She’s Not for You

Friday, March 18th, 1949

“She’s not for you, Conor.” Zenobia stood in front of her son on the brick path near the campus cafeteria.

He blinked at the impossibility of it. Mother was in California. She never traveled. At least, she never traveled in this world. How could she be here, in New York, when her post was in Los Angeles?

Her appearance was normal. She had exchanged the customary robes for a knee-length dress that peeked out of a gray wool coat. The shoulders of the coat squared. There were two rows of buttons which ran down the length of it beneath the sharp, pointed lapels. Her raven-black hair pulled back in a severe bun.

“Mother...I...what...” Conor searched for the words, unsure what to say. Had Mother been watching them? Had she overheard them talking?

The promises he had uttered just moments before, rose in his mind. What had Mother heard?

His eyes scanned the quad. Maggie was already gone, having disappeared in the distance. She was no longer visible. Her thin form had blended into a scattering of students at the far end of the campus square. She had been hurrying because she was late for her class. Maggie hated to be late, yet she had risked it to meet with him. And she had finally told him why she had been so quiet recently, so reserved.

Conor had seen it in her eyes. She had been so scared, afraid he would reject her. But he hadn’t. How could he? He was in love with her.

“It’s time to come home, Conor.” His mother added, her sharp green eyes boring into him.

“You said I still had time.” He protested; panic sending icy tendrils down his spine. “I have another three years. Why are you here?”

“A child, Conor, you made one with that slip of a girl.” Zenobia looked at him, her brilliant green eyes dark with fury, “We do not mate with humans. You know this, yet still you disobeyed.”

“Mother, why would you say that?” he asked, stalling for time. Perhaps he could run. Perhaps he could slip away, get to Maggie, and just keep running.

“You would deny it, Conor?” She snapped, “Stand there and lie to me, will you? Do they teach you to lie here? If so, you are a terrible student. Your face shows your deception.”

“She just told me. Just now. How could you know already? I didn’t even know!”

“I could see it, the child growing inside of her. It is obvious.” She shook her head.

Conor broke eye contact with his mother, casting about, his mind churning. It was just a few hundred steps to Maggie.

They could go to New York, lose themselves in the millions of people who lived and worked there. Or even catch a train to Kansas City. No, not Kansas City. Definitely New York. There the human population could hide them well.

Her eyes watched him as he took a step backward. Her mouth crimped into a flat hard line, noticing his small movement. He stilled, and her eyes cut into him.

“Conor Saronica, I bind thee to me.” Zenobia’s voice was hard and full of power. Behind the voice, under it, ran a river of magic, full of energy he wished that he had at his disposal now. But he would not see his manifest until his twenty-first birthday. At the hour and moment of his birth, his power would surge. And that was more than two years from now.

Conor could feel his legs and body stiffen in response.

“Please Mother. I love her. I want to marry her! We could take her there, you know we could. Humans are there, as well as here. Please...”

Zenobia moved a finger, muttered something under her breath and his tongue fell silent. He stared at her, hurt beyond words. How could she do this to me, ME, her only son? Mother had never treated him this way before. In his entire existence she had never once used her considerable powers against him.

“You will follow me now.”

Conor wished he could scream, but no sound escaped his lips. He raged in silence, impotent, and helpless as his limbs moved of their own accord. He fell in beside Zenobia and the two of them walked along the sidewalk, a thin layer of ice crunching under their feet. Conor felt his feet moving and his body turned in unison with his mother’s, heading for his dormitory.

Around them, students walked, passing the mother and son, oblivious to Conor’s inner struggle. He continued to resist, a tiny drop of sweat beading on his brow despite the chill in the air. If only he could break his mother’s control. No one noticed the two of them; no eyes fell upon them and stuck. Nothing he tried made a difference. He couldn’t so much as twitch a finger without her consent. There was a brief moment of hope when Fred Gathers, nodded and waved at him. They were in the same Biology class.

