Mass Effect II – Through the Fire and the Flames
Chapter 7 – Rebirth
The road fell behind in a blur; wind blew about them, whipping his shirt tails in the frenzied speed-driven maelstrom. As the sun beat down upon the scorched land outside of Los Angeles, Shepard held the throttle fully open. On this long stretch of mostly-flat, straight road, the speedometer neared, but never exceeded, two-hundred and fifty mph.
Tali clung to Shepard's back as they sped towards the city. For an hour now, he had said nothing other than they were to see the man who had built the machine upon which they rode. To their right, and a few feet above their heads, the Kodiak, bearing the remaining team members, followed close.
Nearing the city, its great spires of the sprawling metropolis came into view and grew towards the sky ever reaching higher. Another ten minutes passed before Shepard changed course down a dirt path off to the side of the road. Dust blew into the air, kicked up by the speed of the motorcycles tires and caught in the passing slipstream.
The dirt road was uneven, troughs and crest which made the bike jump into the air, but Shepard did not slow down. A few miles down the dirt path, Tali could see a small building. Of all the buildings she had seen, this was certainly the oldest. An old sign hung from the exterior, with a human word she did not know. The HUD in her helmet scanned, cross-referenced, and produced a result within in nano-second. "Gas" the sign said, but it still made little sense.
Outside the building, the sight was exactly as Shepard remembered from when he was eighteen; the old gas sign hanging from the building, decrepit pumps stood abandoned, and the garage had seen better days. Throttling down, the motorcycle slowed and came to a stop in front of the old gas station. The Kodiak touched down opposite the gas pumps and the team stepped out. Most gave the old building a curious glance but followed their commander's lead.
Garrus took one look at the building, mandibles twitching once; he turned to Shepard with another twitch. It was a sign of an unspoken question, private and not voiced. With a nod, the tall Turian fell in step behind Shepard and Tali, with the others following after; filing through single door, the group gathered in the old service bay of the garage.
"Lord Tyr" Shepard called into the garage; only silence filled the old building, along with thick dust and grit from the outside desert. From a room in the back of the garage, a deep grumble resounded. From the room, metal springs shrieking as a great weight was lifted from a seated position, then heavy footfalls accompanied by the hulking figure of a man who, even in shadowed profile, was massive.
Standing no less than seven feet tall, with huge muscled arms, legs and torso the man was a human beast of burden. Scraggly hair hung low down his back and chest, almost reaching his waist. Held tight in his right hand was the handle and shaft of a large hammer, used as a makeshift walking stick.
The massive head of the man turned to see them fully. He seemed in shock, gazing at the small crowd in his home but only seeing one person. The man stepped into the light for all to see; his scraggly hair was white, and what could be seen of his face was so creased with wrinkles it forced his eyes to squint.
"J-Jeremy" said Tyr; reaching for his shoulder, the old man laid his hand on Shepard. At the contact of solid flesh and muscle, tears sprang from his eyes, disappearing into the thick, wiry beard.
Taking a fistful of shirt, Tyr pulled Shepard into a one armed hug; despite being just one arm, the strength forced the breath out of his lungs. Patting the old man's back as he wept onto his shoulder, Shepard said, with little breath to speak "it's good to see you again, Tyr". The breathless voice appeared to catch the old man's attention. Stepping back, he released the hug.
Shepard took a small step backwards, inhaled once, coughed then steadied himself. Tyr stood, gazing at Shepard with tears continuing to flow from his eyes. "How is it that you are alive? I'd heard of your death, but you stand here whole and healthy. How is this possible?" Tyr asked. Working a crick out of his neck, Shepard told all that had happened over the previous months. After telling his tale, he told Tyr of the past two days.
"Good" Tyr said upon hearing of Finch's fate. At the point when Shepard came to the rite he had performed, Tyr bowed his head and asked "then it is gone, then?" unable to respond, Shepard nodded. Stepping forward, placing his hand upon Tyr's shoulder to gain his attention, Shepard made the request he had come for.
