The Inheritance

By Donna Sundblad

When Jejune begins to question how conflicting theories can all be true, the ruling Illuminati brand him a troublemaker. Miserable and longing for something more from life, he leaves his home in Lofty Thought, seeking out Wisdom.

Things get complicated when he meets Worldly Wisdom and her sister, Heavenly. In the Valley of Shadow, dangers and temptations await. Ethereal shadows hurl fiery darts that send an injured Jejune off course, but danger isn’t always so obvious.

To make matters worse, Jejune learns that he has the Condition; no one with it can be granted citizenship to the Eternal City. His friends Understanding, Prudence and Humility help him see there's only one answer. But can he follow the Narrow Way and find Truth?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Next Chapter
• Release date: Jan 10, 2024

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Chapter 1

Lofty Thought

Ahazy gray blanket hovered above the Valley of Shadow. Residents below paid little heed to the gloomy day, but scurried to and fro, conducting everyday business. The Twin Peaks rose high in the sky, piercing the nebulous shroud, and joined together in the Village of Lofty Thought. People above bustled about and prepared for the rite of passage—another generation would join ranks with the revered Illuminati.

Hallowed passageways meandered deep within the mountainside and dead-ended at the closed-door meeting, where high-level pundits chosen from among the Illuminati screened the hopeful brood who had come of age.

The High Pundit slammed the point of his staff to the floor. You are not the interrogator! A fine spray of spittle scattered from his lips, highlighted by the torchlight until it dropped into the shifting shadows.

The young Seeker, Jejune, squirmed on the bench before the three-man council. Pundit Tenacious' reprimand echoed within the limestone chamber. Dark smoky tendrils painted sooty trails that skittered and climbed uneven walls while Jejune searched for what to say.

Black hollows marked Pundit Tenacious' deep-set eyes in the dim torchlight. Shadows oscillated across the other two council figures, embroiled in muted discussion.

Jejune swiped the sandy brown curls matted to his forehead. But, sir, the philosophies of Lofty Thought breed more questions than answers. He fidgeted. The stuffy chamber closed in around him. Perspiration trickled from his hairline.

Tenacious slammed the tip of his elaborate walking stick into the hard-packed earthen floor one more time. Enough! No more discussion. The older man leaned forward on his walking stick, stopping inches from Jejune's face, and lowered his voice. The highest ethical good is the same for everyone. The council members nodded.

Wigglewot, Jejune's tiny winged companion, let out a soft whistle, fluttered to Jejune's shoulder, and leaned to his ear. What is he talking about?

Timing bells chimed, indicating the conclusion of the session.

Finally! Wigglewot flew toward the exit. Hurry, Jejune. Let's get out of here.

Jejune stood, bowed his head before the council, turned on his heel, and rushed to the door.

Highest ethical good. He mimicked the pundit's nasal tone.

Wigglewot chuckled. The two hurried along the torch-lined tunnel toward the exit. Uh-oh. Trouble ahead.

Three silhouettes eclipsed daylight at the passageway's end. Jejune skidded to a stop. Even in the dim light, billowing robe sleeves warned that pundit trouble blocked his way.

Wigglewot shimmied next to Jejune's ear and whispered. Politely say 'hello,' but keep walking. Let's get out of here.

Sunlight leaked into the corridor behind the shifting figures. Jejune drew in a deep breath and sauntered to the exit with a carefree strut. He fiddled with the medallion hanging from his neck and forced a smile.

The polished surface of Pundit Tenacious' walking stick gleamed among the three bodies blocking the corridor. Jejune's smile faded. He cast a fleeting look over his shoulder toward the Reckoning Chamber. How did they get from there to here? Feeling trapped, he back pedaled a few steps. What should I do? His back pressed against the cool limestone. In his heart he longed to become one with the stone wall and disappear. Tenacious marched toward him followed by Punctilious. Why did Jejune feel such dread? They weren't much taller than him. Pundit Arcane pushed between Tenacious and Punctilious and grabbed Jejune's upper arm. Thick bands of silver and gold shimmered on the belled cuff of the pundit's sleeve.

If you persist in your ways, you may be forced to leave the village. A vein bulged between Arcane's brows.

