T. A. Barron
Welcome, everyone. This is Magic & Mountains.
 
Carolyn Hunter
The T. A. Barron Podcast.
 
T. A. Barron
Welcome to part two of “Make of Your Life a Light,” our explorations of light as a metaphor and an inspiration. Let’s begin this episode with another reading from book 2 of The Great Tree of Avalon trilogy, which is also book 10 of The Merlin Saga.
 
Carolyn Hunter
This is with Tamwyn, the wilderness guide, right?
 
T. A. Barron
Right.
 
Carolyn Hunter
And he wants to find his father and relight the stars?
 
T. A. Barron
Right, easy-peasy!
 
Carolyn Hunter
Right.
 
T. A. Barron
Tamwyn, climbing higher in The Great Tree of Avalon, discovers several secret realms. He has plenty of adventures, a couple near disasters, and meets some surprising characters. None more surprising, though, than Gwirion, who is one of the last survivors of a once great people, the fire angels, who used to burn bright but are now reduced to fading heaps of charcoal. But alas, Tamwyn finds no sign at all of his father, the explorer Krystallus. Finally, Tamwyn enters a legendary place called the Great Hall of the Heartwood. Exhausted, he sits on some moss that’s been watered by a sacred spring. But he notices this is not like any moss he’s ever encountered before. And he wonders, is something more going on here? It gleams strangely, so strangely. Then he pats the thick pad of greenery with his hand. And now I read:
 
The moss felt soft, luxuriant and deep. And then he felt an edge.
 
Tamwyn sucked in his breath. Something was buried under here! It could be just a rectangular stone, or perhaps a slab of wood. Or it could be … well, he would just have to find out.
 
Swiftly, he dug his fingers into the soil beneath the moss. He felt something smooth and perfectly straight edged. He lifted it, tearing it eagerly out of the green tendrils, for he was sure now that this was no stone, no slab of wood, but a box.
 
He pulled it free, brushed off the clumps of moist dirt and held it before his face. In the flickering green light of the Hall of Heartwood, it glowed eerily — a small box of smooth, tan colored wood. There were no markings to be seen anywhere on its surface, but when he shook it gently, something rustled inside.
 
With trembling fingers, he lifted the lid. Inside was a gold-edged piece of parchment tied into a scroll with a lock of gray hair. Even if Tamwyn hadn’t seen that hair in his dream, he would have known it by its touch, its sheen, which spoke a single word in his mind.
 
Father.
 
He carefully untied the lock of hair and squeezed it for a moment in his hand. Then he set it next to his pack, which held the harp that he had barely begun to carve for Elli.
 
At last, he unfurled the scroll and began to read its message. Written in blue ink, in bold yet flowing script, the words seemed to leap straight into his mind. He could almost hear his father’s rumbling voice and thoughtful cadence.
 
Dagda’s Day
the 27th since midsummer
Year of Avalon 987
 
Ah, for those long ago days! When I first set foot in this Great Hall of Heartwood more than 200 years ago, I bore no cares beyond the adventure I had chosen, no worries beyond the perils at hand.
 
Now I return, feeling very different indeed. My stated purpose is even grander than before — to find a route upward to the trunk and limbs of the Great Tree. But to my closest friends I have confided that my true goal is to seek the very stars on high and to solve at last the great mystery of their nature. This is a quest that has called to me since childhood. Yet now that it has begun, I stand again in this hall, and I bear a burden far heavier than the magical torch from my father. It is a burden I carry within: the faces of my wife and child, Halona and Tamwyn. For I have lost them. And even now, in this faraway place, I see their faces as clearly as on our final star-swept morning together.
 
In truth, I wonder just why I have chosen now to embark on this long and dangerous voyage to the stars. Surely not because my strength is at its peak. Surely not because the timing is auspicious. Perhaps I am not seeking the stars after all, but merely fleeing my own past. The stars are bright and far away, but my wounds are dark and ever near.
 
Merlin himself once told me long ago that if I could climb to the very highest reaches of the Great Tree, I could ascend further, yes, all the way to the stars.
 
