Trees had been piled together on the road and lashed together with runes of binding. Runes of repair reinforced them. All had been carved in steel, the rigid tool. In golems steel was ineffective, for it made them literal to the point of uselessness. In a roadblock it was devastating in its simplicity.

“This will be difficult to move,” Tsamen said.

“We can’t go around it. The forest is too dense for our wagons. Without them we’ll have no food, no tools, and no cover.” Tsamen’s scouts were invisible, but had image runes carved in their eyes to allow them to see each other. Tsamen hadn’t the bravery nor motivation to inscribe her own eyes in silver, so the voice appeared to come from thin air.

“I’ll get Por,” Tsamen said, “He’ll think of something.”

Tsamen found Bren before she found the rest of the Maharal. He was standing in the center of the road, staring at his foot. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration and he was swinging his other foot back and forth. He looked up as Tsamen approached.

“Tsamen! Wonderful! I was worried I’d be trapped here for hours. I wanted to see how you and your scouts were coming along when this happened,” he pointed at his foot, “I can’t move my right leg. It’s the strangest feeling. It’s not numb, it’s just unresponsive. It’s like I’m a tree which has been rooted in place, or like I’m turning to stone.”

Bren swung his left leg harder, “I’ve even tried falling forward, but my leg won’t let me.”

Tsamen looked at Bren’s foot and immediately identified the problem. She couldn’t be sure of the metal nor the shape, but there was definitely a rune carved there. She grabbed Bren by his swinging foot and pulled him towards her. He stumbled and landed in her arms.

“You’ve saved me!” he cried. Bren extracted himself from Tsamen’s embrace and did a little jig on the ground, “I can move again!”

Tsamen bent down and examined the spot where Bren had been trapped. There was a small obey rune there, inscribed with shining copper. Tsamen relaxed her gaze, allowing her to see beyond the rune’s glow. It had been carved into a flat rock with a few sure strokes. It would take almost no time at all to make.

Tsamne picked it up, careful not to touch the rune, “I’ve never seen anything like this. I’ll get Por to look at it on his way to the blockade.”

“Blockade?”

“We came across a pile of lumber infused with runes a ways down the path. I have no idea how to move it.”

“Then we’ll want our dreamer as well. Let us gather Fleysh and Por together.”

The pair proceeded with caution, on lookout for more of the obey runes. Fortunately, the path to the wagons was clear. They found Por tinkering at his timepiece, as he always did when his services weren’t needed.

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The theory was that Por could link a disc to a floating golem carved solely in steel. The golem would be ordered to turn on the spot at a fixed rate, thus allowing an observer to tell the time of day by the golem’s facing.

The problem lay in getting the golem to stay the same distance from the disc at all orientations. It was one thing to rig the rocks floating above the wagons—they were just pushed to the runes’ limits—and another to keep an object where you wanted it. Especially if it was spinning. Previous attempts had resulted in the golem flying off into the woods, or smashing itself to pieces against the disc, but he got a little closer each time.

“Por, we found something which needs your attention,” Tsamen said.

Por raised a finger to silence her, “Almost got it, just a few more minutes.”

“The road is obstructed ahead. We can’t keep moving if you don’t figure out how to remove the blockade.”

Por set down his steel inscription tool and gestured to the spinning golem, “Look, it works already. This time I even got Zaytmos to produce a small sound every second for precise measurements.” The tiny golem ticked in affirmation.

“If I have figured rightly,” Por said, “I only need two more runes of binding to allow the golem to be rotated in any direction! It will change time keeping forever. Surely our column can wait?”

“The Maharal have infinite patience,” Bren said, “but our vows do not.”

“If I stop now my device will break. If you give me a few minutes now I will have hours spare in the future to serve you and the vows.”

Bren sighed slowly through his nostrils, “We will find Fleysh. Meet us when you are done.”

They found Fleysh stuck to a tree.

“Isn’t it marvelous?” he asked.

“What happened? What are you doing?” Bren said.

“I asked myself “Can human’s fly?’” said Fleysh, “Birds favour one tree above others, I wondered why. Perhaps—I was not sure—perhaps at its highest branch I’d find an answer.

“I tried the tree, but I couldn’t climb. Maybe the branches were too high, but my soul was not dampened, for in me ascends the hope of man. I wrapped my arms about the tree for that is who I am.

“The first I now know is poor and sour. Birds love for tree’s own self, not some power. Resin runs thickly, catches a thousand insects a day. That is why my birds come. That is why they stay.

“The second I now see is pure and sweet. Man still dreams if he does not sleep. Our houses will not drip and our boats will not leak. Take a sprig from this Sapling and I’ll grow you a tree.”

“If we return by this path I will be sure to take a cutting,” said Bren, “It is well to think of the future. Right now, we need you in the present. Our path ahead is blocked and our wagons won’t be able to pass.”

“Remove me gently.”

Tsamen and Bren each grabbed a shoulder and pulled. Fleysh’s chest came away with a ‘Pop!’ and his arms followed soon after. His legs were trickier. By the time Fleysh was free they were bright red and mostly devoid of hair. Por arrived, announced by a low, sourceless ticking. Por had strapped Zaytmos, the tiny golem, to his wrist. The golem was spinning in place and announcing every second with a small sound which resonated in the air and seemed to come from every direction at once.

“I’ve done it!” Por cried, not noticing Fleysh’s legs in his excitement. He brandished his wrist, “Seven years from when I first had the idea, within two months! Not all is dark on this long road.”

He ran to hug Fleysh, then stopped. “Your chest is covered in sap! And your legs, what’s wrong with them?”

“I too have paid for victory’s price. The arms of the others will have to suffice. Well done, my friend!”

Bren pointed to the tree, “Another miracle. Fleysh has named it a Sapling. On our way back we’ll take a twig from this tree, and it shall grow into a mighty forest. One day our children will have waterproof houses and boats which can sail for seven weeks. And every spring they will remember the day we set out to gather the first Sapling, for they will hear the birds sing.

Por grabbed Tsamen and Bren and clasped them to him, “My heart is lifted, my friends! I am ready! I am ready! Take me to this road block of yours. I feel as if I can solve any puzzle!”