Jejune clenched his jaw. If I say anything, I'd only make matters worse.

The older man's grip tightened. Your disruptive ways squelch the flow of debates. He shoved Jejune toward the wall as he released his hold.

Jejune licked his dry lips and glanced from one stern face to another, still wondering how they left the Reckoning Chamber after him, yet now stood, blocking his way. I don't understand, sirs. I mean no trouble.

They surrounded him like a pack of wild dogs circling a brush rabbit. Spine pressed to the wall, Jejune waited. Pundit Punctilious' hard-soled sandals clicked against the stone floor. He paced; his hands folded at the small of his back.

You are surely as your mother before you, talking of this--this one truth. We choose our way without the aid of such universal standards. He twisted, positioning his face inches from Jejune's. You are not above our ways. He pawed Jejune's medallion and eyed it intently. His bushy gray eyebrows arched as if yanked by a string.

Jejune turned from the stench of the older man's breath.

Punctilious' complexion darkened from red to purple. Saying one comes from a royal line does not make it so. He flung the medallion against Jejune's chest.

Unexpected anger boiled in the pit of his stomach. His hands balled into fists. Punctilious talks in riddles and recalls details of my mother that I long to know. It's not fair.

Two hours later Jejune and Wigglewot pushed through the gathering crowd. Jejune struggled to think positive thoughts while threading around villagers lining the main street. Fine citizens of the mountain community navigated the walkways to find the best place to glimpse the revered procession and follow them to the Coming of Age ceremony. Jejune raced to stay ahead of the parade. I don't want to be late. Pundits could use it against me. Just behind him, the parade of pundits dressed in traditional robes snaked toward the Town Square where the crowd's flow stalled.

Jejune jerked to a stop at the bottleneck filtering into the narrow street. A blustery spring breeze tugged his curls. By the looks of the crowd, he'd be here awhile. He picked a stray thread from his bare sleeve and twisted it between his thumb and forefinger until the wind caught the fiber and pulled it into the sky toward the summit and out of sight.

His concentration wandered along the snow-capped pinnacles overhead. His eyes followed the mountain trails and returned to the procession of multicolored robes. Hues differed from robe to robe, but rings of gold and silver edged every sleeve.

Movement rippled through the throng and pushed Jejune past the standstill. His lanky frame slowed behind a young girl holding her mother's hand.

I like that pretty one, Mommy. The child pointed toward the parade. Purple shades highlighted the shoulders of a shimmering garment, worn by one gray-haired woman who carried herself with a regal posture.

The mother patted her daughter's back. With the right education, one day you'll wear a pundit's robe.

Look at her sleeves! The girl clasped her hands beneath her chin, her eyes trained with delight on the woman as she filed by.

Jejune studied the metallic threads edging the pundit's cuffs; at least six rings decorated each sleeve. He eyed his undecorated sleeve, sighed, pushed into the crowd's renewed flow, and headed toward the Seeker's Circle.

Lofty Thinkers filtered into the Town Square. Vendors shouted for spectators' attention while onlookers discussed the prestigious rings and the theories they represented. Over time, theories melded with tradition and affected changes in the lives of the good citizens.

The single file cavalcade advanced in choreographed fashion while the first Illuminati settled into their pre-appointed center seats on the platform, nestled within the Seeker's Circle. Tenacious marched by. Jejune hid in the crowd, attempting to count the High Pundit's gold and silver merits. Someday I'll have more rings than him, he said to Wigglewot.

Wigglewot let out a soft snort. "What does it matter, Jejune? You don't really want to be like him."

Tenacious shuffled along the limestone pavement and took his designated place of honor in the row closest to the stage. His chin held high and eyes forward, the pundit's robe overflowed his throne-like chair. The corners of his lips lifted in a hollow smile. His gaze focused on scudding clouds above the assembly's heads.

Wigglewot's transparent wings fluttered as he hovered and settled on Jejune's shoulder. Let's sit over there. Wigglewot pointed toward the back row of stone benches that filled the Seeker's Circle. The large blocks offered reserved seating for the Lofty Thinkers on the verge of becoming Seekers.

Just think, Wig. What I choose to believe today determines the color of my robe in the future. Jejune's shoulders slumped.

