The sound of the stone carrier taking its first step onto the timber ramp was a sound that nobody on Fish Street would ever forget. The four-by-six spruce stringers groaned, settling two inches into their sand beddings. But Eren’s slanted ash shores absorbed the crushing thrust with unbending stiffness. The entity moved with slow, dignified deliberation, its four gravel limbs finding purchase on the rough cross-ties.
Pella walked beside the ramp, keeping pace with the beast, her hand resting lightly on the cold granite face of the ten-ton cut stone block. The golden binding lines along its back had ceased their violent, blinding flicker. They glowed with a soft, steady amber light. They faded by degrees as the distance to Platform Four shrank. The body tension that had gripped the street for three hours was evaporating into the cool river breeze.
At the top of the incline, the carrier stepped squarely onto the flat granite flags of Platform Four. It lined up the block with the chiseled survey marks on the terrace floor, checking the boundary with clean, steady care. With a deep, air-powered breath out of cold quarry air, the spirit knelt. It lowered its shoulders until the ten-ton cut stone came to rest upon the stone piers with a solid, final THUD.