Old and weighed down as I am, I suspect that this voyage will be my last. And so, I have chosen to leave this message for anyone who is bold enough to journey here and find it. And who, I hope will carry on my quest if I do not succeed. For it is only right that a mortal man or woman should at last touch the stars.
 
Who, I wonder, might that person be?
 
And so I depart on my final quest in Avalon. Just where it will take me, I cannot guess. Yet when, at last, it comes to an end, I shall meet that end with whatever grace I can muster.
 
For my life has been a long and wondrous walk, with experiences far too many to remember. And one far too bitter to forget.
 
Krystallus Eopia
 
Tamwyn closed his eyes, crumpling the page in his hand. And in his mind, once again, he heard his father’s words: The stars are bright and far away, but my wounds are dark and ever near.
 
“I will follow you,” Tamwyn whispered. “Wherever you have gone, Father, I will follow you.”
 
[Music Plays]
 
T. A. Barron
Now we’ll skip forward to a passage or two from The Great Tree of Avalon, book 3. Book 11 of The Merlin Saga.
 
In the first passage we will learn a bit about light in the form of magical fire. Because Tamwyn, our clumsy wilderness guide, who as a child longed to stride among the stars, finally does get his wish. He completes his father’s quest, and up in the stars he battles fiercely against the evil spirit warlord Rhita Gawr, who had hungered to conquer the great tree of Avalon. At the moment of greatest peril, Tamwyn was rescued by the legendary dragon Basilgarrad, the mightiest dragon of all time who actually appeared from the most surprising place of all. What that is, I won’t tell, but you’ll find out in the book. Together, miraculously, Tamwyn and the dragon defeated Rita Gawr and they triumphed in the great battle on high. And so now I read to you a passage.
Careful not to step on any open wounds on the dragon’s head, Tamwyn regained his feet, straightened the pack as well as the torch and grabbed hold of Basilgarrad’s ear.
 
“Thank you, my friend,” he said, his voice only slightly louder than the whoosh of the wind. “What you just did only could have been done by the mighty Basilgarrad.” And then he added with a chuckle, “Or by the clever little Batty Lad so so so famous for his most excellent tricksies.”
 
The dragon laughed heartily. The sound reverberated all around them as if the Great Tree itself were sharing in the humor.
 
Tamwyn knew what he needed to do now, even though he still had no clue how. This is it, he told himself. My chance. My moment. I must relight the stars! And to do that, I must somehow make magical fire.
 
He grasped the wooden pole of the torch. Holding it, he studied the charred oily rag wrapped around its top and he thought how unremarkable it looked. How was he going to do this?
 
Basilgarrad, perhaps sensing Tamwyn’s goal, banked a turn, bringing them closer to the constellation’s central star. Meanwhile, the young man continued to ponder the torch. While the wind rushed over his face, he hefted the weathered pole. He could almost feel, under its surface, the imprint of his own father’s hand. Just as he could almost feel within the call of some elusive magic.
 
The magic of fire. Of heat and light. Of something far greater than the flames he’d kindled so often as a wilderness guide.
 
How to bring that fire to life, though? Right now, while there was still a chance to save his world and so many others? Tamwyn’s brow creased with anxiety for he knew that this sort of fire was markedly different from any he had ever made before.
 
Somewhere from his distant past came a half-remembered voice, asking a question that had haunted him all his life. So your name means dark flame. I wonder, then, which will it be. Will it be Avalon’s light of flame? Or will it be the dark of night?
 
“Which will it be?” He demanded himself aloud. “Come on, Tamwyn! Which will it be?”
 
Fires burned within his brain, scorching his every thought. But those fires were fires of doubt and uncertainty, not at all what he needed. What did he even know, really, about the fire he had so often coaxed into life when he had camped? That it was hot enough to cook by. Bright enough to read by. And also full of opposites: fragile yet strong, useful yet dangerous.
 
He squeezed the pole, concentrating, so hard his fingers went white. How was magical fire different from a campfire? Magical fire, Gwirion had once told him, must be kindled within.
 
