Waiting for Bahnal

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.

That proven we were sure to be given permission to engage volunteers and the true experiment could begin.

I gave a Quar-ki imitation of a Valhal growl to reassure Rayvek that I had not lost my nerve. He pulled back black lips over white fangs in the Valhal equivalent of a Quar-ki smile.

It would be okay.

It did not take long to set up, to empty our glide, to clean and make safe our accommodations. There was snow outside, usual for this remote northern area, but the shed was filled with firewood and the well insulated house would ensure our comfort.

We set away our supplies, stripped the place of everything that was essential. Locked ourselves in.

We argued about the beds.

Bahknal had never appeared confined. I wasn’t sure the beds wouldn’t be more in our way. Rayvek disagreed. Valhals are a comfort loving race. He was sure we’d be grateful for its softness.

I gave in. I like a soft bed myself. One bed was allowed to remain.

We drank hot lorrberry juice. Ate warm kala and vash. We talked. Discussed past projects and old schoolmates. We discussed the possibility that bahknal was gone. Discussed the possibility that it wasn’t.

I’m not sure which unsettled me more.

We considered the nature of our different races. Shared our theories on the mystery of bahknal behaviour and the inability of our races to produce hybrid children. Why had Quar-ki and Valhals always indulged in bahknal with each other as well as with their own race?

There was much we didn’t talk about.

Rayvek divested himself of his travel clothes. Valhals are born nudists. Fire and fur made clothing unnecessary. I motioned with a shrug when he hesitated at his base garments. He indicated the fire with a rueful expression. He’d be more comfortable without clothing.

Seeing him nude would not bother me. I wondered for a second if he would take my gesture as a go-ahead or not.

He did.

I busied myself with cleaning away our meal. And contemplated nudity myself. Quar-ki are more modest but I wanted Rayvek to feel confident that I had no regrets, no misgivings.

And we’d know each other’s bodies well enough if this worked.

I compromised. Stripped down to nothing but my lower base garment. As skimpy as it was.

There was a certain freedom in it.

Rayvek poured the last of the hot lorrberry into our glasses and joined me on the floor by the fire. We toasted our success. Sat silent for a long while.

I reviewed what I knew of Valhal ritual bonding behaviour. Bonding would make us more secure with each other. We’d need the trust to get through the time ahead.

I moved behind him, making my hands as much like claws as I could. I drew them rhythmically through the fur on his back, creating furrows, smoothing them.

He gave a purr of contentment so I continued for a while.

When the purring slowed I took it as a sign to stop. I sat back on my heels to await the inevitable conclusion to what I’d begun.

He turned, adopted a posture that mimicked my own. With face only he moved in to take my scent.

He drew his face over mine, his forehead, cheeks, and lips along my neck and shoulders, my breasts. He pressed me back until my shoulder blades met the smooth wood of the floor. His face traveled my belly, down my hips, legs, and back up to the centre of my being.

I spread my legs letting him scentmark me there through flimsy cloth.

He took his time, then flipped me easily to my stomach and scent marked my legs, hips, buttocks and back. Straddling me he nuzzled the back of my neck. Not a particularly erogenous zone for a Valhal.

But one of mine.

Using an arm he lifted me to hands and knees. His whole body stroked my back, my legs. All of me caressed by soft fur and scent glands.

Scentmarked and familiar to him, he let me go. I stayed a moment on hands and knees, catching my breath. I’d never mated with a Valhal. Had never experienced this ritual.

I knew now why my sisters were so fond.

We resumed our positions by the fire. Our objective was not to mate in the usual fashion, after all, though I wondered that the thought had not occurred to me before. That thought aside, there seemed little to do now but wait.

We feel asleep that night in front of the fire.

Morning came, marked only by a lessening of darkness. This was late autumn in the north after all and we’d not get full daylight.

We ate a meal. Played Donketo and Yatta. We bathed in the natural hot spring beside the house.

I abandoned the last of my clothing after that. It seemed silly to don it again.

Night descended. We retired to our places by the fire. Rayvek took up place behind me and combed my skin with careful claws. Of course I lack fur but the gentle scratch was pleasant. I moved my vocal chords to the semblance of a purr. Soon he stopped. Waited.

I knew for what. He awaited my answer to the gesture. As I’d awaited his the night before.

I turned, sat back on my heels. My face is smooth unlike his, I had no scent glands. It wasn’t important. I moved over him, inhaled his sent. It was hypnotic.

I nuzzled his face, his chest, his legs. Pressed him back as he’d done to me. I marked his groin taking the same care he had. Turned him. Nuzzled his back, his buttocks, shoulders and neck.

I was too small to draw him up fully to his hands and knees so I moved over him. Rubbed my breasts, belly, groin and thighs over him.

His rumble of pleasure filled the room.

I rested there, on his back, for a while. Even without scent glands I was moved by the ritual, felt closer to him, safer than ever in his presence.

This time we curled up in the bed, happy to have a soft sleep.