"Lord Tyr, I request you to re-forge 'Attero Dominatus'; I am different man today, and though it is a fine machine, it must reflect who I am. Attero Dominatus was forged when I was young and unscarred by war. I have spilled much blood, and my soul is scared with death and healed by love; I must ride a machine to carry that weight upon my shoulders". Tyr remained silent as Shepard spoke, his eyes glazed with tears as he listened. Once finished, the old man's demeanor changed.
The look in Tyr's eyes changed from aged, sad and lost to steel; he straightened and tightened the muscles in his back and shoulders. With a roar which caused everyone to step back in surprise, Tyr kicked with his left foot at the head of the great hammer in his hand. The head swung up, around and landed in the man's massive left fist "and you shall have it, Jeremy, son of William, last heir of the Ruadh clan!"
Nodding once, Shepard turned to the vehicle door of the garage and punched the button to raise the slated door. Gears shrieked a moment later; chains rattled within a metal housing raising the door and exposing the dark interior of the garage to the sun baked desert outside. The light was intense; despite having been in the small building for a short time it still stung their eyes.
Tyr raised his hand to shield his eyes from the bright landscape before him. Once his eyes adjusted, he beheld his creation. The motorcycle chassis was immaculate, with faint marks showing use but well cared for and never abused. Stepping outside to inspect the machine further, Tyr ran a hand across the forward wheel assembly; over the front of the console; caressing the throttle and down onto the seat, finally ending at the acceleration nacelles.
Reaching for the console, Tyr brought the motorcycle to life. With a roar of the ten cylinder engine, he set the machine to neutral. Gesturing for Shepard to join him, the two men pushed the bike into the shop. With one hand steadying his creation, Tyr tapped the floor with the haft of the runed hammer. The crack upon the concrete was a thunder clap, echoing longer than it should have.
From beneath the floor of the building, loud mechanical sounds reverberated. Enormous gears turned, weights shifted and giant chains moved across spike-tooth wheels. A rectangular section of floor, the seams hidden by the thick dust, broke from the rest becoming a ramp leading into a dark pit beneath. Shepard gazed at the broken floor before shifting his gaze to the old man. "This is my forge" Tyr elaborated, not even glancing at Shepard.
Moving slowly down the ramp, Shepard and Tyr walked into the darkness, the combat team following behind. The walk was longer than the one taken when he'd first come here, to receive his motorcycle. After thirty seconds surrounded by darkness, with the only light being from the console of the motorcycle, Tyr called a halt. Deep shadows surrounded the group, ink black.
In the darkness, Tyr raised the hammer again and brought the haft down upon the ground. The thunderous crack upon the floor created a single spark, which caught a trail of oil. The fuel flamed low, blue mixed with orange, and raced around the room. The flames lit intricate patterns in the floor, set ablaze deep vessels of oil which blew bright, and set more patterns in the walls afire. The sight before them struck Shepard and his companions with awe.
The room, or cavern was more appropriate, was a great forge; tools lined every surface, racks of unused steel awaited forging, molds beneath a great forge pot glistened with smooth edges, shined by years of use and hot metal. A catwalk lead to the edge of the forge vessel, with a crane and chains suspended over it.
Tyr moved to the crane; in place of electronic controls it was completely manual operated. Shepard approached at a slower pace. Taking a fistful of chains in hand, Tyr gestured for Shepard to follow suit. With chains in hand, the two struggled and pulled the crane to position it over the motorcycle.
The combat-team members took to standing aside, away from Shepard and Tyr as they ran the heavy chains over the great body of the motorcycle. Once the machine was secured, the two pulled hard. The slack chains rose, finally catching on the machine, ascending inexorably slowly.
The strain was evident upon their faces; Shepard was flushed, face red and sweat soaked his shirt. Tyr was the same, in addition every time they stopped the old man drew in several deep breaths, hands shaking from exertion, his hammer abandoned against the wall next to the entrance ramp.
After ten excruciating minutes, with Shepard and Tyr both soaked through the entirety of their clothing, the motorcycle was suspended above. With a fortifying inhalation, the two began to pull the crane, to position it over the forge pot. The task took another five minutes to move the machine ten yards. Finally in position, Tyr and Shepard slumped against the bed of molds.