But where could he find the power to do that? Where could he find the spark, the flames, that he needed?
 
Then he recalled something else that the fire angel had said. You have your own inner flames, Tamwyn, though they cannot be seen. For they reside in the soul.
 
“In the soul,” Tamwyn repeated. He spoke to himself, to the torch, and to the seven darkened stars of the Wizard’s Staff.
 
In the soul.
 
All at once he understood. He turned his thoughts inward, drawing strength from his innermost fires — kindled from passion, hope, and love. For the Great Tree of Avalon, his world of many wonders. For the thousand groves of stars connected to its branches. For all the people he loved who had helped him in countless ways. Gwirion. Basilgarrad. Ahearna – and yes, even Henni. Scree, wherever he might be now. Rhia, who had urged him to create his own destiny. Palimyst, the wise craftsman. Ethaun, who had repaired his broken dagger. Even crusty old Nuic.
 
And most of all, Elli.
 
He opened himself to those passions, those loves, feeling the warmth of their fires. Stronger they grew, and stronger still.
 
“Now, my torch,” he commanded. “Burn! Burn for Avalon, and for us all.”
 
With a brilliant flash, the torch burst into flames. Tamwyn held it before his face, feeling its heat, watching its glow. At every stroke of the dragon’s wings, a whoosh of air blew across the torch, yet its fire never wavered.
 
Turning toward the central star, Tamwyn gazed at its enormous rim — a pale, glowing ring that swept across the sky. It encircled a giant well of darkness, a doorway to the world of spirits. The only darkness deeper than that well was the eye of the warlord who had just fallen into it.
 
The young wizard drew a deep breath, concentrating on his fires within. And then he blew, very gently, as if he were coaxing a small, shimmering coal into flame.
 
A single spark lifted off the torch. As small as it was compared to the star, it glowed with a remarkable radiance. Directed by Tamwyn’s guiding breath, it floated away from Basilgarrad, dancing over the dragon’s outstretched wing. It continued to fly, this tiny dot of light, all the way to the darkened star. At last, it disappeared within the shadowed center.
 
Nothing happened. Tamwyn held his breath, waiting. Beneath his feet, he felt the vibrations of Basilgarrad’s voice emitting a deep, expectant rumble.
 
Suddenly, with a great whooooosshhh, the star burst into flames. Iridescent curtains of flame filled the entire rim, shooting out radiant beams that brightened the sky. Tamwyn’s eyes gleamed like smaller stars at this site, while Basilgarrad raised a wing and spun them around in a celebratory circle.
 
The star had been relit!
 
In rapid succession, Tamwyn repeated the process six more times. Blowing on his magical torch with care, he sent a spark into each of the other darkened stars of the constellation. All of them burst into wondrous flames. The barrier between Avalon and the spirit realm had, at last, been fully restored.
 
With satisfaction, Tamwyn gazed at the seven lustrous stars of the Wizard’s Staff constellation. Not since the night he had crawled into that heap of dung to stay warm, the night this whole adventure began, had he seen all seven of them alight. And he had never seen them like this — so very near, so very bright.
 
Only once before, he knew, had these same seven stars been rekindled. That was over 300 years before, at the end of the Age of Storms. On that memorable day it was Merlin himself, riding this very same dragon, who had brought back the light to the Wizard’s Staff.
 
Today, someone very different had accomplished that same feat. He was much younger, far less experienced, and not skilled at much at all beyond wood carving. Yet he had somehow succeeded. Despite the ambiguity of his name, and the uncertainty of his destiny, he had finally answered that half-remembered question from long ago.
 
He had brought to Avalon the light of flame.
 
[Music Plays]
 
T. A. Barron
Well, now, by way of contrast, I’d like to read a very different passage from that same book, The Great Tree of Avalon, book 3. Book 11 in The Merlin Saga. This one, rather than a magical fire that illuminates an entire constellation, this is about a more subtle form of light. The kind of light in rare and lovely creatures known as light flyers.
 
