Humans find great pleasure in sex and obsess about it constantly. The link between sexual reproduction and pleasure drives our species to mate and be prolific. It is the engine behind our evolution and is above all beneficial, but it also leads to exploitation and power disparity, often expressed in sexual assault. Readers of sff often ask a reasonable question: Why in a world where there are dragons and magic, does rape persist? Storytellers are sometimes condemned for horrific sexual violence, as if the horrors experienced by their characters on the page are an expression of their own fantasies, even when other brutality is somehow ignored. Some authors and critics justify these grim settings by testifying that in medieval times, a frequent backdrop of fantasy stories, rape was not only a common weapon of war, but prevalent even in times of peace.
Indeed, the right of powerful lords to seize sexual pleasure from the weak is widely described in European literature. Known as le droit du seigneur or le droit de cuissage (‘cuisse’ is French for ‘thigh’) or in Latin as jus primae noctis, the right of the first night, the custom of the powerful to seize sexual pleasure without consequences predates Medieval Europe, and is noted in literature as far back as it goes, to the Epic of Gilgamesh, 4000 years ago in Sumer:
“He is king, he does whatever he wants… takes the girl from her mother and uses her, the warrior’s daughter, the young man’s bride.”
It seems reasonable, then, that fantasy storytellers are attempting to convey an awful but customary human trait—one that continues to prevail in modern times even in so-called enlightened civilizations. For the most part, then, fantasy readers can safely brush away authorial self-inserted dream fulfillment with thick Barthesian bristles and accept the truthful nature of these sad stories. Still, though, their overarching question still remains: Can we imagine another world and what would be the ramifications of the changes?
Adana’s people differ from our world’s in their expression of sex, violence, and the goals of how intelligent beings come together. Primarily, there is a decoupling of procreation and desire, but this distinction is nuanced. There are indeed mechanical differences written in their evolution and biology that preclude the incidence of sexual assault by creating a dysfunction that interdicts not just rape but even passion. These, however, are less important than that the Seres and Logo of Adana have different pairing goals, which are obsessed upon at least as much as sex consumes humans.
Sages divide such bondings into three blurry categories (expressed here in their Podagin words), and there is some degree of overlap, because the study of becoming together is an inexact science subject to experiential interpretation:
Koh—a shared desire for physical union. Without traces of Koh, there is no physical attraction. Beauty may be admired and acknowledged but not desired without koh, which cannot be artificially induced except in rare cases.
Xā—a shared desire for a transcendental state where mind and body of each partner are linked. This is a higher attainment than koh, but with all the same restrictions. It is usually cultivated after years of bonding although there are exceptions, including artistry, skill, drugs, and magic. In terms of earth, the nearest approximation is sex under the influence of psychedelics, but well-executed Xā possesses an intense clarity, trust, and vulnerability.
Ēgah—a still higher almost unattainable union of being together not only with each other but with the universe itself. Again, the best Earth approximation is the melting of one’s ego, to become one with the universe while together with a lover who is most trusted and revered. Those who can achieve Ēgah are open to the immense power that is the root of Adana. As such, the most powerful of Adana’s mages lust (mostly futilely) for its realization.
A few more points must be noted:
1. These are all distinct from procreation, but sex cannot occur without a degree of Koh, no matter the level of physical attraction. The evolutionary engine of Adana is not sex, but Koh, which cannot be seized or forced.
2. Koh is an alien quality. Koh is not love, nor passion, nor desire, although it can be a component of them. Also, Koh is independent of sex, though it might (and often does) accompany the act. A clumsy metaphor is psychic foreplay, but it is both precedent and lasting. Some common expressions for Koh perhaps reveal its nature better. It is sometimes called “streaming through” in the Vidu region, “mixing light” in Reckon and the west, and “stirring aurora” in the south. Some shamans attach a devoutness to Koh and build structure and complexity into the notion, but most just regard it as a prevalent background buzz that is shared, as necessary as air or water for a good life.
3. Bondings, though by and large gendered, do not need to be. Adana’s people—and even those who emigrate there—are almost as gender fluid as amphibians, conforming to the needs of the species, especially when it is under duress. Unlike in Fiper and Forping, there is no concept of homophobia. Attractions to the same sex are not seen as noteworthy. In other continents, this is not true: In Forping, for example, they are common and tolerated but not celebrated. In Fiper, they are forbidden and persecuted. The prevalence of same sex union in Adana is seen by the clerics of Korinta (though not so much by Grexel’s) as a perversion and proof of the inferior character of Adana’s people.
4. Koh bondings are not limited to two individuals. Polyamory is very common, especially in areas where Adana’s gods are worshipped instead of the imported gods.
5. As previously mentioned, immigrants to Adana immediately succumb to the same conditions as the natives. These are seen, especially by the Fiperan immigrants, to be an infectious disease and a source of great frustration and shame, often leading to violence. They see beauty but feel no attraction and are aware of their neutering.
6. Some people of Adana can easily achieve Koh and create fruitful bondings with many partners. Even so, they cannot be forced to produce Koh. There is no means, even magically, of achieving Koh, although there are ways of turning Koh to Xā.
7. There is no industry of prostitution in Adana, and people who can easily achieve Koh are viewed as healers. Jealousy is decoupled from Koh, which is seen as inevitable, but in general, pairings are lifelong, because the sharing of Koh is a deeper bond than either sex or raising children.
8. There is no power imbalance between genders. All of Adana’s people of every gender pursue Koh. Only its most accomplished seek Ēgah, because it is seen as impossible as ambrosia.
