The fifth chapter, in which the ritual begins, and then quickly takes a turn that startles even Dirge.

AN: Thanks to everyone who has left reviews! I usually don't get many at ffnet, so I'm feeling quite spoiled by the lovely comments this story has received. To WrenchWielder, thanks so much! You're right, this story definitely is a teaser (or side story, I guess) for the main series I'm writing, the next installment of which should be coming up, er... soonish. (I'm hoping to post the first chapter of it before the end of the year; put it that way. Wish me luck!) To Guest, wow, thank you! I shed a few tears myself, just because Starscream's death in the Movie upset me so much. I wanted to give him a (somewhat) decent funeral, or at least the best that I could manage, given the constraints of canon. To Miratete, thank you! :-) I've always felt that the show has a lot of unexplored potential, including the spiritual implications that go along with the idea of robots being alive and having souls. I love delving into those kinds of things, so I'm glad you're enjoying it! And now, without further ado...

The Summoning

Whatever Scavenger might have expected a Crypt Master's private workshop to look like, this was not it. There were no corpses lying partially dissected on slabs, nor racks bristling with sinister-looking tools, nor jars with unidentifiable shapes floating in murky liquid. It was actually far more similar to the Constructicons' own suite of workshops than he would have cared to admit, and most of the tools on display were ones that he used himself.

"Well, come in," Dirge prompted again, when Scavenger continued to hover just inside the doors.

Dirge was standing by what was possibly the most surprising piece of equipment in the room, a large-scale 3-D replicator. Hook had a much smaller one in his medical bay, which he used to make temporary replacement parts so that injured mechs could carry on with their duties while repairs were being made. Those "temporary" parts occasionally became permanent when lack of access to cybertronium alloy made it impossible to build true replacements. This caster was far larger than Hook's, taking up most of the room's rear wall. It looked about as ancient as everything else around here, though unlike most of the room's other equipment, it had been meticulously cleared of dust.

"If you were expecting bodies, I'm afraid there are none," Dirge said. "If there were any, they would be in the preparation room, which is on the second level. I would show it to you, but we do not have time."

"Oh! Um… that's too bad," Scavenger said as he finally edged a little farther into the room. "So what happens in here?"

"This is where the statues are made," Dirge said. "Come." He nodded for Scavenger to approach. "I would like to get your opinion of my work."

"My opinion?" Scavenger echoed.

"Aye."

Scavenger's apprehension doubled. He was used to doing as he was told, not to being asked for his opinion on things. "I'll do my best," he said as he shuffled forward.

"That is all I ask," Dirge assured him. He activated the console screen, and an image of Starscream appeared.

Scavenger stopped in his tracks, staring. It wasn't really an image of Starscream himself, but a very detailed three-dimensional model that was clearly based on holos taken during his coronation. He was wearing his crown and cape and was standing proudly, just as he'd done atop the podium during that last moment before… No, Scavenger told himself, pushing the memory fiercely aside. He wasn't going to think about that right now.

"Perhaps now you can see why I could not allow Starscream to know what I was doing in here," Dirge said with a wan smile. "What do you think?"

"It's… uh, good," Scavenger said.

"Hmph," Dirge snorted. "That does not sound like resounding approval."

"Okay, it's very good," Scavenger amended.

A furrow appeared between Dirge's optics. He was leaning rather heavily on the console, Scavenger noticed, and with the lighting being better in here than it was elsewhere in the Crypt, it was easy how haggard he looked. He looked utterly worn out, though his optics still glowed with faint amusement as he observed Scavenger.

"I would like to know what you really think," he said. "Not only did you observe Starscream closely during his life, but you are, at least for the purposes of this ceremony, his chief mourner."

It was Scavenger's turn to frown. "That's really a thing?"

"It is now," Dirge answered with a half-smile.

Chief mourner? Well, Scavenger thought, if that was to be his title, he'd better do the very best job that he could. He studied the template on screen, observing the haughty tilt of the chin, the faint sneer, the gaze fixed on some infinitely distant, unseen goal.

"I think…" Scavenger began, then trailed off with a sigh. "I mean, it is good. It's really good."

"But?"

