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Once upon a time, in a small town in Wales, there was a boy called Howell Jenkins who wasn't quite like other boys.
Things seemed to happen to Howell, accidents that didn't quite make sense, like the time he fell out of a tree he was climbing and landed without a scratch, or lucky chances such as the local ice cream shop always having the flavor he wanted although they were notorious for not stocking enough chocolate, and many other little boys and girls had to go home disappointed.
As he grew older, the accidents lessened, and Howell's luck seemed less suspicious, except to his sister Megan, who was beginning to feel there was something not quite right about her little brother, who she nevertheless loved dearly. But Howell read all the fantasy books the local library could supply him with, and began poring through dusty tomes on the occult that had been lying untouched at the back of the bookstore for untold years.
"Magic," said Howell's father, "is not real, and no amount of nosing around old books will make it so."
Megan defended Howell. "It's only a game, Tad," she would say. Howell had always loved pretending to be a dragon hoarding a supply of gold, and had often coaxed Megan to go after him with a sword made out of tree branches.
Nevertheless, Howell seemed to listen to their father. He joined the rugby team at school, and for a while that was all he would talk to anyone about, which quite annoyed his sister who found rugby to be incomprehensible and brutal. "And you smell afterwards," Megan said, turning up her nose.
That might have been the end of that, if it hadn't been for the girl.
She was born on the same night as Howell, a hot summer night when the crickets ceased chirping and a star fell to earth. There were many ghosts in her house, and she told her parents so. Concerned, they told her there was nothing there, at which point she flew into a rage that set the living room rug on fire. Not knowing what else to do, her parents sent her to an all-girls boarding school, where she remained until the sixth form, and made few friends. Enemies she made quickly, but just as quickly they made peace, for nastier and nastier things happened to people who mocked or harmed the girl. The teachers noticed this, and, though they could never catch her in the act, frequently punished her, whether or not she was actually at fault.
She returned to her hometown harder and less trusting, but with a yen for the unusual, and a keen curiosity about the opposite sex.
So it was not long before she approached Howell.
At the time, he was flirting, albeit unsuccessfully, with one of the prettier girls in the village, but the girl stared down Howell as if the other girl, Gwendolen, was not there.
"So you're the boy who's afraid of witches," she said.
Gwendolen giggled, and Howell crossed his arms defensively.
"That was years ago," he retorted. "These days I'd rather take on a witch than someone's domineering aunt." (Gwendolen, who had several aunts, lifted her head and walked away)
Her laugh was low and hearty. "My name is Delyth. Are you sure you're not afraid?"
"Of you? Why should I be?" Howell was still looking after Gwendolen's retreating back.
She leaned forward. "I'm a witch, Howell Jenkins."
And, although his heart was pounding, he said, "You don't scare me."
It was the beginning of a most unusual alliance-- one that surprised the village as well as Howell himself. He had not thought himself the kind to be lead around by a girl, but inevitably where Delyth went, he wanted to follow, and while he could not get up the courage to try to kiss her himself, she pinned him against a wall one day and kissed him with magnificent ineptitude.
For a time, they were inseparable. He showed her old books he had read with spells that really worked, she showed him what magic she had discovered on her own. They both agreed that Wales was too small to contain their collective genius, and set about searching for a way to a new world.
"A real new world," Delyth said, "not one of those parallel universes they talk about in science. Some place completely different, where we can practice magic out in the open."
Howell's stomach squirmed. He wasn't entirely sure that there was such a place, and if there wasn't, he wasn't entirely sure what Delyth would do about it. But for the moment, he plastered a smile on his face and said, "Yes, and we can be whoever we want to be. You can be the Grand Sorceress of the North, and I'll be the Dread Wizard of the South, and we'll pretend to hate each other and get into grand battles."
Delyth smiled, "You wouldn't want to be the dashing hero, saving maidens in distress?"
Howell made a face. "Heroes always have to marry the heroine, and she's bound to be a drip. You're the only woman for me, and I don't see you getting into distress anytime soon. No, it's much better to be evil. Then everybody will leave you alone."
"But no one will love you," Delyth said quietly.
Howell, seeing he'd struck a nerve, put down his pen and went to put his arms around her. "I'll love you, Delyth. You know I don't care what people think."
