Never before had Ivar heard him confess to a weakness. Mikkal was normally cheerful. When his temper, too, flared in the Dreary, he had not gone for his steel but used an equally whetted tongue, as if he felt less pressure than most of his fellows to prove masculinity. Now— Well, I reckon I can sympathize. It is oppressive, this size and silence. Unendin’ memento mori. Never thought so before, out in back country, but I do now. If Fraina weren’t here to keep me glad, I might be tempted to try his drug.
“No, thank you,” Ivar said.
Mikkal shrugged. On the way back, his hand paused before the girl. She made a refusing gesture. He arched his brows, whether in surprise or sardonicism, till she gave him a tiny frown and headshake. Then he grinned, tucked away the extra cigarettes, put his between his lips and snapped a lighter to it. Ivar had scarcely noticed the by-play, and gave it no thought except to rejoice that in this, also, Fraina kept her innocence. Mostly he noticed the sweet odors of her, healthy flesh and sun-warmed hair and sweat that stood in beads on her half-covered breasts.
Mikkal drew smoke into his lungs, held it, let it out very slowly and drooped his lids. “Aaah,” he said, “and again aaah. I become able to think. Mainly about ways to treat these steaks and chops. The women’ll make stew tonight, no doubt. I’ll insist the rest of the meat be started in a proper marinade. Take the argument to the king if I must. I’m sure he’ll support me. He may be a vinegar beak, our Samlo, but all kings are, and he’s a sensible vinegar beak.”
“He certainly doesn’t behave like average tineran,” Ivar said.
“Kings don’t. That’s why we have them. I can’t deny we’re a flighty race, indeed I boast of it. However, that means we must have somebody who’ll tie us down to caution and foresight.”
“I, yes, I do know about special trainin’ kings get. Must be real discipline, to last through lifetime in your society.”
Fraina giggled. Mikkal, who had taken another drag, kicked heels and whooped. “What’d I say?” Ivar asked.
The girl dropped her glance. He believed he saw her blush, though that was hard to tell on her complexion. “Please, Mikkal, don’t be irrev’rent,” she said.
“Well, no more’n I have to,” her half-brother agreed. “Still, Rolf might’s well know. It’s not a secret, just a matter we don’t talk about. Not to disillusion youngsters too early, et cetera.” His eyes sparkled toward Ivar. “Only the lodge that kings belong to is supposed to know what goes on in the shrines, and in the holy caves and booths where Fairs are held. But the royal wives and concubines take part, and girls will pass on details to their friends. You think we common tinerans hold lively parties. We don’t know what liveliness is!”
“But it’s our religion,” Fraina assured Ivar. “Not the godlings and jus and spells of everyday. This is to honor the powers of life.”
Mikkal chuckled. “Aye-ah, officially those’re fertility rites. Well, I’ve read some anthropology, talked to a mixed bag of people, even taken thought once in a while when I’d nothing better to do. I figure the cult developed because the king has to have all-stops-out orgies fairly often, if he’s to stay the kind of sobersides we need for a leader.”
Ivar stared before him, half in confusion, half in embarrassment. Wouldn’t it make more sense for the tinerans as a whole to be more self-controlled? Why was this extreme emotionalism seemingly built into them? Or was that merely his own prejudices speaking? Hadn’t he been becoming more and more like them, and savoring every minute of it?
Fraina laid a hand on his arm. Her breath touched his cheek. “Mikkal has to poke fun,” she said. “I believe it’s both holy and unholy, what the king does. Holy because we must have young—too many die small, human and animal—and the powers of life are real. Unholy because, oh, he takes on himself the committing of … excesses, is that the word? On behalf of the Train, he releases our beast side, that otherwise would tear the Train apart.”