The Onyx Throne - Book One

The inside of the Maiden’s Mist reminded Mitchell of a fancy hotel lobby. The air was substantially cooler than the humid desert heat outside, so much so that Mitchell wondered if they had somehow discovered air conditioning without the benefit of electricity. Probably something magical, he concluded. He was irritated for a moment at being born into a universe that had almost no mana but the thought quickly fell away as he took in the palatial setting.

The space was elegantly appointed with more statuary of what he assumed were depictions of various gods, plus some other things that looked like sea creatures to fit with the water theme. Some were beautiful mermaid-like beings while others looked terrifying with too many tentacles, fangs, eyes, or fins. Large broad-leaved plants and trees were spread around the circular space and it felt a little like a greenhouse. The air was so thick with the scent of flora that Mitchell imagined he could almost taste the exotic flavor of the foreign greenery on his tongue.

A handful of people moved about the lobby in various stages of undress. He identified the staff of the bathhouse quickly enough. They were all beautiful and in excellent shape. The males were almost uniformly tall and looked like they stepped out of a Men’s Health magazine and the women appread to be heading for a photo shoot on a tropical island somewhere. Most of the staff looked human but there were a few elves walking among them as well as some that looked like a hybrid between the two with less sharply pointed ears and eyes less dramatically slanted than their fellow elves. Their clothing was also similar. The women on the staff wore one-piece garments that wrapped around their necks, crossed over their breasts and became short skirts around their waists. It left plenty of cleavage exposed and their midriffs were completely bare. The men wore loincloths and some had a loose-fitting vest not that dissimilar from the one he wore, while others were bare-chested and glistening. Some were carrying supplies. Others were escorting guests, most of which were wearing robes and some of which were almost nude themselves.

He felt more than a little out of place as they walked towards a circular reception desk made of a deep ebony-colored wood. They were wearing the same clothes they had been for the last several days and, while the water from the spire had helped in washing away some of the road dust, it also left them with streaks of ruddy brown all over his exposed skin where it hadn’t been fully washed off. To his dismay, he also saw they were leaving muddy footprints on the polished sandstone-colored floor. He was sure at any moment a staff member would ask them to leave, but no one did.

There was a man and a woman behind the desk and they weren’t wearing the gossamer robes of the other staff. The woman, a short but curvy human female with blonde hair and honey-brown eyes was wearing a blouse that was cinched tight around ample hips and flared open at the neck to expose breasts that were almost popping out. The man beside her was slightly taller than Mitchell but in substantially better shape. His oiled muscled shined in the soft light of the magical flames encircling the room and his hair was cut close to his head. His shirt was just as tight as the woman’s and seemed to be tailored to accentuate every bulge on his chest. If either of them cared about Mitchell’s and Lethelin’s rough and dirty appearance they didn’t give any sign. Mitchell guessed they must get people in like them all the time since this city appeared to be a bit of a hub between the mountains and the capital.

After some intense haggling between Lethelin and the hostess, the diminutive thief managed to knock off a gold piece - or fang, as it was referred to here - from the price, a fact which seemed to please her immensely. For some reason during the exchange, the hostess kept glancing at some runes that were carved along the surface of the desk. Mitchell was unsure what she was looking for there but - whatever it was - she didn’t seem to find it.

“Enjoy your stay at The Maiden’s Mist, if it be Stollar’s desire,” the woman said, her smile forced and her lips tight.

Lethelin pulled the strings on her coin purse tight and secreted it away somewhere inside her cloak.

“Under his shining light, I have every confidence that we will,” Lethelin chirped back, her face all smiles and thanks as she pointedly ignored the near scowl of the woman behind the counter.

There was a little discussion as Lethelin gave a description of Allora and Revos but Mitchell noticed that she did not provide names.

Finally, all details settled, the woman rang a small bell. From nearby, a young human woman gave a small bow with her hands clasped demurely in front of her waist. She looked no older than 18 but had long, deep brown hair reaching down to her lower back.

“Please escort our guests to the Silver Grotto and place them in suites twelve and thirteen,” the hostess instructed.

“If it is Stollar’s desire, it will be so,” the petite young woman answered.

Then, looking at Lethelin and Mitchell, she said, “If you would please follow me.”

She turned sharply on her heel and headed left away from the desk towards a large staircase that went down. Mitchell and Lethelin followed a few paces behind, her arm hooked into his.

“Priestesses,” Lethelin said, her voice pitched low so their guide would not overhear. “No sense of humor.”

Mitchell raised an eyebrow at her.

“That woman is a priestess?”

“All the staff here are either priests, priestesses, or acolytes of Stollar. Very uptight.”

