Chewing thoughtfully on a grain of wild wheat, a large rat looked up at the full moon through a tangle of thorny vines. The rat loved nights when the moon was full, because those were the nights it felt the most like the normal, natural rat it used to be. Those were the nights when the angry voice of the soul that it shared a body with was quietest. The rat stuffed two more kernels of wheat in its cheeks and climbed to the top of the thorny vines so its view of the moon would be unobstructed. As it closed its eyes beneath the gentle moonbeams, it silently wished every night could be like this.

***

Somewhere deep inside the peacefully sleeping rat was the furious soul of Mutt the burglar. Mutt was not his real name of course, but it was the name he had learned to answer to. And since he had no memory of his real name or any other details of his life before becoming a wererat, he had decided long ago that Mutt was as good a name as any.

“Might as well just call me ‘Owl Food’ the way that stupid rat fell asleep out in the open,” Mutt thought to himself. The whole point in making a nest for himself among the tangles of thorny vines was the protection they offered. But the stupid rat controlling their body that night clearly wasn’t smart enough to see the brilliance behind Mutt’s plan. “Too stupid for anything other than eating, pooping, and sleeping,” Mutt said to himself for the hundredth time.

After stealing the noxious and spiny plant from the obnoxious and spineless wizard Shon months ago, Mutt had been unsure of what to do with it. He had stashed it away in the forest before he and Treshigan had returned to the fortress to give their report on the botched dragon hunt. Mutt knew that if Laronius had seen the plant, the vampire would bully Mutt into giving it to him. So Mutt had hidden it outside the walls of the fortress, planning to come back for it and see if he could find a use for it.

Little did Mutt know that the next time he would manage to get outside the fortress walls would be during the disastrous downfall of his old master Gravine. Little did he know that the downfall of Gravine would mean the rat he shared a body with would be able to renegotiate the terms of Mutt’s control over their body. Little did he know how hard the stupid rat would fight to regain some degree of control over its life and its body. But despite all the unexpected turn of events, Mutt had done all he could to take advantage of them.

When Mutt had finally wrestled enough control over the rat’s body to return to the spot where he had left Shon’s noxious plant, he was glad to find it was still alive, but annoyed to find that the plant had broken itself out of its clay pot and firmly taken root in the surrounding area. Whatever it was, it sure liked to spread. And fortunately for Mutt and the rat, other animals seemed to hate it, especially predators. That made it an ideal hideout for Mutt to build their ratsnest.

Mutt’s soul screamed and shouted as loudly as it could to try and wake up the rat so he could try and force it back down into their nest, but it was no use. The full moon prevented Mutt from taking control of the body, and the stupid rat was clearly already fast asleep. Mutt could feel his own consciousness slip into sleep close behind.

Since becoming a wererat, Mutt had become quite adept at navigating through his own dreams. He assumed this was because having his soul crammed into a body that wasn’t his was somewhat like experiencing a kind of waking dream all the time. Nothing ever seemed entirely real to Mutt, like he was always an outside observer of events, even when he was directly responsible for those events. So actual dreams were little different from the rest of his existence.

Mutt’s dream began much as they usually did. He stood large and ferocious and snarling. His stature was more like a powerful werewolf, but he still had the ratlike teeth, tail, claws, pointed face and whiskers of a rat. On the ground in front of him was the cowering figure of that bald bratty wizard Shon. Lying on the ground surrounding Shon were all of his friends, bleeding and broken and dying. No one would be coming to save the wizard this time.

Mutt licked his lips in anticipation of what always came next in his dreams like this one. He would deliver a fatal bite to Shon, as the screaming wizard lamented ever crossing anyone as cunning and tenacious as Mutt. It was the kind of dream that gave Mutt a reason to wake up every day and continue his scheming until his revenge on Shon was complete.

As Mutt closed in on the sobbing coward, he heard a deep, gut-shaking laughter behind him. Mutt then saw that Shon was not cowering in fear of him, but was looking in horror at something behind Mutt. All around them, storm clouds began surging. “This is new,” Mutt thought to himself.

“On the contrary,” said a loud and terrible voice in a bored tone, “I would say this whole scene is rather old and tired.” Every hair on Mutt’s body bristled as he realized that the voice was coming from behind him.

Against his will, Mutt turned around towards the direction the voice had come from. But he couldn’t see the source of the words, nor could he see the source of the wave of pure derision that was washing over him and piercing him to the bone. All he could see was his own form, no longer fierce and imposing, but the form of the small rat man that his body became whenever he and the rat worked toward a common goal. In that moment, Mutt somehow realized that the rat was sharing this nightmare with him.

