8
Edward Hardmonton had been intrigued by the moondial ever since he was a small child. To the rest of his family, the dial was nothing more than a garden curiosity on the grounds of Hardmonton Hall, half forgotten for almost a century. But young Edward had been irresistibly drawn to the stone circle where it stood proud and glistening in the sunshine and he would spend endless summer days playing there. He knew every inch of the dial’s engraved surface and every word of the poem that encircled it, but without the mechanism to unlock its power, the moondial had kept its secrets from him.
When Edward left for university, he was too excited with the world that awaited him to give any thought to what he was leaving behind, and soon he forgot all about the moondial. After completing his degree in agriculture, Edward traveled the world to do what many of his peers were doing in the sixties: to find himself. He knew he was fortunate, not just because he had the financial means to flit from one country to the next, but also because his father wholeheartedly supported his wanderlust. They both knew that as an only child Edward would one day take over the running of the estate from his father. And while he fully acknowledged and accepted that duty, in the meantime Edward was intent on enjoying his freedom—with his father’s blessing.
Edward’s soul-searching came to an abrupt end when his father died unexpectedly from a heart attack. Edward was touring Italy at the time and the news was devastating. He deeply regretted not being there at his father’s side, and while there was no question that he would return home to Hardmonton Hall, it wasn’t a decision he found as easy to make as he had expected. He had met someone. She was a young woman from a small village in Italy, more beautiful than anyone Edward had ever met before, with olive skin and the darkest brown eyes. He had known her for barely a month but he already knew that Isabella was the one. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her behind, so he took a leap of faith and asked her to marry him on the eve of his return to England. They would never be parted again.
It was five years later when Edward’s attention was drawn once again to the moondial by a twist of fate. By this time Edward and Isabella had a two-year-old son, Lucas, and with his family’s future established for the next generation, Edward had turned his thoughts to the past. Trawling through the family archives, he came across a collection of handwritten notes and drawings in the inky scrawl of the eighth Lord Hardmonton. The records documented his great-great-grandfather’s explorations of the ancient worlds, and Edward was finally able to piece together the history of the dial and its link to the infamous Moon Stone.
Edward’s renewed interest in the dial took on a life of its own and he started the journal to keep track of his findings. As well as his own notes, Edward included extracts from the original archives. His research proved, among other things, that the rumors about his predecessor had been correct. Charles Hardmonton had been ostracized by the scientific community on suspicion of stealing a precious artifact, and the evidence Edward uncovered showed that on the face of it, at least, his punishment had been deserved.
The missing item was the Moon Stone, a sacred altar that was the centerpiece of an Aztec temple honoring the moon goddess Coyolxauhqui. Charles had already made public his disapproval of the systematic ransacking of ancient worlds and the Moon Stone proved to be the last straw. Charles secretly removed the Moon Stone from the cargo shipment and diverted it onto another ship.
After a lifetime committed to scientific discovery, Charles had been willing to sacrifice everything he’d worked for just to have that one treasure in his possession. Why? Because during the course of his last expedition he had not only uncovered the legend of the dial but he had come to believe in its power.
It was Charles Hardmonton who had transformed the Moon Stone into the dial. The process of engineering a mechanism that could harness the power of the full moon and bring the dial to life appeared to have taken him many years: drawings in the archives showed various incarnations of the brass cogs and claws and the orb at its center. Once the mechanism was perfected and the power of the Moon Stone had been harnessed, he had used it to see into his own future and, with the discipline of a seasoned scientist, he had collected the evidence that would establish the extent of the moondial’s power as well as its limitations. He had used his knowledge to write the poem that would eventually be etched into paths that surrounded it.
The poem had been his way of providing a user guide to the moondial for future generations, on display in the gardens for all to see. But Charles had then left instructions for the orb he created to be buried with him. The whereabouts of the rest of the mechanism were never recorded and so the dial fell into disrepair.
Edward’s first task, therefore, was to locate the mechanism and find a suitable replacement for the orb. The mechanism had been relatively easy to track down once Edward knew what he was looking for. The wooden box that contained the assortment of brass cogs and brackets had been stored among a collection of timepieces gathering dust in the Hall’s vast attic space. While his forebears may have assumed it was a useful box of spare parts, the etchings carved into the surface of the box had led Edward straight to it.
Finding a replacement for the orb proved a little more difficult; raiding Charles Hardmonton’s grave was an option Edward refused to consider. His initial attempt was to use a topper from a crystal decanter, adapted to fit the claws of the dial. The dial had worked in a fashion, but the vision of the future that was revealed to him was a ghostly impression of the world around him, a barren world with barely recognizable features. It gave Edward valuable evidence that the legend of the dial had substance, but he realized that he was going to need a more powerful device to replace the orb.