“Was it a good idea to say that her mother had been mounted by a–” Mitchell paused to try and remember what Lethelin had remarked during the negotiations. “By a ‘bankrupt horker breeder’? I don’t think she liked that very much.”

“I didn’t say it,” Lethelin corrected him quickly. “Implied, sure. But I didn’t say it.”

Lethelin gave him a big grin and he heard their guide gasp at the apparent insult.

Seeing the look on his face, she assured him they would not be getting arrested for blasphemy or anything like that. Mitchell only somewhat believed her.

****

After following their guide down three levels and through a long hall bathed in a silvery glow from hovering mage lights along the walls, Mitchell had come to the conclusion that these people loved art. Almost every surface was decorated in some way, either with topiary, frescoes, mosaics, scenes in bas-relief, statues, or paintings.

He and Lethelin were shown to their private rooms which he was told had adjoining doors. Lethelin said she would check on him in about an hour and recommended he take a long soak and scrub himself from head to toe. A shaving kit would be delivered and he could chop off his beard if he wanted.

The room would have passed for a four or five-star hotel back home, possibly at some resort. It was one large square that had been cut straight into the rock. He estimated it was perhaps eight meters across and ten meters deep. The central feature was obviously the tub, although calling it that didn’t quite do it justice.

The far end of the room opposite the door was a rather large bathing pool that could have fit six or seven people comfortably. Carved into the back wall was a bas-relief of an underwater garden. Coming out of the wall were statues of two mer creatures, a male and a female judging by their chest anatomy, although their faces were far more fish-like than human. They were each holding a silver pitcher that was angled to pour but no water was coming out. The floor of the bathing pool was done in a dazzling mosaic of two moons transiting a night sky, obviously meant to represent Ithstasy and Vish. On one side, were seats formed out of the stone and on the other was a section that looked like it was made for lying down in but was raised high enough to keep one’s head above the water.

Along the wall near the door was a plush bed that looked so comfortable Mitchell almost forgot about bathing. Just the thought of sleeping in a real bed made him groan. He’d been camping each night on the ground for more days than he could properly remember. If it weren’t for the thought of ruining the clean bedding he would have collapsed into it straight away.

There was also a table that could seat four, as well as some long sofas and a loveseat spaced around the room. Everything was done in pale blues and greens that he found incredibly soothing. A small sectioned-off area revealed a strange-looking toilet. He saw no handles or levers that might bring in water or flush but he did see three silvery seashells that were inset into a small recess into the wall next to the toilet and he resolved to figure it out later. And he once again marveled at the apparent parallel evolution on this world. A clam was a clam no matter the universe, he guessed.

Lethelin had informed him to just throw his clothes in a pile by the door and there would be clean things he could wear until they got proper clothes ordered in the evening. He did just that, stripping naked and walking over to the bathing pool. He saw controls of a sort set into the floor just next to the steps that led into the pool and they weren’t hard to figure out. There was a lever that was set into a slot that could adjust the temperature and flow from the two silver pitchers held by the statues. He found smaller nobs that controlled the drain in the floor and one that allowed water to flow from a series of small holes in the ceiling rather than the spouts. This functioned as a shower. He could almost weep for the joy of it.

Activating the water and leaving the drain open he found citrusy-smelling soaps and scrubbing towels and, setting the temperature as hot as he could stand it, stepped into his first shower since the day he’d been pulled into this world. The tingling water of the wellspring coursing over his whole body was impossible to describe but it made him giggle and he didn’t care. Immediately his muscles began to unclench and he let out a groan so loud it was almost a scream as the pleasure overwhelmed him. He had to resist the urge to slide down to the floor and let the shower water pound him into oblivion. Nothing had ever felt so good in his life.

Mitchell wasn’t sure how long he stayed under the steaming water but it was long enough for his skin to be beet red and his fingers to start to go pruney. Reluctantly he stepped out of the spray and began to lather up and scrub down. He pretended he couldn’t see the rivers of dirt and grime that the coarse hand towels removed from his body. Once he was clean he lathered up and did it again. Then again. He reveled in the feeling of being clean. Only when his skin was nearly raw from the scrubbing did he relent. Then he went over to the controls, closed off the drain, and turned on the water from the wall. He added some scented oils and the room quickly filled with a citrus smell that reminded him of freshly squeezed lemons and pine. The pool filled quickly and he laid down in the recliner section that was formed to fit a humanoid shape, only moving again when the water was at his chin. He found the lever just behind his head and pulled it back to the neutral position to stop the flow. The sound of silence was almost deafening after the roar of the water and then he only heard his breathing in the still room and the occasional sound of dripping. He closed his eyes and simply lay.