Two days went by. The ritual became more frequent, immediately reciprocal. We said nothing about it but indulged in it more and more often. In the spring on the third day I sat on his lap as he held my face. Content to have him mark my forehead, my cheeks, my throat.

I napped in his arms before the fire.

I grew used to feeling his body move up behind me to mark me as I washed our dishes.

It was not necessary anymore for bahknal but we did not discuss it.

And then the fourth night came. The moons were in conjunction. It would be soon if it was to be at all. We both grew tense, ate little before bed.

My sleep had become more restless, my dreams more vivid. They were troubling to me. Stalking, animal dreams. That night I was awakened by whimpering and found it to be my own.

I sat up, rested my chin on my knees, trembling. Rayvek lay sleeping beside me. I could still hear the whimpering.

I could not stop.

Rayvek stirred. His nostrils flared, scenting the air. His eyes opened, glowing in the dark. He came to his knees, studied my face.

“Bahknal?” he whispered.

I could not have answered even had I known.

He grabbed my knees, parting them abruptly. Moved his head between them, inhaling, scenting the possibilities. He marked my thighs, my groin, my belly before moving away.

“Bahknal,” he stated. I’m not sure how he knew this but I believed him.

He climbed from the bed. I followed him, unwilling to be left behind.

He’d gone only to get a sip of water, and stoke the fire. I stalked him. He kept a watchful eye on me but did nothing. He stood by the window, gazed out into the night.

Waiting.

Waiting for bahknal.

But I would not wait. I followed him to the window, turned him. He rubbed the hair on my head in a comforting gesture then retired back to the bed. He sat on the edge, feet planted.

I followed.

I sank to my knees, could almost see myself from a distance as I nudged his knees apart, nuzzled his belly, his thighs. Bared my teeth.

He held my face. Whether to comfort me or to prevent me from biting I do not know.

I could deep rumbling in his chest, his hands shook.

I used his weakness to gain my freedom, sank my teeth into his belly.

He roared.

I reciprocated, amazed at the volume of my own voice.

He lifted me, threw me to the bed. I sprang to my hands and knees. Met him face to face like wrestlers in a ring. I pushed under him from the side, like a baby animal seeking sustenance. Rubbing face and shoulders against his belly, over his groin.He rose to his knees, grasped my shoulders with his claws.

I could scent the blood.

I roared again. He tossed me to my back, planted his knees on each side of my hips, grasped my wrists in one large paw. I could feel the tips of his claws pierce my skin.

I struggled at being pinned. I was snarling now, teeth snapping. My threat display did nothing to avert him. His fangs scraped over my belly, and up over my breasts. I pulled up my knees, setting myself free.

Springing from the bed I found myself squatting by the fire. Whimpering calls from both our throats filled the room. He hunted me now.

He was so much stronger than I. I had no hope of eluding him. No real desire to. Yet I couldn’t give in.

He grabbed me. Kicking, screaming, biting, I resisted, was thrown belly to the floor and held pinned there.

His roar was deafening.

I struggled to rise. He allowed me only to gain hands and knees, then reached beneath me to claw at my genitals.

I was frantic, screaming like an animal. I turned my head in a effort to find flesh to sink my teeth into. But he sank his fingers deeper into me, nuzzled my neck.

I was throbbing. All aggression, anger and pain. Blood poured from bite wounds, deep scratches, both of us inflicted. The scent of it filled the air, mingled with the musk of our bodies.

Finally his hips took up motion, thrusting, seeking home. His hard length slid along my opening, brushed swollen tissue. Stirred my skin in places already brought to life by his clawing hands.

Without hesitation I bucked back, wet and open. My will was gone, my body coaxed him in.

He thrust. Found what he sought. Entered.

I was sobbing, calling his name. I tightened every muscle in my body to prevent his departure.

He was not interested in departing.

His thrusts were slow, deep. Not deep enough. I lunged back, wanting more of him. Fangs sank into my neck and the force of his last thrust sent us both to climax, spasming in and around each other.

Knees finally gave way and we sank exhausted to our bellies.

I bore his weight long minutes and felt my breath slowly return to normal. Exhaustion crept upon us, there on the floor in front of the dying fire. Then sleep and short-lived peace.

I have hazy memories of the next two days of bahknal. Memories of straddling Rayvek in his sleep, slapping him awake. Memories of being dragged, kicking and screaming to the bottom of the bed, legs thrown open. Claws digging into my sore thighs.

I recall the hotspring running red with blood. The vivid stains of it on the fresh snow behind the house where one of us must have failed to flee.

Soon the moons moved out of conjunction. We fed each other by the fire realizing we had fasted through the long days and nights of bahknal. We tended each other’s wounds with no words of regret or remorse. Soaked sore muscles in the hot spring.

We resumed the e’bahknal without much said. If either of us was reluctant it was not discussed.

I stand here now, grant records and permission forms in hand. I pack my bags again for the trip north. Our study subjects are ready. There are just two at the start, more may be planned for a future experiment.

I hear Rayvek approach and I wonder what else the future may hold.

End