Carolyn, could you please share with everyone what light flyers are?

Carolyn Hunter
Of course. This is the definition from The Merlin Saga’s glossary, book 12, called Merlin’s Book of Magic.
 
These tiny, luminous creatures are among the rarest in Fincayra and Avalon. They possess frilled wings that pulse with golden light enough to illuminate an entire room. It is rumored that dozens of glowing light flyers accompany the Lady of the Lake wherever she goes, often perching in her hair, and they can always be found deep within Merlin’s crystal cave.
 
T. A. Barron
In this scene, Tamwyn and the dragon have returned to Avalon, and they have rejoined Elli, who triumphed in her own wondrous adventure.
 
And just then … now reading …
 
An elderly woman strode toward them out of the crowd, her silver curls bouncing with every step. Rhia. It was Rhia, the Lady of the Lake. Even without her suit of woven vines, or the thick shawl that bulged where it covered her delicate wings, Tamwyn and Elli would have recognized her right away. The grace of her step, the wrinkles of smiles around her mouth, and the look of unsurpassed wisdom all spoke of the Lady of the Lake.
 
“Well, my children,” she said as she reached them. “It is lovely, truly lovely, to see you again.”
 
She paused as a pair of tiny light flyers lifted off her wrist. The sparkling creatures circled her once, then nestled themselves in her hair, joining dozens of others whose light set her curls aglow.
 
Seeing that her small friends were settled, she continued, “You have done well, each of you, in your own way. You, Tamwyn Eopia, have made me very proud.”
 
Despite everything, he smiled.
 
“And you, Elliryanna Lailoken, have done equally well.” She reached out and gently touched the young woman’s chin. “If I ever had a daughter,” she whispered, “I would have wanted one like you.”
 
But Elli didn’t smile. “Your crystal,” she said hesitantly. “That crystal full of wondrous light. I had to destroy it.”
 
“I know, my child. You did what was necessary for Avalon.”
 
Her blue gray eyes radiated kindness. “Thanks to you, many remarkable creatures, including these light flyers, will continue to live in freedom and dignity. So, because of what you have done, Avalon still has many of its most lovely beings, the creatures who embody all that is rare and wondrous about our world.”
 
[Music Plays]
 
T. A. Barron
One last segment I’d like to read from The Great Tree of Avalon, book 3. In the final scene, there is great joy mixed with great sadness, for Tamwyn and Elli realize that the only way to save Avalon is to lose it. To leave it behind and travel to the mortal world called Earth.
 
So this is a moment of great triumph, but also great sacrifice.
 
And yet there is a small, thin hope that someday, somehow, they might return to their beloved homeland. This scene also includes a song of farewell, and it will be sung by my co-host, Carolyn Hunter. She has taken the words from the book and composed her own wondrous music to bring those words to life. But first, Tamwyn must find a way to take his people to Earth. That’s no easy task. And now, to the passage.
 
Tamwyn scowled. “If I’m ever going to go, I need the help of someone. Someone much more powerful than any of us.”
 
“I know such a person,” said Scree, the eagleman.
 
“Who?”
 
“That fellow who healed my wounds in the battle.” He rolled his muscular shoulders as if opening his wings. “If he hadn’t come along, I would have certainly bled to death.”
 
Tamwyn pursed his lips, uncertain. “Who do you mean?”
 
“Just me, lad.”
 
Tamwyn — like Elli, Rhia, Brionna, Scree and the others — turned to see who had spoken.
 
Out of the multitudes stepped the old bard. Despite his advanced age and his precariously balanced hat, he walked with a jaunty, youthful stride. He paused beside the great steed Ahearna, just long enough to stroke her back lightly. Then, twirling one end of his sideways, growing beard, he came closer to Tamwyn. For several seconds he examined the young man from under his bushy eyebrows.
“I have come to help you,” he declared at last. With a glance over at Rhia, he added more quietly, “And to apologize for not telling you sooner that I was here.”
 
