Eclipsis

Prologue

FROM THE NORTHERN HIGHLANDS, SCOTLAND

It is early spring in the Northern Highlands of Scotland. The remote wilderness of the austere rock-hewn landscape is inhabited by badgers and martens, gray wolfs and red deer. A buzzard soars over the scenery searching for squirrels. The only human being wandering through  this rugged beauty is an old woman. She stops and kneels on a patch of grass. The woman wears a plain tunic; a brown shawl covers her shoulders. She looks about 70, but could be younger - someone aged by a hard life. A three-inch scar stretches across her left cheek, from her temple to her mouth. She sighs. 

          The voice of a young man echoes in her mind. A poem he has written for her a long time ago. She doesn't exactly remember when he recited it to her, but she hasn't forgotten one word. She wouldn't forget it till she dies, because she recites it every day. It's the only thing she has left of him. The old woman closes her eyes and speaks out loud:

"Neither rain nor wind will keep me from you // Neither fire nor stone
 build a wall.
 // And if only one moment
 with you is the prize,
 // I must run, I will crawl, I shall jump, I might fall... // But I won't stop. Won't slow down. Won't think twice."

          She squints into the sun before she opens a small bundle with her belongings. Without haste she takes stock of her possessions: a loaf of bread, a pouch filled with water, and an old, tattered science book. She takes the book into her hands and caresses the timeworn cover:  Barr's Buffon Volume 1, A Theory of the Earth. Then she puts the book aside to give her full attention to the last item in her bundle, a cylindrically shaped object protected by rags. She puts the small object into her lap but doesn't unwrap it. Her tired eyes flicker with something akin to excitement when it starts to emanate a faint hum. And so she sits there for hours, and she looks at the sun, and she looks at the device, and she waits.

          When the old woman shields her eyes yet again and squints toward the sun for what she thinks must be the thousandth time, something changes. One moment the sun shines blazingly above her, no cloud in the sky; the next moment the moon begins to move in front of it and starts throwing its shadow onto earth, announcing the beginning of a total solar eclipse. The object in the woman's lap stops humming. It's happening! She takes a deep breath. Then she starts peeling the rags off of it and reveals the odd device.

          It is six and a half inches in length and four inches in width. Four thin electrum bars build a sort of rectangular frame that's bisected by a rod. Ten alternating gold and silver plates are stacked onto that middle rod, which serves as an axis. Each of the richly patterned disks is a little over half an inch thick and has an edge with ten ridges in it, numbered from 0 to 9. The frame is engraved: ECLIPSIBUS, followed by a few Latin words, the symbol of a black dot circled by a golden ring, and more Latin words. The old woman doesn't know Latin, but she knows what the words mean. He has told her. But that was a long time ago. The moon continues on its path and soon the Highlands are dipped in darkness as the solar eclipse progresses, and the world grows black.

THROUGH NOTTINGHAMSHIRE, ENGLAND

A carriage emerges from the pitch black of the night and stops under a street gaslight. A stagecoach driver helps the old woman out of the cab. She stops for a moment and surveys her surrounding. She is in Nottingham, England and the year is 1840. 'At least I hope that's where I am,' she thinks as she watches another passenger exiting the carriage. The passenger places a few coins in the driver's hand.

           The old woman also pays the driver. Then she asks him something and he points to another stagecoach, parked just across the street. The driver hops onto his seat and gets his horses into a trot, while the old woman pulls her shawl tighter around her shoulders and hurries toward the other coach. A sign post near the vehicle states its destination: TO PORT DOVER, 200 MILES. She drops her last few coins into the palms of her new driver's hand and watches him as he counts. He shakes his head and returns the coins. It's not enough.

           "How will I get to Tutbury?", she asks the driver in an unusual accent, and after some contemplation the driver points west. "It's a long road ahead of you." "I left a longer road behind me", she replies. He looks almost pitiful at her but doesn't offer a free ride. "I'm sorry, I don't own the cab. It's not up to my discretion to take you without pay." The old woman doesn't expect charity, never had, and thus she thanks him for the directions without guile and walks toward the wooden road sign that the driver pointed at: DERBY, 16 MILES. 'I've walked more than this,' she thinks, and marches on.

TO TUTBURY, AT LAST

           Just outside of Derby she arrives at a crossroad. Road signs point into alldirections. The old woman lowers her aching bones to the ground and takes herlast swig of water. She searches in her bundle, but there is no bread left. 'I've been hungrier than this,' she thinks, and pulls herself up on the signpost. It reads: TUTBURY, 12 MILES. 'Twelve miles is less than sixteen,' she thinks and giggles. She wonders how much longer she can fool her body with the cheerful disposition of her mind.

          The old woman hikes up a grass-covered hill and arrives amongst the ruins of a medieval castle. Exhausted, she stops. The downhill path in front of her leads to Tutbury Manor. A tear snakes its way from her left eye down her cheek, tracing the ugly scar. She opens her mouth, but no word escapes. Then she crumbles and lands on the ground. Before she falls unconscious she thinks 'I've fallen harder.'