only as Peach reached up to twist her hair into a more comfortable position.
Loathsome man! And why, she thought, did he think she wouldn’t see through his attempt to snap the line of faith between Merlon and her? She did trust him, it was a fact, far more than the good counselor, and there was no possibility of the Shaman telling anyone else of the omen he’d received, nor was there any such anonymous “source” from whom Perigord could’ve learned something.
She sighed, and sent the tangle of her anger at his dishonesty to oblivion with one blast of focus, then plunged back into her thoughts: The key thing, she reckoned, was to wait for the disciple, Avicenna, to arrive, and for the time being, worry about the enemy forces accumulating at the volcano: two platoons of Terrapin, three of Goombas, and two squadrons of Paratroopas all told, according to Sgt. Flutter’s reconnaissance team— more than a simple training exercise.
The only immediate explanation was a direct offensive against Nimbus Land itself, but, she thought, to what purpose? The Nimbian Army would be more than capable of fending off the attackers until aid could arrive, and they would of course already know about the activities near the volcano.
Peach waited for a guard to pass in his polished helmet and cuirass. Even King Bowser, she concentrated again, would know better than to stack his dice against Prince Mallow... unless... unless the Magikoopa, Kamek, had his claws in the cauldron.
Bowser’s primary advisor was not exactly the most loyal of servants, but if he had a personal interest in his master’s schemes, then they became ten times more deadly. True, the sorcerer did not have the powers of foresight that Merlon did, but his mental acuity and penchant for treachery more than made up for it.
“Although,” she said aloud, with the image of Counselor Perigord returning to her against her will, “I’m starting to think we may have our own traitor to deal with.”
“You gotta stop talking to yourself, Princess. It’s unhealthy!”
“Mario!” Peach broke from her worries instantly and rushed to embrace the plumber, who was coming down one of the white stone paths to the fountain. “Jumping over hedges again, I see?”
He looked down, embarrassed, and picked a twig or two, leaves intact, off his blue overalls. “What can I say? Easier than dealing with the castle staff. That charwoman from Moleville tells me how muddy my shoes are every time I come in through the front door, and then makes me go around to the kitchen.”
“She does work very hard to keep the carpets clean,” the princess laughed, one hand covering her mouth. “Still, you’d think a certain amount of allowance could be made for a hero of the Mushroom Kingdom.”
“Yeah, so I’m told,” Mario groaned, always uncomfortable with references to his fame. It was better, at least, than being asked to show off his jump constantly.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Peach teased, and touched his shoulder. “Mario, you should know, of course, I wasn’t talking to myself out of the usual craziness. Merlon’s visions have only become more troubled over the past few days, and to make matters worse, Counselor Perigord has somehow caught wind of it.”
“He’s no good, Peach, and not just because of the usual political stuff.”
“I know,” she said, and pressed her lips together. “I think he may even be capable of treason, if he hasn’t attempted it already. There is a chance he has a spy in the Shaman Guild, as well.”
“Do you think he is working alone... I mean, as far as the Advisory Council is concerned?”
She sighed. “As much as the other counselors and I disagree sometimes, Perigord is the only one I absolutely distrust. It doesn’t mean he isn’t conspiring with forces outside the kingdom’s government, though. In fact, I would be surprised if he wasn’t.”
“Luigi and I’ll get to the bottom of it,” he promised. “The first person to ask is Merlon, to see if there’s anyone close to him he suspects.”
“True,” the princess considered, “but then again, perhaps it’s better if one of you heads to the Barrel Volcano. Sgt. Flutter is heading out in the morning with a couple of his Paratroopas, but it wouldn’t hurt to have one of the Mario Nrothers along.”
“No problem,” he nodded, his eyes turning to another part of the open grounds. “Looks like something’s up.”
The princess’ personal retainer, Toad, was waddling frantically towards them, and nearly fell over with exhaustion when he came to a stop. “Princess Peach, I— Oh, hello, Mario, nice to see you! Um... Ph, Princess Peach!”
“Yes, Toad?” she said, grinning despite herself
“You told me to inform you as soon as Frogfucious’s disciple arrived. Well, he’s here! And not alone, either: a Goomba child is with him. Imagine that!”
Peach looked, puzzled, at Mario, who shrugged his shoulders.
“He makes friends fast, huh?”
~
The legions of chefs and cooking assistants who prepared the many feasts for the castle were even busier than usual, making sure every dish was absolutely flawless for the princess’ upcoming party. Scalding pots of rich stew simmered on the burners beside smaller vessels of rice and sauces, and the spiced smell of roast meats reached clear out of the enormous kitchen and onto the esplanade.
