A lake, green from mushroom light, filled the centre of this strange world. Rivulets of thick slime from the cavern’s walls and floor slid into its depths. Morwen shuddered as she realised she wasn’t looking at cool water from mountain streams but slaug juice. The gurgle of the slaugs’ voices resounded like a waterfall and mingled with the strike of pickaxes on rock as the slaves laboured under the watchful eyes of hundreds of armed slaugs. “Well, I don’t think this is going to be as easy as we thought,” Morwen said.
Goron turned from the cabbage he was sizing up. “Let’s talk about it over lunch.”
“Lunch, where?” Szat looked around from his position on Morwen’s back. Not even his transformation persuaded him that green stuff was food. When Goron and Morwen ignored him and began feasting, he slid to the ground in a huff and wriggled off in search of his own lunch. First they munched their way through the centre of the cabbage. They tried every type of plant in the garden, leaving behind half-eaten leaves and gnawed stalks, before they decided their favourites were the tender shoots of silverbeet plants and juicy, baby spinach leaves. The more they ate the hungrier they felt, but their stomachs had limits even if they didn’t. When it became physically impossible to take another mouthful, they slunk off to digest the garden they’d just eaten.
Through the daze of a food coma Goron heard outraged cries. Dozens of slaugs were milling around the hollowed-out cabbage, half-eaten stalks and missing baby spinach leaves. Evidently even the slaugs were meant to exercise restraint. Two indignant slaugs noticed Goron and Morwen watching them and hurried over.
“Did you see who did this?” one of them asked.
Morwen looked around and spotted a young slaug nibbling on the edge of a silverbeet leaf the size of a canoe. She pointed at the unfortunate. “It was him.” The group swarmed around the young slaug. Goron and Morwen took the opportunity to slip away. Angry shouts and shrill protests followed them.
“We better lie low for a while, do a little exploring,” Morwen advised. They’d eaten so much they swayed like ships on high seas as they slithered along. A dark tunnel, lit with only the occasional fluorescent green mushroom, seemed like the perfect place. It did not appear to be frequented by the slaugs. There wasn’t the usual mass of wriggling youngsters or the habitual coating of slime on everything.
The tunnel led to a cave filled with dirt-coloured mushrooms, their head-like tops seated on stalks as thick as men’s necks. A scattering of bones littered the ground, and discs of black fungus jutted from the rock. The air was a hazy yellow, heavy, and fetid. “Let’s wait here a little while until the uproar dies down,” Morwen suggested.
In the gloomy confines, a growing sense of anxiety descended upon Morwen. She paced about the cave, head drooped, and hands constantly smoothing out non-existent creases on a non-existent robe. Her breathing was shallow, and the rapid gasps of air made her throat tighten. Waves of self-pity broke over her. I’m a horrible person, and I care only about myself. The sudden confession shocked her, especially as she knew it to be true. What must others think of me?
The burden of this realization crushed her further. The weight of it so heavy, Morwen felt as if she were wading through quicksand as she wriggled through the mushroom patch. What did she have to show for her life? She was a high exarch of a crumbling castle and had no friends or lovers. She took a shuddering breath and looked piteously to Goron for consolation.
Goron’s wasn’t paying attention. He was slumped against a giant mushroom. Violent sobs wracked his body, and he pounded the cave floor with his fists.
“You’re crying!” Morwen said astonished, her own misery momentarily forgotten. She’d always thought Goron had the emotional depth of a puddle.
“I’m a drunk, a glutton and a womanizer.”
“That’s nothing. I’m selfish, and nobody likes me,” Morwen wailed. “I want to be loved. I want a man to hold me and say he loves me.” Morwen edged closer to Goron.
Goron straightened out of his slump and stared at her through the blur of his tears. “We should kill ourselves. We’re worthless. Nobody can love us.” He reached for his axe.
Morwen tried to swallow, but her throat was dry. All she managed was a clench of her neck muscles. “Yes,” she rasped. “Let the world be rid of us. How shall we do it?”
“Nothing says commitment like an axe.” Goron fingered the edge of the blade. “I could kill you and then drag my neck across the blade. It’s wickedly sharp.”
Morwen’s stalk eyes wobbled from the weight of tears. She nodded and clutched herself in her arms to await the blow.
Goron raised the axe ready to swing.
“You’re pitiful both of you,” Szat said. “Haven’t you two dimwits figured out it’s the mushrooms? That gas they emit makes you want to kill yourself. They feed on you when you’re dead. C’mon, move out of the cave. You’ll be fine.”
“Why should I? Nothing’s changed. I’m still a horrible person not worthy of this world.” Morwen craned her neck to the axe hovering above her, willing the shiny blade, sickly green from the fluorescent glow of the mushrooms, to fall.
Goron was caught in a violent internal struggle. His mouth twisted as he tried to suppress his sobs and the blade wavered in his hand.
“Just do it,” Morwen yelled.
Goron clenched his jaw, his