Looking up, Shepard caught Tali's attention; with a gesture, he indicated the catwalk position before the forge pot. "Stand and bear witness" he ordered the group, but his gaze remained on Tali. Despite his efforts and exhaustion, or perhaps because of, the torment in his soul tore through him with an inextricable pain. If not for Tyr's presence, a mountain of strength founded on tradition, Shepard would have faltered.
The group of humans and aliens ascended the catwalk to stand before the great forge pot as the motorcycle hung above, silently waiting. Below, Tyr pulled on one chain as Shepard pulled on another; from the ceiling, a lead chute descended and directed a flow of molten steel, yellow-white and hot, into the pot.
The vessel filled rapidly as two more chutes descended. With the pot full, the black and red body of the motorcycle was cast into shadow, accentuating the designs upon it. Shepard and Tyr ascended the catwalk together, several chains in hand. Upon reaching the platform and standing in front of the assembled group, they began to slowly lower the motorcycle-laden chains down.
Gears ratcheted as the chains ran lowered. Shepard and Tyr slowly worked, the efforts of their exertion running in rivulets of sweat down their faces. A feral roar erupted from the chained motorcycle, its tailpipe flaring a crimson-orange flame as the machine came to life. From the console a great sound played forth, echoing off the walls and filling the forge with triumphant yet mournful music.
Though few recognized the instrument being played, it was a grand sound, powerful and majestic. The instrument cut out, replaced by a great choir of raised voices and bells, distending into a single singer. Glory in battle and earning ones' place in death through deeds accomplished. The song continued to play as the motorcycle descended, moving closer towards the molten steel held within the great vessel.
When the motorcycle was within three feet of its fiery demise, fire encircled the machine, wrapping around and collecting to form a colossal beast. Wings stretched thirty feet to each side, a great tail formed of fiery plumage and the head held two luminescent red eyes which gazed upon the assembled humans and aliens with an impassive aire.
The great bird of fire raised its head just as the song come to a great crescendo, let out a mournful screech, and its body glowed with light. Though bright it was not painful; within the luminescent body, small figures and even faces could be seen: a great crowd was revealed within the light, a window unto another place. The great crowd was singing in tune and perfect harmony with the song just as the motorcycle touched the molten steel.
Upon contact with the fiery metal, Attero Dominatus began to die. The tires melted, the assembly and suspension warped from the heat as it slowly fell, held only by the chains which glowed red and orange. One final motion from Tyr and Shepard brought the chains beyond their strength, breaking the thick steel links and dropping the motorcycle into the pot. The phoenix apparition eschewed a great cry, not of pain but ecstasy and blissful release as the motorcycle slipped beneath the liquid fire.
Silence resonated throughout the forge in the moments after; the great bird of fire vanished and the motorcycle had now joined the rest of the molten steel. To his left, Shepard heard Tyr sniff; looking over, the old man had tears running down his face and into the white tangle of his beard. Squaring his shoulders from the down cast hunch of his body, Tyr reached forward to a row of levers and pulled the centermost one.
A great deluge of red-orange liquid metal poured from the base of the pot, into the casting block below where the various parts for another machine were rudimentarily forged. Once cooled, Tyr would take those and fit the pieces to exact measurements.
Turning to Shepard, Tyr said "in three days, return here and claim my final work". Without a reply, Tyr moved down the stairs and began his work. Shepard, with a dejected expression, gestured with his head towards the exit of the forge, back to the surface and the Normandy. No one spoke during the shuttle ride back to the ship, and each member made their individual ways to their separate quarters.
In the Loft, Shepard sat on his couch, feet propped up down the length facing his tank of fish. A piano played over his audio system, a solo piece by Philip Wesley. The sound was far more calming than the Heavy Metal he listened to. And Shepard didn't feel the urge to listen to any metal at the moment. A hiss of air and a pneumatic whisper from the door was heard, but he ignored it.
