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It was a nice little house in a nice part of town, with a slate roof and stone walls, brightly painted yellow shutters, a rose trellis, window boxes of small white flowers. And yet a pall hung over the house, an invisible but palpable sense of foreboding and grief, like an incredibly localized stormcloud.
Khrizhan knocked on the door, gently. After a moment or two, it opened. A young woman with a mass of soft ginger curls looked up at him in surprise.
“Good mornink,” he said, politely. “Hy is here to speak to Ognian.”
Her eyes narrowed; her expression grim and wary. Stiffly, she nodded and stepped aside.
The dark cloud was even heavier inside than out, turning the comfortable home into a something like a living tomb. Khrizhan was led into a sitting room and somewhat stonily bade to rest himself in a loveseat that was only just large enough to contain his bulk.
“Grandpoppa,” the girl called, and disappeared through a doorway.
As Khrizhan waited, he took in his surroundings. The furnishings were eclectic but comfortable. The walls were crowded with pictures and trophies, and shelves covered in little knickknacks. Above the fireplace was a painting, a family portrait of parents, children, and grandchildren. Ognian had bragged about it for months, and Khrizhan had to admit it was masterfully done. The artist had managed to capture the sly smile and playful disposition that turned Radka's ugliness into its own kind of beauty.
Ognian shuffled in, and Khrizhan felt his heart sink in sympathy. He had never seen the other man so miserable before. No hint of his perpetual smile; his boundless energy had been bound tight in the exhaustion that sagged his shoulders. Khrizhan did not take it personally when Ognian stared blankly at him without saluting.
“Sit, Ognian,” Khrizhan said, kindly.
Ognian did so, slowly sinking down onto an armchair directly across the low table between them.
“How is she?” Khrizhan asked. He didn’t really want to ask, didn’t need to ask, if it came to that, but it was necessary. The very question seemed to cause Ognian to shrink in on himself.
“Doctor says any…any day now.” His eyes flicked back to the doorway he’d come in through, and Khrizhan knew the man wanted him out of the house so he could return to his wife’s side. Dimo had said no one had seen Ognian in three days.
“Hy tought as much. Ve—”
Ognian’s son appeared, bearing a tray with a teapot, one teacup, and one larger mug that would be easier for Khrizhan to hold. The arrival seemed to startle Ognian out of his fog and into the present.
“Oh,” he said, dismayed. “Hy should have asked—”
Khrizhan waved it away.
“Hyu has effery reason to be distracted.”
Vasil set the tray down on the table between them, and Khrizhan took a moment to compare the two men. They had always looked astonishingly similar, and there had been a period of time where they had often been mistaken for each other. But Vasil had aged, while his father had not, and now Khrizhan wondered if Ognian ever looked at his son and saw the man he might have been, if he had taken a different path.
Vasil left, pausing to squeeze his father’s shoulder; Ognian put a distracted hand over his, squeezing back. Khrizhan waited until the man was out of the room.
“De Heterodyne has announce he vishes to ride out—”
Ognian snapped around to face Khrizhan, his entire body going rigid, the color visibly draining from his face. Khrizhan raised a hand, forestalling a reaction.
“—und Hy is here to tell hyu to stay home.”
Ognian sagged again, his eyes closing briefly.
“Until furder notice, hyu is relieved of all duties. Stay vit hyu lady und hyu family. De Heterodyne...understands."
It took Ognian several heavy swallows before he could whisper his thanks.
Wordlessly, Khrizhan served the tea. Ognian was staring out of the room again, chewing on his thumbnail, lost in thought. Absentmindedly, he took the cup Khrizhan gave him and sipped it. He choked and nearly gagged. Khrizhan, his own mug halfway to his lips, paused.
Ognian gestured for Khrizhan to hand over his cup and began to liberally doctor both cups with sugar and cream.
“Hy love my son very much,” Ognian said in a low voice, “but he ken’t make tea vorth a damn.”
Khrizhan took his mug again and warily took a very tiny sip. Even with all the additions, he could taste that Ognian’s son had somehow managed to burn the tea leaves.
“Vell,” Khrizhan said, tactfully setting the mug aside, “dot leads me to de odder reason Hy came to see hyu.”
Ognian looked wary, his hands tight on the cup.
“Hyu is a young Jӓger,” Khrizhan said. “Young enuff dot hyu could still be alive, if hyu had not taken de Jӓgerdraught.” He nodded towards the door Ognian could not keep his eyes from. “She is de forst vun dot hyu should not have outlived. She vill not be de last. Novhere near de last. De pipple around hyu vill age und die und hyu vill keep goink.” He met Ognian’s eyes and spoke without cruelty or mercy. “Hyu vill live to see hyu son die."
