Oracle

Tybalt's throne room was nothing like any other King or Queen's you might expect. Scratching posts, hiding spots that allowed kittens to pounce on the unwary, and a large cushion that served as his throne replaced the gold and jewels that most Royal courts displayed. The cushion was large enough for him to lay on it in both forms, and at the moment he was sitting up, tail flicking watching, deciding if I was prey to be played with as I entered.

Tybalt resembled the Khao Manee breed of cat. His fur was pure white and appeared to be sprinkled with diamond dust, the end of each strand of hair reflecting light. The prisms of color that formed from each strand teasing the kittens that cavorted around the room chasing the pools of colored light as he moved. I admitted to myself that he exuded that sense of regal bearing that all cats were known for. His lazy gaze exuding a bit of disdain that was every cat's trademark. No other animal could glance at you with as much contempt.

His fur contrasted nicely with the deep purple of the pillow he was sitting on, the white and diamond dusting creating an aura that was offset nicely by the purple. It was probably the reason that color had been selected for the cushion. Cats were vain animals, and if you were lucky enough to have caught their attention if they deemed to notice you, then fealty must be paid, stroking their fur, scratching behind their ears or under their chin until they were finished with you.

Most house cats, even the large breed, were easy to hold and cuddle, but he was King of Cats. All cats. And that included the large predators that roamed the wild. He was easily the size of a Kelpie which made the teeth and claws he sported even more dangerous.

But it was his eyes, the unique feature of the Khao Manee that was most arresting. One green so vital that the hidden gleans found in nature could be imagined, not the jeweled facets of emeralds, more the soft tones of grass and leaves. The other eye so blue to reflect the purest water, deep pools of blue almost verging on purple.

He, like all Sidhe, represented our connection to Danu and nature. His eyes, a reflection of his duality. Not exactly those of a man. Not exactly those of a cat. He was Cait Sith, entrusted by the Wild Magic with a Kingdom that could never be breached, a duty that could never be ignored, and a personality both aloof and playful.

"Duchess Wynne, welcome," he said in greeting. Few ever get the chance to visit, I am pleased that fate has allowed our paths to cross."

He, like the young woman that had fetched me, was misinformed or ignorant of my real Rank. I didn't think he was addressing me incorrectly to serve as slight. There didn't appear to be animus involved, the Cait Sith liked to play games, but not the kind of mental gymnastics that the Seelie and Unseelie enjoyed. If they were referring to me as Duchess instead of Princess there had to be a reason, a reason I felt I was understood. A guess that cemented my understanding that I had traveled back in time.

A woman, as out of place among the Sidhe, was seated in a hardback chair next to him.

She was old, not just old but ancient, and the advances of age had been writ large across her face and body. Liver spots, wrinkles, white hair, those signs of age that never showed among the Sidhe. The Sidhe did age, but the signs of again stopped soon after adulthood. After that point, it was impossible to tell by appearance exactly how old a person might be. As I focused my attention on this woman, I wondered if what I was seeing was real, or an illusion so well done, that I couldn't pierce the veil of truth.

The other discrepancy was her eyes. All color had been leached from them, nothing remaining but a milky substance that hinted at blindness. Sidhe could be blinded, but it required extra-ordinary means for that to occur. The eye had to be destroyed, the optic nerve cauterized time and again before the natural healing ability of our people no longer worked.

That wasn't the case here. It looked more as if she had been forced to stare into the sun, burning her retinas day after day until the effect became permanent. Those sightless eyes were the clue I needed to recognize who she was. The stories that littered Sidhe's history, mythology, and fiction spoke of the Oracle. A woman of uncommon power, who scorned her fate during a time when parents married their daughters to other Houses like chattel. A woman who rebelled to forge and walk her own path.

She had proclaimed before the assembled guests on the day she was slated to be handfasted, that she would control her own fate. To prove her determination, she had gouged her eyes out in bloody defiance, in front of the assembled guests, Ranked, and a promised husband. The guests, her parents, and the man promised as husband along with his family had been outraged. But their outrage was ignored. Any punishment or retribution she may have earned diverted.

All because Rozhanistsy, a Spirit of Fate, had observed her actions acted. The Spirit of Fate was so impressed, granted her a blessing. She would be transformed, reborn a disciple of Fate. She was elevated. Made Oracle. And one of the Cait Sith that had been present had opened a rift and whisked her away.

She became consul for Tybalt that day and has served every moment since as a warden of Time. She observes the flow of Time, gauges the eddies and flow of action, and when Paradox arises, she consul's Tybalt so that he can act.

"Princess Wynne," she said, using my correct Rank. I nodded my head towards her, watching as she was able to track movement despite being blind. Her ability to see the future allowed her to see. See where I stood and see how this meeting was going to progress.

There were multiple threads of time, intersecting and diverging instances of fate, that formed within the multiverse. Tybalt and the Oracle served Time, not the concept, the essence of Time. The cosmic energy itself. Time that could create tangible realities, that could weave the tapestry of Fate from every multiverse to maintain order.

From this meeting, but here in this place, we were outside the bounds of Time, Fate, and Paradox. What we discussed, what actions we made, were removed from Fate's preview. The Cait Sith, the people, and this dimension worked as a touchstone, anchoring reality. In the presence of Tybalt, in his domain, it was impossible to change the course of time.

"You stand at the crux of time," the Oracle began, her voice broken, scratchy, and rough, almost painful to hear. What once might have been a whisper in the wind had aged along with her body.

"The Summerlands have moved you back in time. The person that stands here, in this place, experienced the events of CERN and System intervention over two decades ago. Events that have yet to have transpired at this moment.

"Outside Cait Sith, you have yet to encounter those that would hijack your people, those that had infiltrated your camp, killed your people, and capture to force you into CERN. This night, those who would kidnap your daughter and use her against you have become emboldened. They will act, and their attack has to succeed.

"The Summerlands seldom acts, but you have been touched by the Divine and the Wild Magic. You are only one of a handful that has spoken with Danu, Beleros, and Cyronax. You have been blessed to have watched as they restored the Volar-fey and gave birth to the Cernunnos.

"The unique confluence of events that you have experienced was fated. Events set in place to make sure your meeting with Teigh Mac de Beleros y Cyronax was realized. Your capture, your placement in CERN was destiny."

"My Destiny, at the cost of my daughter," I cried. The sheer pain of my words was so debilitating that the litter of kittens that had been playing around the room, scattered, leaving the room bereft of anyone other than the Oracle, Tybalt, and me.

"Destiny may be capricious," the Oracle soothed, "but the Sidhe do not use the Tapestry of Fate as a bludgeon, a weapon that uses the words of prophecy to force the outcome. There are no threads of fate to be snipped or directed at the whims of the trinity. For the Tuatha de Danaan, destiny is more the touch of a loved one, the hug of a child.

"Destiny was never meant to punish, but to guide, to set your feet on a path of opportunity. Your destiny was to enter CERN, to understand the science of that world. You were never meant to sacrifice what you cherished most, and the Summerlands and Fairy have allowed you, have given you a chance to correct that mistake.

"A chance to find a way to save your daughter, to hide her and send her to the future where you can be reunited.

"Your daughter can be saved. Your actions will decide how.

"But.

"Paradox must be denied, and because of that need, there will be a price to pay.

"The timelines cannot and will not be altered. Duchess Wynne will lose her daughter tonight. But Princess Wynne will have a chance. A chance that her daughter will be restored."