We had lost the old ways.
Well perhaps more put aside than lost...no one was sure. A simple substance discovered in a pale green berry had put dormant our inclination to go into season, had put aside the madness that accompanied it.
Some experts were unsure as to the wisdom of this, but mating still occurred and the population hadn’t suffered, so most embraced it.
I myself had no recollection of the time before the drug we call
e’bahknal.
But records existed in abundance. Written personal accounts and depictions in art of the time of frenzy known as
bahknal
.
The blood alone was not so frightening.
It was the faces I’d seen in paintings that always haunted me. Faces caught in the moment of seeking and of mating.
Faces caught in the moments of recovery. Recovery of one’s senses.
The written histories told of a blessed forgetfulness that was un-blessedly incomplete.
There was always some recall. Some mental picture to put with the physical scars that made it impossible to be completely unaware of what had occurred during bahknal.
As a child I was filled with horror at the thought of such savagery even while my body, young as it was, responded to the primal urges of bahknal.
These were always strongest at the conjunction of the two moons, and often felt by children whose bodies were too young for e’bahknal. I was filled with alarm at the sight of bahknal behaviour and yet terribly, wonderfully drawn by it.
There was no doubt bahknal was a double-edged sword. Recollections of great ecstasy abounded and the expression on faces frozen by artists were as often ones of pleasure as of suffering.
I had foolishly believed that the illusive sensations provoked in childhood by the stories of bahknal would arise and be satisfied by the more gentle mating that is our adopted way.
I was wrong.
The act of mating is a pleasurable enough thing...
But it is not bahknal.
Don’t ask me how I know this. I do. That is enough for me. For me, and for Rayvek. We were sure it had not given up its hold on us. It is something, as scientists, we have no proof of. No research to confirm our theory. No studies to draw on.
And so, when he approached me with his suggestion, it seemed, well, objective and rational.
Could one really bring back the bahknal? Five hundred years later? Many generations have been born distant from its spell. Could we bring on the state and record it for science? Record its true nature now, within our enlightened beliefs.
I was caught up at once by the simplicity and boldness of this thought. Take two subjects, set them up in a safe research station, and forgo the e’bahknal.
What would happen? How long would it take? Would it occur at all? Could it be controlled? Reversed? So many questions. I had visions of recording body temperature, doing blood work, brain scans. I could see myself making careful visual observations, presenting the evidence, defending my hypothesis.
The long lost sensations of childhood echoed faintly in my stomach at the thought of witnessing bahknal. I wondered if Rayvek felt the same.
Well, despite our enthusiasm, our careful proposal, our reputations, we were denied. No grants, no permission.
The arguments were simple enough. Predictable. We were playing with fire, risking our subjects lives. We did not know if we could control our subjects, bring them back to a safe state.
And it had no practical application, they said.
We couldn’t say they were wrong.
But we couldn’t douse the fire we’d set. Rayvek paced the lab each day, unsettled and unresigned. I felt its loss as deep as grief. I wanted to solve this puzzle. Rayvek wanted it, too.
And that was how the idea was born.
No one could stop us from going ourselves. Our other research could wait. We were self-monitored for the most part. It might even be awhile before our absence was noted. They would not know where we would have gone.
And it was not strictly illegal to refuse e’bahknal. There were simply no accounts of anyone having done so. The traditional stories of bahknal when told to children predisposed us all to obedience as adults.
Well, almost all of us.
It grew, this idea. Grew as the two moons moved toward conjunction. Grew until bags were packed.
Until we fled into the night.
I turned to Rayvek, watched as he piloted our airglide with skill. He was large for a Valhal. Dark too, with an extraordinary mane and the feral green eyes of a southern coast Valhal. His pelt was thick, short, as shiny as any I’d seen. His fangs beautifully white and even.
I knew he was popular with the female Valhals. He was popular with the female Quar-ki, as well.
I know, my sisters tell me so.
Not that it was unusual for the Quar-ki and the Valhals to find each other attractive. Much play had always existed between the two races.
Much play and no children.
They were not compatible. Biology was a tricky thing. Bodies blended. Genes did not.
I must have appeared pensive. Rayvek reached out his hand and rubbed my short crop of hair. It was a Valhal gesture of comfort to stroke another’s pelt. It was confined to a Quar-ki’s head in general because that is the only hair we possess.
It was another sign of the funny peace and affection that exists between our two races.
And a little unusual for Rayvek. We were not given to touching each other. We’d traveled through school together on our road to becoming scientists. We’d made a formidable team ever since and I suppose we’d not been interested in risking that with sexual behaviour.
That would change. We would have no choice if all went well. We could not have asked anyone else to participate in our experiment. Not yet.
Not until we’d proven that bahknal could be brought on...that it was safe enough. Until we’d proven that e’bahknal could be re-introduced.