Footsteps, a clink of hardened ceramic on the floor plates and the familiar gait, Shepard recognized before Tali appeared around the corner. She looked over at him, but said nothing. Instead, she moved to the center of the room and began to dance in time with the music. Her lithe form moved gracefully in time with the music, twisting, turning on her heel. The sight mesmerized Shepard.
Unconsciously Shepard moved to a seated position, back hunched and elbows on his knees as he watched her. Measured and controlled, yet graceful and alive at the same time, Tali moved in time with the tempo of the pianist. When the music stopped, Tali ceased as well. Coming to his senses, Shepard realized his mouth was agape. To cover the foolish expression, he said "where did you learn that?"
Not looking at him, hands coming into their nervous dance, "well, I…I was raised under an Admiral, so there were certain…standards in our culture that I had to meet. Not all learned to dance, and learned I from ten until sixteen, before I became a working crew member of the Rayya".
Tali sat on the couch, hands still moving, "it seems foolish now, to learn something useless that didn't contribute to the survival of the fleet, but there were unspoken cultural rules that all children of prominent families had to meet, otherwise the child was a shame upon the family" Glancing over at Jeremy, at his attentive posture, Tali looked away again, knowing her hands were doing that stupid nervous dance of their own.
"When we were chasing Saren, a few months into that, I wanted to show you. It was after Noveria, after…Liara's mother…" she said, unable to finish. Shepard understood; the expression on Liara's face, after he'd shot Benezia three times in the chest, blood staining the suit she had been wearing and dripping from her mouth, tore into his soul. When they had talked, Liara tried to show a strong front, but Shepard understood her pain.
He'd left her alone to grieve in private; that grief was partially inflicted by him, it was his hand on the pistol, his finger on the trigger. A melancholy had descended on Shepard for a few days, until they had saved Zhu's Hope. "I had wanted to show you, because…well, I thought you deserved some happiness, but I didn't get my chance" Tali finally finished.
Shepard said nothing, instead stopped her nervous hands with one of his and drew Tali into an intimate embrace. With one arm across her shoulders, Tali felt safe and protected; the other hand at her hip and lower back, a place for a lover only.
Words were unnecessary, for there was nothing to say. Wesley played on, but muted and background, a nuance to their union. Moving slowly, Shepard released the catches of the helmet and mask hiding her face; Tali's hand moved across her omni-tool, activating the program to give her a prescribed dosage of anti-biotics.
With her face revealed, hair loose and hanging, Shepard kissed Tali long and deep. When they broke, she drew in a breath to fill her lungs. With nothing to say, the two lovers merely sat.
Resigned to wait for Tyr to finish, Shepard spent the three days with various crew members, trying to pass the time. He sparred with Garrus and Jacob, lounged with Tali in the Loft, ran routine maintenance on his guns in the armory, had lunch with Tali and other members of his team, observed Samara and Jack training in the hanger, with Jack making a visible physical effort not to destroy anything, such as the whole ship.
One night, Zaeed even regaled the whole crew to a few stories of his mercenary days; but the days dragged from morning until night with a snail's pace. He read a number of old works of literature in those three days: a couple of American classics, sci-fi's from the early 2000's, even the entire written piece of Hamlet.
Tali even commented about the books she continued to find piled higher and higher on his nightstand, and though she could not read the titles, she swore he had read one book no less than an hour after she had met him for lunch two hours ago, and yet it now lay with the other finished works. At this, Shepard gave merely a shrug stating "I just read fast"
At noon on the final day, Shepard and his team boarded the shuttle. The ride from the shuttle bay to the earth surface below was short, but it felt long to Shepard. His leg jerked, his thumbs circled each other in a rapid dance, he constantly tried to sit straight in the seat of the cramped vessel but little could distract his mind from the seemingly slow speed of the shuttle.
Having enough of his nervous twitching, Tali finally let out an exasperated sigh "Shepard, if you continue to fidget I while glue your limbs to the floor with omni-gel, I swear it". What small conversation were taking place in the cramp compartment stopped at that moment, all eyes fixed on the couple.