“See you at the library tonight, Conor!”

Conor felt his hand come up and wave as they passed, his head bobbed in a nod towards Fred, a grin creeping over his face. All under his mother’s control.

“I’m disappointed in you, Conor.” Zenobia spoke in a low voice, pitched so that only her son could hear her. “You knew the rules. You know them now. Yet you broke them. You consorted with a human girl and you are fighting me even as I speak.” Her voice was tight, full of anger. “I should never have allowed you to leave. Such a risk! And especially with you being who you are. What was I thinking?”

They approached the stairs of his dormitory taking the steps in unison. Inside of the main doors, the large entry hall stood. Next, it was up two more flights of stairs, again without so much as a step out of turn.

“You are in room 305, yes?”

Conor’s head nodded and at the top of the second flight of stairs they turned left. The hallway was empty and Zenobia muttered again as they approached Conor’s dorm room. The door swung open.

His roommate Castor, psychology textbooks strewn about him, was absorbed in his studies. “Did you forget your History book ag...”

Castor froze in mid-sentence, his eyes widening. He stood, books clattering to the floor in his haste. Zenobia and Conor entered the room. The door clicked shut behind them.

“Protectorate Saronica, you honor us with your presence.” He bowed to Zenobia, his eyes meeting Conor’s. His face filled with concern and no small amount of fear.

Conor felt his mother’s power ebb from his body. His limbs were his again, his mouth, his tongue free from his mother’s power. He glared at his friend.

“You told her, didn’t you?”

Castor’s eyes glanced away, towards Zenobia, then back to Conor.

“I had to. You know the law.”

“The law? The law?” Conor spat. “I trusted you, Castor. It isn’t as if you haven’t dallied yourself.”

“Dalliances are one thing,” Castor began.

“Shut up!”

Conor put one foot forward, a fist clenched. He could feel a flush of heat in his cheeks and the fury rising inside him. In that moment, he felt capable of true violence. He stared at his friend and imagined hitting him, again and again. In his mind, he longed to see the blood spurt and hear the crunch of bones beneath his fist. Castor had been his companion, and his friend, for longer than he could remember. But this betrayal, it was unforgivable.

“Conor, I am warning you.” Zenobia’s tongue dripped icy cold threat. He could feel her power, centered on his spine. It curled there, threatening a repeat of the indignities he had just experienced.

A wave of despair washed over him. Mother was here to take him home. And home was over three thousand miles away. Maggie would come by tomorrow to see him, and he wouldn’t be here.

“Mother, please, let me talk to her. I could explain.”

“What exactly would you explain, Conor? There is nothing more to say.” She looked around the room. “Castor, you will pack up Conor’s things and send them back to Los Angeles for me. You are to stay until the school breaks for spring. At that time you will return to your family.”

Castor’s shoulders sagged. He nodded, his eyes still on Conor. “Yes, Protectorate, I am yours to command.”

“Mother, please!”

“This experiment is over Conor. I will see that the girl and her child are both cared for. I promise you that.”

“Mother, if you would just let me see her.”

“No more, Conor, no more. It is time to leave.” Zenobia turned on her heel. The dormitory door sprang open at her command and she strode through it.

Conor had one brief second to contemplate escape and then her influence fell over him again. He managed a single look of loathing directed over his shoulder at Castor. Then Conor found himself marched out of the dormitory. He fought, to no avail, as they left behind the college, New York, Maggie, and his unborn child. The door slammed shut behind them.

The following day, Conor and Zenobia exited the sleek silver jet. Here in Los Angeles, the weather was already warm and inviting. There was no hint of the icy cold or late winter storm that had enveloped the coast as they left. It was a clear day, cloudless, and there was a slight breeze.

It should have been reassuring, even welcoming, but it was not. Here in the city that he had called home his entire life, something felt wrong. Conor’s mind was working away, wondering what Zenobia had in store for him.