“You have the stench of Gravine’s failure all over you,” said the voice. “The necromancer owes me a great debt for his gross incompetence, yet he is now unable to pay that penalty. So I have decided you will now labor to repay a portion of that debt.”

Mutt and the rat both wanted to scurry away and hide someplace small and dark and secret. But Mutt was unable to move, and he knew escape was impossible. They were completely exposed and at the mercy of whatever had this hold on them. And the voice didn’t sound remotely interested in mercy. All Mutt could manage was to squeak out the words, “Why me?”

The words hung naked in the darkening air for a moment, then the voice laughed again and responded to the question. “Because as unlikely as it is, and as unworthy as you may be,” said the voice, “I actually have a use for you. You see, I have a situation that could use both a rat among men and a man among rats.”

“What do you mean?” Mutt squeaked. It was the first question Mutt had truly asked the voice since his last words had actually been a lament to himself more than a request for information.

“You will find out,” came the ominous reply. “For now my only instruction to you is this. Hold on to your hatred for the insignificant wizard you were about to murder in this dream. Your spite towards him is also of use to me, as he has somehow escaped my wrath for the moment.”

“Do you want me to kill him?” Mutt asked. For the first time he felt a glimmer of hope that he may actually be glad to serve this new master.

“Perhaps eventually,” replied the voice, with a hint of amusement and slightly less disgust. “But for the moment you will simply serve me. And if you succeed at the task I give you, I may allow you to participate in destroying everything and everyone your enemy cares about.”

“A dream come true,” said Mutt. “How will I find you to receive this task of yours?”

The laughter boomed once again, all malice and derision returned, and Mutt found himself cowering again. “You misjudge your standing, little vermin,” said the voice. “I do not trust you, nor do I trust your abilities. You have yet to prove your worth to me yet. I’ve already given you all the instructions you need for now.”

Mutt tried to stammer out an apology, but found his voice had become as frozen in fear as the rest of his being. “As for finding me, you will never be worthy of that,” said the voice. “And you lack both the competence and the ability to get yourself where I need you to be for the task you’re going to do for me. I have made arrangements for that already.” At that final statement, Mutt felt a strange sense of weightlessness and a tight fear gripped him.

The lingering echoes of the terrible voice receded into the distance, the dream began to fade, and darkness evaporated into the gray of a morning sky.

Mutt and the rat awoke to find their body held fast in the inescapable talons of some immense bird of prey. The full moon was gone and the sun was climbing over the horizon, but even if Mutt had tried to take control of the body and transform into the shape of a man, he knew the plummet to the ground below would result in certain death. If the dagger-like talons didn’t rip him to shreds first.

He and the rat somehow came to the silent agreement that they would stay still and wait to see what came next. Mutt desperately hoped that this was somehow part of the arrangements the voice had spoken of.

As the enormous bird soared higher in the sky on an updraft, Mutt saw that they were flying towards a range of jagged mountains that looked like the teeth of some great beast. And beyond those mountains, Mutt could see a desert that seemed to go on forever.

The wind howled as Keledrain continued her climb towards the icy mountain peak. Every now and then she would look over her shoulder, just out of habit, but she knew there was no chance of anyone following her. The dwarves of the Hulfraust nation only ventured outside the mountain when a specific need drove them to do so.

Keledrain once encountered a goatherd in the snow looking for a lost goat that had wandered outside of the mountain. She occasionally saw small teams of three or four dwarves performing maintenance duties, such as replacing old pipes that stuck up through the rocks below, or clearing stubborn snow off the array of mirrors that directed sunlight down into their tunnels. And of course there were the annual combat drills the Hulfraust warriors would participate in for a week every year to ensure they could fight in the snow when necessary.

But those encounters were rare, and never this high up on the mountain. Keledrain was certain that the cave she was climbing to near the mountain’s peak had never been touched by any of the Hulfraust dwarves. It was one place she could go and be certain she was alone.

Well, almost alone.

The climb was not difficult for Keledrain. Few physical tasks were. Her long, powerful arms easily lifted her exceptionally tall, muscular body from one rocky shelf to the next. Her legs did most of the work getting her so far up the mountain, but Keledrain hardly felt the effort at all. The mountain was just like every other obstacle Keledrain had faced in her life; large and imposing from a distance, but ultimately no real challenge at all. 

