Sea of Claws, close to Langeness Island
The low-slung island was still at the edge of a vast sea, like it had been before the Weltensprung. The storms that lashed it from late autumn to early spring were still harsh and while the waters they drove were of a different world, they still rose past the beaches when tide and wind conspired. Most of the island disappeared under the dark-gray waters and only a few artificial hills kept houses and barns dry. The houses were built the old way, with two complete layers of hardy bricks which would keep the worst deluge out and shingles nailed to the rafters. The small island had weathered many storms before and would easily take one more.
The rain came in nearly vertically and hammered against the multi-pane windows, causing a bit of a racket. Jan Fredriksen looked outside and found nothing but dark clouds that marched over an even darker sky. For a second he thought he had seen two darker shadows which flew at a low height. When nothing bumped into the house he shrugged and closed the shutters. There was simply nothing worthwhile to see outside. This was not how he had imagined Christmas to be when he had rented the cottage for the vacation. On the other hand, he had lived all of his adult life in North Germany, a white Christmas was about as rare as hen's teeth. And the cottage was a nice one. Rebuilt from a house for a farmer's parents it was certainly the right size for a family of four, the fireplace radiated warmth and the coziness Germans like with their holidays.
His wife was doing something in the kitchen and he knew that he should help her soon, but currently he was deeply worried. He could not hear his children and that was a bad thing. When there was screaming, swearing or the sound of something hitting the floor, situation normal, all f***d up. When there was silence something nasty was brewing and it was a good idea to catch that before it blew up. Such as the time when the two had decided to shave the cat….
While he made his way to their room, he could still marvel about the very fact that there were children at all, especially such healthy and intelligent ones. He and Beate had waited a bit too long before the Weltensprung and all thoughts of kids were out after the Event. Who would bring children into such an unpredictable world? Then the Druchii tried raiding Papenburg and showed the Fredriksens how very dangerous this world was. Jan Fredriksen had led a platoon of Landwehr into battle with the Spitzohren. They had won quite handily, but not before a Corsair had shot him with a poisoned arrow. He had made it, barely, but the atropine used to save his life conspired with the Druchii poison to burn so many of his nerves away that he was left a cripple.
It had taken a very literal miracle to cure him, Shallya's Sisters had somehow reacquired a relic that allowed them to heal him and the Landwehr's medic had played some role. Given that these five were now at the Charite' he had probably been their guinea pig. Even so he had been restored to a life he could appreciate so much more having been barred from it for a while. He and Beate had celebrated that a lot during the next months which included Christmas. They quickly discovered that Shallya had changed their lives not once, but twice when Beate became pregnant with twins. Nine times out of ten both he and Beate was sure that this was another gift, but some times…
The kids were not doing anything wrong that he could perceive, instead they were both at the window, cupping their hands to the glass to shield their eyes from the light and looked at something.
"There is nothing Björn"
"I just saw it Svea, over there."
"Björn you klutz, we are in the middle of the smallest island in the world. Nobody can be there."
"There was something, I swear I saw…"
"What did you see Björn?"
"Oh hi father, didn't hear you. There was someone out there, big guy.."
"Was not…"
"Was…"
Booom Boom Boom
Something hammered against the cottage's door with enough force to cut through the storm's din.
"You stay put kids, I'll have a look. Stay here till I say otherwise, yes?"
"Yes dad."
"I told you so….."
Jan Frediksen made his way to the entry by the way of the fireplace and put the poker besides the door before opening.
The door was nearly ripped from his hands by the wind, but whoever was out there caught it. Despite wind and rain neither arm nor hand wavered. A cloak was drenched and clung to a huge lanky frame.
"Well met sir. May this lonely traveler bid entry into your home."
"Err…what are you doing here and now?"
"The storm has brought me here and wrecked my boat I am afraid. Will you give me shelter on this night."
"You are alone?"
"Oh yes, that I am. May I.."
"Come on in then and be our guest for tonight. Shall we call the coast guard?"
"I do not think that the remains of my boat will pose a danger to anybody, and I was alone, so it will not be necessary."
"Tomorrow then."
"That will surely be sufficient."
The man had now entered the door and stepped aside far enough that Frediksen could close the door and could look at his guest.
He was huge, with his head easily topping the door. The cowl was now far enough back to reveal a deeply lined face framed by long gray hair and a soaked beard. An eyepatch covered one eye. The cloak and the clothes below it were homespun and looked ancient but well-maintained.
"Thank you for taking me in on this night."
"I could hardly leave anybody outside in this. Be our guest for tonight Mr….."
"The storm must have taken my manners. I am Wednesday."
"Jan Fredriksen. Sorry, I may have misheard…"
"Somebody must have found it amusing, but yes I am Mr. Wednesday." Very well then Mr. Wednesday. May I introduce you to my wife Beate."
"I am at your service Ma'am."
"This is Svea and this is Björn."
"Good to see you both."
"Do you need dry clothes? I fear we do not have anything your size."