Even as Rhia gasped, Tamwyn demanded, “Who are you?” But his question was drowned out in the roar of recognition that came from Basilgarrad, and the delighted whinny from Ahearna.
 
For the old bard had already begun to change before their very eyes — not into someone younger, but into someone far, far older. Light glowed all about his body as his garb transformed to an azure blue robe flecked with silver runes. Meanwhile, his beard whitened and lengthened, reaching down below his waist. Wrinkles appeared on his brow, cheeks, and hands. His lopsided hat grew taller, with a pointed tip that leaned dramatically. His eyes darkened until they were as black as a raven’s wing. Only his bushy eyebrows did not change.
 
“Merlin,” whispered Tamwyn in wonder. “It’s you.”
 
“That it is,” the wizard replied with a brisk nod of his head. “My, my, young man, how much you have grown! I barely recognize you.”
 
“Wait.” Protested Tamwyn. “I thought Dagda forbade you from ever coming back to Avalon! The independence of each world and all of that.”
 
Merlin’s dark eyes sparkled. “True, all true. But we made a little pact, Dagda and I — since Avalon was in, shall we say, unusual peril. He agreed to allow me to come back, but only if I promised not to interfere. At least, no more than a little dabble here and there. And since I am now here, I am sure that Dagda would have no problem if I used my power to send you all to mortal Earth. All of you and your guide, who is the true heir of Merlin. Before you leave, though, I have a gift for all of you. It is a song of Avalon. Wrote it myself, I did, though I fear it is the last song of Avalon you shall ever hear. Except perhaps in your dreams.”
 
With a dramatic sweep of his arm, the wizard removed his hat. Just as had been true during his days as a bard, a small creature sat upon his head. Teardrop-shaped with bluish skin flecked with gold, the creature shook itself, making its translucent robe ripple like water. A museo. Its expressive face revealed a wide range of emotions — triumph and tragedy, hope and longing, humor and sorrow all at once.
 
Then the museo began hum to a rolling sound whose undertones carried feelings more than sounds, ideas more than melodies. The layered hum expanded, vibrating the very bones of everyone who could hear. A few seconds later, Merlin reached into his robe and pulled out a lute. And then, weaving his voice into the hum, he began to sing.
 
Carolyn Hunter

[Singing]
 
To Avalon now cry farewell,
Thy mem’ries only taking;
So many seasons did thee dwell,
In wondrous realms forsaking.
 
Return one day! Thy dearest goal
Keep firm beyond all shaking.
For mist shall ever stir thy soul,
A distant music making.
 
Remember each the sacred realms
Though images glow dimmer;
And steer thy course with homeward helm
Ere time alive grows slimmer:
 
The Land of Bells shall chime thy loss,
As lofty summits shimmer;
El Urien, so green with moss,
Shall thrive as dreams still glimmer.
 
Though destined far away to roam,
Forever shall thee yearn
To find again thy heart’s true home:
To Avalon return.
To Avalon return.
 
The Rainbow Seas of liquid light
With beauty shall entrance;
While flames atop Volcanoes bright
Shall forever prance;
 
The fertile Mud shall haunt thee most,
For that gives life a chance;
And Y Swylarna’s mist shall host
The maids’ eternal dance.
 
Though destined far away to roam,
Forever shall thee yearn
To find again thy heart’s true home:
To Avalon return.
To Avalon return.
 
Then lovely dark shall welcome thee
In Shadows’ endless night.
The higher realms of Merlin’s Tree
Gain wonder with their height:
 
Their spiral falls and secret stairs
Shall climb beyond thy fright,
And stars on high shall ever shine
To guide thee with their light.
 
Though destined far away to roam,
Forever shall thee yearn
To find again thy heart’s true home:
To Avalon return.
To Avalon return.
 
To Avalon now say farewell,
As fires of mem’ry burn;
So many seasons did thee dwell
Where wonders ever turn.
 
Though destined far away to roam,
Forever shall thee yearn
To find again thy heart’s true home:
To Avalon return.
To Avalon return.
 
Though destined far away to roam,
Forever shall thee yearn
To find again thy heart’s true home:
To Avalon return.
 