Did she think he would agree and accept his fate? Could he expect she would become complacent and then he could make his escape?

He wondered how to go about it. There were cars at the compound, any of which he could use to escape. It would have to be at night, so he could get a decent head start.

He looked up and saw his mother watching him. Perhaps he had given himself away already. Perhaps she was assessing the threat that he had become to her, and to the rest of their kind. He forced a weak smile to his lips.

An hour later they drove along the twisting road deep into the foothills. Right now they were green with life, covered in wild grasses and bunches of scrub brush and new trees.

In a few months that would all change as the Santa Ana winds took hold and dried out the life of the land. The grass would turn brittle, and lose its vibrant green color.

Even the trees would suffer, desperate for water after weeks of exposure to the hot, dry winds. What was now green and soft would turn to a harsh crunching brown mass underfoot. Then they would all hold their breaths as they courted disaster. Just one cigarette butt tossed out of a window at just the right spot would set the hills alight.

Conor had seen it several times over the years. He stared out of the window, dreaming of Maggie. The baby growing inside of her. They had made it together, in love. What would she think when he didn’t meet her today at their usual place?

What would Castor say to her? Would he even answer the door? She would think he had abandoned her? That he had run away? His heart ached, she would think he had rejected her and the baby.

“It is so beautiful here in the spring.” Zenobia’s voice was kind. He turned to see her stern, careworn face smiling at him. He tried to remember that he was angry at her, but Conor couldn’t help but smile in return.

“Just wait until you see the view on the other side,” she added and placed her hand on his shoulder.

He didn’t have time to process her words and understand what they meant before it hit. There was a twisting sensation, both from deep within his body and in the air around him. A shimmering that became a blur of bright, white light. And just like that, the landscape changed. Everything looked different.

Instead of the bright Los Angeles sun, it was overcast and gray. The air was cold, damp, and there was a strong smell of salt and fish. The view of trees and grasses had changed to a severe rock face, stretching up out of sight in the mists above. On the other side, a sharp cliff hung over the pounding surf. A profusion of greenery poked out of rocks and cropped up along the edges of the roadway. Thick vines inched their way up, hugging the rock wall. They displayed brilliant bursts of yellow and red flowers. The track was narrow, almost too narrow for the car, which had remained with them.

In the distance, he could hear a bell tolling. It rang thirteen times. The soft throaty sound bounced off of the walls of the cliff face.

“Welcome to Fyrsta Heim, my son,” Zenobia said, her mouth softening as she let the car coast to a stop on the road.

“My god,” Conor breathed, staring in shock, “It’s real. And it is so different from what I imagined. I always imagined it looking like Earth, like the foothills of Los Angeles.”

He took a look at the small village in the distance and the walls of the great stone castle in front of them.

Then it dawned on him, “Mother, how am I here? I thought that only a Protectorate could travel through the World walls.”

Zenobia nodded, “As did I. It was a fluke. A cat hitched a ride once. I had been petting it when the World called and we both came through. I tested it with a dog after that, then a child from the ranch, just to be sure. Later I brought you here when you were small. Although I doubt you remember it. Come,” she said, stepping out of the car and onto the cobblestone road.

“I want to show you the castle. I know you took an architecture class and I thought you would want to see it. The workmanship is exquisite.”

Conor felt a small tendril of unease begin to coil inside of him, but her happy smile disarmed him. Besides, if he behaved, she would let down her guard and then he could slip away and return to Maggie. And the sooner the better, right?

They entered the castle through wooden doors. They were enormous and stood at least twenty feet tall. They hung on massive iron brackets and groaned when opened. Conor thought they sounded like a wounded beast forced to open its mouth. They walked inside and he sucked in a breath at the sight before him. At regular intervals, massive torches blazed. They were housed in metal sconces mounted on the stone walls.

