Black May

The sky above began to weep and the dark clouds bellowed in their sorrow. The deluge was inundating and droplets the size of a man’s eye battered the northern side of the cart, as it struggled and wallowed through the ever-deepening muck. A small candle, enclosed in a glass coffin, swayed upon the chain that hung from the left side of the cart, away from the torrential tears of the thunderheads above. The light was negligible, giving no real luminescence to the world around, but light was not necessary given that both the driver and rider had been this way many times before and could navigate the road blind. The two horses in the front pulled at their harnesses, feeling the sting of the whip as they were encouraged to brave the growing storm. Flashes of yellow and blue cut through the clouds, causing them to cry and forcing more tears from them as the lightning struck trees, clouds, and mountains with unyielding force. The sudden flares of light became rhythmic with the horses’ snorts, wagon’s groans, driver’s curses, and passenger’s beating heart.

“You did promise me you would have me to the harbor by sundown,” the euphonious voice was delicate and polite but held a tone of expectation and stubbornness.

The driver looked skyward for a moment as though to emphasize his next statement, “How can you be sure we are even running late in this rump-humping weather?” His eyes flicked back to the muddy road, “But yes, I did promise you that, and I will make good on my word even in this piss-pour.” He spat a wad of black from between his teeth, almost splattering the lantern that still jostled to his left. When no answer was immediately forthcoming, the man continued, “Whatcha running from anyways?”

“I am not running from anything,” was the curt reply. May wasn’t running, she was choosing. For once in her miserable life, she was choosing, and her choice was not to go back to that monster. Sure, he had land, he had money, he had a title, he was good with a sword, but had killed many men, he was a brute and she was barely a woman. The hood hid her most recent blemish, where his hand had struck her for closing a window. She had been cold and he hadn’t even been in the room at the time. She gripped her dress above her knees tightly. He had been easy to rob in his drunken sleep, she had debated slicing his throat but had instead taken the dagger for herself. Killing him would have made things worse and a lady could use protection on the road.

The silence was long but another snap of yellow brought the outline of town into view, and it appeared that the storm had forced the ships to stay in harbor. She was sure that there was one captain crazy enough to take a bit of extra money and sail out in this weather, if not, she could leave first thing in the morning. It wouldn’t be until well into the afternoon before her husband awoke. The hope in her chest swelled at the brief sight. It sputtered and began to drown as the view grew no closer, the wagon stopped. “Well I am afraid you have had your fun, but the Master will expect you back at the estate.”

May looked at her driver, shocked, her green eyes beginning to fill with tears, “but you…” she tried to understand. She didn’t know everyone that worked for her husband, but she had been sure this pig farmer would have no connection with the Duke. “How?” was all she could inquire.

“Ah, you think you are the first wife to try to run,” the driver spit another black wad missing the rump of his horse by a mere hair. “No, he figured out a nice deal, well if you ask me. See if we bring any of you wives back we get a handsome reward. My brother brought back your predecessor, got him a nice hat and four oxen with that money. I am hoping you’ll be a bit more given the master still finds you pr-” The driver gave her a quizzical look then flinched as she twisted her wrist.

“I have made my choice and you, apparently, have made yours.”