As Kellen had suspected, Iletel had made the tiles Kellen had seen outside as well, though when Kellen praised them Iletel dismissed them as journeyman work, too unimportant to speak of. All his work now was in the translucent white shell-clay with which he had been working when Kellen entered. It was harder than earthenware, and translucent when fired. Larger pieces, Iletel told Kellen, were often cast instead of wheel-worked, because the clay's thin shapes were unstable while wet. But Iletel still experimented with larger shell-clay pieces on the wheel, for that, he explained, was how one learned.
He spoke of glazes and firing times with an artist's love and passion, and showed Kellen a few pieces a friend who worked in cast shell-clay had given him: a tiny perfect unicorn, its tufted tail coiled over its back, with shell- pink horn and hooves; a selkie leaning on a rock, a wriggling trout caught in one splayed hand. Every detail was flawless, so real Kellen could almost imagine they breathed.
Long before Kellen tired of seeing the wonders of Iletel's art, the Elven potter led Kellen through the studio into an inner room whose windows looked out on a wooded hillside of birch and pine. The birch trees had already gone yellow with autumn, though of course, being in Sentarshadeen itself they were well watered by the Elves, but the pines, Kellen was relieved to see, were also still a healthy green. Pines were fragile trees, fast-growing and (comparatively) short-lived. They had shallow roots, and were often the first to suffer the effects of drought, Idalia had once said.
'Their roots are strong, by the mercy of the Forest,' Iletel said, seeing the direction of Kellen's gaze, 'and by the grace of Leaf and Star, our valley has been spared the worst of the fell weather. But should there be another year of drought, even they will begin to suffer.'
Iletel indicated that Kellen should seat himself on one of the long benches that seemed to be a standard feature of Elven homes. As Kellen did, Iletel knelt and busied himself at the tile stove, heating water and preparing tea. Kellen cast about for a safe conversational subject.
'I haven't been studying Wild Magic for very long,' he said, as self-deprecating as Iletel, 'and my sister Idalia is a much better Wildmage than I am, but both of us are going to do all that we can to help make the rains come.'
'That makes good hearing,' Iletel said, his back to Kellen. 'Each day, all who can be spared from other tasks go to carry water to the trees of the rim and to the farther fields. Even I shall go in a few hours to do what I can, though it is so little in the face of the forest's need.'
So that's where everyone is! Kellen tried to imagine the amount of work it was to carry water—presumably by hand—to try to keep the forest alive, and couldn't. And the wondertales all make it seem as if all the Elves do all day is play music and games, and sing and dance…
A few moments later Iletel rose, bringing Kellen a cup of steaming tea that smelled strongly of roses and herbs, and seated himself with his own cup in a chair facing him.
'But, if I understand your need, you come to us to learn something more of the history of humankind.' Iletel frowned, just the tiniest bit. 'Now I fear from what you do not say that the Wild Magic is another thing the City has forgotten—or has cast aside. This gives me reasons for why the City of Armethalieh no longer trades with us. Perhaps they fear Wild Magic, as they evidently fear us, as the harbingers of chaos and confusion.'
Kellen shifted uneasily in his seat. Iletel's indirect assessment was uncomfortably close to the mark.
'But once again it is their brief lives, Wildmage, that lead them into misunderstanding and error,' Iletel continued gently, his free hand moving in a graceful gesture of apology. 'So far from being the magic of chaos and confusion, the Wild Magic is ultimately the magic of order, as Morusil will have told you already. But it is an order that encompasses the whole world, you see, and so it cannot be a form of order that the ordinary human being can easily grasp,' Iletel said, his dark eyes regarding Kellen compassionately.
Kellen nodded, although he only half grasped what the Elf was talking about.
'You must understand, Wildmage, that the ordinary human, or even these High Mages who have lately appeared in Armethalieh, is essentially a selfish creature. It is a consequence of having such brief lives, I fear; and not to be wondered at. Humans barely reach maturity before they begin to die: it is not surprising that all they are interested in is the form of 'order' that best suits and benefits each of them alone—or perhaps, if they are the wisest of their kind, an order that benefits their fellows for the duration of their own brief lifetimes. But their lives are so very short that even such magnanimity is barely better than the most insular selfishness.'
Kellen nibbled on his lower lip, wondering if he should be feeling slightly insulted. Of course, Iletel didn't mean to be insulting, but—that attitude seemed, in its way, a bit condescending…
Iletel continued on, earnestly. 'Yet you must understand, as we Elves do, that one could not expect it to be otherwise, Wildmage. One cannot expect a creature to glimpse the Eternal when its whole brief span of years is spent in being born and dying almost before it has a chance to live.' Iletel looked very somber.
I don't know… Idalia seems to have figured it out all right. And Master Eliron. And whoever wrote the Books in the first place, and all the Wildmages who've learned from them.
Iletel sighed. 'It breaks my heart to imagine it. There is no time to dream, to plan, no time for Art… all of their lives are spent in one blind hurrying rush into death, without one moment to think or reflect on any of the things that give Life meaning or beauty.'
He shook his head, regarding Kellen with grave pity. 'I think you are very brave, Kellen Tavadon, to reach beyond your brief span of years through your magic—but then, as a Wildmage yourself, you are far from ordinary.