No one was hunting him here. No one was snapping at his skin with whips of air, or laying into him with a wooden sword. It was the first moment of true peace he’d had since he arrived on this god-forsaken planet. He was weary. He felt it in his bones. A weariness that he had never known before. Days of nothing but struggle to get out of this hellish desert and to train his mind and body, all so that he could be prepared to take on a tyrant, save a kingdom, and win the love of a woman.

That last thought made him pause. Most of the time during their travels he could ignore the problem of Allora. There was always something more important going on than the tension between the two of them. But here, in the quiet of his room, all he had were his thoughts. Mitchell was truly alone for the first time. He didn’t even have his Spotify playlist to distract him. What he wouldn’t give for some Tom Waits or a little Otis Redding. Maybe even Lana Del Rey. People back home sometimes talked shit about her, but Mitchell always enjoyed her mellow voice. Tom and Otis knew about heartbreak and longing though.

“Yeah, that will help my mood,” Mitchell said sarcastically to the empty room.

Sometimes Mitchell saw her looking at him and thought she must be feeling something. He felt he was getting better at reading her elvish expressions. Allora’s face would go still sometimes and, in the beginning, he didn’t know what it meant exactly. But, after weeks together, he thought he was starting to understand her. When he tried to have casual conversations with her, that’s when she went still. That was her wall. Her eyes would lose focus and she would look through him. Her responses would be monosyllabic unless she was teaching him something. Did she still hate him? Did she resent him being so weak? Mitchell didn’t think so because when she thought he wasn’t looking he saw genuine concern on her face. But when he tried to talk to her, her gaze went cold.

The stress was helping him though. Mitchell would throw himself into his practice to burn off the frustration of it all and had earned some grudging nods of approval from both Revos and Allora. He had asked about learning Lethelin’s style of fighting since she seemed to favor daggers, but Allora had refused. The styles were totally different and would only confuse him. He needed to master the fundamentals of the longsword before she would entertain any other fighting styles. Lethelin, never one to be shown up, remarked that Allora just didn’t want to be embarrassed by a common girl from the docks of Varset. Allora hadn’t taken the bait, though, and simply arched one delicate eyebrow. It had almost felt like they were fighting over him, which amused Mitchell somewhat.

That brought him back to Lethelin. The other dangerous, potentially psychotic woman in his life. He felt a very strong attraction to her as well, though it was different. Mitchell had always liked strong women and Lethelin, for all her small stature, was that. He had not sparred with her nor had he seen her use her blades in combat, but she moved with the same kind of grace that Allora did.

Even when she didn’t need to, Lethelin almost never made a sound when she walked. Then there was the way she sometimes vanished. It was the damnedest thing. She would be sitting somewhere, usually while they rested or trained, and, when he would look again, she was gone. Then later, she would be right back where she was, as if she hadn’t moved at all when clearly she had. Something was strange about her and even when Revos tested her for magical abilities and said she was truly dun, Mitchell had trouble accepting it. He was sure there was more than met the eye.

Allora was not impressed, however.

In his opinion, Allora was underestimating the red-headed woman’s skills. Perhaps it had to do with their different upbringings. Allora had been born into privilege and Lethelin had grown up on the streets. Not that she’d been poor, she talked often enough about her mother’s successful business before she’d been murdered by Ivaran, but she had chosen to live on the fringes and had rejected the comforts of an upper-middle-class life. Something had drawn her to a life of crime and murder and Mitchell wondered just how safe they were with her. But that edge to her personality, that hint of cold murder, was also exciting.

If Allora was the moral center of their little merry band of adventurers, Lethelin was the seed of chaos. Her morals were way more flexible and her actions were harder to predict. Mitchell had a decent sense of Allora’s character but Lethelin’s was more fluid. Would she kiss you or slip a knife between your ribs? Only one way to find out.

And then there was their kiss in the park. Now that some time had passed he had to wonder about what it meant to her. She was a bit of a rogue and an assassin and, promise or not, he didn’t know if he could truly trust her. Not fully, anyway. Not like that.

His instincts demanded be take her and take her hard. He hadn’t been this long without sex in years.

Back in his old life, he’d been moderately successful with women, having a few relationships that lasted well over a year and he could usually count on a dating app or a random meeting at a bar to provide him with temporary companionship if he wanted. But, as near as he could tell, they had been on the road roughly two months, if not longer, and there were no women to be found. Until that kiss.

As much as he wanted to explore that dangerous body of hers, now that he was away from the heat of the moment, he felt he needed to proceed with caution. And then there was Allora to think about. But did she even want him? Then again, men and women had multiple partners in this world. Could he have both of them? That idea stirred some feelings in him for sure. What man wouldn’t want two gorgeous women all to himself?

“Fuck,” Mitchell said to himself. “When did things get so god-damned complicated?”

