The World of Myth Magazine

Dozens of onlookers had gathered by now, including Buttercup. Her voice rose with the others in support of him. But the crowd fell silent the instant Zaatad waved a hand toward Mortimer's tree trunk, and it vanished. Not even his garden had been left behind.

"My home," Mortimer whispered raggedly. "All my flowers and my garden. Where are they?"

"I agree with you that no one has the right to take your things from you," Zaatad stated, his words flat and measured as he pinned the squirming elders with his gaze. "And no one has the right to give away what does not belong to them. Your home and your garden are still yours. I've merely—moved them for safekeeping."

"Fine, fine," Governor Prentice interjected. "But as far you being chosen as the first rabbit to become a djinn, Mortimer, this is an unparalleled honor. Think of all the good you can do for our people."

"If it's such an honor, you become a djinn. I'll keep my life just the way it is, thank you."

"This is not a debate," Governor Prentice replied. "You've already been chosen." Three weeks later

"If you don't eat, you'll be too weak to do anything," Buttercup said, nudging the plump berries she'd brought toward him with her nose. "You could even die."

Mortimer's stomach lurched, and he turned away. "I'm not hungry," he murmured, his voice flat.

"I can tell you've lost weight. Your eyes are dull, Mortimer. And your fur has lost its healthy sheen."

"What's the point of living? After all my work and effort, I have no home to show for it. I have nothing."

"You have yourself," Buttercup argued. "You have a future, and all kinds of wonderful possibilities."

"What future? I have absolutely nothing."

"That's not true," a deep voice said. Then Zaatad appeared in air above them. He gestured toward the ground and an object appeared there. "You have another home."

Seeing the golden lamp, Mortimer grimaced. "My tree trunk was perfect for me. Maybe a bit large. But that lamp is tiny. Surely you see I wouldn't fit inside. I'm a rabbit, not some type of insect. And…I mean no disrespect, but that thing is dingy. Worn-looking and covered with tarnish. It's ugly."

Zaatad stared at him for a moment. "Things are not always what they seem. The size depends on you. If you imagine it larger, it will be." He glanced at the lamp. In a second, it grew larger than Mortimer's tree trunk. Now it even had a door and window. "You say this lamp is unattractive, that it’s dingy and tarnished. But I see no sign of you doing anything in the last few weeks to improve it."

"Why would I?" Mortimer grunted. As frustration coursed through him, his voice rose. "I want my home back. My life. I don't want to be a genie."

"Your new life right here can be so much better than the old one," Zaatad said, his voice gentle. "You're not a born djinn and you're not bound by many djinn laws. This gives you all the benefits without many of the sorrows. Some djinns can't leave their lamps without being summoned. You have the freedom to choose, Mortimer. Most genies must grant wishes. You may do so if you wish, or not. You can even decide to level a punishment instead if it's warranted."

"No matter what you say, I'm still trapped."

"No, you're not." Zaatad put his hands on his hips. "And we need your help." When Mortimer snorted, the djinn narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth, reacting much like an angry or agitated rabbit would. "Stop wallowing and listen to me. I've told you once already, but I'll say it again. Djinns are long-lived, but that does not make us invincible. Far from it. We have enemies and can be destroyed. Many have been. We have very few young, and even then, births are hundreds of years apart. Our numbers have dwindled through the ages. That's why we've turned to other races, petitioning those not born as djinn to help us fulfill our mission."

"And you came to rabbits, of all creatures?" Mortimer snorted again. "If genies exist, I assume other magical creatures do. Why not form agreements with them instead?"

"We are, but you're being remarkably shortsighted. Don't rabbits have problems?"

"Yes, but—."

"But nothing!" Zaatad roared. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and start thinking of others. Rabbits not far from here shiver in the cold right now." Then he vanished.

More upset than ever, Mortimer fumed about the vanished djinn, who he was certain had lied about needy rabbits being nearby. He ground his teeth, and dozens of angry words churned inside him which he wished he'd said. He very much regretted not thumping the governor hard over the head—orbiting him. How dare the elders act as though they had the right to destroy his life. How dare they speak to him as if he had no right to happiness. And how dare this self-important, know-it-all djinn treat Mortimer as if he'd been given a gift?

