Camellia sat wide eyed and stared out the window. This time on the upper floor. She didn’t need to encounter her father in a random moment of relaxation again. She had Valerian in her arms, and the two of them occupied a chair that Florian had set before the outside world.

From the second floor, Camellia couldn’t see much. Their house had mature trees, and a full garden. She looked out the window and saw sky, branches, leaves, and trunks. If she stared just hard enough, she could see the neighbor’s house.

Valerian saw none of it. He had a nice view of pale skin and dark hair.

“Camellia?” Florian asked. “As soon as he finishes, do you think you’d be up for a trip out of the house?”

Camellia twisted in her seat and saw him by the door. He was dressed. He always bothered to get dressed. Camellia hadn’t gotten dressed in weeks. She wore a nightgown of flowing white. When visitors came, she just threw one of Florian’s shirts over it. She wanted to leave the house, but she didn’t want to leave her nightgown.

Camellia glanced down and gestured to her dress. “Do you think I can go as is?”

Florian kind of smiled. “I wouldn’t. Unless, you’re comfortable at the AAH in such an informal outfit.”

“Oh.” Camellia stared at the wall. “I thought we were going for a drive.”

“Not up to it?”

She blinked fast a few times. “No, I am. But, you’re right. I’ll need to get dressed. What manner of archaeology are we going to do? A bit of restoration? My hands might be shaky.”

“No,” Florian said with some gravity. “We have something else. I know it’s far from your specialty.”

Again, Camellia twisted to face him. She studied Florian’s expression but could see only the same gravity that she heard in his voice. It was enough for her.

“Bodies?”

“Burials. They came off one Volanter ship in particular. It wasn’t fully destroyed, just opened to vacuum. They aren’t recent either.”

“That’s odd. The Volanter carried bodies with them?”

Florian made a face. “Something like that.”

From the sidewalk, Camellia and Valerian both glanced around the structure of the AAH. Its dark stone, tall profile, and ornate roof felt foreign to Camellia, as she’d only seen her house and neighborhood for a few months. Camellia stared at the clouded sky and missed her ceiling. Her gaze darted down the street, and she thought the whole arrangement looked crowded, with buildings packed against each other. Her heart beat a little harder.

Valerian had a perfect excuse for his wide eyes and quick heartbeat. He’d never seen the AAH before or the city, and he did love black and white patterns. In this case, the dark buildings contrasted with the white-grey sky. Valerian was going to love Presereme, and the city of Gotic more so.

“Come back,” Florian called. He stood at the edge of the museum’s lot, where he’d parked their little buggy. He beckoned Camellia.

She stepped from stone sidewalk to grassy lawn and hurried past headquarters. Florian strolled onto the green, and she skirted the edge of the lot to join him.

“We’re taking the back door?”

Florian shook his head. He led her towards the museum’s back wall.

“We’re going in the museum?” she asked.

“Yes, the basement. We’re going to take the basement entrance too.” Florian reached for Camellia’s arm. He hurried, possibly for fear of rain.

Camellia did her best to keep up. She tightened her grip on Valerian and glanced down at him. His eyes moved to the shape of the stone museum. It set itself apart from the clouded sky, with its shades of deep grey.

A drop of rain fell on Valerian’s face. He scrunched his nose and looked altogether put out.

Camellia laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Florian glanced back.

Camellia just shook her head. She could not stop the laughter to tell Florian, but she made sure her grip didn’t go lax on Valerian.

Florian just narrowed his eyes, looking not angry but a touch concerned. He led Camellia to a stairwell at the back of the museum. Florian headed down the narrow, steep staircase. He trotted a few steps before he turned back and offered his aid to Camellia. She accepted it and made her way slow in his wake. They reached the bottom of the stairwell, and Florian fiddled with a great key ring.

A few more drops of rain fell. Camellia tucked Valerian to her breast, fearful that he might cry and make a bit of a scene. She felt the rain hit her hair, but it could not pierce her thick waves.

Camellia heard the knob turn, and Florian pushed the door open, with a deep squeak.

“Just in time.” He ushered Camellia through.

The rain poured down.

“We’ll never get home,” Camellia said, watching the water paint the stone stairwell a darker grey.

“If it rains all night, and you don’t want to brave the weather, we can sleep here. There’s a couch or two.” Florian pushed the door closed against the rain. “You should be more familiar with how comfortable they are. You’ve slept on the couches more recently.”

The door clicked shut, and darkness enveloped them, until Florian flipped a switch. Wall lamps, after the fashion of street lanterns, flickered on. They led down the hall, throwing patches of light but only a little way from their influence.

Florian locked the back door.

