Zar sacrifices one eye to gain another, and enters Tordunh, the underworld.
*
The Valra set sail at first light, and Zar watched as the sun rose over Saruz. "Farewell, Jien," she whispered. Then, in the privacy of a tiny cabin with a hard, dirty bed and barely enough room to stand, a small shuttered window to let light and air in, she found the time and peace to wash herself at last, cleaning away the residue of the night's adventure.
And to study the vile breastplate that she hated already. Beautiful though the silver-scaled corset was, its constriction about her waist was fierce, as if in permanent reminder that she had displeased the goddess. Worse, though, was the way it emphasised her breasts, supporting them and firming them without in any way concealing their individual contours - except for her nipples that, no matter how hard they pressed against the inside of the silver corset, made no impression on the outside.
Unlike any armour fashioned by men, the silver breastplate was part of her, even more so than the moonsilver chastity belt. As if the metal were her skin, she could feel the slightest caress against it, or the gentlest kiss. But also, delicate though it looked, the armour was effective, dismissing the blade of her knife and resisting her attempts to feel more than a whisper of fingertips across her hidden nipples.
With an irritated sigh, Zar curled up on the too small bed, and struggled to find a comfortable position. The left cheek of her ass was still sore where the Goddess had spanked her, but the discomfort eased for a while whenever she massaged it. In time, the creaking timbers lulled her to sleep.
For two weeks the Valra sailed from port to port, visiting the major islands, dropping off chests of food and casks of wine, taking on bales of silk and barrels of oil. The skies were clear, the winds fair, and the voyage without major incident. The food, on the other hand, was dry and tasteless, the quarters cramped, and the company rude. Zar was surrounded by men who leered openly at her prominent breasts, and the more they did so, the sharper became the memory of the Goddess's hand, and the greater the temptation to massage that lingering injury. A few times she caught herself doing it unconsciously, her skirt half-lifted, to the watchers' delight.
She was relieved to disembark at last at Dalna, the outermost inhabited island in the group, but her destination was one further: "Then to the Isle of Arae, Doom of Sailors, for the Eye of K'Dunhe," the seer had said.
Arae was little more than a rock, small enough to pass unnoticed in a storm, but on a good day visible from Dalna. On the isle was a cave, K'Dunhe, rumoured to be one of the ten entrances to the underworld - but none knew for sure, for the island was home to sirens whose seductive enchantments proved fatal to all unwary enough to stray close. Or so it was said.
No one would dare to take Zar there... but given a simple raft and a calm enough sea, any fool could make the crossing. Sometimes the rafts even came back.
Of greater concern to Zar were the posters from the Temple of Veshla, offering a reward of one thousand crowns. "Thief!" the letters screamed; and the sketch, she had to admit, was a good likeness. Certainly there were others who thought so.
*
The sun was setting, a crimson glory extinguished by the ocean, as Zar approached the Isle of Arae. Long before she was close enough to glimpse the three maidens, bare and beautiful beyond comparison, their long tresses bright and restless like curls of flame, she heard their song. Half-heard fragments of song that she strived to hear better above the whispering wind in her ears and the breaking waves.
Something in their voices stirred the hunger in her, that aching need to be touched. Even knowing the danger that awaited, all that mattered was seeing those women, getting her hands on them. Her hands itched to feel their perfect breasts. She licked her lips in anticipation of kissing their delicate lips and sucking on their prominent nipples. She would spread their legs and gorge on lustral pleasure, and her tongue would taste the forbidden sweetness of their asses.
By the time she was close enough to wade, she was dizzy with lust. Discarding the raft without a second thought, she rushed to the shore. Though the rock was barren, the air was fragrant with jasmine, the exquisite perfume of the three women that danced and laughed so joyously. Zar laughed too as she tried to catch them and they pirouetted out of reach. Still, some memory of her purpose lingered, and she knew she had to get away from the maids, that their magic could doom even her. She strode past them, climbing the slope to the mouth of the cave
But her need was too great. Sitting with her back to a rock, she attacked her corset and belt with her fingers, trying desperately to excite her swollen nipples or appease the throbbing urgency below. The three maids sang to her, promising an eternity of blissful ecstasy, beseeching her to hurry, and Zar screamed with frustration as the moonsilver denied her, and Veshla's breastplate turned her efforts into a teasing torture.
Whimpering, she crawled higher, the cave within sight - and something else too. Something remarkable. Like a man, he was. Indeed, like a king, for he wore an iron crown, but he was twice the size of a man, or at least in body and limb he was twice as thick, and the cock that projected erect, almost vertically, was an answer to her prayers.
Squatting over the stone figure, she eased down onto that cock. As smooth and hard as marble it was, and as cold too, but to feel it in her, stretching her ass so painfully she screamed as the thick head finally penetrated the tight ring of muscle, was bliss indeed. Again and again she drove herself down onto it, fucking herself with that stone phallus. Around her the maids danced, urging her to an end, to that exquisite pleasure that meant surrender.
But it still wasn't enough! - until it was all too much. Zar slumped, defeated, sobbing miserably because she had been cursed.
Agitated, the sirens' dance faltered, and their song lost its harmony. As the spell lost its coherence, Zar recovered her senses slowly. Dismissing her tears with a laugh, she stood and faced the sirens. Their human aspect no longer convinced or enticed her, and they snarled angrily, threatening her with razor-sharp teeth but keeping their distance.
She looked down at the stone figure, and realised she had discovered the answer to a riddle. "Then to the Isle of Arae, Doom of Sailors, for the Eye of K'Dunhe," the old seer had said, which had been clear enough, but the seer had added, more enigmatically: "and take the Troll King's cock to Lliria."
Surely this iron-crowned statue could be none other than the Troll King. Taking the Dawn Blade from its sheath, and muttering an apology to the petrified king, Zar severed the stone cock at the base, and wrapped it reverently in cloth.
*
"The Eye of K'Dunhe," Sister Palwe had announced, armed with a dozen ancient scrolls, "is the twilight eye. It watches from the West, from beneath the setting sun, where it resides in darkness and in light, seeing all. The Sage of Baru'Jei, who claimed the dawn eye in the East, sacrificed his own eye to do so. 'A man may only possess two eyes,' he wrote. 'To gain one, he must first give one away.' It was said that he could see the dreams of other men as if they were his own."
To Zar that seemed like a particularly useless ability, but the Seer had led her here for a purpose. The Eye itself was a fiery red orb suspended midair within the cave, K'Dunhe. It burned or tore apart anything that touched it, so that there was no way to take it away.
No. It required sacrifice. An eye, for an eye.
