Howl's Moving Castle Fan Fiction ❯ Yn y Dechrau ❯ In which a story begins in a rather typical and ordinary way but ends with much drama ( Chapter 1 )

Yn y Dechrau
Chapter One:In which a story begins in a rather typical and ordinary way but ends with much drama
by Ina-chan

In the land of Cymru (also known as Wales), where rolling hills and beautiful scenery ran abundant despite its reputation for its ghastly wet climate… one of its mountains, Snowdon Mountain, is known to be the wettest place in all of the British Isles after all… is the birthplace of a certain boy who would later grow up to become an extraordinary man.

To those who already know his story, you might be familiar with his exploits regarding owning a certain moving castle, his reputation for stealing young girls’ hearts and souls, as well as his appointment as one of Ingary’s Royal Wizards at such a young age (please refer to “Howl’s Moving Castle” by Diana Wynne Jones for details).

But that of course is another story. The tales about to be told are events that happened before those adventures. Before the moving castle, before that fateful meeting with a fire demon, before Ingary, before he even realized his potential for magic.

What? Before he even realized his potential for magic, you ask? One might think that with such notoriety, there would have been signs prophesizing this young man’s great destiny at the moment of his birth. Or perhaps, his lineage was that of an impressive ancestry to bring forth of such a man of greatness.

So people are usually disappointed to find out that our young hero was actually born in rather ordinary circumstances. It was a routine and uneventful birth in 11:15 AM, in an unremarkable general hospital in Wales to an ordinary and unremarkable family. Well, as ordinary as most families can get, that is. He was even given a rather sensible and unremarkable name, Howell Jenkins.

At first glance, the Jenkins family was your typical modern-day middle class Welsh family unit. His father, Lloyd Jenkins was a typical father and husband. Those who knew him always described him as a very sensible, practical, stoic, and no-nonsense man of good reputation. There was a family joke that if Lloyd Jenkins ever cracked a smile, it would probably mean the end of the world. Nonetheless, the seemingly perpetual and scary stoic seriousness of his features could not mask the handsomeness of his face.

Tall, dark-haired, with eyes the color of the sky, there was no doubt that he most probably had a fan club of his own during his day. That was, the girls whom he managed not to frighten away with his demeanor.

He held the reputable position as a manager from a big and reputable bank. He held high expectations towards his subordinates, and brought this no-nonsense attitude in his household, expecting his family to act the same. Thus, those who meet his wife for the first time were actually taken aback and were quickly bewildered with how a perfectly mismatched pair of personalities would actually hold up in holy matrimony.

Now, Howell’s mother, Morgana Jenkins, was a class of her own. She was a ravishing beauty as if to compliment her husband’s good looks. She was one of those people blessed to look 20-years-old for life. Her long fiery red locks framed a perfect oval face and big expressive green eyes. Nonetheless, her personality was opposite to her husband in all aspects. If there was one thing that you can expect from her, it was the fact that she would forever be mysterious and unpredictable.

People liked to compare Morgana unpredictability to the temperament of the sea. Like the sea’s deep waters, you never really knew what storm was brewing beneath her serene smile whenever she has that mischievous twinkle in her eyes. No matter what time of day or how bad the crisis may be, she had a perpetual, care-fee, cheerful and optimistic disposition to the point that many people were deceived to believe that she was merely daft and flighty.

Despite the potential conflicts this match may have brought upon, the relationship persevered and the mismatched couple was blessed with two healthy and (relatively) well-behaved children. Lloyd made sure to that. He believed that it was a parent’s duty to instill morals and values on children early in life to ensure that they too will grow up as respectable members of society. The elder child, Megan, was already well on her way from the moment she spoke her first word.

By the time young Howell was born, Megan, at a tender age of ten, was already the picture of a miniature mature young lady. Needless to say, Megan Jenkins was the prize apple of her father’s eye. Responsible, dutiful, a striking resemblance to her father’s handsome features, and with brains that earned her the top marks of her 5th grade class, there was very little doubt that this Daddy’s girl will grow up to become the respectable young woman that her father wanted her to be.

As if to parallel their parents’ opposite personalities, young Howell was a complete contrast to his sister. While he too seemed to have inherited their father’s good looks save for the color of his eyes, his temperament was almost an absolute copy of his mother’s flighty mentality. Despite all his mischief, none of the adults, other than his parents, seemed to have the heart to correct his errant ways. That was because at a young age, Howell had discovered that wide teary eyes or a bright sunny smile was enough to win the forgiveness of even the stoniest of hearts. Of course, this deviant behaviour was not entirely his fault.