Edward developed the idea of a prism and he eventually commissioned an orb to be made according to his own design. As he waited for the orb to be constructed his excitement mounted, only to be reduced to abject despair when his first use of the dial with the new orb revealed, in perfect clarity, why on his previous visit the world around him had seemed so desolate. The Hall had been razed to the ground, wiping out centuries of his family’s history. The entire estate looked as if it had just been abandoned to its fate, although to Edward’s horror, there was one particular area that looked like it was still being tended with care. The family cemetery had been cleared and there was a new grave. The headstone bore the names of his wife and his son, the dates of their death the same. It was less than one year into the future.
Consumed by fear, over the following months Edward tried desperately to discover how the fire might start. His initial efforts were frustrated as again and again the moondial returned him to an abandoned site, devoid of life, that offered no clues that would allow him to avoid the tragedy. He realized that he would need help, someone who would be there in the future, waiting for him at the site of the moondial to provide a crucial link between the present and the future. Of course, he himself would survive the fire and could be there to lead the way, but Edward could not and would not face his future self. Instead, he chose as his confidant Mr. Andrews, the gardener whose family had worked on the estate for generations. Mr. Andrews was able to meet Edward, or at least Edward’s reflection revealed by moonlight, on his next foray into the future. Mr. Andrews had survived the tragedy and could explain to Edward that the fire had been caused by an electrical fault in the Hall’s ancient wiring.
By this time Edward was well acquainted with the moondial’s rules. He knew the path on which his family was embarked would prove difficult to change, but still he tried. He took every precaution he possibly could to prevent the fire, having the entire Hall rewired and even installing fire alarms and sprinklers. He funded the work by using well-placed bets on horse races, again using information provided by Mr. Andrews, who continued to meet him on his moondial visits, armed with any information the loyal gardener thought might help save the Hardmontons.
Each visit into the future confirmed that all his precautions were futile. His meddling had created
subtle changes to the ruins that had become a familiar backdrop to his moondial visions, evidence that the source of the fire had altered though the ruins remained the constant. To make matters worse, the fortune Edward had accumulated to fund his renovation works was wiped out by an unexpected tax bill. Future attempts to raise money also managed to be lost by some unforeseen calamity. The moondial would not allow those who used it to alter their fortunes easily, and that included financial fortunes. There was a path to be followed and the dial would not allow any deviation from that course.
Refusing to accept defeat, Edward began planning to escape with his family, fleeing to another country. The Hall was destined to burn to the ground and Edward would let it, but he and his family didn’t have to be there when it happened. Again, Edward’s attempts to save his family seemed doomed to failure. Each time he went back to the moondial, Mr. Andrews would appear in his vision, telling him that some new tragedy had befallen his beloved wife and son.
The dial’s rules held fast and they haunted Edward. “A life for a life” was to prove the cruelest of rules. Destiny was about to take two lives from him and he only had one life to give in return. He was never going to be able to save both his wife and his son.
Edward’s growing anger consumed him and his rage was directed at the moondial for bringing him to the brink of insanity. He was determined to destroy it, smash it into pieces, but despite his loathing for the device, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he entrusted Mr. Andrews with the task of deciding the dial’s own destiny. Meanwhile, Edward clung to a desperate hope that the vision was a false one.
It was only in his last entry, the day before the fire, that Edward finally accepted his fate:
I had often wondered why my great-great-grandfather had allowed the device for which he had sacrificed his career and his reputation to fall into wrack and ruin. Now I know what Charles Hardmonton must have known on his deathbed. We are not meant to meddle with destiny. It is too heavy a burden for any man, to have the ability to see into the future and then to accept that the path we take is not all of our own choosing. Like a drop of rain that trickles down a windowpane, the future we see will leave a trace that our rewritten destinies will inevitably be drawn back to. Charles had hoped the secret of the dial would be buried with him and my dying wish is that it should now die with me. I regret the day I ever resurrected the dial, but I have to accept that there will be some good to come from my torment. My son, Lucas, will be a testament to that.
My only relief is that my burden has now been shared, a selfish act but also a necessary evil. Isabella was distraught and it broke my heart to see her in such pain, but time is running out. I needed to prepare her for what lies ahead and I also needed her help in making all the arrangements to ensure that our beautiful Lucas would be safe and secure.
I should have known Isabella would be the strong one. Once she knew, once she shared my conviction that our fates were doomed, she didn’t wallow in her grief. She has one single purpose in mind and that is to make every possible provision for Lucas, and by doing so she has eased my guilt, my fears. I am blessed and I am loved. What is more, I am ready to face tomorrow and to lie in the arms of the woman I would have gladly given my life for, if it hadn’t already been promised to our dearest Lucas.
Closing the journal, Holly carefully, almost reverently, retied the leather strap around its tattered pages. She felt completely drained. The story of Edward Hardmonton had sapped what little strength she had left, what little hope she had left. She hadn’t moved from the kitchen table for over two hours and when she stood up, her joints screamed their disapproval. The pain was almost a relief from the numbness that had taken over her body and her mind. Holly walked out of the kitchen almost in a trance but there was a new sensation welling up inside her. From the pit of her stomach, Holly could feel an anger starting to build and as she stepped into the living room, the room where she had shared precious moments with Libby, the first shout of rage escaped. She looked beyond the empty space on the floor and saw Libby, lying on the changing mat, kicking her legs. She looked beyond the empty space on the sofa and saw Tom feeding his daughter. Everywhere she turned, she saw the ghost of her unborn child.
