The sun had just set, and with it came a piercing cold that bit Canya's skin. She rubbed her bare arms, but the rapid rise of goosebumps mocked her efforts. Grabbing the coat from her door, she pulled it on, though it offered little comfort. Time was a relentless current; she ignored the chill and hurried to the living room. Allan was already there, waiting. They had agreed to meet her father now.
She gave him a quick nod and stepped out, Allan following close behind.
They found her father on his knees, leaning slightly towards the fire at the hut's center. His lips moved in a silent prayer, eyes tightly shut, hands clasped before his chest. Canya had no idea what he was doing but decided not to interrupt. She turned to Allan, who stood behind him. "He must be in the middle of something important. We can come back later."
"No, you can have your seat." Her father's voice cut through the quiet, perfectly timed. When they turned, he gestured to the leopard skin opposite him, on the other side of the fire.
"You two are impatient, aren't you?" He smiled.
"Allan is here against his will. He's been told of a prophecy he and I are part of... Father, please, make us understand what this is all about." Her plea was evident, yet the sharpness in her eyes betrayed her demand for answers. She wanted no games, just the truth.
"Three years ago," Thomas sighed, "when we talked you out of that relationship with the boy you called your lover, we had our reasons. Apart from your kind needing to marry wizards, there was a prophecy Samantha had been shown."
He looked at them, ensuring their full attention. "It said, 'A deific staff is upon us. A stick from your blood will marry a brush of eminence to give the staff life. With life it will glow, with radiance to ward us off the celestial one. The stick must learn for the brush walks with magic, magic of love.'"
Thomas chuckled at their shocked faces. "We were fools to believe they were nonsense, but we stopped you from being with the boy anyway. A year ago, before your mother died, she met Samantha. She was told the prophecy would be fulfilled in a year's time. Two weeks ago, it came to me in a dream: a spirit painter would walk these woods. Spirit painters are countable in the entire empire; I knew it was no coincidence that one would appear a year after my wife's death.
"I knew the prophecy was coming true. From Whimper's interpretation, the stick was you, my daughter, and the brush of eminence had to belong to the most powerful painter of all: a spirit painter. I could also see that this spirit painter was burdened with love. I knew he was the one at that point. When he was around, I had to bring him here."
"Had you ever considered the possibility of you two being wrong?" Allan frowned doubtfully. "All I know, the brush and the stick could mean anything."
"He is right, Father." Canya nodded her agreement.
"Then, dear children, with all the signs coinciding with the prophecy, prove me wrong."
The two youths fell silent, not by choice, but because they had nothing to say. Thomas was probably right. A stick from Canya's bloodline and a brush of eminence with the magic of love... it all pointed squarely at them. That they were to marry to forge some celestial staff could only mean they had to marry.
Knowing they needed no further convincing, Thomas smiled triumphantly. "As you should have seen, I was in the middle of something. If you don't mind, you can let me finish. We will talk more at supper."
They stood and walked to the main house in silence. The air's coldness seemed to have gone berserk, making them tremble as if they might tear themselves apart.
After reaching their rooms, Canya sat on her bed, burying her head in her hands. She hadn't wanted a man after her parents had stopped her, but this... this. She reached for her blanket to try and catch some sleep before preparing supper when her eyes caught a paper bearing a seal and stamp she knew so well.
She tore off the seal and hurriedly unfolded the paper.
To Canya, it was written:
There are things your father has not told you, not because he doesn't want to, but because he doesn't know. He has followed the prophecy your mother gave him, but whatever he knows is incorrect. Follow what he tells you at your own peril.
When the moment comes—and it will come soon—you must choose with your heart, not the will of the voices of dead seers or your mother and father. The boy is not your destiny, but he may help you find it.
I will come when the time is right