Ognian put the cup down with a clatter and buried his face in his hands. He was shaking all over. Khrizhan wished he could, somehow, make it not be so. He had had this conversation with hundreds of Jӓgers, watched them face down the looming future and the endless centuries of loss it promised, and every time wished he could change it.
“It is de price ve pay for de gifts de Jӓgerdraught gives us, und it is a steep vun. It is easy for us to…lose touch. Ognian.”
Ognian raised his face, silent tears running down his cheeks.
“It is very temptink to give up. To stay avay from everyvun, to lose hyuself in blood und var. Hy haff seen it before, und it leads to madness, alvays. Find someting dot grounds hyu, someting dot keeps hyu connected to de vorld und its pipple. Someting dot vill help hyu keep being hyuself.”
He watched Ognian’s eyes drift up to the family portrait. A thoughtful look replaced grief, and the man wiped the tears from his face.
“Hy tink Hy can do dot,” he said, softly.
Khrizhan nodded and rose.
“Good. Hy vill take no more of hyu time. Hy know it is precious to hyu.”
Ognian walked him to the door, where Khrizhan put a hand on his shoulder.
“Take de time hyu need. Ven hyu is ready to come back, hyu let me know.” Khrizhan hesitated, and then said, softly, “Hy iz…very sorry, Ognian.”
“I’m not even dead yet.”
Both Jӓgers jumped. In the room adjacent, Khrizhan saw a large bed had been set up. Lying half-lost amidst the pillows was Radka. She was hardly recognizable as the vivacious woman Khrizhan had known—only a few strands of red in her gray hair, the arms laid out on the blankets knobbly and thin, pale and parchment-skinned—but the look in her eyes was as sharp as ever.
“Hyu is supposed to be asleep,” Ognian scolded.
The woman snorted.
“All I do is sleep. Who is it? Khrizhan? Get in here.”
“Radka,” Ognian said, exasperated despite himself.
“It is my prerogative as a sickly old woman to make as much of a nuiscance of myself as I can!”
“Fine,” Ognian said. “But if hyu’s avake it means hyu can take hyu medicine.”
“Oh really,” Radka called as her husband disappeared down the hallway. “Red fire, Ognian, I’m already dying, what good will it do me?”
Khrizhan chuckled as he approached the bed.
“Good to see hyu hasn’t changed any.”
Radka’s lips quirked as she lay back against the pillows.
“Nonsense. I’m incredibly ornery. I’m on my second doctor, and I’m pretty sure I drove the first one to drink.”
“Ya,” Khrizhan said, nodding. “Not changed at all.”
Radka smiled, but it was rueful and faded quickly. She reached out and grabbed his wrist. He was shocked at how weak her grip was. It was as if the mere act of curling her fingers took all the strength she had.
“Will he be alright?” she asked, softly. “They’re all being insufferably brave around me.” Radka let her hand drop away. “As pleasing as it would be to my ego, I would rather he not spend the rest of his existence wearing black and walking the walls, weeping."
“No,” Khrizhan said, reassuringly. He went for absolute honesty, knowing she would accept nothing else. “He vill suffer, yez, but he vill come beck. He haz hiz family, und as long as he haz dem, he vill not lose himself.”
Radka smiled.
“Good.” Then her smile went a little wider and she started to snicker. Khrizhan raised an eyebrow. “He’s got a vested interest in ensuring the continuation of the family line,” Radka pointed out, eyes shining. “He’s going to be worse than the castle.”
Khrizhan burst out laughing. She was absolutely right. Herding angry mammoths was an easier task than redirecting Ognian when he’d set his mind to something.
“My sympathies to hyu descendants,” he said with a broad grin.
“Vut’s so funny?” Ognian asked, appearing in the door with a small cup in his hand.
“I’m mocking you behind your back,” Radka said.
“Ho, nize break from hyu mockink me to my face,” he said, unperturbed.
Ognian sat down on the bed beside her and handed Radka the cup—though Khrizhan noted he kept his fingers pressed to the bottom, subtly supporting it as she drank. When she had finished, Radka made a face and mock glared at him.
“Fusspot,” she said, stroking his wrist.
“Old hag,” he replied, with aching fondness.
“Hy must go now,” Khrizhan said. “Ve prepare for tomorrow. Tink on vut Hy said, Ognian.”
“Thank you for visiting,” Radka said, warmly. “It was nice to see you.”
The 'one last time' was not said, but felt all the same.
Khrizhan bowed, his eyes stinging slightly, and left them there.