"Well, since everyone has arrived, I'd like to announce the beginning of the 134th Babylonian Gathering, ladies... and the few gentlemen among us," Semiramis declared, sweeping her gaze over me and a few other young men who were apprentices to the great witches. If the usual Gathering attendees had male apprentices, they hadn't been invited here. Far too elite an event for them. "Or is it the 135th?" she murmured thoughtfully to herself, but since her voice was amplified by Sonorus, or a similar charm (judging by the absence of a wand near her throat), everyone heard her anyway. "Today, we're joined by four new participants. Who they are, you either know or will soon find out; you're all grown-ups. Socializing is necessary, you know. Centuries of solitude and seclusion will drive anyone to madness. You'll all end up like Medea."
"Oh yes, it's a pleasure, really. Now get to the point!" replied the witch sitting beside me, which earned us numerous stares. If I'd had any chance at remaining unnoticed, well… ha… that was gone now. Anyway, given the passivity of these long-lived individuals — at least in this reality — and the fact that over centuries of isolation, wizards and sorceresses don't grow sharper (as that takes doing a bit more than nothing), I didn't mind. And as Medea had explained, these younger attendees (ah yes, a mere two or three hundred years old) were the ones who were mostly at fault.
…Maybe they even dabbled in research or something. But that's skill, not intelligence. Strangely enough, these are not at all equivalent.
"As we've all agreed, each of the great witches will take on an apprentice, and even Medea didn't ignore this," Semiramis went on, clearly relishing every moment she could irritate, if not completely rile up, my mentor. "And in this Gathering, we'll be presenting the preliminary results of the mentoring work by my esteemed colleagues for all the other respectable… I lie, disrespectable Gathering attendees to see."
"Look at the way this ancient hag has stuck her nose in the air…" muttered someone nearby, though I couldn't locate the voice's owner... and then a lightning bolt struck one of the women.
Straight from the sky. Just like that.
I barely had time to flinch, simply staring blankly at the charred corpse.
"Apologies, I misspoke — today we're joined by three participants," Semiramis continued in her honeyed tone as if nothing had happened.
"Not even five Gatherings, and the young ones are acting up again," commented an old woman who stood out among this garden of beauties, though she looked quite dignified. "You could have swatted her afterward."
"What are you on about, Yaga?" the dark-haired head of the Gathering turned toward the speaker with an expression of polite amusement.
The legendary figure of Russian folklore waved a hand, apparently concluding that any further response was pointless.
"What was that about?" shrugged the head of the Gathering, and turned once more to face the rest of the crowd. Like us, Yaga preferred to sit apart from the others. The others, incidentally, were now casting tense glances between the corpse and the one responsible for it.
It seemed the fear of death hadn't faded, even for those who had lived centuries. Interesting.
"Stop tormenting the others, old hag," snorted a new arrival, whose attire immediately revealed her origins — Egypt, ancient Egypt. And judging by the fact that lightning hadn't struck her, she was one of the greats.
And this woman... she was stunning. I had to avert my gaze, not hastily, but definitely away.
She managed to stand out with her beauty even among these local Miss Universes. Not just her face or figure, though she excelled there as well, but there was… a certain aura around her, in every movement. Her charm, with not a hint of magical influence, etched itself into memory permanently.
And she was dressed far more provocatively than half the others combined — even Semiramis looked like a puritan next to her.
Not to mention, this almost stereotypical image of ancient Egyptian women had appealed to me even in my previous life. I was young then, stumbled upon a movie with Elizabeth Taylor on TV, went digging online after that… well… ahem.
"Who is she?" I wondered, as I could still recall many of the famous Egyptian figures from my days of fascination with history. Nitocris, Hatshepsut… but just for the sheer fun of it, I'll bet on Cleopatra. After all, her seductress persona rivaled, if not surpassed, Medb's.
If I were to describe these ladies symbolically, the Irishwoman is like the sweetest honey, thick enough to trap you, while this one is cool water in the hottest desert — the kind you've awaited for ages and feel an overwhelming urge to taste.
That's why she seems more dangerous to me. Honey is sweet and nice in small amounts, but even if you wanted to, you couldn't consume too much. Water, on the other hand, you could drink in liters under the scorching sun, and in the desert, you'd soon want more and more, again and again.
"Well?" Medea looked at me with a curious intonation. No, not the kind of look from those inexperienced in relationships. It was something else.
"Dangerous," I nodded briefly. Although her beauty wasn't predatory, like some warrior maidens I'd spotted here, if you looked deeper, as I was now… that was even more dangerous. Addiction doesn't flaunt itself; it feels natural, unlike a directly expressed threat.
"Cleo, are you doing this on purpose?" sighed Semiramis with a hint of resignation, confirming my guess. "Why not just call Yaga an old hag? She doesn't mind."
"The lustful queen will never admit I'm older than her," snickered Yaga.
"Lustful?" Cleopatra turned her head smoothly toward the Slavic witch. "And you, then — are you not the one luring various 'fine young men' into that… chicken-legged monstrosity of yours?"
"Well, somehow I'm not renowned among ordinary folk as a lover of intercourse, unlike certain people," the old lady grinned slyly.
"I'll have to see what the people in your wilderness have to say about that," Cleopatra replied skeptically. "I can't believe they wouldn't notice… especially since you interact with them so frequently."
"At least I didn't settle in a massive cemetery... a tomb, to be precise."
"Girls, girls, that's enough arguing! We're setting a poor example for the youngsters," another voice cut in. I wasn't sure who this was, but she was certainly one of the great witches, as her imposing aura could rival even Cleopatra's charm — though intimidation somewhat interferes with charisma.
She stood out... with her attire, very much so. She looked like an artist's idealized portrayal of ancient royalty, in this case, a queen — even if it bore no resemblance to reality.
Despite the fact that technically there was more fabric on her than on most of the others present, it was… very sheer. And if she had heard of a bra, it must have been in passing and deemed unimportant. There was more pearl decoration covering her chest than there was fabric!
God, if I'd been reborn five years earlier, this sight would've definitely stirred up some serious action in my pants. Especially compared to the modest attire of pure-blooded girls and women.
"No one gave Solomon's mistress permission to speak," Yaga retorted sharply, her face twisting into a look that abandoned all dignity.
"Granny Yaga, don't you have a cat to… keep company?" The Slavic witch managed to hit a nerve. "Oh, wait, he's in the Lord's kingdom now. How tragic…"
"And this is the partner of Solomon, famed for her wisdom? This world is descending into chaos…"
I turned to the Colchian woman.
"Er… Your Highness, don't you find this a bit…"
"Childish?" she asked with a knowing smile. "Undoubtedly. But it's like a cycle. Once, we insulted each other in the simplest ways, like ordinary people, unimaginatively — much like now. Through many meetings, we honed our skills… until we reached the peak. But even that became routine. So now, we've reverted to the simple insults, which we've managed to forget over time."
"Oh… I see," I replied, a bit surprised. Her words, like Medb's, though seeming nonsensical on the surface, actually made sense. I'd have to get used to that. "And how long will they go on like this?"
"Last time, it went on for about six hours." Medea shrugged slightly, somehow managing to observe the quarreling ladies through her impenetrable hood.
Pure magic, yeah.