Except for the yearly Trial of Balance, that is. But Keledrain didn’t really count that as a challenge since she still told herself the dwarves were simply cheating in some way she hadn’t been able to figure out. That had to be it. After all, how else would it be possible that the dwarves who were beneath her could do something so easily that she could not? Sabotage was the only reasonable explanation. 

The thought made Keledrain’s face flush hot and red with anger and her heart started pounding so hard that she almost didn’t realize her breath had become labored because of the thinness of the air. As she breathed deeply and felt the stinging cold air against her face, her head cleared and she realized she had nearly reached her destination. 

The opening to the cave was covered by a large piece of scarlet red canvas, tied to iron spikes driven into the rock at four corners. She had tied the canvas into place to keep snow out, and to make the cave entrance easier to find. She had driven in the iron spikes to show the mountain who was boss. 

Opening the canvas and stepping inside, Keledrain saw the ashes of the fire she had lit the last time she had been there. Underneath another large piece of canvas, she also saw the pile of wood, coal, oil, and other fuel she had carried up in the past. There was a thin layer of frost on some of it, but it appeared to be mostly dry. 

Keledrain picked up a few pieces of the wood and threw them haphazardly on top of the old ashes. She tossed on a couple chunks of coal for good measure, and then dropped some oil-soaked balls of wool on the top. 

She picked up the flint and steel she had previously hidden under a rock in the cave, then struck them together, creating a small shower of sparks, and setting the woolen balls ablaze. Then she took another deep breath and prepared the lie she would be giving to the one about to join her. 

Keledrain carefully retrieved a small clay lamp from her pack. She removed cork stoppers from the openings at both ends, then tipped the front end downward. “Come on out, Zaranni,” said Keledrain, as a shimmering substance slowly poured out of the lamp and on to the waiting fire below. 

As soon as the shimmering substance touched the flames, the rest of it flowed quickly out of the lamp, and Keledrain heard a familiar high-pitched yawn, followed by a pouting voice. 

“Brrr! Mistress, why did you wake me up someplace so cold again? You know I don’t like coming out when it’s so cold!” 

The flames sputtered, grew, and then began to take the shape of a young girl. Keledrain was pleased to see that Zaranni had manifested at nearly the exact maturity level that Keledrain had hoped for. Had the fire been too small, and the pinkish red djinn could have come out crying like an infant or simply not come out of the lamp at all. If the fire had been too big, she might have had to deal with the kind of adolescent defiance and willfulness that always caused Keledrain to lose her temper and put out the flame entirely, sending the disrespectful djinn back to the lamp. 

And if the fire had been a large bonfire or bigger, she would have appeared in her true form, as a full-grown woman, with all the cunning, wisdom, willpower, and self-assurance that came from her century-spanning lifetime. In other words, she would emerge powerful enough to be one of the few beings that Keledrain was actually afraid of. That’s why it was so important for Keledrain to summon the djinn someplace with cold thin air, limited space to grow, and fuel provided by Keledrain alone. 

But Keledrain had to smile at the child pouting and shivering in the center of the fire at her feet. Zaranni would be quite easy to control at this stage. So Keledrain wasted no time putting her to work. “Everyone must earn their heat in this life,” said Keledrain. “If you don’t like the cold, you must show me you deserve more fuel for your fire, Zaranni.” 

“How do I earn my heat today, Mistress Keledrain?” Zaranni asked with a sigh and a slump of her shoulders. 

Keledrain turned to her pack and pulled our four large candles. Each one had a unique color. Zaranni began to whine the moment she spotted the candles, but stopped abruptly when Keledrain gave her a withering glare. 

“I need you to milk some flames for me again, Zaranni,” said Keledrain. “And I expect you to do it with no complaints.” 

“But why does it always have to be with flames that look and feel so weird?” Zaranni asked. As Keledrain flashed a look of fury, Zaranni quickly added, “That wasn’t a complaint! Just a question, Mistress! It’s just… Why don’t you ever ask me to milk normal fires? I like doing that! Why don’t you have me milk those kinds of fires more often?”

“Because if all I wanted was simple hearth mead, I could just take some salamander eggs to the brewers downstairs,” replied Keledrain. “What I need from you is far more special.” 

Zaranni looked down at her hands with a hurt expression. “My hearth mead IS special,” she said quietly. Then looking up at Keledrain, she added in a louder voice, “It’s much stronger than anything those dwarves can brew, Mistress. It even makes it so you mortals could sit right down in a fire and not even get hurt!” 

