Camellia lay Valerian in his bassinet. She had a hand under his hand and another under his bottom. She’d swaddled him tight, and he looked more caterpillar than baby. Slowly, she slipped her hands from beneath him. She straightened, and slower still, she stepped back. She watched Valerian sleep and heard him too. He sucked in long breaths, snoring with each inhale. He wouldn’t sleep long. Camellia had weeks till that, but he would sleep. During that time, Camellia would snoop through Florian’s new papers.

He was supposed to be on leave, but he kept bringing papers home. Camellia was getting curious. She crept to the desk in their room and riffled through.

The papers made a soft ruffling, but Valerian’s snores outclassed the sound. Camellia read titles and snatches of paragraphs.

Volanter Myths, Correspondence – Volanter and Unknown Species, Early Record of Experimental Volanter Magic.

“What are you doing?” Florian poked his head in the room.

Camellia jumped. She put a finger to her lips and pointed to Valerian. Then, though daylight glittered through the curtain, she knocked on the door to his mind. What are these? She held the papers high.

Florian blinked fast. He knit his brow and thought hard. His words came through at a higher-than-normal volume. Not an AAH paper – not yet. They’re files we got off Volanter computers. Creation myths. Letters. Records – that kind of thing.

Camellia grinned and couldn’t help a telekinetic laugh. You can think normally. I can hear you just fine.

Florian’s embarrassment showed on his face, but it faded to a smile. Do you want to read them?

Camellia nodded. Oh, but we shouldn’t. We’re on leave.

What else are we going to do? He sleeps and eats most of the time. Florian leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms. He nodded at the stack. If you look under that set of papers, you will see a second copy of all the files. I brought home two. Now… Florian held out his hand.

With quick fingers, Camellia explored the stack of files. She ruffled, till she found where the papers began to repeat. She pulled the thick stack in two and held one in each hand. The pages threatened to flop free. They drooped toward the floor.

Florian hurried across the rug and caught his in both hands.

Camellia pressed her thick stack to her breast. She grabbed his arm and kissed his cheek. You thought of me.

Florian smiled and touched where her lips had landed. Always. He’s very cute, but there’s a lot of sleeping and sitting around. If we work a bit now – specifically, if I work a bit now – we can take a little more time off later.

Camellia nodded. When she resumed her duties, she would continue paper review and, perhaps, add some part-time restoration. All things she could do in bit-sized quantities. She would get her fill of Valerian, but Florian held the chair position. He couldn’t do the same. Better for him to spread his time than to bunch it up when all Valerian did was eat and poo.

Camellia took her papers to their bed. She climbed into its open sheets and sat by her pillow. She had no plans to make her bed or move somewhere more conventional for study. She pulled up the covers and nested them around her knees in rumples of lavender and white. A last look at Valerian showed her that he was sleeping well, albeit loud.

Sleeping like a baby. Apparently, that means you snore – a lot. Those thoughts she kept to herself.

Florian settled into his side of the bed, and together they started to read.

Camellia’s eyes moved over the page. She began with the file titled Volanter Creation Myths. There were a lot of myths, and Camellia would probably swap to another topic before she made her way through it. But, she would read them all eventually. It was just that – in her experience – creation myths tended to be a bit pretentious. From her short foray through the pages, she already saw that every myth started the same.

Camelia began to read:

Listen Child of the Volanter – This is the story of the Mother Tree and how she invented circles.

The Volanter came from the water. We swam at the bottom of the seas, among watery grasses. Our world rolled with waves. It was covered with them, and every sound beat with the pressure of the great sea.

In contrast, we Volanter were silent. We communicated by the touch of our tentacles, the carving of runes, and the spark of magic.

One day, after a decade of storms, a Volanter mother took her child to the surface to see the calm water. She made a journey of it. She swam just beneath the waves and searched for a cliff that couldn’t quite crest the water. In her youth, she used to sit upon the great rock and stare at the empty skies. The seas would reach her waist and breast while she observed the infinite world above.