While Megan was definitely her father’s daughter, it was clear that there was a special bond between Howell and his mother. For reasons that will be explained later in this chapter, Morgana became house bound after the birth of her second child. The only other times that she seemed to leave the house were those almost routine trips to the hospital accompanied by her husband. Other than that, her husband was always busy with work and daughter busy with school, so her small son became her constant companion.

From the moment that young Howell had learned to crawl, it was not an unusual sight to see mother and child together puttering around the house, playing their make-believe games in the backyard garden, or seeing them watching rugby match reruns in the telly during the afternoons as Morgana darned socks.

On those moments Morgana would sing Welsh folksongs off-key and at the top of her lungs, as if she too was a member of the audience in the stadium. A normal person would shirk away and hide at her blatant display of talent… or lack of. But Howell would always act as a captive audience during his mother’s impromptu concerts. It could be their precious bond that gave him patience to endure an otherwise inhumane torture, perhaps it was because he was too young to know better, or maybe he was fascinated by the silliness of some of the words in the song. In fact, it seemed as if the sillier the song, the more fascinated he became. It was during one of those moments, when Howell was two, his mother was vocally butchering Sosban Fach (one of Howell’s favourites) when Megan came home from school.

“Mother, proper ladies don’t sing silly songs about little saucepans and dead people at the top her lungs late in the afternoon like they’re in some kind of drunken rage.” Twelve-year-old Megan cried out in horror at the scene, in one breath, pausing theatrically before continuing, “What will the neighbors think?”

“Welcome home, and I’m glad to see you too, Megan,” came Morgana’s retort in a mock indignant tone

“And I can never understand your fascination with that barbaric game,” Megan continued on, as she eyed the muddy players in the telly in disgust

“Rugby is the best sport in the world!” Morgana protested, her indignation no longer out of jest, “Why if it weren’t for rugby, I wouldn’t have met your father. Back in university, your father was at the top of the game.”

“Father played rugby?” Megan stared at her mother incredulously. Somehow, the image of her prim and proper father with even a speck of mud on his sleeve was something beyond anyone’s imagination.

Anything that involved her father interested Megan a great deal. Thus her mother’s earlier unladylike behaviour was quickly forgotten, as the girl dropped her books on the floor and shoved her little brother, who started to protest very loudly, to make room for herself on the Chesterfield.

“Don’t make it sound so hard to believe! Howell, don’t be selfish and don’t you start crying, there’s lots of room for all of us,” Morgana laughed at her daughter’s expression with much amusement and attended to her son’s attention-seeking behaviour without missing a beat, “It was a scene right out of a romance novel. Your father was going to be a future pro-rugby hero in the national team, and your mother was going to be a beautiful blue-eyed, blond Hollywood bombshell!”

“Don’t be silly, Mother!” Megan laughed, finding the idea of seeing her mother in the cinema rather absurd, “Besides, we don’t live in Hollywood, and you’re neither blond nor blue-eyed.”

“Alas, it’s just my luck to inherit the stereotypical traits of my ancestors, despite being only 1/8th Irish,” Morgana replied with over-dramatic woe, “But all joking aside, I did make one good looking blonde and broke a lot of hearts with just one toss of my glorious tresses.”

“You tinted your hair?” Megan gaped at her mother in utter mortification

“Not all of us are blessed with beautiful silken hair my dear,” Morgana scoffed, “Just be happy that you and your brother inherited your father’s hair instead of my dreadful ginger locks.”

Megan shook her head in exasperation, “But at least it’s natural.”

Morgana made another good-natured laugh, “Natural is overrated, my darling.”

“But is it true, that Father was played good enough to become pro?” Megan inquired again, ignoring her mother’s last comment

“He was the best! Otherwise, I wouldn’t have given him a second glance!” Morgana replied enthusiastically before sad wistful look crossed her delicate features, “Your father would have made it to pro if he didn’t injure his knee. He’s a good man, and a brave man with all the sacrifices he had to make for all of us.”

A puzzled frown lined the girl’s forehead, “Sacrifices?”

“Ah cariad,” Morgana smiled sadly as she raised a pale slender hand to brush the stray stand of hair from her daughter’s eyes, “Sometimes people need to make sacrifices when they turn into adults. Sometimes big, sometimes small, but they are all important sacrifices in their own way.”