T. A. Barron
As the song ended, Tamwyn, Elli, and everyone else stood in silence. In their minds, however, they continued to hear the magical music. Just as they continued to hear the wizard’s final phrase: To Avalon return.
 
Tamwyn ran his fingers along the leather strap of his pack thinking of nothing but the song. Then he felt the tooth marks of the gray wolf from the day he’d met Gwirion. How long ago that seemed! In that time, Gwirion had regained his people’s identity and he had become the leader of the Starkeepers. Yet to Tamwyn, he would always be a fire angel – and, more importantly, a dear friend.
 
Tamwyn thought of what else his pack contained. So many precious gifts; so many reminders of Avalon. In addition to Elli’s harp, whose music itself would be a gift, there was a scroll with his father’s last letter, written in the bold blue lettering of Krystallus. The special compass was there, too, pointing ever westward and starward. As was his leathered flask, still holding some of the sweet water from the sacred spring of the Great Hall of the Heartwood. And somewhere near the bottom of his pack was that ironwood vial that contained one last drop of Dagda’s dew, which Lorilanda had told him would give magical vision over vast distances.
 
He nodded, deciding to save that final drop for the day he might journey back to this world. Meanwhile, he reminded himself, you’ll have to just rely on the simple eyes of a wilderness guide.
 
He hefted the pack, which weighed surprisingly little given how many treasured items it held. Yet his most precious gifts from Avalon, he knew, did not reside in that pack.
 
Beside him, Merlin donned his wizard’s hat, then raised his arms high. “Journey well, my friends. Though you must go without me, I shall be with you still.”
 
Tamwyn took Elli’s hand, squeezing tight as the air started to shimmer. Suddenly his torch glowed brighter, as did her Galator. Light, green and blue, burst all around them, as if a star had exploded beneath their feet. The whole world fell silent — but for the echoing sound of an eagleman’s cry.
 
The dazzling light intensified as radiant beams burst everywhere. Tamwyn sensed that he and his companions were being guided by magical light all the way up the roots, trunk, and branches of the Great Tree of Avalon. But he could see none of that. All he could see, apart from the radiance, was the torch that he carried.
 
With every second, the torch’s flame grew brighter. It reminded him of another flame, an eternal flame, that would burn forever on high.
 
[Music Plays]
 
T. A. Barron
Finally, to conclude this episode, let’s consider the most luminous form of light. The light in someone’s eyes for the person they love.
 
Now, when that light inspires creativity, all manner of wondrous, miraculous things happen. And the world is full of examples, gazillions of examples in art, in music, in writing, in every language, every culture, and every place on this planet. But if I had to pick just one little scrap of writing where that love flowed through, radiating that light, I would choose the last stanza of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s poem Sonnets from the Portuguese.
 
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of my whole life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
 
Carolyn Hunter
Gorgeous.
 
T. A. Barron
In the same spirit, I would like to share with you, now, something I’ve never read in public before. A few lines from the poem that I wrote for my beloved Currie on our 10th wedding anniversary.
 
Graceful as coral, true as the tides, constant as currents, the rising moon rides fresh as the foam, deep as the sea, bright as the stars. My fair Currie.
 
There’s more to the poem, but folks, I’m not going to read it. [Laughter]
 
And so my deepest wish for all of you who are listening is simply this — make of your life a light. Whether that’s the light of simple kindness, or a quiet moment with a friend, or helping, caring, being, creating. Or the luminous light of passion for a cause. Or even the light from a magical creature or a radiant star. Or, best of all, the enduring light of love.
 
T. A. Barron
To everyone out there, let me just say thank you so much for joining us for Magic & Mountains. We’ll see you next week, and in the meantime, may you have magical days.
 
Carolyn Hunter
We hope you enjoyed this week’s episode of Magic & Mountains: The T.A. Barron Podcast. Don’t forget to subscribe, leave a five-star review, and share this podcast with your family and friends. For more information and to find all of T. A.’s books, visit tabarron.com. Have a magical week.