Cheer up, Jejune. Wigglewot nudged Jejune's neck. You're not alone.

Jejune glanced around at those approaching the Coming of Age who filed into the Seeker's Circle. They gathered in scattered patches. This is the last time I'll have to take part in one of these ceremonies, he said to Wig as he ticked his head once toward the Illuminati. Today fulfills my obligation to study under them. He shuffled toward the last row. Wigglewot balanced on his shoulder.

Paused between two slabs at the circle's edge, Jejune said, How about here? He studied the tall hedge fencing the grounds behind the last row of seating: to his right, the Fountain of Tradition splashed; left, an archway covered with honey blossoms. The quickest way out. Our escape route when it's over.

Wigglewot snickered as Jejune claimed the out-of-the-way bench. He fidgeted on the cold stone while the last Illuminati settled into their designated seats.

Fragrant honey blossoms wafted on the spring breeze. Jejune inhaled the bouquet, which tickled long ago memories. He closed his eyes and tried to picture his mother's face.

What are you doing? Wigglewot interrupted his thoughts and fluttered to the bench.

This sweet smell reminds me of Mother's hair. Jejune pulled in another deep breath, but the memory dissipated when two chatty girls claimed the seat in front of him.

Jejune stared at the ground and shook his head. People look forward to this. Listen to them. I want to hear about quests to the Eternal City. He shifted in his seat. My mother believed in the Eternal City.

Wigglewot shrugged. Everyone knows the Eternal City exists. He feigned a yawn. How long is this going to last?

Too long, Wig.

The benches filled. Wigglewot scurried up Jejune's arm to perch on his shoulder before a large-rumped fellow plunked beside them.

Hello, Inveigle. Jejune glanced at the boy and slid an inch to the right to make space between them.

Good day. Inveigle smiled. Excitement danced in his brown eyes. Isn't this exciting, Jejune? Before we know it that will be us up there. He pointed his chubby finger toward the Illuminati.

Jejune scratched behind his ear and nodded. Sure, Inveigle. Exciting.

In his heart, Jejune agreed with Wigglewot. He pondered the unpleasant episode with the pundits earlier that morning. Inveigle didn't experience such difficulties. He stole a sideward glimpse at the boy. He'd never understand.

Jejune slid his medallion back and forth along the leather strip around his neck. Why is this so difficult for me? Each generation declares a New Age of Enlightenment, and my generation will be no different. Someday I will be like them. He closed his eyes and shuddered.

The lad's musings drifted to the Eternal City. Historically, it had been the common thread for each Seeker's quest. Today, some said it existed while others argued it did not. Epic quests to locate the Eternal City gradually diminished, replaced by the popular concept that such a place existed only in the minds of great thinkers. This theory prompted Seekers within Lofty Thought to make the great city become whatever one imagined it to be. Travel outside the village limits grew obsolete. Jejune rejected such nonsense. If it only exists in my mind, where are my parents?

His thoughts drifted back to the unpleasant meeting before the Council that morning. The mandatory conclave fulfilled one of the last requirements for his Coming of Age, but Jejune had struggled with inconsistencies in the pundits' logic.

A fellow Seeker settled beside Jejune on his right, dissolving his retrospection. Family banners furled in a semicircle at the back of the platform behind the Illuminati. But Jejune's parents weren't here to display their family's crest. In the rich history of Lofty Thought, it was not uncommon among Lofty Thinkers to be orphaned by a quest. Some lost a father, others, a mother, even siblings; Jejune's parents never returned to earn rings and colorful robes. He clung to faint memories like grasping at the threads of an unraveling tapestry.

They're ready to start. Wigglewot said.

Jejune shifted to see between the girls in front of him. He eyed his medallion and shined it on the front of his tunic.

Did that fool leave his greasy finger marks? Wigglewot asked.

Wigglewot knew how to make him smile. Jejune slipped the medallion into the neck of his garment and focused on the honored speakers. Pundit Arcane fussed about something to the woman seated beside him while Jejune's unasked question burned within him. He couldn't bury the yearning for truth. Seeing the pundit's face whisked his thoughts to that clandestine meeting in the tunnel.