She swam for that cliff and saw it. It rose ahead of her, a great underwater wall. It looked no different than the years before, except for the very top which seemed to exist beyond the water, rather than just below.

She crested the surface and saw the rock wall. It rose above the water by several teniles [ancient measurement]. She saw the first island and atop that island, waiting, was the Tree.

The Mother thought, with its roots that reached every inch of the island – and its trunk, great and sturdy – and its branches and leaves spread like a carpet of sea grass over the sky – She thought the tree looked just like her.

It was the Mother Tree that first taught us words.

She slithered onto the land, and she set her child down by its trunk. She carved a circle of runes, and through the magic, they talked.

She asked the Mother Tree from where it came.

“I have come from a seed, the same as you, but I have nowhere to send my own seeds. There is water that stretches for ages and no more land to put my seeds into. They fall too close, and I kill them with my great shade.”

The Mother Tree shook her branches and a few seeds fluttered down on winged leaves.

The Volanter Mother picked them up. “I can take them and find more land. With such pronounced recession of the water, there’s bound to be more.” She scooped up her own child and slithered for the water.

“They cannot be submerged,” The Mother Tree warned.

The Volanter Mother had a solution for that. She cast a circle, and a bubble of air kept the seeds from all harm, including time.

“Good, take them. Spread them. Find more soil.”

The Mother Tree asked a lot of them, and they struggled to give it. The world was still an ocean, and the islands were small and few. The mother and her child found a home for each seed, but it took so long that the child was grown before they planted them all.

“I’m sorry it takes so long,” the mother said.

The Mother Tree was a patient one. She set out her seeds, and she waited for them to be carried away to soil. But, at the Volanter mother’s apology, the Tree offered her suggestion. “Why not ask others? There must be others. All I ever see is you and your child. Bring more to help me.”

“You are at the edges of our civilization, and our civilization grows so slow. But, I will see if more can come.”

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A few more did, but not a lot. In that time, the Volanter saw no point in the Tree. They didn’t observe its significance. But, as we know, the Mother Tree is patient.

She passed through many seasons, and the water fell away. Years later, after the Volanter mother ceased to come, the Tree set her own seeds into the soil and watched Volanter slide through the waves, at the edges of her world. It grew colder, and the Volanter emerged on to the land, finding more words to discuss their runes and their magic. They talked of that and more, beneath the trees.

But, the Mother Tree complained, “What are you all doing coming out here? There is hardly enough land for me and my seeds. If the water disgorges all of you, there won’t be a place for any of us to stand.”

“You are sucking up all the water with your roots,” the Volanter said. “Why can we not just coexist?”

“It will be a hard thing to do. A hard thing,” the old Tree claimed. “I need my space. But, if you must stay, we shall share your runes.”

Now, the Mother Tree was wise. She saw the meaning in the runes, and she saw that they were good. They conveyed not only meaning but intention, and the Mother Tree struck a deal.

She offered them land, as much as they wanted, as long as it did not touch her roots or the roots of her children. She offered to teach them how she lived above ground, enduring the seasons. In return, she asked only to have the runes carved into her trunk, strung into phrases with all their meaning.

“Now,” Florian said. “Have you gotten to the part where they’re talking to a tree?”

Valerian cried. Camellia’s attention whipped to him. She dropped her papers and scooped up Valerian. She had him quiet in a minute and happy.

“Sorry,” Florian said.

“Oh no. It’s not your fault. It’s about time for him to wake up anyway. I feed him. You change him?”

“Deal. Though, I can hardly help with feeding.”

Camellia smiled. “That leaves you the other end.”

“True. Now, about the talking tree.” Florian glanced at Valerian.

Valerian glanced at Florian and looked as if he might be interested in the conversation, or at the very least, their voices.

Camellia shifted her arms and cradled Valerian more completely. “Yes, I read the part where they talk to the tree, and they carve the runes into the trunk. The tree doesn’t want to share land, and it asks them for magic in return. Sound familiar?”