Shepard looked at Tali with surprise, trying to discern if she was being serious to make him stop or funny to lighten his mood. Her narrowed eyes, even through the mask suggested the former, and he promptly stopped his nervous motions. Not thirty seconds later, however, the heel of his right foot moved up about one inch, but Tali caught the motion. Activating her omni-tool, releasing the gel applicator, she shoved the device directly under his nose "I'm warning you, Jeremy Shepard, don't think I won't". Nodding quickly, Shepard rested his hands upon his knees to quell the nerves.
The shuttle settled upon the hard earth of the desert; the door opened, letting in the hot winds and dust. The first out, Shepard marched at a brisk pace to the garage followed by his friends. The entrance to the underground forge still lay open but the pit resounded with only silence; the machines were shut down, no fire illuminated the space from the walls. The forge lay quiet as a tomb.
From the wall beside the entrance ramp a voice called out "Jeremy". Turning, Shepard found Tyr laying his back against the wall. The old man was exhausted; black circles reamed his eyes, sweat stains and a foul-sweat odor eschewed from his clothes, the same ones he'd worn three days ago. The great hammer lay upon his lap, held in one hand at the neck. Kneeling before him, Shepard bowed his head. "Raise your eyes to mine, son of William", Shepard locked eyes with the smith who regarded him with a tired and satisfied expression.
"It is done" with effort, Tyr slid the hammer off his knees, pushing the tool towards Shepard. He could only stare, incapable of movement. The only reason Tyr would give over his hammer to anyone else meant only one thing. "Lord Tyr, are you…" throat constricting, the words would not come. 'Not again, please not again…'
"I am not much longer for this life, Jeremy" those words broke upon Shepard, tears welled and fell from his eyes. A hand caressed his right shoulder, another slid across to his left. The unmistakable feel of three slender fingers; Shepard took in a breath, let it out, took another "what is your final wish, Lord Tyr". Weakly, the old man gestured at his hammer; this time, Shepard took it by the neck and shaft. It was heavy, and he had to lift with his legs.
On his right, a small light on the floor glowed, highlighting an inset design the same shape as the head of the hammer. Approaching the inset, Shepard could feel a heavyweight settle upon him. Not in the physical sense but of the responsibility of his following actions. In his hands he carried the history of his old gang, traditions, rites, honor, and creed. Before the inset, the head down, he slowly set the tool into the final resting place.
The steel scratched, grating; once set properly, the hammer rang a pure note. From the inset, fire tendrils raced out, around the room, up the walls and ceiling. A runic plate brightened with the awakened flames, and split down the center. Slipping into recessed alcoves within the floor, the plate disappeared as a new motorcycle emerged.
The machine was shorter than Attero Dominatus, but on this one Shepard would sit straight rather than laying full body upon the chassis. The body was smooth, onyx black and trimmed with red. Attero Dominatus had been painted with the visage of a red skull upon its head, this possessed a sharp-nosed phoenix motif. From the front wheel cover, the talons of the great fire bird merged with the main body, the head positioned above the front lights of the machine. Moving back, the wings swept over the rear ending with the booster nacelles. This machine was the expression of responsibility he know carried, a beast to help carry his burdens.
Shepard's helmet lay upon the seat. Picking up the winged piece, he gazed at his reflection upon the visor. In the light of fire within the forge, a few features stood out upon his face. Lines crossed his face; silver-white hair stuck out at his temples and many individual strands could be seen. The weight of a galaxy's responsibility had made him old, but this machine would bear that weight. Placing the helmet upon his head, the faceplate secured automatically.
Turning towards his friends, the men and women who had stood with him these last months; he raised his fist before them and brought it to his heart, bowing his head and waist "Per ignem et glaciem sociis armatis Gratius tibi" he said. Without hesitation, Shepard mounted 'Nil Desperandum'. The machine came to life at his touch, a bestial roar erupted from its core and blew out the tailpipes followed by a gout of flames. Twisting the throttle to full, the wheels skid out, caught, and the machine flew down a rear tunnel leading to the surface.