“Besides,” said Zaranni, looking down again, “it’s a lot more yummy than anything I can milk out of those bitter flames you make with your candles.” 

“Yet bitter medicine is what this world needs,” said Keledrain. “So that’s what you’re going to help me make.” 

Zaranni opened her mouth to make another argument, but a hard look from Keledrain made her change her mind. “Yes Mistress,” she finally said. 

Keledrain smiled, but her expression didn’t soften. “That’s a sweet little pet,” she said, placing the four candles into four perfectly sized round holes that had been chiseled into the floor of the cave. “Tell you what. Since you decided to be obedient so quickly this time, I’ll let you start with the golden flame this time, as a treat. It’s your favorite, isn’t it Zaranni?” 

“Yes Mistress,” replied Zaranni, brightening a little. 

Keledrain pulled a glass bottle out of her pack and set it in front of the shiny metallic candle that sparkled and made little pinpricks of light dance around the walls of the cave. She then took a thin stick from the wood pile, lit the end from the fire where Zaranni was sitting, and then used the burning stick to light the golden candle. 

The candle produced a flame that was the same glittering golden color of the candle, but the candle itself did not melt or grow shorter. Whatever it was made of, it wasn’t wax. 

“Well?” Keledrain said, sharply raising an eyebrow. “No time to waste, my pet.” 

“No Mistress. Er, yes Mistress,” Zaranni fumbled. “Right away, Mistress Keledrain.” She leaned over the edge of her fire to reach the top of the golden flame, then began deftly moving her fingers as if twisting the top of the flame upward into a fine thread of golden substance. When the thread became long enough that it began to bend downwards, Zaranni directed it with her fingers to flow into the narrow top of the glass bottle. 

Watching Zaranni milk flames was always a sobering reminder to Keledrain of exactly what kind of being had been gifted to her. Because while Zaranni may have still looked like a child at that moment, Keledrain knew that no actual child could control their fingers so swiftly and nimbly, nor orchestrate the complex series of movements necessary to successfully complete her task. 

Keledrain stared down at her pet as the fiery girl focused completely on her chore. A djinn was only useful as a servant when unaware of their true nature and power. If Zaranni ever managed to grow to her full stature, Keledrain would be better off smashing the clay lamp and severing her connection to the physical world completely, rather than try to contend with the djinn directly. 

But Keledrain’s dark expression eased as she heard the howling wind outside the cave’s entrance. There was no need to worry. She had everything under control, and she had Zaranni right where she wanted her. 

***

Zaranni was glad that her mistress let her begin with the golden flame this time. As she milked the delicate fire with her fingers, it gave off a heavy, stately scent. Like oak or leather being polished for the hundredth time, or thick velvet drapes being folded, or sturdy iron gates swinging closed on well-oiled hinges. 

The smell was not exactly comforting, and certainly not delicious, but it was… reliable. And milking it left Zaranni feeling more steady and grounded than before. Like nothing could budge her unless she chose to be budged. 

When the bottle laid in front of the golden candle was full, Mistress Keledrain snatched it up, forcefully closed it with a cork, and hastily hid it away inside her pack. Since her mistress didn’t seem to notice or care about the rest of the golden thread still hanging in the air, Zaranni quickly looped it around her wrist and hid it underneath her sleeve to keep for herself. She decided there was no harm in a small piece of jewelry she could sniff when she needed to feel a little more steady and grounded. 

When Mistress Keledrain turned back from her pack, she was holding four more bottles. Three were about the same size as the first bottle, and a fourth bottle that was much bigger. Zaranni groaned to herself. She knew what the fourth bottle meant. 

Mistress Keledrain used a small brass cap to put out the golden flame before putting the other bottles down. After doing this, she used the same stick from earlier to light the three remaining candles. 

“Alright Zaranni,” said Keledrain, “I’ll need one bottle from each candle. And I’ll even let you choose the order you milk them in, my pet.” She smiled as if this was a kindness, so Zaranni tried to respond appropriately. 

“Thank you Mistress,” she said. 

“You can thank yourself for being so obedient and efficient,” replied Mistress Keledrain. “That’s why I’m giving you the privilege to choose this time.” 

“Thank you for teaching me that, Mistress Keledrain,” said Zaranni. “It’ll try to remember that.” 

A glimmer of heat appeared in Keledrain’s eye. “Yes, I’m sure you will,” she said. Then, widening her smile she added, “Now once you’ve finished those three, I’ll let you concoct my special brew. Won’t that be fun?” 