“Valerian can’t sleep here.” Camellia started on her way. She moved slow and kept to the side, hoping Florian would pass and lead her to the bodies.

He did squeeze past. “I’m sure the rain will stop. Don’t worry. If it doesn’t, I’ll bring the buggy onto the lawn, and you can run for it. Or, I’ll borrow Gratia’s giant umbrella. She usually stays late.” Florian’s figure almost filled the narrow hall.

Camellia didn’t mind the view of his broad back. “You think we’ll be late?”

“I don’t know what to think. I just want you to see it.” Florian stopped at a door.

Camellia had spent enough time in the museum basement to know that they waited before one of the larger restoration rooms. “Why did you put bodies in here? Big coffins?”

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“Frankly, yes.” Florian pushed the door open. He did not go in.

The door groaned on its hinges and drifted, almost fully ajar. No one waited inside the room, but it looked as if archaeologists had been there but a moment ago.

Brushes and sheets lay strewn over the floor. A camera sat on a table, with filters scattered around. Sketch paper and pencils made for a messy pile, as if tossed there in a hurry.

Camellia imagined that a curse lay over the bodies, and that the archaeologists were there, just a moment ago. Only to be taken by whatever the curse entailed.

It would be the kind of curse scrawled atop a coffin or over the entrance of a tomb. It warned off grave robbers, curious descendants, and, most of all, archaeologists. Those curses seldom proved true, but to fan their flames served the interests of elder anthropologists, keeping their younger peers in check.

Cernunnos used to weave tales of curses for Camellia, going so far as to convince members of their team to shriek, just out of her sight.

“We must have just missed their screams,” Camellia said.

“What?”

“The curse.”

Florian smiled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, no curse. I told them to be out of here by supper. They stayed all last night.”

Since Camellia simply stood in the doorway, Florian brushed past her.

“It’s alright,” he said. “There doesn’t seem to be anything supernatural about them. Sefton even fell asleep in here. He was out for three hours, right next to that one.” Florian nodded at a great gnarled tree.

Camellia slowly stepped into the room. The tree came into better view. It was huge. The roots, chopped short, tangled in a clump. The branches, also cut short, splayed at the top. The trunk had a hollow center, and in that center, Camellia saw the curled and dried body of a Volanter.

Camellia struggled to take a deep breath. Mummies often had a distinct spell, and the Volanter mummies smelt strong – of old wood, once dampened in some chemical.

“Are you alight?”

“What’s that chemical?”

Florian sniffed. “Something for preservation. Actually, added in recent days – not by us. If we’ve analyzed it, I don’t have the record. Reminds me of the Groazan mummies on the upper floors. Definitely a similar odor.”

Camellia hadn’t walked that exhibit in a while, so she would take his word for it. “So, they used trees for coffins.”

“They did…and they also didn’t.” Florian beckoned. “Look at this.”

Camellia followed him deep into the room. The smell remained strong, and she took shallow breaths. Florian stopped before another tree coffin. He pointed to the Volanter inside, but only her face. The rest of her body lay under a swirling growth of strange bark, lighter than the surrounding dead wood.

“This woman was obviously placed in a bigger hole. There’s no way they could squeeze her body through a hole the size of her face. Notice the pattern of the bark.” Florian’s finger hovered above the tree. He traced the swirls, without touching. “This is a strange kind of magical growth. I had Eder test it already. We hollowed out a dead tree log, and he wrote a spell to close it up.”

Camellia let out a slight gasp. “And?”

“His results looked just like this.”

Camellia felt her expression soften. The soft snores of Valerian filled the room, keeping Camellia’s own heart rate peaceful.

“They wanted to be reborn as Dipinta trees,” Camellia said.

Florian clasped his hands behind his back. “I think that’s exactly right.”

Camellia studied the face of the Volanter woman. “How long has she been in there?”

“Well, thousands of years – with the time bubble’s help. Without that, I would say just a few months. They obviously didn’t finish.” Florian turned away from the woman. He began to stroll on to the third and final tree in the room.

Camellia gave the woman one last look. She was glad Valerian slept because she didn’t want him looking at the black and white patterns on a dead woman’s face. “It’s a strange but not unexpected burial practice. I don’t want to diminish the discovery, but what exactly is so special about this? What made you so somber?”

Florian curled his finger, urging her to follow. “I believe that you need to see this third tree.” Florian stopped at its side. “We’ve cracked this one open. It was fully closed.”

Camellia hurried over. She peered into the warped wood. Some archaeologist split that wood down the center and peeled the strangely flexible patterns aside. Camellia could look in, and she saw what gave Florian his mood.