The golden lamp had returned to its original small size. With a contemptuous kick, Mortimer sent it flying into a clump of tall weeds before hopping away.

He huddled under thick brambles that night since he hadn't bothered looking for a new home. But he quickly found he couldn't sleep. Zaatad's words echoed through his mind. "Start thinking of others thinking of others thinking of…" Resentment churned inside him. Hadn't he always thought of others?

"Rotten carrots," he cursed as a light drizzle began to fall. And he wondered how many other rabbits were also without proper shelter and food tonight.

Soon his wondering became worry, and Mortimer crept out from underneath the brambles and began to search for others who might have shared his plight. "Hello?" he called out periodically. "Is anyone out there?"

After some time, the rain picked up a little. He thought he heard a faint noise. When he headed toward it, he realized someone was whimpering. "Hello?"

"Can you help us?" a doe called out. Her voice came from a fallen tree covered in thick, tangled vines.

Pushing his way through the morass of vines, Mortimer found himself looking at another rabbit only partially protected from the elements. Her head and neck were dry, but her back was soaked. Judging by the size of her kits whimpering at her side, she must have given birth only a few weeks ago. An old buck lay beside her, his eyes closed. Mortimer knew something was very wrong.

"Twoofmykitlingsareburningup," the mother said, her words running together. "They stopped nursing, they barely move, and I don't know what's wrong. My father was sick for days, but he—." Tears filled her eyes, and her voice edged higher into near-hysteria. "He died this morning. A fox killed my mate and there's no one else to help us."

"Everything will be all right," Mortimer assured her, gently brushing her paw with one of his. Unsure what to do, he racked his brain and realized he'd need help. Staring at the supposedly-dead buck, Mortimer touched his nose to the underside of the elderly rabbit's ear and felt a pulse. "You need to wake up," he said quietly. "Your family needs you." When the buck opened his eyes, the new mother began to keen. Mortimer turned toward her. "I know you're scared," he said. "But try to be calm. Rain or no rain, predators might hear you. And I need you to assist me. Both of you."

She sniffled but nodded, after which he directed them to help remove a piece of bark from the fallen tree. Then they picked up the kits one by one, set them on the bark, and arranged large leaves over them as shelter from the rain. He showed the rabbits how to lightly grasp the edge of the bark with their teeth and pull. After what felt like an eternity, they finally reached the tall grasses where the lamp had landed when Mortimer kicked it away. Staring at it, he imagined it expanding, but nothing happened.

Impatiently snorting, he debated what to do. "Useless djinn," he muttered. A swirling mass of smoke appeared, and the other rabbits squeaked in terror. "Don't worry," Mortimer assured them. "You're not in any danger. This is a djinn, and he won't hurt you." Ignoring the rain, he moved away from the frightened rabbits so they wouldn't hear what was said, then turned to glare at Zaatad. "What's wrong with the lamp? You said it would get larger, but it won’t."

"Nothing is wrong with the lamp," the djinn replied. "Regardless of how you feel about it, the lamp is linked to you. It's far more than a lump of metal, Mortimer. It knows it is to be our home now. As long as you intend to return to it, the lamp will respond to your wishes. Otherwise, it won't respond, and you'll find yourself continually frustrated. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Mortimer frowned but nodded. Despite his dislike for the whole genie business, certain facts were clear. The temperature was falling, and the other rabbits needed help. Taking a deep breath, he concentrated hard, pictured the lamp growing larger in his mind's eye, and himself leaving to search for food, then returning. The lamp instantly expanded there in the grass.

Once he'd ushered his visitors inside, though, he realized the lamp's interior was just as chilly as outdoors. He thought wistfully of his nice tree trunk and the things he'd stored inside, all of which would have been useful right now. Dried straw and clover he'd used for his bed. Tallow candles and matches traded by badgers in exchange for a few clover plants and a berry bush.