I admit, I seek the truth, Jejune had conceded. How can people reach the Eternal City if they don't know how to get there? He let the three irate men intimidate him and quash his remaining questions. Now he couldn't help but wonder what Pundit Punctilious meant when he spoke of a royal line? Jejune buried this question with the others.

The ever-present hunger for something more lingered. I had hoped this would change today.

Clouds engulfed the cliffs and moved in to hang like a wispy ceiling above the crowd of spectators. Speaker after speaker lectured. The sun worked to burn through the clouds casting elongated intermittent shadows from the onlookers toward the Illuminati.

Jejune's ears itched as he listened to the various theories, some new and some old. How can pivotal points contradict each other and yet be embraced as truth? The Illuminati despised this line of thinking. They taught truth was relative and that no objective, rational basis could be found for moral decisions.

Water splashed in the nearby Fountain of Tradition where young children played without a care. Crystal liquid spilled from the upturned urn held by the faceless, hooded statue some called the Great Thinker, while a few said it represented the All Knowing One. Ancient scrolls taught that the founders built the fountain after escaping life in the Valley of Shadow. The flow of water represented new ideas that made Lofty Thought a village above the rest. Current theories bred controversy, whether or not an All Knowing One was a real entity or an imaginary concept put in place by the Great Thinker to help Lofty Thinkers find themselves.

A swarthy young boy dunked beneath the surface, popped up with a splash and startled his friend. Jejune gazed upon their folly and longed for simpler times. If he had his way, those up-and-coming would never have to sit through this drivel. He forced his attention back to the learned speaker.

Pundit Tenacious' stern glare targeted Jejune among the throng. The lanky adolescent slumped behind the heads of the two girls.

I don't know if I want to find the Eternal City, the taller of the two girls said. If one enters, they become trapped forever. That is how it came to be named the Eternal City. Once you enter you can never leave.

No. The shorter, fair-skinned girl shook her head. "Living within the Eternal City overcomes one with happiness; people choose to stay." She emphasized her point with a nod.

Jejune stared at the two. This is a perfect example of the point I tried to make.

Tenacious wants you to agree that you disagree. Wigglewot shrugged. That's all.

Jejune couldn't shake the confrontation in the tunnel. Pundit Tenacious' words echoed in his mind. Freedom of choice entails commitment and responsibility. You are neither committed nor responsible. The older man rested his hands behind his back, lifted his chin and looked down at Jejune. His heavy lids blinked once. All ideas are welcomed and accepted here; you do neither.

Committed? Jejune combed his fingers through his flaxen curls and grabbed a fistful of hair. Responsible? He lifted his palms toward the ceiling. What does that mean?

Tenacious bent close. Jejune could almost count the enlarged pores on the man's bulbous nose. It means we expect your behavior to be peaceful, not divisive. The pundit's eyes squinted into slits.

Jejune apologized. I--I--I'm s-s-orry, S-sir. I am not attempting to be divisive. I--I only seek to understand–

I hope you do understand, young man. You're no longer due special treatment. Your parents are not here to claim your birthright. The man's gnarled finger poked Jejune's chest with each word. You are under our authority as long as you live in Lofty Thought.

The crowd applauded and pulled Jejune from his preoccupation. Perhaps Lofty Thought is not the place for me. What holds me here? Surrogate provides a comfortable life, but the void within my heart swallows the pleasures of life and leaves me empty. And this … He considered the young women in front of him. I can't embrace conflicting theories.

Jejune looked beyond the girls and focused on the granite podium in the middle of the platform. Family banners fluttered in the stiff breeze while the gold and black train of the speaker's robe trailed along stone stairs approaching the lectern. Jejune stared wide-eyed at the impressive colors. For a brief moment he wanted it, the robes, the rings and the prestige. The pundit stepped to the podium to a round of hearty applause.

Wigglewot stifled another yawn. Jejune surveyed his peers' happy faces. They eagerly absorbed new ideas for their developing theories. Why do I feel so empty?

The last speaker concluded, and the crowd dispersed, gathering into private clusters. Seeker to Seeker, young people boasted of future plans and budding theories. Jejune avoided the interaction, slipped under the archway of honey blossoms, and followed the walkway until he emerged into the exiting crowd.