The body remained dry and without the chemical smell. It flaked, like papery bark, but new green growth lay inside the tree. Shoots from the tree’s interior reached out and buried themselves in the body. Each vine snaked into torso or tentacles, arms or legs, only to come out another place, topped off in little green ends. Several shoots ran through the Volanter woman’s eyes. Curling ends of green popped out her flat nose, and her mouth opened, also full of the vines. Camellia winced when she noted three or four spiraling vines, protruding from the woman’s nipples.

“Don’t look too closely,” Florian warned, too late.

Camellia looked away. “What is going on?”

Florian took a deep breath. “I had Alim look at the situation. As you know, Dipinta trees can be found in some parts of Girandola. He explained to me what’s happening here. The tree was hollowed out when it was alive. They put the body inside and waited for this new growth. Dipinta trees, when cut or damaged, try to fill in the damaged part. Now, the trunks have to be very strong, so inside the trunk is especially susceptible to this kind of growth. After they saw the growth had started, they sealed up the tree.”

Camellia nodded.

Florian gestured between them. “This is where we come in. We destroyed the time bubble, which is where they probably kept people like this.”

Camellia shook her head. “No. The trees wouldn’t grow. Not without time.”

“Yes, they would. The Volanter had spells for that.”

Camellia bit her lower lip. “Go on.”

“The Volanter had to cut these trees down. They stopped the growth process, which means these people are never going to be part of a tree. At least, not a living one.” Florian crossed his arms. “They treated them with preservation chemicals and brought them along.” Florian motioned to the trees. “Whoever these burials belonged to must have been devastated by what we did.”

Camellia bowed her head. They’d destroyed the afterlife of at least three people, probably more. Volanter lived a long time and did their very best to dodge death, including a life of ennui in the time bubble. Still, they had to have a fair amount of dead.

Camellia exhaled softly. “They can’t really be trees. No matter what they want. And, inside the time bubble, they especially couldn’t.”

“They probably transplant the trees elsewhere. They don’t keep them in the time bubble for all time. Remember the myth. The trees like the seasons and want the Volanter to experience the seasons as well. What better way than when you’re not aware of the passage of time?”

Camellia frowned. She couldn’t help but think of Cernunnos and how he would have loved this moment. He would be guessing the locations of Dipinta burials. He would plan a trip to Scaldigir to find some because there were most certainly buried Volanter on that planet.

With a spurt of energy, Camellia thought of Panphila’s ability to speak to ghosts. Did Camellia miss a chance to ask Pan to summon Cernunnos? Probably.

Valerian snorted in his sleep, and Camellia started. She held tight to him and caressed his hair. The motion banished her thoughts of ghosts.

“Are you getting tired?”

Camellia shook her head. “You know there are probably many of these burials on Scaldigir. We should go sometime.”

“Right, when there isn’t a war. Travel booms are for after the war.” Florian gave her a slight and apologetic smile. “Besides, you’re on long term leave, and the Volanter have invaded that enough.” Florian stroked his chin. “Those burials would be a hard find. The warped growth pattern gets covered after enough time. You can see it started here.” His fingers traced over the edge of the pattern.

Camellia could see a jagged line of thin growth, not found on the incomplete burials. Its texture matched the natural bark.

Florian strode across the room, back to the first body. “If you’re not tired, come have a look at this.” Florian pointed inside the hole, to the bark behind the body.

Camellia hurried over. Keeping Valerian firm against her chest, she bent and peered inside. “There are runes, etched on the wood. I can see that some green shoots started there.”

“The worse the damage, the faster the growth.” Florian bent too. Being taller, he had to fold himself nearly in half. “Look at the flesh.”

Camellia gave him a sidelong glance. Bodies had never been her specialty because she found such close, personal examination a serious invasion of the recipient’s privacy. Just the same, she studied the flesh.

Camellia straightened. “Circles, carved into the skin.”

Florian nodded. “Very important burial practices. Didn’t you say that the Scaldin still had those bodies?”

Camellia stared into space. “They do. Why?”

“They’re supposed to put them to rest. How do you think they’ll go about it?” Florian’s gaze darted to Valerian.

Camellia could feel him wriggle. She and Florian both froze. Valerian resettled and did not wake. She sighed. “I don’t want him to be in here when he wakes up.”

Florian touched her shoulder and guided her out of the room.

Camellia said, “I think the Scaldin practice natural burial, or burial of cremated ashes. They view Dipinta trees as too sacred to damage.” Camellia’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, but I think the Volanter said he would prefer cremation by star.”

“That’s what I thought.” Florian eased the door closed. “Must be from a different time period, or he doesn’t think the tree burial is possible.”

Camellia had another tidbit to communicate to Pan. She just didn’t know how she could go about it.