"But…" Scavenger scrunched his brow as he tried to think of a way to explain what he was thinking. "That's the Starscream everyone thought they knew, if they just took him at face value. But if you looked closer, like I did, there was just… more to him than that."

"Go on," Dirge prompted.

"Well… do you remember when he came into the Crypt to look at Megatron's statue?"

Dirge inclined his head in a nod. "It was… memorable."

"Yeah," Scavenger agreed, "it was." He went on to describe the odd look that he'd seen flash across Starscream's features as he'd gazed upon Megatron's statue, and then again later, when he'd argued with Dirge about the placement of Skywarp's and Thundercracker's markers.

"Those are excellent observations," Dirge said, when Scavenger had finished. "I did not notice at the time, as I was distracted by the argument over tomb placements, and by the way Starscream had jumped on top of his own marker to have that discussion with me. I believe, however, that I have seen the expression you describe. Allow me a moment."

He turned to the console, his dark fingers moving over the controls in a long-practiced dance. New images flashed across the screen, and Scavenger watched in amazement as the template for the statue re-formed itself before his very optics, almost as if by magic. When Dirge stepped back again, just a few klicks later, Scavenger's mouth dropped open in amazement.

Apart from the crown, the image on the screen was now an exact representation of the moment Starscream had leaped on top of his own marker platform. His fists were clenched into fists, as they'd been then, and that odd, faltering expression he'd worn then was hinted at beneath his habitual veneer of arrogance.

"That's… perfect," was all Scavenger was able to say. And it was.

Dirge inclined his head. "I am honored. It will mean re-casting much of the statue, of course, but I believe the results will be worth it."

"Wait—you'd already made it?" Scavenger glanced around, and noticed, for the first time, the anti-grav sled that hovered nearby, loaded with shrouded pieces of what was was obviously a statue. "Why didn't you say so?"

"I did not wish to bias your opinion," Dirge replied calmly. He flicked a few more controls, and the replicator hummed into life. "There," he said. "The chamber will automatically cast the additional pieces that we need. In the meantime, we can conduct the ceremony and erect those parts of the statue which remain unchanged."

"Which parts are those?" Scavenger asked, glancing mournfully over the pile.

"Just the lower portion of the legs, I fear," Dirge said, pointing them out. "Even the thighs will need to be re-cast due to the altered angle of the hips."

"And the rest will just go to waste?"

"Normally I would re-use the materials, but since this statue is the last that will ever be made here, then… yes." Dirge shrugged. "I believe it is more important to memorialize Starscream in a manner that befits his complexity."

Scavenger vented a sigh. He hated to see materials wasted, even more so when those materials happened to be shaped into a likeness of Starscream, but he supposed there wasn't much choice. Besides which, the new design for the statue was much better. He bent and clamped antigravs onto the two wrapped packages that Dirge had pointed out, then lifted them carefully and followed Dirge back to the lift.

"So you started out by studying to become a priest?" Scavenger asked as they rode back to the main level.

"Indeed," Dirge replied. "I did become one, in fact. Making preparations for the dead is considered a form of priestcraft. A specialization, if you will. I apprenticed under the Crypt Master at Uraya until the war came. Once it did…" he shrugged. "I did not think, at first, that I was prepared to take on the full mantle of Crypt Master, but my teacher was among the dead, and there were so many in need of interment. Sometimes life chooses for us, whether we believe we are prepared, or no."

The lift came to a halt. The doors opened and Dirge hobbled back out into the grand gallery. The urn was just where they'd left it, sitting atop the platform that was to become Starscream's final resting place. Scavenger found himself clutching the legs of the statue more tightly in his arms, as if he feared that the real Starscream, who was now inside the urn, might somehow be able to perceive the two wrapped objects, and know what they were.

"Please unwrap the legs and set them on top," Dirge requested. "We will not weld them in place just yet, as I may need to adjust their positioning once we add the other pieces."

Scavenger nodded. He lifted the urn from the platform and gently set it in Dirge's waiting arms, then arranged the legs as well as he could. The act of placing them on top of the marker gave Starscream's death a certain, sobering finality, and Scavenger wondered if this was the reason why he'd given no thought, at first, to what would happen to Starscream's remains. That was a youngling's way of coping, he knew. Refuse to think about something, and you can pretend that it isn't real. A grown mech, however, had to face such things. He had to gather what remained and move on… somehow.