What do you think? Wigglewot asked. They wound through the mass and out of the square. Any new ideas we can use?

Jejune ignored his little friend and shuffled through the throng. The Illuminati clearly showed impatience when he questioned their ideas. Today their power and control stifled his participation. Adhering to their way of thinking robbed him of his freedom.

Dust stirred around the departing mobs' sandals. Next thing you know they'll conjure up ideas by watching dust settle, Wigglewot said with a snicker. But Jejune did not smile. Instead, he walked away from the session with the birth of a plan.

"Tomorrow morning, Wig. We'll embark on a quest to seek the truth about the existence of the Eternal City.

Chapter 2

Mysteries of the Upper Chamber

Decorative brick framed the archway leading into the multi-room cavern Jejune called home, the largest dwelling in the village. It's good to be home, Wig. Jejune slapped his palm against a brick about five handbreadths from the ground and matched his adult-size hand to the baby print his father baked into the clay long ago.

Remember when you didn't want to get your hands dirty? Wigglewot chuckled.

My father liked working with clay. As an orphan, Jejune cherished the vague memory. Over the years touching the brick became routine, but today he paused. His palm smothered the small imprint.

You know, Wig, when I leave Lofty Thought, even this bit of family heritage will be gone. It's my own tradition.

You can always come home.

Jejune stared at the brick and nodded thoughtfully. Smells of dinner wafted through the door and coaxed Jejune across the threshold. He stopped and inhaled the yeasty aroma of fresh baked bread.

It smells great in here. Wigglewot rubbed his stomach. Surrogate's been busy.

The aroma, the sense of home, enticed Jejune to reconsider leaving. He waited in the shadows while his eyes adjusted to the firelight. Surrogate, I'm home.

A fire blazed in the hearth and worked to banish the ambient dampness. Jejune's comfort wrestled with the need to feel complete. His desire to find truth overruled the seduction of complacency. He bit at the corner of his lip. How can I tell Surrogate? She's already planned the Coming of Age gathering.

There's no easy way. Wigglewot waved away the concern with a flip of his wrist. Don't fret. She'll move beyond the disappointment and be happy for you.

How goes it, Jejune? His weighty caregiver stepped from the scullery, wiped her hands on her apron, and waddled toward him.

Jejune hesitated. As usual.

Tell her now, Jejune. Wigglewot flitted to the floor. It's exciting news. She deserves to know. Wigglewot danced a jig around Jejune's ankles and sang, We're going on a quest. We're going on a quest. He bowed, flapped his tiny wings, and flew back to his companion's shoulder. "Come on, Jejune. It's not as usual! We're leaving."

Jejune suppressed the guilt wrought by his half-truth. He hadn't lied. It was the usual feeling inside him, but he could no longer tolerate it.

Surrogate squeezed him against her ample bosom. Oh, Jejune. The pudgy woman gently rocked his gangly form.

He inhaled her scent. I'll miss this. He took in a deep breath. She smells like freshly churned butter. Eyes closed, he delighted in the moment.

You better tell her now, Wigglewot prodded. There won't be a better time.

Jejune squirmed. A head taller than his caregiver, he twisted free of her grasp.

The last time they talked of such things, she shamed him for not being satisfied with his good fortune and reminded him of the advantages he enjoyed over others in the village. You should become a cloud gazer. She had shared from her heart. Many find answers in their endless formations.

This popular meditation spurred new Theories of Enlightenment, but it did not interest him. At her incessant prodding he tried it. It's like chasing after the wind, he'd told her. Once he shared his feelings, he learned to avoid the subject.

Jejune? Did you hear me? Surrogate waved her hand in front of his face.

I'm sorry. He blinked. I wasn't listening.

Surrogate tousled his curls. I have something to lift your spirits. She reached out to hug him, but he sidestepped her reach and combed his fingers through his hair.

What is it? he asked.

She smiled and shuffled toward the fireplace. Flames licked at the blackened kettle hanging within the brick hearth. She stirred the pot, lifted the spoon to her lips and tasted the matelote. The delicious aroma spawned growls from his midsection. He placed his hand on his empty stomach to quiet the protest and ambled toward his place at the table.

