The Panopyl Mountains were nice enough if one liked mountains. The bird migration was interesting enough if one liked birds.
Haplif liked neither and was getting damn tired of having to put up with them.
“There’s just so little here that can take you to your future,” he reminded Yoponek as he poured the boy another drink. “Bird migrations are for those who prefer the stillness of the past. Your path lies forward, toward the excitement of honor and recognition.”
“I can’t disagree,” Yoponek said, taking a sip from his cup. “You understand me, Haplif, better even than Yomie does. But my path also includes my betrothed, and this is where she’s happy.”
“Of course, of course,” Haplif said, brushing his fingertips across the side of Yoponek’s head as he pretended to push back a stray strand of hair. The boy’s feelings for Yomie were still there, unfortunately. But they seemed weaker now than they’d been when he’d first met the couple. Maybe the seeds of discontent he’d been planting were finally starting to take root. “You’ve certainly done all you can to make her happy,” he continued. “But does giving her short-term happiness require you to give up your long-term hopes and dreams?”
“I haven’t given them up,” Yoponek said stubbornly. “They’re just postponed.”
“Perhaps,” Haplif said, putting some darkness into his tone. “But the Agbui have a saying: An opportunity postponed is an opportunity lost. Who knows whether or not Councilor Lakuviv will be available to speak to you in a month? Or in two months, or in three?”
“Who knows if he’ll be available in two weeks?” Yoponek countered. “Even if we left today—” He broke off, staring into his cup. “Look, Haplif. If you say that Lakuviv is the one to see, I believe you. But he isn’t the only Xodlak Councilor in the Ascendancy, or even on Celwis. If we can’t see him, maybe someone else will do.”
Haplif curled his fingers in frustration. Maybe someone else would work for Yoponek, but no one else would work for him. “But Councilor Lakuviv is the only one whose land is suitable for our spice harvests,” he said. “He and Redhill province are where our two desires and needs coincide.”
“I’d forgotten that,” Yoponek admitted. “But right now, the Panopyls are where Yomie’s desires and needs coincide.”
And they were back where they’d started. “All I’m asking is that you talk to her,” Haplif said. “There are surely bird migrations everywhere, even on Celwis.”
“I can try,” Yoponek said doubtfully. “But I make no promises.”
“I ask none,” Haplif said. Damn the boy and his utter spinelessness. “Thank you, and sleep well. You’ll be heading out early tomorrow as usual?”
“Yes,” Yoponek said, setting down his cup and moving to the hatch. “We’ll try not to wake anyone when we leave. Good night, Haplif.”
“Good night.”
For a few minutes Haplif sat motionless, thinking and brooding. The Panopyl migration was smaller, less concentrated, and therefore less interesting than the one Shimkif had so artfully disrupted. The contrast was strong enough that he’d hoped Yomie would quickly tire of it and be ready to move on.
But they were now in their fourth day, and the girl was still going strong. Either she was genuinely excited, despite the tameness of the event, or she was just too stubborn to admit she’d been wrong.
Or else this was some kind of power game she was deliberately playing against Haplif.
He muttered a curse. Her cloud journal drawings might hold some clues to that, but he’d searched her room thoroughly during the past two days without finding them. Clearly, she’d taken to carrying the pages with her when she and Yoponek headed out to watch the birds.
In the meantime, Jixtus’s deadline was ticking ever closer.
Haplif stared at the far wall, mentally running the numbers again. If they got out of here in the next three or four days, they could easily manage the rendezvous with Jixtus and the new navigator he’d promised. Five days would be marginal. Six would be impossible.
None of which meant disaster for the mission, of course. Long experience in these things had taught Haplif to build a margin for error into his plans and time lines. But making Jixtus wait at the rendezvous would be a bad idea.
Yoponek had promised to talk to Yomie. But at this point, Haplif’s best hope was Shimkif. Once again, she’d slipped out shortly after their arrival and hadn’t been seen since. Hopefully, this migration was also about to come to an abrupt end.
The next morning dawned clear and bright. Yoponek and Yomie left the ship just before sunrise with all their bird-watching gear. Two hours later they unexpectedly returned.
But not in the same shape as they’d left. Yomie was nearly unconscious, Yoponek was drenched in sweat as he half carried, half dragged her alongside him.
“I don’t know what’s wrong,” Yoponek panted as the two Agbui who’d hurried out at his plaintive call carried Yomie to her room. The Chiss girl’s eyes were unfocused, Haplif saw as they passed him, her breathing labored. “She said she wasn’t feeling well, and we started back. Halfway down the path, she suddenly became too weak to walk.”
“You should have called,” Haplif said, taking the boy’s arm and leading him into the ship behind the others. Yoponek made as if to follow Yomie; Haplif turned him instead to the salon and sat him down in one of the chairs. “We would have come to help you.”
“We couldn’t,” Yoponek said. He was on the edge of exhaustion, Haplif could see, his legs wobbling from the grueling task of getting his betrothed back to the ship. “Comm emissions confuse the birds, so that whole area is under a suppression blanket.”
“I see,” Haplif said, pouring him a drink. Was Yomie’s sudden illness pure coincidence? Or was it Shimkif’s doing? “We need to call a doctor. Our medical knowledge of your people is very limited.”
“An emergency team is on the way,” Yoponek said, drinking deeply and handing the cup back for a refill. “I waited to call until we were in sight of the ship so I could tell them where to come.”
Haplif frowned. “Did you think we might have left?”
Yoponek gave a little shrug. “I don’t know. The way you talked last night … you need to do what’s right for you and your people. I understand that.”
“That may be,” Haplif said. “But we would never leave our companions. Certainly not without talking about it.”
“Haplif?” someone called from the corridor. “The Chiss medics are here.”
“Show them to Yomie’s room,” Haplif said, standing up and offering Yoponek a helping hand. “Come.”
“A greenstripe?” Yomie asked weakly from her bed, frowning up at Yoponek and Haplif. “But I never felt a sting or even a bite.”
“You wouldn’t have,” Yoponek said, his hand resting reassuringly on her shoulder. “The medics said they’re one of the few venomous insects that don’t bite or sting. They spit their venom onto the skin to be absorbed into the rest of the body. The ones here in the mountains have to defend against bigger animals, so their toxin is particularly nasty.”
“First the Grand Migration, now this,” Yomie murmured. “I don’t seem to be having much luck these days.”
“The good news is that now that you’ve been exposed, the antitoxins in your body will make sure you won’t ever have another reaction this extreme,” Yoponek went on. “Even better, you should be pretty much recovered in a day or two.”