“It’s a contract. They’re fond of those.” Florian put his fingers to his lips and stared at the pages. “That part where they trade runes and learn how to make them into circles…” He shook his head. “I’m not prepared to take that literally.”

“Why not take it all literally?” Camellia asked. “Just for speculation’s sake.”

Florian placed his papers on the bed and laid back on the pillow. “Go on.”

“Receding seas – that would happen when their planet cooled. Storms and other changes – also possible in a shifting climate.” Camellia shrugged. “Then, it gets a bit more complicated. Maybe, the Volanter wrote a spell to talk to trees, and they disagreed on how much space each party should get…Though, I concede that the tree probably didn’t beg for more magic.”

Florian put one hand behind his head. “The exchange of runes definitely occurred, but not between a plant and a person. What if it’s a story about two different class of Volanter? One that walked on land and one that swam? They found each other, and through their new communication invented the circles.”

Camellia shook her head. “If that’s the case, we got the water ones, and the others aren’t around. I don’t know. I still wonder if they found some way to communicate with a tree. Or, maybe, they turned the trees into paper, and that was the impetus for learning how to make circles.…”

“Camellia.” Florian took a deep breath. “I might entertain that theory.”

She sent a smile his way.

“And, here I thought you were much too sleep deprived to do coherent work,” Florian said.

“I can think very clearly under the influence of dreams.” Camellia bit her lower lip. “We shouldn’t throw out your theory though. Maybe, their planet did support two strings of evolution. How common is that? For two independent species to share a planet?”

Florian shrugged. “I don’t know. No Iruedian anthropologist has studied evolution. No one evolved here – that we know of.”

“Except a handful of animals,” Camellia added.

Florian sat up. “Rooks has a couple of evolutionary experts. I could also just ask our not so good friend, the xenobiologist Alim, but that might be a bit awkward.”

“Well, don’t make me do it.” Camellia frowned. “It’s much worse for me.”

“I’ll send the request through Rooks’ fleet. Someone else can ask him.” Florian scooped up his papers and flipped to the next page. “Listen to this one. I read it before this little myth about the water and the tree, and I can tell you I was very confused.”

Florian read: “The land receded, but the first of the Volanter had only so much space to live. They could not touch the roots – that makes more sense to me now,” Florian said as an aside. He continued, “So, there was nowhere to go but up. With the circles, clouds could be harnessed. They could be called into formation and strapped tight as if under the yoke. And, living on the clouds, time stood still.” Florian let the page fall closed. “I appreciate that this myth has been one of the backbones of our Volanter studies, since the beginning, and I don’t know why I didn’t draw the connection sooner. I even put the image in our updated Volanter file.”

Camellia felt her brow furrow.

“Do you remember the Volanter temple that is now submerged?”

Camellia shook her head. She couldn’t recall any temple that they ran into out in Volanter space, unless he meant the time bubble.

“On Iruedim,” Florian added.

Camellia felt her eyes go wide. She drew a shallow breath. “Yes. How could I forget? Cernunnos saved me from drowning there.” Camellia bowed her head.

She wanted Cernunnos to be part of her little family, but that was impossible. She wanted him to know Valerian. Also, impossible. That meeting could happen only in Camellia’s imagination, and it did – over and over. Cernunnos would say that Valerian looked just like Camellia, that she dominated his appearance, though it wasn’t true. He would say it to tease Florian, and to please Camellia. Then, he would claim Valerian as his apprentice, whether Valerian wanted to be an anthropologist or not, whether Cernunnos lived that long…or not.

Florian put a hand on Camellia’s back and rubbed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you remember…drowning.”

Camellia blinked fast. “Oh, I wasn’t. I thought of Cernunnos, and I like to remember him.” Camellia stared at the bed sheets. They were simple and white.

Valerian finished his drink and farted loudly.

Camellia handed the baby to Florian. “Your turn.”

“Yes.” Florian took him, and with care, he conveyed the child toward the changing table, in Valerian’s room.