“Right about the time you decided to offer a stunning elvish warrior woman a ride home,” was his answer.

Lethelin was nearby and he assumed Allora and Revos had arrived by now. No doubt someone would come to check on him soon, but for the moment he had the space to himself. So while he lay in the steaming water he decided to move his thoughts to more practical things and practice his meditation techniques. Better that than getting lost in Pornhub fantasies about threesomes with a cold-blooded assassin and an elf.

“What are you doing step elf?” Mitchell mumbled and then snorted at his own joke.

Summoning his mana was trivial now. It had become natural to seize it and simply hold it even though he had no spells to cast yet. It filled him with an energy that he couldn’t quite describe. It was almost like he was holding life itself in his hands, as absurd as that sounded when he said it. He loved the feel of it as it flowed out of whatever magical space it was stored in inside his body. He imagined it like a river of light pouring out of his soul and flowing along his body. He also had no problem any longer directing it to different parts of himself. He could send it down his left or right hand or up to his head. It felt the strangest when he did that. The mana seemed to settle in a space just behind his forehead and it sometimes gave him goosebumps. If he held it long enough, it began to feel like he had another consciousness in his mind.

Revos said there were mystics who would hold their mana in their heads for days at a time, forgoing food, sleep, and even water in the quest for visions or prophecy. Eventually they went mad, assuming they survived extended periods of fasting long enough to suffer the effects. Revos had assured him that the small amount of time he would be holding mana there would be insignificant. Allora used a krisa, which required the magic to be centered in her head, and had been doing so since childhood.

Mitchell called for his mana and it came, filling his chest with a soft warmth, and began his practice of directing it where he wanted it. At first, this had been tricky and he had failed. Repeatedly. But Revos’s brutal educational tactics had beaten the skill into him and now he could manage it, although not as fast as his tutor said he should. So he would practice now, in the quiet. He intended to send it down his left arm first, into his hand, but as the magic began to move down his bicep he noticed something strange. There was a slight sparkle in the water around his skin. It was almost like minute fireflies swirling in the eddies made by the movement of his body. Startled, he lost the hold on his mana and it dissipated immediately. Then he cursed himself for dropping it so easily and called it back. If Revos had seen how easily he lost his control it would have earned him a lash across some exposed bit of skin with one of his damned air whips.

Now that Mitchell was looking, he saw the glow begin again around his chest. He dropped the mana and the fireflies vanished once more. He experimented a few more times and then began to move his mana into his limbs. The aquatic fireflies followed. When he started to pool the mana in his left hand as if he were going to cast a spell, something he had practiced often enough, the glow intensified. The swirling lights were almost hypnotic to watch.

He played around like that for several minutes when there was a chime from the door.

“Permission to enter, if it be Stollar’s will,” a male voice called from the other side of the door.

“Enter,” Mitchell called back.

The door opened smoothly and one of the staff, a young man who looked to be barely sixteen, set down a small basket on a table just inside the door.

“Your shaving kit, as you requested,” the young man said. “If it be Stollar’s desire, shall I send your clothes to be cleaned?”

He assented. The man grabbed the filthy bundle of clothes and left quietly.

Putting his practice aside and figuring that he had soaked long enough, he got up and grabbed one of the plush towels arranged next to the bathing pool. As he dried off, he hit the button on the floor that operated the drain and then dressed in a loose pair of shorts that they provided before walking over to examine the shaving kit. He did stop for a moment to admire his physique in the mirror.

The physical training Allora ran him through daily was just as intense as the magical training but, as with his progress with his mana, his body was showing the effects too. He’d never been a slouch back home, but if he had to guess, he had put on at least five pounds of muscle since they’d been freed. His shoulders looked broader than before and his trapezius muscles were much more visible. The near starvation diet he’d been on while a captive had cost him the small amount of fat he’d been carrying around and then the high-protein diet on top of the training had made him a little bit ripped. He looked damn good if he said so himself. Mitchell could definitely get used to this.

The shaving kit was not that dissimilar from one he would find back home, only it had a straight razor that he’d never used before.

“I guess Gillette doesn’t have a trade agreement with Tewadunn,” he muttered.

No five-bladed disposable razors here. Here they did it Sweeny Todd-style.

Mitchell picked up the gleaming blade and opened it up. It glinted dangerously in the soft light of his room and he imagined it cutting smoothly through his neck and spilling arterial blood all over the mosaic floor. He winced at the clarity of the image in his mind and examined the rest of the kit. It contained a shaving brush, a pair of scissors, and an assortment of creams and lotions.

“How the hell am I going to do this?”

Just then there was a chime from the other door in his room, the one leading to Lethelin’s suite.