"It looks… weird," he said, when he at last stepped back to observe the results. He had subspaced the ropes, wrappings and antigravs for use later, when they returned to the foundry for the other pieces.

"Agreed," Dirge said. "Given these less-than-ideal circumstances, however, we must simply do what we can." He bent to place the urn inside the round opening at the front of the platform, but then froze with a stifled gasp.

"Is it okay if I do it?" Scavenger asked.

Dirge nodded with clenched dentae, and when Scavenger took the urn from him, he immediately seized the edge of the platform to hold himself up. His legs were trembling, and his dark face was set in a mask of pain.

Scavenger knelt and set the urn carefully inside the small recess that had been created for it within the platform. It fit perfectly, and it occurred to him that Dirge must even have foreseen the manner of Starscream's death, since he had ordered the platform built to house an urn rather than a full body. The thought unsettled Scavenger, though not in quite the same way that it would have just a few breems earlier, when he'd first realized the true nature of Dirge's "gift."

"I… I believe that I will need your help with the interment ceremony," Dirge admitted softly as Scavenger straightened.

"Just tell me what to do."

Dirge drew a small box from his subspace, opened it, and handed Scavenger a palm-sized disk made of dark, silver-inlaid metal. "This is the censer," he said. "Please set it upon the altar."

Scavenger, guessing that he could only mean the platform, rose on the tips of his pedes and set the disk between the statue's feet. He glanced at Dirge, who nodded his approval and handed him two more items; a small jar of red powder, and a truly ancient-looking strike-stone.

"This powder is a type of incense," Dirge explained. "Please sprinkle a pinch atop the burner, then set spark to it using the strike-stone."

"All right," Scavenger agreed. It seemed like a remarkably primitive means of setting fire to something, but Scavenger did as Dirge had asked. The black metal disk glowed a dull orange as soon as the spark touched it, and a pungent, resinous smoke began to rise.

"As this spark is transformed and rises in the form of smoke, so the spark of our comrade will be purified in order to rise and join with the the All," Dirge intoned. "May Primus guard his crossing."

Dirge then gave Scavenger a second jar, this one filled with black powder. "Use this to trace a nine u'tar circle around the altar. Make sure you stay within the circle at all times, and be cautious with the powder. You will find that a little of it goes a long way."

"Nine u'tars?" Scavenger echoed. It was an archaic unit of measurement, though Scavenger's internal database still contained a reference for it. "At that diameter, TC's marker's going to be in the way."

"Aye," Dirge answered grimly. "That is the reason why it is important to place the markers a certain distance from one another."

"So it's not… ku'at?" Scavenger asked timidly.

"It is not ideal," Dirge admitted, "but we can only do our best."

Scavenger opened the jar cautiously. The powder had a smoky odor and a texture like fine sand. He sprinkled it on the floor as directed, tracing around the edge of Thundercracker's tomb where it intruded into the circle and then picking up the trail at the far side. Somehow, it did not surprise him when Dirge handed him the strike-stone again and asked him to set spark to the powder circle. When he did, the powder blazed into brilliant green flames.

"Our circle is complete," Dirge pronounced. "We must remain within its boundary until our rite has ended."

"What if we don't?" Scavenger asked.

"The circle acts as a beacon to the spirit of the decedent, and if its boundary is crossed, his spirit may lose its way. Also, according to legend, there is also a danger of nearby spirits trying to attack us."

"Oh," Scavenger said, glancing uneasily at the silent necropolis. He couldn't guess how many ghosts might be wandering among those statues, and he certainly didn't want to find out. "I'll be careful," he promised.

Dirge acknowledged this with a nod. "The circle," he said, "is eternity. The flames are both protection and purification, and their light shall serve to guide our comrade home to the Allspark."

"Is there a reason why the flames are green?" Scavenger asked.

"I like green," Dirge said, with utmost seriousness.

While Scavenger stared at him, trying to decide whether he was teasing, Dirge added, "Please do not be alarmed by what I am about to say. The rite we are about to perform includes two separate incantations, the first of which will summon the spirit of the decedent into our circle. This will only have a noticeable effect if he has not already crossed over himself, which most spirits do. If he does enter our circle, the barrier of flames will purify him of any lingering attachments to the physical realm, including any bonds that he may have formed during his life. This should bring some relief to his bondmate."