Wigglewot's wot twitched. What's the surprise? Tell her you have a surprise, too.

What is it, Surrogate? Jejune made a cursory glance around the spacious cavern. The area, long ago cleared of stalagmites to make room for furniture, looked no different, the wooden table set for dinner, the fire, and the bin next to the hearth, which held enough wood to keep their home warm for another day.

Surrogate glanced from the pot to her charge; the firelight accented the stray wisps of hair that worked free of the long braid encircling her head.

Jejune yearned for something to lift his spirits and enjoyed the distraction.

I found something, Surrogate teased in a singsong voice while wiping her fingers on her apron. Something we have looked for since your parent's departure. A wry grin spread across her face and squeezed her eyes into little slits.

Put a log on the fire. Wigglewot stretched to see into the shadows. We need more light.

Jejune pondered her riddle. What could it be? He thought of the locked door to the upper chamber. The key? He hesitated.

Her head bobbed up and down in short quick nods, tucking her chin into two folds. She pointed toward the wall above the hearth. The metal key glistened in the dusky light, where it dangled from one of the hooks used to dry herbs. A wave of excitement welled up inside Jejune and the fire snapped, sending a celebratory spark into the air. I think it shall be an appropriate gift for your Coming of Age. Surrogate patted her pudgy palms in glee.

Jejune's smile dissolved and a pout tugged at his lower lip. Childhood memories of the upper room teased his consciousness. He pictured Father at his desk. You can't be serious. Jejune crossed his arms. All my life I've wondered what lies behind that door and why they would lock it. Surely you don't expect me to wait?

All your life, Surrogate repeated with a chuckle jiggling her large bosom. Time is short. Spoon clasped in her hand; she bolstered her knuckles on her ample hips while gravy dripped onto the floor. She waved the spoon in his direction. You have just days to wait. Her attention returned to the stew.

Wait? Wigglewot groaned. We can't wait. We want to leave tomorrow.

Two days! Jejune slumped onto his seat, propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his hands.

Pouting will get you nowhere, lad. Now get to your chores. It's almost time to eat.

Things remained quiet during dinner. Eating utensils scraped terra cotta bowls while Jejune and Surrogate devoured the stew. Jejune tore a chunk of hearty brown bread from the loaf and dipped it into his bowl.

Is there something behind that door to tell me of the quest that took my parents from me? His eyes stared into the distance. Reflections from a recurring dream filled his mind, vivid images of climbing the winding staircase on short child legs to the upper chamber. His small hand pushed the heavy wooden door. On the other side, Father worked at his desk and Mother sat atop a large chest holding needlework on her lap.

Jejune. They called his name, but, when he ran to embrace them, they dissolved. A sigh whispered past his lips. He blinked and returned to reality.

Lines of concern rippled Surrogate's forehead.

May I be excused? he asked.

Surrogate patted his arm. Yes, you may. She cleared the rough wooden table and shook her head. Jejune stood, thanked her for the meal and escaped to his room.

That night he stood at his window and stared at the moonlit cliffs. As a child I thought perhaps the Eternal City was hidden there. He pointed to the distant mountain range across the valley.

It could be, Wigglewot said. We can look there, but I'd like to find a way around the Valley of Shadow. His wings buzzed and carried him to the window sill carved into the limestone.

Jejune clasped his medallion. Perhaps my parents now live in the Eternal City… and await me. Deep yearning churned his heart, mixing what he knew with what he hoped. We should get the key. Jejune glanced over his shoulder toward the darkened central chamber.

What about Surrogate? Wigglewot asked.

She wouldn't have mentioned it if she didn't expect me to use it. Jejune smiled. It won't hurt to see what's up there. Surrogate doesn't need to know. He pressed his finger to his lips to stifle Wigglewot's objection, and, with a tick of his head, gestured toward the door. Without further discussion, they slipped from the room to retrieve the key. Surrogate's snorts reverberated within the stone walls and settled into a slow rhythmic snore. Embers glowed in the fireplace, casting enough light to see his way. Jejune inched along the slope of the cool limestone in his bare feet.

