"My return to the continent was unremarkable. The negotiations with the British wizards, fresh back from the Wizengamot, were swiftly concluded, and by common agreement, our meeting had been productive and amicable. Essentially, diplomatic relations between our countries were renewed, or at least among the old guard of magical society.
Mother went home, but I headed for Zauberdorf, where, supposedly, Medea's familiar was to meet me.
The town greeted me once again with its vibrant noise and colorful displays. Many wizards favor… extravagant hues for their robes, so I kept my gaze above the crowd, mostly catching sight of heads and headgear, which didn't stand out quite as much against the more traditional hues of the buildings.
Turning off Central Alley — the main thoroughfare — I headed toward the hotel district, where quite a few inns are located. Here, you'd rarely find purebloods staying for extended periods, as we prefer to stay in the estates of acquaintances, where we can trade news, share rumors… in essence, kill two birds with one stone. Inns are generally for those with fewer connections, the less wealthy, or those who prefer to keep their stay in the country low-key. Officially, Zauberdorf is under the German Ministry of Magic's jurisdiction, but… the town, like the Holy Roman Empire itself, was initially multicultural. It functions de facto as a buffer zone where Czech, Polish, Austrian, Dutch, Italian, and other Ministry representatives freely operate.
Unofficially, of course, but as most of them share a common overseas backer, there are no questions from anyone.
My arrival in the hotel district didn't go unnoticed, though it didn't draw undue attention either. I looked rich enough, sure, but could've been anyone — a merchant's son or a half-blood who'd made a fortune hunting magical creatures.
That said, there's no real danger here. My only concern is that our ideological adversaries might attempt a covert kidnapping to prevent any chance of me uniting German purebloods — a role Mother seems keen on me taking. But I doubt they'd be able to move that fast, and they don't know I came here instead of going home.
"And why this particular place?" I muttered to the air. "I feel like some cheap movie villain meeting his accomplice in a dark alleyway."
After a couple of minutes, the building's wall rippled, as if someone had thrown a pebble into perfectly still water. Then, disregarding physics entirely, the wall stretched forward, retracted, and made a faint popping sound, revealing a dark, shifting oval of… well, something. It's hard to say what it resembled. I can't think of an exact analogy. It didn't look like water or anything thicker, either.
But soon, an elegant figure stepped out, clad in a deep purple-and-green cloak with a hood, adorned with a few gold accents. A very familiar figure at that. But I didn't get the first word in.
"Anticipating your question — I'll explain on the way. Follow me." Without hesitation, she gave a slight wave of her cloak, turned, and entered the dark portal again.
Shrugging, I stepped through. The sensation… well, it was like passing through a thin layer of cool water. Only, unlike water, I didn't get wet, and the feeling touched every part of my skin, even the parts under my clothes.
The place I ended up in… resembled both a cave and yet not quite. The shapes were too hazy, obscured in a seemingly solid darkness.
"Your curiosity is well-known to me," Medea spoke, her tone that of a teacher (ironic, considering that this place is named after a friend of a certain person she despises). "So let me explain immediately — this is one of the Babylonian Paths. As the name suggests, they lead to the Tower of Babel. Or rather, to its ruins. They were created by the wizards of that time, among the very first in history, to freely move around various parts of the world. Apparition, which today's wizards so rely upon, didn't exist back then, and they used old portals, of which this is a variation."
"Question, Your Highness," I said briefly, dispensing with flattery — she detests it (probably because it's akin to the worship of gods, whom Medea naturally abhors). After a barely perceptible nod in the surrounding darkness, I continued, "Wouldn't it be simpler to reach it using more modern methods? You've acknowledged yourself how effective they are."
"It wouldn't work. The Tower of Babel is located… well, even I don't fully understand how the ancients managed to create this place within the intersections of worlds, but somehow, they used that phenomenon to push a portion of reality containing the Tower out of the ordinary world, into a kind of border realm," Medea replied, and her tone was a dead-serious indicator of how monumental an accomplishment this must have been. "In the end, the Tower vanished from both worlds, preventing interference from the gods — which was the builders' aim. The side effect, however, is that now it can only be reached through these Babylonian Paths. And they have become more unstable with each passing century… now, only wizards at my level, or perhaps slightly weaker, can pass through them."