Camellia just caught Valerian’s look of discomfort and annoyance as Florian took him away. Valerian’s brow furrowed, and his mouth pinched. He looked like he wanted to give a bad review of the service.

She pulled at the embroidery of her covers and said to no one, “I wonder…since I did something for Pan and Aria…if Pan would do something for me. I used to think that I wouldn’t want anyone who had died to watch over me. I didn’t want them to see me. But, as I am now, it isn’t so bad.”

Camellia wondered – could Pan call him?

A moment later, Florian returned with Valerian. “He’s not going back to sleep. He wants to hear more of the myths.” Florian studied Camellia’s face.

She was not composed, but he didn’t comment. She nibbled at her fingers and just stared back.

Florian crossed the room slow and stared at Valerian. “Did you know, Valerian, that we’ve had a picture of the time bubble all along? The Volanter depicted themselves atop clouds – in the temple. Before we bumbled into their home, we suspected that was their way to represent spaceships, but we finally realize that isn’t so.” Florian waited. He stared at Camellia.

Camellia frowned. She felt the gears in her memory turn. She hadn’t seen much of the inside of the Volanter temple. It was straight into the water for her. But, Cernunnos had shown her the pictures, obsessed with the Volanter as he was. She remembered his hands, long-fingered and a touch knotted, and in his hands, he held the picture: a wall of Volanter carvings, and on those carvings, Volanter frolicked upon a cloud.

Her mind’s eye flashed back to the Volanter home – a clear sphere, filled with clouds and biomes tucked in those clouds. “The Blath must have missed it.” Camellia glanced up to find Florian next to her.

Florian’s, and Valerian’s wide eyes both remained fixed on her.

“They wished they could make time stand still,” Camellia said, with a smile.

“You’ve taken that a bit farther than I did.” Florian tucked Valerian against his chest and cradled him in one arm. He sat down and flipped back to the page. He pointed to a place in the text. “In the myth, the tree doesn’t like it.

Camellia picked up the paper and read: “The Mother Tree mourned the loss of seasons and claimed time could stand still for no one.”

“The next myth is quite a bit longer. It’s about their war,” Florian said.

“Against a tree?”

“No.” Florian shook his head. “Against the first space faring visitors they received.”

Sleep came easy to Camellia, and so did dreams. She always dreamed.

Camellia sat in a boat of deep green. Its ends curled high, giving her a place to rest her back and a place for Cernunnos to steady his. She held Valerian in her arms, and he slept.

Cernunnos rowed, moving a single long oar slow through the water. “He’s very cute, Camellia. Very cute. But, of course, he has everything of yours, so why shouldn’t he be cute?”

Cernunnos moved the oar to the other side. Drops of water landed inside their small craft, speckling the space between them. The sound of disturbed water trickled around Cernunnos’ oar as it re-entered the waves. Camellia could only hear the oar’s motion. The water was too black to see, and their little light barely illuminated their small boat. The only other light on the open sea came from stars above and a giant tree in the distance.

Camellia nodded her chin towards it. “Mother Tree.”

“They left some imagery of it, a carving here, a mural there.” Cernunnos shrugged. “I never realized just how it important it was. Funny how the things that survive can skew our idea of a people. Their runes and language far outlasted the things they held dearest.”

“They did.” Camellia cocked her head. “Do you think that you’d want to come for a visit?”

Cernunnos laughed. “Wouldn’t that be something? Do you want me to visit, Camellia? I might not look pretty.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” Camellia stared at the tree.

Wind rustled its leaves, and the whole space just glowed, though the light didn’t seem to come from the tree. The tree itself was shadow. The light was all around it.

“You know, this must be a dream,” Camellia said.

“Oh, why is that?”

“Because I see you only in dreams now.” Camellia looked to the space that Cernunnos should be.

He was gone.

A nagging poked at her mind, and Camellia began to rouse herself. She thought Valerian might want something to eat, and there was no point holding on to the image of Cernunnos anymore. It wasn’t as real as what could be conjured.