Megan can only nod silently, not quite understanding what exactly what her mother was saying.

“Because through those sacrifices, our children can continue to dream unhindered,” Morgana continued as she lifted her younger child, who appeared to be listening in rapt attention, to sit on her lap, “My darlings, when you grow up and need to make some of those sacrifices yourselves, it’s not wrong to be a little selfish once and a while to hold on to your dreams.”

“Then I shall do my best to make sure to fall in love and marry a rich and respectable man so I can become a lady of high society,” Megan declared with great conviction

“Oh, Megan,” Morgana let out a defeated sigh at that, realizing once again that her daughter thinks too much like how her father. It was just like her to completely miss the point. She turned to her little boy and saw that the two-year-old was still staring up at her with wide eyes, as if hanging on to every word she said. She bounced the child on her lap, who in turn let out a peal of childish laughter, “But you understand everything, don’t you, my beautiful boy?”

“Mother, Howell is only two. How can he understand what we’re talking about?” Megan berated in exasperation, “He hasn’t even said his first word yet!”

“A mother just knows,” Morgana stated, leaving it simply to that.

Though in truth, it wasn’t really that simple. After putting up with her husband and daughter’s good moral sensibilities for years, Morgana Jenkins finally found an ally and kindred spirit in her son. Long before her child could talk, he already showed his appreciation to her mother’s silly dreams and stories with unusual spellbound attention. Something he gave to a precious few, to the dismay of babysitters and the other members of his family.

By the time he was coordinated enough to hold a crayon, the refrigerator door (and an occasional wall or furniture surface) became a gallery of artworks made of strange creatures and beings that were inspired from his mother’s stories. Eventually, an even a greater number of creations appeared that were probably rooted from his own imagination. Thus in turn, Morgana did all she can to encourage her son’s creativity with stories and make-believe adventures to her husband’s complete exasperation.

“Good lord, Morgana,” Lloyd cried out at that time when his son was a little over four years old. Howell showed him a crayon scribbled picture of a purple lizard-catlike creature as an explanation when his father asked him how his father’s car keys ended up flushed down the toilet for the nth time, “If you continue to fill the boy’s head with your stories, he’ll grow up stupid.”

“Don’t be silly, cariad,” Morgana would scoff indignantly, “Don’t mistake Howell’s imagination with stupidity.”

“The boy is four years old and still not a single peep from him,” Lloyd Jenkins stated insistently, “He barely knows the difference between reality and make believe. And this string of… deviant behaviour at a young age! Did you know that Martha Campbell flatly refused to come on Friday? This is the--- how many is it now? Twentieth? I’ve lost count! By the time the boy is five years old, we would have exhausted every single babysitter in the country.”

“Megan is old enough to look after her little brother. She’s been begging for more responsibilities anyway,” Morgana replied with great annoyance, “And don’t blame the child for your bad waking habits. For all we know, you could have flushed your keys down the loo yourself, when you’re sleepwalking all over the house like a zombie.”

It would be discovered later on that Howell was actually a certified genius. But of course, it didn’t seem that way when he was an impish, attention-seeking little toddler. While Megan had already said her first word by the time she was six months old, Howell didn’t start talking until he was five. A small fortune was spent with speech therapists, doctors, and child psychologists to figure out why such a seemingly clever-looking little boy did not have the ability to talk to no avail. In fact, the boy even looked as if he was having fun watching the silly adults make a fuss with trying to make him talk.

Then finally, Morgana set her foot down and put an end to the silly tests and concluded that Howell will talk when he was good and ready. Later on, when Howell decided that he was ready to talk, he started talking in perfect sentences without the baby preliminaries. It was rather cute at first to see an adorable five year old talk like a gracious adult, and sometimes with big flowery language to boot. That was until he got into the habit of chasing one question after another to his kindergarten teachers’ exasperation. To the point that it suspiciously seemed that the boy was getting as much amusement with the silly adults’ efforts to get him to shut up. But that is jumping too far ahead in the story.

Before Howell started talking, Megan assumed more of her older sisterly responsibilities towards her baby brother. Megan had a habit of wanting to get every single thing perfect the first time. Because of the difficulties that Howell had put his family through the early years of his life, Megan already had a head start with reading and researching every single book about developmental child psychology from the public library. Her own personal assessment of her little brother was not very flattering.