She smiled, bitterly. "My parents hate you."
Howell hesitated. His family wasn't exactly wild about Delyth either. They didn't like the way she dressed, her lack of manners, and they especially didn't like that she shared Howell's interest in magic. Howell's mother was the only one who made an effort, and it was clear that was because she preferred him to have a steady girlfriend than the short-lived flirtations that had come before. "In another world," he said, finally, "we won't have parents to tell us what to do either."
Delyth's smile turned genuine, and she lifted her head for a kiss.
It was on their seventeenth birthday that they first broke through to a new world. It was humid and sticky, and full of people chattering in another language. Howell was disappointed, but Delyth was delighted.
"Oh, of course it isn't ideal, but it will give us a place to work on the portal to the next world."
"And what if the next one lands us in Siberia?" Howell snapped.
"Then we'll make another one," said Delyth calmly. "And another, and another, until we find our home."
Her confidence was unwavering, but Howell was not cut from the same cloth. He began to make excuses to spend time away from Delyth, and began spending more and more time with other girls. Gwendolen had forgiven him for the comment about aunts, and occasionally even consented to listen to Howell recite poetry.
"You randy little beast," she said good-naturedly. "These are all about sex."
"'Tis true," said Howell, quirking his eyebrows, "Then learn just how false fears be, just so much honor when thou yield'st to me, will waste as this flea's death took life from thee."
Gwendolen laughed, (and Howell could not help thinking her laugh was not anything like Delyth's) and crooked her finger.
Somewhere between all this, Howell found time to revise. Evidently he did a proper job of it, as Howell was accepted to a good university. Delyth, still engrossed in her witchcraft, was not.
And so Howell decided it was time for them to have a talk, as he intended to go.
"It isn't that I don't still adore you," Howell said. "And it certainly isn't that I don't value our relationship. But I'm afraid I've thought about it, and I can't promise you that there won't be other girls at university."
"But what about our dream?" she whispered, "I don't care how many girls you throw over, particularly if they're thoughtless twits like that Gwendolen Evans, just don't- don't say I have to be alone."
"You won't," said Howell, although he wasn't sure. "We've been through three years together. Another four isn't going to change what we have."
They reunited each summer, and Howell would tell her about new spells he had discovered (carefully leaving out the rugby and the girls, of which there were many), and she would tell him about the three jobs she was working, and how she was saving up to move to Aberystwyth.
And of course, the portals.
Delyth broke through into world after world, but there was always something missing. One was bad enough that she kept it a secret from Howell- a place where they still had public witch burnings.
At the close of Howell's last year of university, he came to visit her, only to find her dark eyes blazing with a mad fervor.
"Delyth? Cariad?" he said uncertainly.
"I've found it, really found it this time, Howell!" she cried. At that, he dropped the present he'd brought her (books that could easily withstand the fall) and opened his arms, and she ran to them.
After they had had their fill of kissing, Howell finally managed to tear himself away to ask, "How?"
"It was just sitting there all the time, waiting to be found! We overshot it by lightyears, looking for those other places. I found another one that was hot and full of spices that smelled like an Indian restaurant, but everyone was speaking English, and I realized I just had to change the coordinates a bit further north and- well see for yourself."
The portal was dark, with a kind of hot damp mist preventing Howell from seeing through to the other side. "Are you sure-" he began, when she shoved him in.
In that moment, he found himself standing in a field of flowers that seemed to go on for ages. There was a small hut there, painted a cheerful yellow, but it was otherwise uninhabited.
"It isn't all like this," Delyth's voice came from behind, and he turned to see her standing with her arms on her hips, hair fluttering in the breeze. "This bit is just uninhabited because it's near a place they call the Waste. I think it's lovely."
"You want to live here?" Howell said, trying to hide his disappointment. He had always imagined in their new world they would live in something out of the fantasy books he had read as a child, like a flying castle.
"Well, we wouldn't spend all our time here- this is just where we would go when we didn't want anyone to bother us," she said casually. "There's a great city called Kingsbury that you can get lost in."
And so they went to Kingsbury, all the while Delyth explaining what she had learned about this land, which was called Ingary, and how magic was an accepted part of life here, and that you could even go to school for magic.