The floors, walls, and ceiling were all the same dark gray stone. Much of it carved in intricate detail. Softening the carved stone were wall hangings. The lush tapestries that depicted scenes filled with landscapes, castles, and people. He could have spent hours staring at them. The tapestries were also enormous. He had read about how tapestries were created in his Medieval Studies class last semester. The skill it would have taken was dwarfed only by the thousands of hours of work entailed in such a task. In many ways, tapestries were far more complex than an oil painting could ever be.

Beneath their feet was a thick carpet over ten feet wide and running the entire length of the giant hall. There were many levels above them. Walkways, doorways and more opened up, at least a dozen, possibly two dozen stories above them, all with a view of the hall below.

“It’s...enormous,” he breathed in wonder.

At the top, a massive stained glass skylight sat. He could see the beams of colored light dancing on the floors below.

“Indeed,” Zenobia said, her mouth twisting in a small smile. “I’ve wanted to share this with someone else for a long time. Ever since I stepped onto the path behind us forty-three years ago. From what I can tell, this entire castle was carved out of the granite mountain.”

“How is that even possible?” Conor asked. His eyes ran over the carved portico. His mouth dropped open as he tried to imagine how long it must have taken. Years, decades, maybe more. If only his professors could see this.

Zenobia didn’t answer, pointing instead to a far wall.

“That tapestry there is particularly fascinating.”

Conor stepped forward, moving ahead of his mother. The tapestry his mother had pointed to was different. He squinted at it. Was it actually moving? As he drew closer, the figures began to change, swirling on the fabric. He could see a figure resolve, the man in it was pounding on a clear glass wall. Beyond it, just feet away, the figure of a woman, stood.

He advanced, closing the distance so that he could see the details. As he stared, his entire focus on the tapestry, he felt a change in the air behind him. Then the man in the tapestry turned. It looked so out of place from the rest of the tapestry. And then he realized why. A sick dread twisted his guts and he turned on his heel, panicked. Beyond the thick sheet of glass, his mother stood. Zenobia’s eyes locked on his, her green eyes full of pain.

“I am sorry, my son, but this is how it has to be.”

“Mother, let me out of here.” Conor struggled to keep his voice calm. “I’ll do as you say. I will stay at home. There is no need for this.”

“Oh Conor, how I wish that were true.” Zenobia shook her head, “From the moment I birthed you, I knew what you would be. I chose to flaunt the law. But in exchange, you and I both know this was always your future.”

“My fate, you mean? In this prison?” Bitterness crept into his voice.

“This isn’t a prison,” Zenobia fired back, affronted by the thought, “It is our home. It has always been our home. Here we didn’t have to kill our most powerful male children. Here we didn’t have to hide when our sons were born on the Solstice.” Her lip trembled, “I couldn’t do it, Conor, not again, and not to you. I loved you. I did it once. I let the Fer Complir have their way. I had loved that child, wanted that child, and yet I took the life I had just bore into the world. It was the law. But with you, when I knew what you were, what you would be, I couldn’t do it.”

“Let me go back and get her, Mother.” His hands smudged the thick wavy glass. He pushed, wishing again that his powers had manifested, that he didn’t have nearly two years to wait. The glass wall did not budge.

Zenobia’s eyes filled with tears. “No, my son, already I have done too much. There will be questions. They would come for you if they could. Here you are safe. Only a Protectorate of the Saronica lineage can cross the threshold. Here you will be safe for as long as I draw breath.”

“Mother, please don’t do this.” Conor pleaded, his fingers knuckle-white against the thick glass. They curled into fists, his heart racing. “I don’t belong here.”

Zenobia smiled and stepped backwards, “This was always your future, Conor. It was this or my hands about your neck. And I love you too much for that. I will see you soon, my son.”

She turned and walked away. Conor screamed after her. The walls echoed his cries, distorting them and sending them back down. It was a perverted echo that laughed in the face of his pain. He beat on the glass until the skin on his knuckles split and blood marred the glass wall.