Despite his crew’s impeccable talents, however, the head chef was something of a tyrant. He was a short Terrapin with a prominent mustache and an accent that no one dared to ask the origin of. Even his personal apprentice, whom he simply called “the Apprentice”, received no clearer answer to the question than “a veiry distinguished foreign country vich you know nozing about.”
At the moment, though, this pugnacious gourmet was clambering onto a box of dried pasta to deliver yet another rant against the kitchen staff’s incompetence. The various heads in the room turned instantly, a few already cowering in anticipation of the coming onslaught.
“Ahem! Moi vould just like to inform ze lot of you zat today’s performance ist about ze sorriest display of culinary zeal zat haz eveir been attempted. Bearing zat in mind,” he spat as he threw a menacing glare around the kitchen, “ve can’t give up now just because none of you iz as talented or, it might be added, as handsome as moi ist. I expect to see eveiry vone of you putting in ze doublest of double efforts, zough. Capesh?!”
“Capesh, Chef Torte!” the crew responded in chorus, and clanged and clamored back into their work.
During this strange episode, Counselor Perigord entered the kitchen and waded through the mass of spilt food and workers, thinking all the while how glad he was that he was not under the command of that lunatic chef. His present purpose, though, was to exit through the back of the kitchen and into a dank alley that connected to the main streets of the kingdom by a single gate.
As was usual at this time, the first shift of watchmen were off-duty, leaving a fifteen-minute window before their relief arrived. The counselor switched his cane from one hand to the other as he approached the gate, and pulled the latch open. On the other side stood two familiar figures: a dirty red Chow with crooked teeth and a Shy Guy the color of a greasy coin.
“I see the two of you aren’t completely dishonest,” he said, averting their gaze while he handed over a small leather bag. “Half of your payment. Now, then, the information I requested: did the student arrive by port, as I expected?”
“Sure did, Mr. Perigord!” the Shy Guy burst out. He reached into a grimy satchel looped around his shoulder, and pulled out the book he had stolen. “Even managed to nab this ratty old thing he was carrying around. How much’s it worth, d’ya think?”
“Idiot!” the Chow jabbed his partner in the ribs. “Excuse us, me Lordship, Donero doesn’t get around the courtly circles too much. No manners, ye see.”
“Indeed,” the Mushroomer growled. “Regardless, this means our mole in the Shaman Guild was accurate. And tell me, is the miserable little Frog on his way here, now?”
“How’d’ya know tha—” Donero stumbled, then turned to the monster beside him. “Say, Bumrush, how’d’he know that?
“Never mind, fool, you’ve completed your task as given.” Perigord pulled out another bag of coins, and gave it up to the greedy duo. “This ends our arrangement.”
Bumrush licked his chops at the sight of the money and barely restrained himself from opening it right there. “Say, Counselor, ye seem to be a man of your word. Also, ye’ve noted what reliable help we can be. How about another job, eh? As soon as ye like it done, and quicker than last time, too!”
“We’ll see,” Perigord said, keeping his impatience to a tight grimace. “For the moment, your job is to keep your mouths shut. If I hear any rumors of our association, then neither of you will live the day out. Now leave, before I change my mind and have you both arrested as a precaution.”
The two thieves scattered out of the gateway, leaving the counselor to his designs. This was fortunate, too, as the relief guards rounded the corner at that moment and gave Perigord a short bow, which he returned reluctantly.
It was a miserable castle, he thought, leaning fully on his cane. Not much longer now, though. If all went according to plan, his new position would last long after the Mushroom Kingdom lay in ruins.
The counselor snickered horribly down the alley, back towards the kitchen, while the guards stood wondering what could have struck him so funny...
~
A gathering glow of dusk suffused the throne room as Merlon stood by the ceiling-high window at its end. The Shaman appeared ghostlike in the deep, flowing blue of his heavy robes, which gave off a watery translucence, as if the air around him were submerged in the most mysterious trenches of the sea. Under his long, white mustache hung a pendant green orb with a single star, which was the mark of his ancient guild.
He removed it by the clasp of a chain around his neck, and waved one hand over its surface until the image of Avicenna and Railie appeared in its cloudy center, like a diamond’s only flaw. They were meeting Mario and Peach on the grand staircase of the castle’s Hall of Convocation, where preparations for the princess’ party were already well under way.