As soon as she said it, she knew she had made a mistake. Howell's eyes lit up, and he clasped her hands. "We'll take classes together- it'll be like it was in the beginning-"
"No," she said gently. "It won't. Then it was just you and me. You'll look at other girls, Howell. You always do."
"That's only because you weren't there to keep me company," he protested. "I do get lonely, Delyth. If we take classes together, I swear I won't give another girl the time of day."
Delyth shook her head. "I'd rather do my own research."
After such a long time, Howell was no longer sure what that consisted of, but he felt it was rude to ask. After all, most of his spells were focused on getting rid of his residual acne and changing the texture and color of his hair so it was no longer fine and mud brown but thick and black.
With Delyth's fine features, he mused, one might mistake them for brother and sister now. The idea amused him.
"What are you smiling to yourself about?" she asked. When he explained, she let out that low laugh that he adored.
"Let's go to this Kingsbury and pretend it's true. Howell and Delyth-" he searched for a name as grand as they deserved, and found his answer in Tennyson. "Pendragon!"
She laughed again. "All right. We will need separate rooms at night. That's when I do most of my studying."
Howell frowned. "You'd rather study than be with me?"
"It's important to me, Howell," she said firmly. And no matter how he pleaded or persuaded, he couldn't get her to budge on the subject.
As a result, Howell was in full sulk by the time they reached Kingsbury. Delyth ignored him, and got them rooms under the name of Pendragon.
"Now, are we going to go out and explore the city or are you going to stay here and act like a child?"
He crossed his arms and refused to answer.
"Howell," she said, her voice rising, "if you don't stop this right now, I'm going to hurt you."
Nothing changed,
Delyth made a swiping motion in the air, and Howell cried out.
"Ouch! Delyth!"
"I told you," she said calmly. "Now are you going to be good and come out with me or am I going to have to twist your arm?"
"Delyth," Howell said, trying not to let fear creep into his voice, "what exactly have you been studying?"
"How to make people love me," she replied.
They spent several days in Kingsbury, but things had changed between them again. Howell, unsure of what to do with his magic apart from concocting more beauty spells, was on the hunt for a teacher. This proved to be more difficult than he had reckoned with, particularly as he had no Ingarian currency. So he took to selling beauty charms on the street, even though he frequently told the girls that approached his stall shyly that they had no need of them.
And, since they had separate rooms anyway, Howell decided it wouldn't hurt to bring a few of them up to his, now and again.
Meanwhile Delyth, perfectly confident on her own, went to shops all over Ingary procuring rarer and more dangerous books of spells which she brought to her house by the Waste.
"I found another house, deep in the Waste, and it's filled with potions and spell books," she cried out one morning, shaking Howell awake. "Obviously a witch lived there, but she's nothing but bones now. I could take her place."
"What about the house we were going to have?" Howell asked. "Are you just going to abandon it?"
"This house is much better," she said. "I'm afraid there's only room for one, though."
"Then perhaps I should start looking for my own place to live," he snapped. "Seeing as I'm not invited."
"You haven't been doing anything with your magic, anyway," Delyth said harshly. "Just using it to make yourself prettier. I liked the way you looked before, but you never bothered asking me, did you?"
"It's my face!" Howell fairly exploded back. "I should think I have the right to change it without consulting anybody!"
"Go off and study then!" Delyth screamed. "Go find your marvelous teacher- I hear there's no one better than Mrs Pentstemmon, but she doesn't take very many pupils these days, so I wouldn't be so sure I could measure up!"
"I will, then!" he shouted back. "And she will take me, you'll see!"
She did, too, although not for the reasons Howell assumed. He wore his best suit from home, and gelled back his hair, still dark as midnight, though he was beginning to think he wanted to change that. He spoke charmingly and eloquently and assured her that his tutoring up until now had been sadly lacking, and that she stood a very real chance of changing his life.
Mrs Pentstemmon was impressed by the beauty spells, and amused by the speech, but most of all, as she would say many years later, by the imagination and raw talent behind them. The confidence, of course, didn't hurt.