The smoke from the tires faded, and most of the team walked back up entrance ramp to the shuttle. Garrus and Tali were the last, still looking down the tunnel where Shepard had gone. Tali sighed; Garrus took her around the shoulder leading her out. She had wanted to go with him, but there was no room. Garrus's presence was welcome, a comforting friend. "Young lass" Tyr called out.
Tali stopped, then moved to the old man. Weak and fading, Tyr looked through her mask and into her eyes. The same gaze Shepard often had when he stared into her eyes. Her breath caught; Tyr gave her a small smile, took her hand in his, and squeezed. The light pressure from those enormous hands surprised her, "you are a gentle creature, kind. Never lose that and be strong when he cannot". She nodded once.
A whirring sound came from the pit, drawing her attention "if you go now, you may still catch him, but you must ride upon the wind itself" Tyr said, voice strong over the mechanical noise. A second motorcycle emerged from the pit, a clone of Attero Dominatus but smaller, possessing a twisting, swirling patterns painted upon the black body; a familiar pattern…the same as her cowl.
Without second thoughts, her feet hardly touched the floor before she sat upon the machine. It came to life, the console displaying various readouts. Tapping a few keys on her omni-tool, Tali linked the console controls to her helmet display. Taking the handles in each hand, she turned the right as Shepard had done. The slight motion gave her some speed, but not the burst Shepard had done. Twisting harder, the engine roared, and the machine flew down the tunnel.
Sloping up, Tali shot out of the tunnel entrance. Moving her eyes over a map on her HUD, the image enhanced. Tracking Shepard's personal omni-tool signal, an indicator light showed him several kilometers away. Angling the machine in the proper direction, she twisted the throttle fully open.
The speed, the power of the engine and the untapped potential made her feel ecstatic, so alive. She laughed. Everything wrong over the past three years, Saren, Virmire, The Collectors taking Shepard, the fights across the galaxy to gather a strong force and the final fight upon the Collector base, all of that lead her to this. She laughed from the release and joy of the sensation. Tapping a key, Tali activated the stage two acceleration release. The power built and unleashed as gouts of fire from the exhaust. The speedometer ascended into the high two-hundreds.
Ahead, Shepard rode over the broken roadbed; Nil Desperandum rode beautifully, smooth upon the old paved road. This ride was not as his first-a rite of acceptance into a family. This was to hold and accept all responsibility forced upon him. The strange riding position was uncomfortable to his usual posture, but this was to be accepted as well: responsibility is often uncomfortable, even painful, but one must live with discomfort when accepting responsibility. A chitter came over his helmet audio, alerting to an approaching vehicle. Onboard sensor pinged the target at twenty-five kilometers bit closing fast; very fast.
Shepard barely twisted around to see when the second bike came upon him; it slowed, coming abreast and riding parallel. Tali sat upon the machine as though it was a part of herself, two made into a seamless whole. She turned to him, locked eyes with him through their helmets. She twisted her throttle with a tongue of flame bursting from the tailpipes. He nodded, tapped a switch on his console activating stage-two.
The machine lengthened; Shepard sat back further, legs out before him, as the bike stretched, opening and expanding the engine block to supply more fuel and air manifolds for more oxygen. With a roar, the longer engine powered up as hydrogen gas and air poured into the combustion chambers.
Racing together, Shepard and Tali sped down the old great road, chasing after the sun as it rose into the sky. With a final look and nod, both simultaneously activated the third stage release. The monitors rose, klaxons screamed in unison as the machines reached their limits. Both unleashed the chained power together, followed by a torrent of fire which wrapped, warped and grew together into a great beast. Its wings beat upon the ground, it fiery plumage enveloped the machines and riders. The great maw opened and eschewed a great wail, singing the beauty of life. The great wings of fire enclosed the two lovers within its embrace, protection for all things to come, for good or ill.
Shepard and Tali rode long into the desert, chasing after the rising sun; they would not stop until they reached the end of the very long rode far ahead.
Author's Notes:
A great thank you and apology to all who have waited so long. College leaves little time for creative thinking and less will to write. In the meantime, I have many new ideas in mind for future works. Read, comment and review if you wish, and thank you for reading so far. For those interested, there is an epilogue to this. It takes place five years later