“You can’t make me do this!” she screamed. “You can’t make me choose my own life over Libby’s!”
She scanned the room, looking for answers to the questions that were flooding her brain. She spotted the china cat smiling at her from the shelf. It had survived in a future where Holly had not; it would survive in a future where Libby would not, and all the while it was smiling.
“If Libby can’t survive, then why should you?” she shouted at its cheerful face. In a blur of crimson fury, Holly grabbed the cat from the shelf and flung it across the room. She could hear the snap of its head parting company with its body as it hit the wall and then fell out of sight behind one of the sofas.
Holly stood in the middle of the room, trying to breathe through her anger. Her thoughts kept spinning as she tried to make sense of everything, but there was only one thought that kept catching her attention. It was one particular line of the poem and she spoke the words out loud: “A life for a life the price to pay, never one less and not one more.” If it weren’t her life that would be lost, then it would be someone else’s, a family member, someone she loved. She closed her eyes as the words echoed through her mind. Her life for Libby’s: there really was no other choice.
Eventually Holly’s anger ran out of steam and there was only one refuge left.
“Hello. Are you busy?” Holly asked.
“No, I was just doing some paperwork. What’s wrong, Hol?” There was a note of concern in Tom’s voice. It might have been early evening for Holly, but it was midday in Haiti and Tom wasn’t expecting her to phone until later.
Holly had put off the call as long as she could bear, but as she sat at the kitchen table and watched the sun setting, it seemed to her that the fading light was taking with it not only her hopes and dreams but Tom’s, too, if only he knew it.
“Nothing’s wrong. I just thought I’d surprise you,” lied Holly. “If you’re really busy then tell me to go. I can call back later. I only wanted to hear your voice and now I have. I needed to know you were all right and now I know.”
“No, don’t go. I could do with a friendly distraction. I was thinking about having an early siesta now that I’ve finished writing up my notes from this morning’s interviews, but I know I’ll only end up lying awake, thinking things through.”
“I thought it was supposed to help empty your mind when you write things down,” Holly said, still staring at the journal.
“Well, it hasn’t worked so far,” Tom told her. “I love this job and I hate it at the same time. It’s really opening my eyes to another world, being out here. I wish you could meet some of the people I’ve met. Some of the stories they have to tell would just blow you away, but I can’t help feeling so guilty. I’m surrounded by literally thousands upon thousands of homeless, desperate people, knowing all the time that I can go home at any point to my beautiful house and my beautiful wife. I have the kind of security that they couldn’t even dream of. I won’t go hungry. I’ll get the medical care I need when I need it. When I have kids, I won’t have to worry about them fighting for survival each and every day. I don’t know how I’ll be able to take things for granted ever again.”
There was a long pause as Holly wondered how to answer him. She wondered what plans and hopes Edward Hardmonton had had for the future before the moondial sealed his fate. “You’re right. We shouldn’t take anything for granted. We should appreciate what we have now. I know we have a five-year plan, but I’m starting to see how arrogant that is. We should spend more time enjoying the things we have, appreciating what we have and not constantly looking for more.”
Holly knew she was laying the seed for a decision in the near future to put off having children but she stopped short of saying the words. If she spoke that thought out loud, it could
change the future and erase Libby forever, and Holly didn’t have the strength to face that yet.
“We’re getting very philosophical in our old age,” observed Tom. “I know I don’t appreciate what I have, not enough anyway. I don’t appreciate you. Look at me. I’m on the other side of the world from you, expecting you to put your life on hold. I don’t deserve you.”
“I want you to be happy more than anything in the world. I know I can’t give you everything you want,” Holly paused, choking back the emotion. “But the work you’re doing is important and it’s going to set you on the right path for the rest of your career.”
“Sitting behind a desk in front of a camera all my life, you mean?”
“Sitting behind a desk writing your book sounds better to me,” suggested Holly, already fully aware of Tom’s resistance to becoming an anchorman.
Tom’s tone picked up as he started talking about the kind of book he might write and the sound of his animated voice brought the life back into Holly’s frozen heart. Her phone call to Tom had paid off. Listening to him reminded her that there were still so many things in life that they both wanted to achieve, things that weren’t bound by the rules of the moondial. There was a long pause on the phone and Holly realized that she had lost track of the conversation.
“Am I boring you?” accused Tom.
“Sorry,” she replied. “And no, you’re not boring me. You’re making me realize there’s still so much to look forward to, not least you coming home in a few weeks. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too,” whispered Tom. “I love you, Mrs. Corrigan.”
“I love you, too. Come home safely.”
As Holly hung up the phone she stared out of the window at the moondial, which was glinting in the twilight. “You’re not going to beat me,” she said. “You can’t erase everything.” She had thought all hope was lost, but Tom had reminded her that they still had a future. There was hope; there had to be. And she wasn’t going to let the moondial take it away from her, not completely.
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