"You are most gracious Sir, but my cloak caught most of it. If I can dispose of it and my boots I will surely survive."
"I am sure Beate would appreciate it if you were to take your boots off anyways."
"Well you certainly have no thresh by feet need protecting from. And I see that you keep the old customs."
"Uh, you got me there"
"A table set for five in a family of four."
Somehow Jan Fredriksen did not think it necessary to tell the stranger about their aunt whom the storm had prevented from taking the ferry.
"Ah that. You are welcome at our table Herr Wednesday."
"How could I refuse such a graceful invitation?"
Everybody got a seat around the table while Beate brought a bowl of soup for everybody.
"Thank you kindly ma'am, this is really good."
"You are welcome. May I ask what brought you to these waters in this weather?"
"Oh, my affairs compel me to travel between these lands and those north of here often. This time the storm did not agree with my plans it seems."
"How far north Mr. Wednesday?"
"Very far at times, but not to the places that have been corrupted."
"What happened to your neck, this scar is really something?"
There was a short silence around the table, with everybody looking at Svea who had voiced the question others had not wanted to raise as not to offend.
The silence was broken by an amused chuckle.
"One might say I received this in a quest for wisdom young lady. We can't all have Google, you know."
"That is ...interesting Mr. Wednesday."
"We all do what we have to do to become all we can Svea. And then we find that some of the things we did were rather foolish. But even there is a lesson, sometimes the most important one."
"Which would be? What to do?"
"To never give up Svea, that was the lesson, at least to me."
"So what wisdom did you quest bring you?"
"Svea..."
"No, it is fine Mr. Fredriksen. The least I can do to repay your hospitality is to provide entertainment. It seems that is this is about all I can do, presently. A shame really, given the night."
"I think we can all understand that somebody who has just survived a shipwreck is not able to give presents."
"Ah, Christmas, the holiday of peace, love and gifts. It used to be very different not so long ago."
"What do you mean by that Mr. Wednesday?"
A very different place where time is not a constant
The flame missed the bike by scant centimeters and the heat it radiated managed to singe the biker's braid for a hand's width. The projectiles that he sent in return burst on the Wraithbone without doing significant damage. No matter, this was for distraction purposes anyway.
Pulling the clutch, pulling the handle back and pressing the rear brake at the same time needed as much thought as breathing for the rider. The combat bike weighted considerably more than 500 kilogram, even a Space Marine would have his work cut out controlling it. Here the maneuver looked easy and brought the bike through a 180 degree turn within a few meters. Now a Heavy Bolter and a Melta faced the Wraith Knight. Both weapons had been in the presence of the Emperor when he still walked among his subjects. Mass reactive shells bored themselves into a matter born of the Eldar's songs before detonating. A burst of microwaves formed the air before them into a plasma that they threw against the same target. Even the giant reeled while the bike passed it within scant meters.
A bend in the silvery tunnel revealed more of the constructs and the biker could not see a way through them that he could survive. He had one more card to play and no time for a decision. He triggered the xenos construct fixed to his bike's tank. And while monomolecular nets were on their way to shred him, while streams of fusion flame formed to annihilate him the device threw him from the Webway.
His kind was not given to disorientation and sickness. Even the children that had been raised from his flesh were given special organs to avoid this, he was far greater than any of them. Still he needed to stop, he needed to catch his breath and force the world around him to stop spinning.
When he finally achieved this he found himself alone on a space covered with tarmac. All around him was more of the same. Some places were marked, probably to indicate where vehicles could park. A small house nearby smelled of human waste, but nobody was to be seen. Clouds raced over the skies, obscuring any stars that might give hints where he was. Finding no immediate threat he looked at the instrument he had ripped from a Wraithknight just like the ones that he had just avoided. It allowed leaving and entering the Webway within certain parameters. He would have to move a bit in the physical world and enter the Webway at another place at a given time.
"Öömki baas"
The biker had no idea of anybody was still alive who would have understood the curse. The instrument before him showed that he had to move nearly 600 kilometers as the crow flew. And he had a bit less than five hours to do so. How could he do so?
Giving up had never been in him, not in such a long time that he could not name it. Moving fast had been him and his people, always. But this fast?
A vehicle passed the place he was at a good clip and its headlights illuminated a reflective surface. The biker left his ride for a moment, he was curious. The reflective surface turned out to be a glass pane that hid a map of sorts. It showed many lines crossing each other. A unique red dot probably indicated where the biker was and a thick black line was probably the road besides him.
If he aligned the indicator right this road would bring him close enough to the place he needed to be soon. Another of the big lines branched off and would bring him closer still. Good. He had more than a few moments ago: A life, a way and a target. That it was an impossible target did not disturb him that much, he would either succeed or not. Getting back on his bike he realized that the script on the map was close enough to High Gothic that he could make out the letters. The meaning escaped him completely though.
Jaghatai Khan had no idea what Autobahn meant. He would use it for all it was worth anyway.