Lingering on the face of the young Goomba for several minutes, he quietly hooked the orb back to its chain when the door to the throne room opened behind him. Princess Toadstool entered first, impossibly poised and elegant now in her formal gown, with a darker purple fabric and luminous threads that shaped the constellations of the evening sky.
“Royal Seer,” she intoned across the open room, “our guest has arrived.”
Avicenna entered next, and knelt before the revered Shaman. “Guildmaster Merlon, it is a great honor to make your acquaintance. Frogfucius sends his greetings.”
“And I return them,” Merlon said, his voice detached from the invisible, shrouded darkness of his face and the two piercing eyes that looked out alone. “I have received word from your teacher through the south winds, and I know he has sent you personally to help us with this latest omen.”
Mario walked in last, and removed his hat long enough to give an awkward bow to the Shaman. “Princess, the girl is with her father in the chancellor’s room. She isn’t very happy about it, though. Say, Avicenna, where did you pick her up?”
“Perhaps we had better wait until later for that,” the Frog said, noticing Merlon’s movements towards a table in the center of the throne room.
A map of Plit had been lay over it, and as the Shaman cast his gaze over its surface, different parts of the illustration lit up or moved about. He was silent for awhile, far away in his thoughts, before the first words came drifting from his unseen mouth.
“The first pulse of the omen came in the form of King Bowser’s activities near the Barrel Volcano,” he said, gesturing to the immense form of the mountain reaching almost to the lower cloudscapes of Nimbus Land. “This is only incidental, though. Since then, violent symbols of the Mushroom Kingdom’s destruction have come to me in my dreams and meditations every day, and always in the realm of the sea, or the shore, or coral reefs covered by waves.”
As he spoke, animated images of these scenes washed across the map, transposed in illusion over the tangible reality of the paper. The other three, watching, felt physically involved in the Shaman’s vivid chimera, especially as the roar and gentle sifting of the ocean came to their very ears, and unsettled their feet beneath them.
“For all of my traveling, and for all of my knowledge of Plit, none of these locations are familiar to me,” Merlon spoke, uncertain. “It is as if they were created out of the fabric of someone’s dream. Behold!”
Suddenly the pale blue skies of the map lit up with unearthly reds and oranges, and scudding jolts of fire crackled across the horizon. As night descended, with the heavens wheeling overhead, vast clusters of plasma and swollen moons hung like grapes on a tangle of vines over the turbulent waters. One by one, stars of every possible color blossomed in the midst of the staggering chaos, linking together into shifting pictures and patterns.
Mario whistled low. “Mamamia!”
“It is beautiful,” Avicenna said, and felt all of his will working against the urge to reach out to the illusion. “How can this paradise be related to the omen you have found?”
“I do not know,” said the Shaman. “That very thought has plagued me these past nights. It is an incredible prospect, that a land of this sort could even exist, let alone contain such a terrible destruction as I have seen.”
The map shifted violently into an apparition of nightmares, with the roofs and streets of the Mushroom Kingdom crippled by smoldering fires, and blasted by ash and smoke in the sections of the city already consumed. Far fields lay scorched and barren, and the remote cries of different races of people could be heard on the fringed borders of the vision.
“Enough!” Peach felt her voice escape in a yelp. “I have seen this before. Once was enough.”
“My apologies, Princess.” Merlon bowed gravely, and the map returned again to the unknown seaside, morphing into long shorelines, and then a terrible cliffside against an approaching storm...
“Wait!” Avicenna nearly jumped. “That... That scene... It is exactly the same as a painting I have in my room. I bought it many years ago from a trader in the Dry Dry Desert.”
“Are you certain?” Merlon asked.
“Yes, I... Look!” He pointed to the very top of the cliff. “It even has the lighthouse, jutting out there at the summit.”
Merlon suddenly lost his breath, and leaned over to confirm the sight. “I must confess, I have not noticed that before. It makes sense now...”
“Makes sense?” Mario asked, disbelieving. “And how does it make sense?”
“Merlon, what is it?” Peach persisted, grabbing the folds that draped his raised arm. “What have you seen?”
In response, the Shaman merely pointed back at the map, where the incredible vision was thrown high, high up to the limitless sky, where the stars and liquid shapes were converging into a single blazing picture, which grew clearer and clearer until its actual presence in the throne room became undeniable.
A quivering wave of brightness leapt out of the image, filling the air with its penetrating sweep. Even closer, a bell sounded, blanketed by fog.
“Yes,” Avicenna breathed. “It is the lighthouse.”
To Be Continued...
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