Chapitre 50: Chapter 48
"Is there anything I need to know about your… colleagues?" I ventured after another few moments of silence.
"Possibly, yes. But I won't have time to tell you about all of them, and if I tell you about only some, you might form a skewed impression of the others. I'll introduce them as you meet them; I can guarantee many will want a look at my — ha, pupil, as the woman who supposedly hates and was betrayed by men has chosen to take on one as an apprentice." Medea practically hissed in sardonic tones. "Old hens who've scattered whatever brains they once had, if they had any to begin with. As for the younger ones — don't get me started! Why on earth did anyone decide to invite them?"
Hmm, looks like our relationship may have leveled up again. This was the first time she'd vented so openly about outsiders — maybe I'd even reach "friend" status.
"But I digress. You'll need to keep silent. Show no reaction. Just be silent. No matter what they say, a simple greeting from you will be enough to satisfy basic courtesy. And… I know you're more restrained than most your age…" I knew exactly what she was getting at, not that it needed saying. "But it won't hurt to remind you — don't expect many attendees at the Babylonian Gathering to bother with appropriate attire. They naively think their fabricated beauty must be put on full display."
"Understood," I replied, already forming another thought. Despite her vast experience and age (uncertain, but definitely significant), my companion still seemed irritated by those who'd achieved comparable beauty by artificial means. I'd known a few women in my past life who were infuriated by the regulars of cosmetic surgery clinics. Compared to them, Medea's reaction was practically mild. "I'm guessing I should expect similar responses as with Queen Medb?"
"So, you did meet her," the witch noted. "Most of my associates aren't as… affectionate, but they're certainly not asexual. However, given my history, they'll probably keep their distance from you… wait." Medea halted, stretching out her right hand. "Hold still."
Nothing was visually apparent, and the path seemed to continue ahead. But with some instinctive sixth sense, I felt an invisible barrier in front of us — one I very much didn't want to walk into.
In a flash, an oval opening similar to the one through which my companion had emerged earlier appeared before us.
"Come along. Boldly now," she urged, stepping forward.
…Oh wow.
Impressive…
Though the structure was obviously incomplete, with a layered design that narrowed as it rose and several crumbled sections, its height — surpassing even the semi-legendary Empire State Building and nearly as tall as the yet-to-be-built Burj Khalifa — paired with a base broader than the Great Pyramid of Giza by several magnitudes, commanded respect.
Especially considering it was primarily built by ordinary people of ancient times, with only modest help from magic, which wasn't particularly advanced at that point. And given Medea's words about the first wizards in history, that respect grew even more.
"Enough staring, boy. You'll have time later. You may even see this place again, though I hope their absurd scheme wraps up quickly enough." Medea started walking down the incline from our portal vantage point, which provided a breathtaking view of the Tower. As I caught up, she continued, "You're old enough to grasp this, but their students — inevitably so-called young geniuses… probably aren't. They'll get cocky, forget who their mentors are and what they're known for, and die a miserable, inglorious death." There was open bloodlust in her tone as she shared her hopes.
"A predictable fate for all the arrogant," I replied coolly, fully supporting such an outcome. The fools who don't know their place ought to pay a high price for their stupidity. One could even call it a form of natural selection; as much as people like to lump it with social Darwinism, it's a constant force in every aspect of life.
"Don't get too smug, boy. To many, you probably come off as one of the arrogant ones yourself," Medea remarked with a smirk, though fortunately without any real reproach. "Life isn't as simple as it seems, even to the intelligent. Finding one's place isn't always easy." She sounded almost philosophical for a moment.
We continued the rest of the way in silence until we reached a grand archway — the tower's most prominent entrance — where Medea took the floor once again.
"Since, unlike the others in this place, you're still closer to human — even with that dash of Fafnir's blood that has pushed you beyond a merely human magician — take this," she said, extending a delicate hand clad in a black glove, offering me a sort of amulet.
The pattern on it was unfamiliar, as was the material. It felt like wood, but also like… a very hard, non-greasy cheese, oddly enough.
Without further delay, I slipped it around my neck on the dark cord that had already been attached.
"This will help you negate the effects of the tower's unstable magic," she explained, indulging my curiosity yet again, as she resumed her stride forward.
I refrained from stating the obvious, as it was clear she knew I understood. Not that it was easy to think of the right words at that moment; my mind was far more occupied by my surroundings.
There was certainly much to take in. The place was like a magical version of the anomalies in S.T.A.L.K.E.R., filled with otherworldly disturbances. Magical, of course, rather than scientific.
Along the way, Medea seemed to glance back at me with an almost condescending look, as if I were some starry-eyed child. Perhaps she had a point; I'd been craning my neck like Potter's first trip to Diagon Alley. Even though wizards perceive magic instinctively, the eyes remain a crucial source of information.
Another oddity was the complete lack of fatigue, even after a solid ten minutes of continuous ascent on the tower's immense, winding staircase. I wasn't exactly the athletic type, so I figured some explanation was in order.
After putting this more diplomatically, I asked her about it.
"A powerful charm has been cast throughout the Tower to reduce fatigue to almost negligible levels. The creators envisioned this place as a near-paradise on Earth, where exhaustion simply had no place," Medea explained. "And, to preempt your next question, since I know you dislike distracting me unduly — which is sensible on your part — no, we can't simply use magic to reach the top. You've seen how unstable the magical field is… and you, girl, stop lurking. If you want to say something, step forward and speak plainly. No need to skulk in the shadows like an assassin of Sabbah."
"Oh, nothing gets past you, dear Medea," someone muttered, and then a figure sprang out of my shadow. "Bridget Bishop, at your service." A woman dressed in what could only be described as dark, archaic clothing, even by the standards of traditionalist wizards, gave us a bow. She looked to be around thirty, though the bow carried a palpable air of mockery that even Ron Weasley would have noticed.
"I have no need for diminutive lackeys," the Colchian witch said dismissively and walked ahead a bit faster without a word of farewell.
Nodding briefly to the woman, I hurried after my "false teacher," remembering her own advice.
"Well… I expected that. Like teacher, like female student…" I heard her say behind me, and I nearly choked.
What?!
Sure, my looks might lean toward the charming side, but they're far from effeminate. Even as a child, I could hardly be mistaken for a girl unless you stuck me in a dress and looked from the side. Now? Not a chance...
The chuckle that followed quickly made things clear, nearly earning her a few choice insults. And yet, well — she was a witch. And probably not a great one; there wasn't that aura of age-old power that surrounded members of the ancient and elite magical caste.
Fortunately, though she trailed behind us, Bridget kept her silence, apparently possessing enough instinct for self-preservation to recognize that Medea wasn't inclined to chat.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone