Hexed

curse that lies so heavily on your shoulders?”
    I shrugged. “In my culture, being a mother is the highest calling a woman can have. We are the ones who keep the race alive, we are the wellspring of history. Barren women are not ostracized, but those who have been struck barren by curse are pitied, and I am an outcast. When I went home after the temple excommunicated me, none in my family would speak to me. They gave me food and shelter, but they remained silent. They would not acknowledge me, so I left. I found a farm family who needed help, who didn’t care about my past.”
    “The Kuusis?” Camille was walking close enough to overhear me.
    I nodded. “The Kuusis. They were FBHs—full-blooded humans—and they did not care if my hair was cut short, they never asked about my past or my lack of a family. They took me in and gave me shelter and friendship.”
    “How did you happen to go to work for them?” She was using her stave to dig into the snow and propel herself along.
    “I left home after an awkward stay and struck out on my own. When I got tired of walking, the first few weeks I slept in the open, and luckily nothing happened. But then I came to a farm. I snuck into their barn that night, and early morning Kustaa—the father—found me.” I sighed softly, remembering that morning.
    “What did he do?” Howl asked. “By the way, you do know that I am known by the name Aatu in Finland?”
    It was my turn to smile at him. “Yes, I know, great and noble wolf. You are not just Aatu, but the Aatu. Anyway, when Kustaa found me, he asked who I was. I picked out a name, Iris—that was my favorite flower—and gave him that.”
    Camille stopped in her tracks. “Your name wasn’t Iris all along?”
    I shook my head, deciding I might as well tell her the truth. “No, my name was Pirkitta, but I was afraid that my reputation might have filtered down from the Northlands. News from the temples often did. So I picked my favorite flower, and then when I came over to the States, I used the Western form for it.”
    “So how did you go about working for the Kuusis after they caught you hiding in the barn?” Smoky paused by a tree that had fallen across the path and, with a nod from me, lifted me over it like he might lift a baby out of a crib. He did the same for Camille, then lightly leapt over the trunk.
    Smoky had traded in his trademark ankle-length white trench for an ankle-length white fur cape that billowed around him. Rozurial was wearing a black fur cape, and beneath these they wore their elfin cloaks. I had my cloak over my parka, and Camille wore hers over her robe made out of the black unicorn hide.
    When we were all on the other side of the deadfall, I answered. “I told Kustaa that I needed a job, that I had lost my family in a tragedy and was on my own. He recognized that I was a house sprite and offered me a place in his family, helping his wife with the children and gardens. He had such a kind demeanor . . .”
    I closed my eyes, remembering his gentle voice that seemed so out of place against his gruff exterior. “I couldn’t help but say yes. They had ten children, and his wife’s parents were living with them, and a maiden sister and an unwed brother.”
    “That’s a lot of work,” Camille said.
    “Oh, it was, but they treated me fairly and never raised a hand to me. Kustaa and the men would go hunting for weeks at a time, while the women watched the home fires. I was used to hard work from the temple—we had to shoulder our own weight there as well as learn all our magic, so it was no stretch to help out the Kuusis. And so I stayed.”
    “You became part of their family,” Roz said, a gentle smile on his lips.
    “Yes, and had I wed there and had children, we would be bound as a family to them. That’s the way it works when you belong to one of the house sprite races. We love helping out, we’re homey folk in general.”
    “You stayed for a long time, Mistress Iris.” Howl glanced at me. I hadn’t realized he’d been listening and felt slightly self-conscious.
    “I did. As time wore on, the children grew. One of the daughters wed, and her husband moved into the house, and they raised their children there . . . and I stayed on after Kustaa and his wife died. I stayed for over four hundred years until the last of their line passed.”
    Camille bit her lip, looking like she wanted to cry. “When did you leave?”
    “I left in 1875, after burying Kustaa’s