"As is typical in these stories, it didn't end well," I observed, instinctively edging a bit closer to the witch. She noticed but said nothing.
"Indeed," she replied after ten leisurely paces that echoed softly around us. "When we first uncovered the Tower's remains, we found thousands of skeletons inside. It took quite an effort to clear it all out. The space inside is too unstable for any large-scale spells, and that's precisely why we're gathering there."
"...We?" I repeated, picking out the crucial word.
"Yes, the great witches. Though I personally detest the title and voted against its adoption, everyone else suddenly decided they wanted to try, ha-ha, 'democracy.' Damn the Greeks who invented it." Medea nearly spat, catching herself at the last second. Knowing her as I do, it was almost expected.
"So forgive the phrasing, but isn't this essentially a kind of... coven?" I made the simple deduction aloud.
"Not in the slightest. This has nothing to do with some barbaric ritual where hideous creatures devour babies or anyone just a bit older. It's simply a gathering of accomplished witches from all over the world where we can freely converse, exchange information, and the like. Similar to the social events of European aristocrats, only without the dancing or the refined customs of the second millennium A.D.," the Colchian replied with unmistakable disdain, which was understandable given how different her homeland's ancient customs were from the typical rules of conduct among European nobles.
"Which leads me to conclude that you came in person so I would join you at this... gathering?" Anyone could've guessed, though you'd be surprised. Sometimes people can be so thick that it takes serious restraint not to facepalm.
"Precisely. At first, I planned to send my familiar and not keep you waiting... but circumstances have a way of changing. So the familiar went to your mother instead, and you're coming with me." She waved her hand, slowing her pace slightly. "Knowing you're neither foolish nor dull-witted, and would eventually figure out my reasons…" She paused with a hint of approval in her tone that did wonders for my sense of self-worth. "I'll be blunt. Recently, my… colleagues have taken up a strange interest or, one might say, fetish, to use a new — " likely an 18th-century — "French term. I'm unsure who first suggested the idea, but it spread quickly," she trailed off momentarily, then continued, "They became fascinated by the notion that on the eve of a new millennium… yes, likely it was Makeda's idea, it would be wise to pass on some of our knowledge to apprentices."
"Unusual," I replied with all the understatement I could muster.
"That's one way to put it. The thing is, it's simply a convenient, if peculiar, pretext. Our rivalry runs deep, and while I don't partake in such meaningless spectacles, I don't wish to remain overly aloof. Knowledge is invaluable, and we exchange it regularly," she paused again, thinking. "This current situation is just another form of rivalry. Since competing directly is... problematic — and the last attempt ended rather poorly — we all decided to have students represent us. So… deduce, and speak."
"You're planning to present me as your apprentice, which — while not exactly true — will be accepted formally by the others, allowing you to participate in the competition without having to compete personally," I inferred. In simpler terms, Medea planned to introduce me as her 'student' and politely imply to her colleagues that they should stop bothering her to participate.
"Correct. I imagine it disrupts some of your plans, so as I'm not ungrateful, I'll compensate you with a few private lessons." She kept walking, but her head turned slightly toward me, a subtle smile curving her incredibly smooth, violet lips.
"I would have agreed in any case," I replied honestly, "but I only have a week of break left, and three days are already gone. Of course, the reputation of an ideal student is nothing compared to your lessons, but — "
"You've done nothing to deserve the sabotage of your plans, boy, however trivial they may seem to me. The gathering will last three days at most. You'll accompany me, listen to what those as skilled as I am have to say… then, as usual, I'll leave the Tower early." The witch's tone was just slightly condescending, as we neared the end of the corridor.
Visually, it wasn't apparent, but every ounce of my intuition and experience with magical senses was alerting me loud and clear.
"Thank you," I replied sincerely, aware that she didn't have to be so accommodating. Both of us knew that I couldn't really refuse, nor would I bear any grudge over a slight display of high-handedness. I value our relationship — however strange it may be — far too much for that. From a cynical perspective, it brings me far too many personal advantages to end it over something so trivial.
"…You're welcome," came her neutral reply after a good ten seconds of silence. Odd, to say the least. Could our strange relationship be shifting toward something more… solid?