Straw and clover instantly appeared in front of Mortimer, and he flinched. Candles flickered to life around him, and the inner surfaces of the lamp glowed. It really had responded to his thoughts.

He fashioned a dry bed for the other rabbits, then noticed how much warmer it was. Eyes widening, he marveled at the wonder of magic. Still, he felt uneasy at the thought of using it. Creating something out of nothing or even transporting things magically seemed like cheating somehow. He'd never been lazy, always determined to do as much for himself as he could.

"I'm going out to find something to help with the kits’ sickness," he explained quietly. "I won't be gone long." Heading back into the rain, Mortimer squinted in an attempt to see through it and searched for one specific plant. "Aha," he exclaimed a few minutes later, knowing the feverfew would reduce the kits' fever. A few elderly rabbits he'd helped long ago had taught him about medicinal plants. He tore off pieces, carried them in his mouth back to the lamp, and crushed them, then left them to go check the ill kits. Gently touching one tiny rabbit with his nose, and then the second, he was surprised to discover they weren't overly hot. Just to be safe, though, he retrieved fragments of the plant to place in each kit’s mouth.

But the mother sobbed, "Thank you, thank you, thank you," before he could administer the medicine. "You healed them and brought my father back."

Mortimer's eyes widened. "I haven't even given them anything yet. The kits didn't feel hot to me—and your father's fine." He'd never been comfortable taking credit for something he hadn't done and didn’t plan to now either. "I understand how afraid you were, but I think your fear made things seem worse to you than they really were."

"Both of my kits were burning up," she insisted. "But when you touched them, the fever vanished. And I know a dead rabbit when I see one. My father was dead."

The old buck lifted his head from where he lay beside the kits. "Death is a natural part of the life cycle and I'd made my peace with it. My daughter and her young need my help, though, so thank you for bringing me back."

"I didn't do anything," Mortimer insisted, even more uneasy now with the awe he saw in the other rabbits' eyes.

"Are you sure?" Zaatad asked, appearing yet again without warning.

"Yes. I can't cure death. I'm not magical like you."

"You do have magic."

Mortimer stared at him. "The lamp responded, but I haven't done anything. If I had magic of my own, I'd know it."

"If you say so." The djinn disappeared as rapidly as he'd appeared.

But Mortimer's fur stood on end when he heard Zaatad whisper in his ear. "You are no ordinary rabbit, Mortimer. You never were. Don't forget that. You are the first Rabjinn."

The following day

When Mortimer heard the commotion outside, he opened the door and froze. Dozens of rabbits milled around the lamp, some of them from the part of Deep Thicket in which he'd previously lived. Among the visitors were a badger and two birds. Once the animals saw him, they all stopped moving and bowed. Despite his protests, they treated him with the utmost reverence. He had a feeling they'd heard of his supposed ability to heal, but he had no idea how. Then he noticed Zaatad floating around and saw the djinn's grin.

Gritting his teeth, Mortimer decided to ignore the nonsense and opted for practicality. "If you've come for help," he said, "please form a line." Several animals did, but others asked if they could help in any way, and he soon had them out gathering roots, seeds, and plants. At his direction, a few began to clear an area for a winter garden. Two rabbits set to rubbing their fur against the outside of the lamp, obviously trying to remove the tarnish. They ignored him when he said that wasn't necessary.

"You know, I think you're right," Buttercup said behind him.

"About getting a garden started as soon as possible?" he asked, pleased to see her.

"No. That your new home doesn't need to be polished."

He blinked at her. "What are you talking about?"

Instead of speaking, Buttercup looked up.

Mortimer tilted his head back, blinked in confusion, and closed his eyes. Then he opened them and looked again. At the very top of the lamp, the far side didn't look as discolored as he remembered it. Zaatad chose that moment to float down from where he'd been hovering. "Am I imagining things," Mortimer asked the djinn, "or does the lamp look a little better?"

Zaatad shrugged. "I hadn't noticed."

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