“Mistress?” Zaranni began cautiously. She knew she needed to ask her question before the steadying effects of the golden flame’s scent wore off, or she’d never have the resolve to ask. “Milking three flames at the same time is very hard to do, and that’s a very big bottle for the special brew. Could I have a little more fuel for my fire to help me do the job?” 

Mistress Keledrain’s smile dropped completely and she regarded Zaranni coldly for a long moment, as if waiting for her servant to apologize and take back the request. Zaranni just barely managed not to, and held her tongue instead. 

“We shall see,” Keledrain finally said. “But only after you’ve finished the first three bottles. Start with the green one. Finish with the black one.” 

“Yes Mistress,” Zaranni replied. She was grateful the order she had been given was the choice she would have likely made herself. First the green candle, then the red, then the black. 

Milking the emerald green flame was less pleasant than the gold, but better than the other two. It produced a spicy, gamey scent like the smell of ivy being ripped from a tree, a predator marking its territory, or the smell of an unguarded nest of eggs about to be raided. The process of milking it left Zaranni with wild thoughts of defiance and freedom. It was after milking the green flame that Zaranni was most likely to snap back at Keledrain, leading to a swift punishment of some kind. 

Remembering her earlier small rebellion of the small golden thread around her wrist, and catching a small whiff of its steadying scent, Zaranni just barely managed to hold her tongue as the bottle filled to the top. Keledrain looked surprised at the lack of outburst. 

Moving on to the crimson red flame, Zaranni began milking it as fast as she could manage without spilling any of the deep red substance that flowed up from her fingers. The smell of ash, the copper of blood, and the sulfur of lava all caused Zaranni to fume with a rage building inside of her. As soon as the bottle of red liquid was brimming, she channeled that rage into milking the black flame without taking a moment to hesitate. 

The moment Zaranni touched the dark flame edged with a myriad of colors, she nearly wretched and wanted to recoil. But the anger she still felt from the crimson flame pushed her forward, and she soon lost herself in the task. 

The scent and flavor of the black flame wasn’t always bad, but it was always intense. It seemed to have a thousand smells all at once, and each of them was unbearably sharp. The sweetness of a ripening cherry, the decay of a fallen log, the hatching of an egg, but all of it magnified with a hundred times the potency. Zaranni could never understand exactly how she felt while milking the flame, but she knew that whenever she was done she felt… different. 

Mistress Keledrain corked up the shimmering black liquid and placed the three smaller bottles in her pack. “Now it’s time to help me make the masterpiece,” she said. “It’ll be waiting outside, and I’ll return when you should be finished.” 

Zaranni knew that Mistress Keledrain’s eyes and nose could not endure the scent produced from milking the special brew. She doubted any mortal could. So she always waited outside while Zaranni completed the task. 

“Mistress,” said Zaranni as Keledrain turned towards the mouth of the cave, “the fuel?” 

Keledrain walked stiffly to the pile of wood and tossed two more small logs onto the fire. “I suppose you’ve earned your heat so far,” she said, “so I expect you to earn this too.” 

Keledrain then walked out of the cave to the howling winds beyond the canvas. 

As the two new logs caught fire and began to grow in warmth, Zaranni began to grow as well. Instead of looking like a child, she now appeared as a young woman. She felt stronger, surer, and more clever. She also noticed things she hadn’t before. 

Like the fuel-soaked ball of wool that Keledrain had meant to throw onto the pile before it started, but had rolled off before igniting it. Zaranni knew she was forbidden from taking fuel that wasn’t given to her. But this HAD been meant for her. It simply missed its mark. 

She quickly scooped up the ball and popped it into the flames. Immediately a flash of insight raced through Zaranni’s mind and she knew what she had to do. 

She unwound the golden thread from her wrist and began milking the black flame, carefully entwining the black and gold substances together into a single bronze thread. It wasn’t much, but it smelled important. Like a rockslide, an earthquake, or even the shifting of great plates of bedrock beneath the oceans. Zaranni found a small crevice in the cave that could only be seen from the center of her fire, and she hid the secret substance there. 

Zaranni then turned back to the three candles and braced herself for what was coming next. With the newly added heat increasing her strength, she managed to manifest two more arms for herself. She hoped the additional arms would help her complete the dreaded task more quickly as she began milking all three flames at once. 

She could only describe the sensation that followed as the scent of pure pain, as the green, red, and black threads from the flames all twined together to fill the bottle below with the deep purple liquid their mixture produced.