And so Howell buried himself in his studies again, moving in with Mrs Pentstemmon. He wrote Delyth letters, but she did not respond. He also wrote to Megan, claiming he was going for his masters. Unexpectedly, Megan did respond, but it was only to give him enough information on the goings-on at home to make him thoroughly glad to be in Ingary. She also invited him to her wedding, which was to be the next year.
The only time Delyth responded to a letter of Howell's was the one inviting her to his sister's wedding. I'll never go back, and neither should you.
Howell went to Megan's wedding anyway.
It was a quiet affair, almost what he would consider cheap, if Megan hadn't looked so happy. The man she was marrying was a dour older fellow who reminded Howell of some old drawing of a vampire, whose gaze bore down on Howell every time they were in a room together. It was clear he did not approve of Howell.
But it was just as clear that Howell's parents loved Megan's new husband. Howell's father, sick though he was, clapped Gareth on the shoulder with all his might, beaming in a way that was entirely unfamiliar.
Megan cornered him when the festivities were dying down. "Howell, we have to talk."
"I should say we have to," Howell said lightly. "That punch was a disaster. Whoever made it?"
Megan's cheeks turned pink. "Stop making tasteless jokes and listen, for once in your life, little brother. Our father is dying."
"He's sick, he'll get better."
"No, he won't," Megan hissed. "He's old and he has Alzheimer's, Howell, and the treatments aren't working. You need to come back home and help Gareth and I take care of him."
"Have you asked him if he wants that?" Howell inquired. "Because he's ignored me all day, and has done a fairly thorough job of making me unwelcome ever since he found out I wasn't going to pursue rugby professionally."
"You're both being stupid," Megan said angrily. "Just because he's disappointed doesn't mean he doesn't love you. And just because he's never understood you doesn't mean you don't love him."
"But neither does it mean I have to watch him die," Howell retorted.
"Howell," Megan said in a low voice. "If you walk away from this, I'll never forgive you."
"Let me through."
She did.
The only person who thought to ask about Delyth, with whom Howell was supposedly spending so much time away, was his mother. Howell didn't know what to say, so he blurted out, "I broke it off. I wanted the chance to meet other women, and she was getting a bit clingy, anyway."
Howell's mother nodded, slowly. It was a complete falsehood, but it was clear that she believed it. "Well, I hope you find yourself a nicer girl this time."
Usually Howell became defensive whenever his family criticized Delyth, but now he let her words sink in. Delyth wasn't a nice person, he realized. She wasn't even particularly nice to him anymore, and she certainly had never been very nice to other people.
Which was how he ended up at her cottage in the Waste, explaining that they had to break it off.
The air around Delyth fairly crackled with her anger. "I knew this would happen. It's that Pentstemmon woman. She's turned you against me."
"Mrs Pentstemmon doesn't even know I know you," Howell said angrily. "The only reason she knows you at all is because you've taken up the mantle of Witch of the Waste."
"And see how people already fear me! You once wanted the same, Howell. Now what's become of you?"
"Just because I want to be left alone doesn't mean I want to live in a wasteland! And it certainly doesn't mean I want to go out and start hurting people the way they say you've been doing! This place is littered with skulls, Delyth- do I even want to ask who they belong to?"
Delyth laughed, bitterly. "Go and catch a falling star."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Howell snapped. "Isn't it a bit tasteless to start reciting poetry at me?"
"No, I mean it. Go, and catch a falling star."
At the time he assumed she was telling him to go to hell, and put it away in the list of things not to bother about. But despite his cavalier attitude, he could not help wondering about his father's failing health.
So, getting on the seven league boots he had been developing in private, Howell set out to the old portal by the Waste, and emerged into a rainy day in the small Welsh village of his birth.
At first, many people didn't recognize him. He was blonde now, nearly a foot taller, and his acne had cleared up remarkably well. He was also wearing a suit from Ingary of gold and grey, which he quickly realized was entirely unsuited to the job at hand, and worked a concealment charm that made him appear to be wearing his old Welsh Rugby shirt and jeans.
Howell still had the keys to the house. He knocked first, to be polite, but when no one answered, he turned the key in the lock and went inside. His mother was coming down the stairs and jumped at his arrival.
"Howell!" she cried. "I had no idea you were back from university. You should have called. He's not having a good day."