"What kind of relief?" Scavenger asked.

"I would compare it to cauterizing a wound," Dirge said. "Having experienced it myself, I will admit that it is not pleasant. The sealing of the bond leaves the survivor feeling lost, empty and alone. To leave it unsealed, however, can result in death. It would be similar to leaving a wound to bleed out. Surviving bondmates do often die," he continued, "if not from shock, or accidents incurred at the moment of their mate's death, then from kesu, a sickness of spirit which causes the survivor's life-force to drain slowly away as his spark attempts to follow that of his mate. And that is only in cases that do not end in suicide." He paused. "Can you see, now, why Starscream's bondmate might not have been able to come?"

Scavenger stared at him, optics wide, and finally managed a nod. "I… yes," he said. "I didn't realize that bonding was so dangerous."

"It is," Dirge replied with a smile. "But it is also worth any risk."

And there it was again. That mysterious… something that bonded mechs seemed to understand, and Scavenger did not. There was so much he didn't understand, and he sensed that what he'd learned so far was only scratching the surface.

"In the unlikely event that Starscream has not already crossed on his own, a second incantation will be required," Dirge said. "This one will open a gateway into the Allspark, enabling him to make the transition. It is very unlikely, however, that this will be needed. In the hundreds of times I have performed this rite, there have been perhaps ten spirits who had not already crossed." He paused, studying Scavenger. "Are you ready?"

Scavenger wasn't ready at all, and doubted he ever could be, but he gave an uncertain nod. This was to help Starscream, after all, so he could hardly say no.

"Do not worry," Dirge assured him as he crossed his forearms over his spark. "The circle protects us, and any harm that might come would be to me, not you."

Except this is Starscream we're talking about, Scavenger thought, remembering the crown and what Dirge had said earlier about spirits of the dead searching for treasured objects that had been stolen from them. It wasn't stealing, he reminded himself, though it was hard to imagine making that argument to Starscream's vengeful spirit. He opened his mouth to voice his misgivings, but it was already too late. Dirge had begun the chant.

It had no words. It was a deep resonance that seemed to come, not so much from Dirge himself but from the floor beneath their feet. It rose gradually, both in pitch and volume, until the air itself seemed to tremble. The flames went out of focus, their light seemingly diffused by the subtle vibration, or perhaps by the blurring of Scavenger's optics. A profound sadness was welling from some unknown depth of his being.

This was, he realized, a mild application of Dirge's Sigma ability, which caused those within hearing range of his engines to become crippled with despair. The sorrow he felt now seemed to come from within, though, as if Dirge's strange song was bringing all his sadness and regret to the surface.

His mind conjured the memory-file of Starscream atop the podium, resplendent in his moment of greatest glory, which had also turned out to be his last moment. He had looked so beautiful then, truly brighter than the stars themselves. The thought of a future devoid of his light seemed bleak and colorless, almost impossible to imagine.

Gradually, Scavenger became aware that he had clasped his arms around his own chest, unconsciously mirroring Dirge's gesture, though in his case it was simply an attempt to console himself. He ached to cry out, give voice to his grief as he'd done earlier, yet no sound would come.

How much worse would this be if we'd been bonded?

The question arose with such abrupt clarity that it shocked him. Somewhere out there in the universe, there was someone who had been bonded to Starscream, and was no doubt grieving for him with depth of agony that Scavenger literally could not imagine. He was suddenly ashamed of the jealous resentment he'd felt toward this unknown mech, and of the anger that he'd felt toward Starscream for choosing that other mech over him. His hand went to his subspace.

"Dirge?"

The Seeker gave no sign of having heard. His half-shuttered optics seemed focused in the far distance, as if he was seeing something beyond the physical realm. Suddenly he went rigid, optics snapping wide with shock as a frigid gust of wind swept into the circle, making the flames gutter.

"He is here," he said.

End Note: For the record, I was not planning on anything supernatural happening in this story. Then again, I might have known that Starscream would insist on having more than just a cameo. (Like I could ever say no to him, right?) Besides which, I've always loved ghost stories, so... here we go!