In fact, based on her research, she came to the conclusion that her bratty little brother was treading the line of growing up to become a no good social outcast. And perhaps even worse… an unemployed welfare leech. She made it a personal goal to ensure that no brother of hers was going to become a useless member of society. She has been itching for the opportunity to implement the reform program she devised before it was too late.

Even though Howell was still too young to really understand the ulterior motives his sister had for him, spending more time alone with his sister did not sit too well with him at all. After all, the main reason he was acting particularly bratty to all his baby sitters was that he didn’t want them to become too comfortable watching over him. It would simply be too horrible if they decide that they would take care of him instead of his mother.

So when Megan took over the babysitting responsibilities, Howell suddenly found himself in an unfair disadvantage. Living with Megan all his life meant that she knew every single trick he played to make the babysitters go away. In fact, it even seemed as if Megan knew what he was thinking of doing before he even thought it. No amount of tantrum or theatrics affected her. And worst of all, no matter what he did, Megan will never be sacked or go away. Megan had proven herself to be a headstrong and efficient as her father when it comes to implementing her moral sensibilities. So at a young age, Howell quickly realized that it was easier to give in or find a way to slither out than go against head on with his sister.

As miserable as Howell was, their parents saw the arrangement with great relief. While Lloyd never really showed it, he was actually a big worrier. He worried about a lot of things. He worried about his work and his subordinates. He worried about the safety of his children when they were left alone in the house. He worried about his wife. If the size of ulcers were equivalent to the size of worry invested into creating it, Lloyd would probably be literally a living, walking, giant ulcer. Seeing Megan take over the babysitting responsibilities took a bit of a load off his mind, though it didn’t stop him from worrying if he was putting too much of a load on his teen-aged daughter.

Lloyd didn’t want his children to worry about things that they didn’t need to worry about. Morgana wholeheartedly agreed. That was the reason why, they decided to keep a very important secret. Lloyd hid it easily behind his stoic silent expression, while Morgana hid it behind her sunny smiles and happy disposition. But despite their efforts, both children had already long suspected that their parents were hiding something from them. There was a lingering form of anxiety in the air that was never truly addressed. Children were sensitive to those kinds of things. And in time, Morgana’s routine visits to the hospital eventually started to take its toll.

It was what made Megan obsess about things, such as how to properly raise her little brother. One of the child psychologists even suggested that hiding this secret might be the cause of Howell’s inability to talk. If that was the case, Morgana vehemently refused to take the chance of getting his son’s voice in exchange of giving her children the burden on agonizing over things that adults should be able to handle on their own. So she smiled her sunny smile reassured them that everything was perfectly all right. The children believed her. Everyone wanted to believe her so they completely ignored that unspoken and uneasy air.

That was until the short visits to the hospital had started stopped becoming routine. The visits not only became more frequent, but her stay started becoming lengthier as well. Though she still smiled when her children were around her, her cheery smiles couldn’t hide the fact that her former boundless energy was faltering, her skin was turning sallow, her slender physique shrunk to skin and bones, and the ginger hair that she greatly detested seemed to share an equal vehemence of her that they started to fall off in alarming clumps at the sweep of a hair brush as she brushed her hair in front of her dresser’s mirror.

“Well isn’t that a bother!” Morgana sniffed in annoyance at the mirror, before she turned to her children with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, “Let’s say we shave it all off. I’ve never been bald before, so it will be a great new experience.”

Surprisingly enough, Megan went off to get her father’s razor without even protesting that a woman shaving her head was completely unladylike. Howell simply climbed on his mother’s lap and eyed the stands of red hair in his mother’s hairbrush dolefully.

Morgana hugged her son comfortingly and gave his forehead a reassuring kiss, “Don’t be sad, my beautiful boy. I always hated ginger anyway.”

It was shortly after that when Megan heard her brother speak for the first time. Their parents set off once again for another un-routine visit to the hospital. But unlike the other times, there seemed to be a heavy feeling in the air accompanying the usual feelings of anxiety when Morgana had kissed her children goodbye before leaving Megan in charge.

Howell, to Megan’s utter astonishment, didn’t go through their ritual silent declaration of war as soon as their parents’ car drove away. Her little brother even seemed uncharacteristically clingy the whole night until she finally shooed him to bed so she could work on her homework. It was a few minutes after midnight, when she was suddenly woken by a small hand shaking her arm. She let out a soft groan upon seeing her little brother kneeling by her bed, his wide green eyes staring at her anxiously.

