Dragonfly Web: Whitestuff

Four | Skye-voice

The man had now been left alone, sweeping, on the steps of the Magician's Guild of Aulde. The woman had gone off moments ago and, out of nowhere, a new voice boomed in the space where he worked.

"I've told you before. Go away." The man with the broom turned his back, as if the new voice could be ignored with just the right effort.

"Ah, but you know we like each other," the sound retorted.

"You're just not going to leave me alone, are you?"

"I'll go, all right—when you tell me you'll do it!" Sudden, loud, hissing steam-sounds made the man jump.

"Quit it. You know that I can't! Just leave me alone."

"Hearing a sky-voice?—not at all good," taunted the speaker.

"No one must know." The sweeper was worried.

"But you admit that you like me?"

The man pushed leaves and sticks collecting behind a pillar out to the steps. He pushed the pile over the edge—hard, scattering dirt. Then, swinging the broom back with one hand, in a well-practiced move, he answered nothing.

"Ssssseriously. They already know—that you know I'm here."

"And that cost me, didn't it?" The cleaner's annoyed frown did not stop his eyes from darting round the empty space on the platform. If only his words could land and make an impact. He flung a retort hard at just the right spot where the speaker might be. "And look what it did!" He swept more angrily now.

"Ahhkk! You shouldn't take this as if it's forever, Nyte-red. Time issss nuuthing."

"You're not the one sweeping!"

"You lay claim to your insights. What's the best gift that you have?"

The man stopped so fast he nearly tangled the broom in the dangling cord that tied his robes together in front. "Look!" He leaned both hands on the top of the handle, trying to look calmer. "It's a stupid idea. I am not going to be your Proxy! I just joined the Guild, just got to 'Master'—well, 'of —Sticks', at the harvest, and then—you— Everything was fine, until you showed up. And now I am—this—"

The man could barely make any more words form. He waved his arm at the stone foyer surface. "This community is better off, if you're not around. Can you just go, please?"

"But they know—"

"No, fortunately they don't!"

"I think they do."

"Don't."

"Then you must get their attention."

"I will not. I told them what you told me to tell them and they said I was crazy—that was it! If you were really here there would be a sign. There is no sign! You go and do it yourself! You talk to them!"

"I'll give you a sign—" but the voice in the air held his comment.

Hugh Nyte-red, former Master of Sticks, and now 'cleaner of temples' could feel Skye-voice breathing. Even while sweeping, he heard the giant tail swish and a hiss and a grumble, then silence—fuming silence.

"Fickle friends—" sizzled Skye-voice.

"Fickle? You made me be your friend!"

"The whole winter? Now that's just sssssilly—even for humans."

"You can't make me get in trouble, again. Not again. Just don't even ask."

A long pause followed, then the voice in the air spoke once more. It was now composed. "I see. Well. If that's your answer—"

"I'm not your Proxy!"

"You still like me though—"

"I'm not going to answer—" The man pulled a heavy wooden door on its massive hinges tight shut behind him. Then, it re-opened a crack. "And I've told you already, it's 'night', 'red'! —it's my family name. My friends call me Hubert!" And he vanished into the mountain, slamming the door.

Humm—what could possibly be important about the order of names? "Humpffff—"

A large hiss, sounding barely like patience, disappeared in the sky.

≈≈≈/