Careful. Wigglewot clung to the lobe of Jejune's ear. Don't wake Surrogate.

Jejune picked up the bench from beside the table and positioned it in front of the fireplace. Heat radiated from the glittering cinders. He climbed onto the bench and paused to warm his toes. Muted amber tones reflected off the metal key above his head.

Are you sure about this? Wigglewot asked.

Shhhh. Jejune stretched. His fingertips brushed the key. The bench wobbled.

Be careful.

Jejune jumped, snatched the key, and landed with a dull thud. His heart thumped. Surrogate snores assured him that she hadn't heard a thing. He hopped to the floor, plunged a switch of kindling into the coals, and lifted a small oil lamp from the hearth. Pitch black swallowed the glow of the smoldering ashes as he headed toward the stairs.

With the key pressed between his lips, he groped through the dark and followed the curved staircase. Oil sloshed in the unlit lamp. The tip of the switch glowed red. His bare feet found the landing at the top of the stairs, and his fingers brushed against the heavy wooden door.

Here we are. Vague images tickled the back of his mind. From what he remembered, nothing out of the ordinary waited on the other side, but he hoped for the unexpected.

Wigglewot tugged Jejune's ear. It's too dark.

Patience, Wig. Jejune mumbled around the key clenched between his teeth. We'll have light in a moment.

The fiery ember touched the wick of the lamp; the glimmer of red-hot light burst into a yellow flame bringing the narrow passageway to life.

That's better. Wigglewot folded his wings behind his back.

Jejune's fingers trembled as he shimmied the key into the keyhole. The lock released with a loud click. His heart slammed as he lifted the latch and shoved the door with his shoulder. A loud screech tore through the passageway. Jejune froze in place.

Wigglewot cringed, covering his ears. Do you think Surrogate heard that?

Jejune stood like a statue, poised to blow out the flame. Wisps of smoke coiled into the darkness overhead. He listened. Silence. Surrogate's straw mattress crunched beneath her weight. A loud snort ripped through the quiet, dwindled into a wheeze, and smoothed into comforting resonance. His heartbeat slowed to normal.

Tense muscles in Jejune's shoulders relaxed with Wigglewot huddled beside his ear. He eased through the half-open doorway like thread through a needle. Musty air taunted his nose. He lifted the lamp to shoulder level and moved it left through wisps of cobwebs. It's like stepping into a dream, Wig.

Something small scurried from within the shadows, propelling him back a step. He gasped and paused to raise the lamp higher. Just a lizard. He picked a strand of webbing from his face and watched the creature skitter up the uneven wall. Guess I'm kind of jumpy.

Probably because you know it would disappoint Surrogate if she knew we were up here.

Jejune swiped gossamer threads from the air and ran his finger through a thick layer of dust on the modest desk tucked against the wall. It looks much smaller. Reality collided with his memories of a larger desk. Behind him to the left, nestled close to the wall, the old chest that held his mother's wedding tunic matched his recollection. Rows of jars lined shelves across the room. Jejune pointed. My father's affliction. I'd forgotten. They were filled with the concoctions his father used to treat his ailment.

You were young when your parents left.

Emotion choked Jejune as he swallowed past the lump in his throat. He rested the lamp on the corner of the desk, stirring particles of dust into the flame, and pulled the drawer open. A large beetle scurried over the lip, dropped to the ground, and disappeared into the dimly lit recesses. Jejune snatched a thin book from the cluttered drawer and wiped his palm across the maroon cover.

What is it? Wigglewot stretched to see.

Jejune scanned the pages. It's my father's journal. He tucked it into his rope belt, lifted the lamp, and moved toward the shelves, using his forearm to slice through the sticky cobwebs. With Wig balanced on his shoulder, Jejune stopped in front of the shelves and swiped his finger through the coat of dust on one of the containers. My father touched this same jar. He rubbed the grit between his thumb and fingertip.

Wigglewot walked along Jejune's extended arm and eyed the faded label. Think you could use any of this stuff?

I don't know. Jejune chewed the corner of his lip and contemplated the use of herbs to help his problem. Maybe. I'll do whatever it takes. We'll study them when we have time. He smeared the dust from his hand across the front of his tunic. "First, I want to