"I made up my mind rather suddenly," Howell lied smoothly. "Put the car in the garage. How's Megan?"
A little color came back into his mother's face. "Oh, wonderful. She's just had a baby, can you believe it?"
"No- our Megan?" Howell was genuinely surprised. He had figured Gareth for old fashioned and knew Megan was very much in love with him, but had not counted on a child this soon. "Boy or girl?"
"Boy- they called him Neil, isn't that wonderful?" Howell's father's name was Neil.
"Nice thought," Howell said miserably. Life, it seemed, went on without him. "Perhaps I should just go- he won't be wanting to see me."
"Nonsense! It's been too long- you come right on up, young man."
There was no arguing with his mother when she put on that tone of voice. Howell meekly followed her up the stairs, tugging at his charmed clothes nervously.
Howell's father was ensconced in a chair by the window, out of which he was scowling. The scowl gave way to a puzzled look as Howell was all but pushed in by his mother.
"And who might you be?" Howell's father said suspiciously.
Howell swallowed. "Tad. It's your son. Howell?"
"Oh, yes," his father said, without the slightest change of expression. "You look the same."
Howell's stomach dropped. His father really hadn't been able to recognize him.
"He's not always like this," his mother whispered. "He asks about you, all the time."
Howell turned around. "It's all right," a voice he did not recognize as his own said. "A bad day. Shouldn't have come."
He left the car in the garage, using the seven league boots to travel back to Aber, where he took the portal in Delyth's apartment back to the field near the Waste.
Inconvenient, he found himself thinking distantly. Must find a faster way of transportation one of these days. Should build my own portal.
It was night, and the stars shone overhead. Delyth's words echoed in his head. Catch a falling star. Where was that from?
He had seven league boots. Couldn't he use those to catch up with a falling star?
Would that make this intense pain go away?
And a star was indeed falling, and he realized if he was going to do this, he had better do it now.
And then he was standing, with a hot star in his hand, which blinked sleepy ice blue eyes at him, and said, "Aren't you going to let me die?"
"No," said Howell, because he was not a dark wizard, damn it, not like her! "No, tell me what to do and I'll save you."
"Give me your heart," said the star.
"Oh, is that all?" Howell thought it was a very kindly star to take the burden of a heart that he no longer wanted. "It's terribly soft and damnably fickle. Are you sure you want it?"
"If it saves me from death, yes, I should say I'm sure," said the star. "My name's Calcifer, by the way. What's yours?"
"Howell."
"Howl? Funny sort of a name, but I like it."
Howell was about to correct him, but he was too tired. "Just tell me how I can give you my heart without killing myself."
Calcifer told him the words, and he said them, drawing out his heart until the ache slowly faded. The star settled itself on his heart, and said, "Well, Wizard Howl, take us home."
He began construction on the moving castle then, starting by using all the remaining money he had earned selling charms to buy himself a house in Porthaven. Calcifer didn't like it, said it was too wet, but Howell assured him when he was finished the house wouldn't be wet at all.
Howl saw the Witch of the Waste one final time. He looked in her eyes, saw how glassy they were, and said, "How long ago did you get your fire demon?"
"Does it matter?" she asked.
Yes, Howl wanted to scream, yes, it matters if the cruelty started then or if it was always there, and it matters because I want to know if you still love me or if it was all a lie. But the words stayed in his mouth, and he found suddenly that it did not matter very much at all. "I suppose it changes you."
"We can still be together," she said. "You can spend nights with me again, and we'll rule Ingary together. It will be just like we always dreamed."
"No," Howl shook his head. "I never wanted to rule Ingary. I've told you, all I want is to be left alone."
She laughed. "If thou be'st born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
Till age snow white hairs on thee,
Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,
All strange wonders that befell thee,
And swear,
No where
Lives a woman true and fair."
"That's not a spell, that's a poem," Howl said.
Her dark eyes flashed. "I wouldn't be so sure of the difference if I were you, Howell Jenkins."
Once upon a time, in a land called Ingary, there was a witch and a wizard who gave their hearts away, though not to each other. The witch's heart would slowly be devoured until she was all but unrecognizable to the man who had once loved her. The wizard's heart, on the other hand, was carefully preserved until the time came for it to return to him. But that is another story.