“Howell, what are you doing up?” Megan moaned in annoyance as she sat up and tried to rub the sleep off her eyes, “Go back to bed.”

The little boy shook his head in dismay, as he fidgeted with her blankets.

Megan frowned, “What’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream?”

Howell simply stared as his hands continued to play the fabric in front of him.

The older girl sighed, figuring that that was exactly the case. Usually, it was their mother whom he ran to whenever he had a bad dream. Being the one available for comfort in the house, she figured that he already had enough trouble swallowing his pride to come to her for help. So she quickly scooted to make room for the little boy with little fuss, “Fine, you can sleep with me for tonight. But next time, you’re on your own.”

The little boy didn’t reply as he obediently climbed under the covers then instantly latched onto his sister’s arm. It was only then that Megan realized that her younger brother was trembling. Her eyes quickly shot open as she sat up to turn towards her little brother in alarm, “Howell, what is it?”

“Mother said goodbye,” came a soft whisper

Megan’s instinctively pushed the little boy at half-arms length as if to inspect him to make sure that the sound she heard wasn’t her imagination. But the little boy looked utterly miserable that whatever inborn motherly instinct she had, overshadowed the shock of hearing her little brother finally talk.

She brushed the stray strands of dark hair from her brother’s eyes just as their mother used to do, “You know how Mother likes to be overly dramatic when she gets sick and needs to see the doctor. She hates being away from us after all. Just you wait, she’ll be back very soon and things will be the way it has.”

“No, not earlier today,” Howell shook his head even more vigorously, rubbing a sleeve across his face to keep his sister from seeing the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes, “Just now… a few minutes ago in my bedroom. Mother said goodbye.”

The older girl could only stare at the younger boy, stunned. In any other circumstance, she would have put her brother on her lap and start giving him a good spanking for making up such a horrible story and playing such a cruel joke. She didn’t know why or how… but somehow, as she stared at the distraught little boy before her, something told her that her brother was telling the truth. And for the first time in her life, Megan was at a complete loss at what to do.

As if sensing his sister’s helplessness, Howell finally burst into inconsolable tears. Megan held her brother in her hands in vain. She was too frightened and too shocked to summon what’s left of any motherly instincts within her to be much comfort. So, instead, she quickly took the little boy in her arms to carry him downstairs in order to do the first idea that came to her mind.

“Mae bys Mary Ann wedi brifo,” came later on the first line from the silly saucepan song that Howell liked their mother to sing to him so much in a soft tuneless whisper amidst the cheering noises coming from the television.

And that was how Lloyd Jenkins found his two children when he arrived home a few minutes later…

“Sosban fawr yn berwi ar y llawr”

…sitting side by side on the Chesterfield, watching the television play a video tape of the other night’s rugby match…

“Sosban fach yn berwi ar y tan”

…solemnly singing the final verse of a silly Welsh folksong about saucepans, as if they were singing the national anthem.

“A'r gath nawr yn cysgu mewn hedd.”

End of Chapter One.
To be continued.

Author’s Squawk:

I still have a personal problem with FFNET, but seeing that this is the only archive in the net for DWJ fanfics, I will swallow my pride and post my DWJ fics here. So for the record, all other fics I’m writing will continue to not be archived here anymore.

Now, on to the little side notes in the story. I was hoping to be the first one to post a “prequel” so to speak of the HMC storyline, and have been formulating this story for the past 2 weeks in the top of my head. Unfortunately, it seems I was beaten to it, but I’m glad that my fic seems to be heading towards a different direction. .

Anywayz, the Welsh folksong I put in here is called Sosban Fach. It’s actually the silly saucepan song that Sophie mentioned in the book that Calcifer, Micheal, and Howl would occasionally sing while they worked (according to the DWJ sites I encountered while I was doing my research). It would seem that it’s a Welsh Folksong traditionally sung in rugby matches. . Isn’t that rather fitting?

I decided to not put the English translation because it looks more dignified and dramatic in Welsh. It’s really a very silly song, with nonsensical words, and I was afraid that if non-Welsh speaking people knew what it really meant, the ending won’t have as much of an impact. So if you want to find out the words, it’s freely available for searching in the net.

As for the character names, I think those familiar with Welsh names, as well HMC and CitA would figure out why I chose them.

I hope you liked my first chapter, and please feel free to send me comments and I really appreciate constructive criticism.

Ja!
Ina-chan