The Folklore of Discworld

Magrat to give themselves a collective name. But the book does. Being receptive to inspiration, it calls them Wyrd Sisters.
    That, actually, is how Shakespeare ought to have spelled the name of his own three witches, since it is their true and original title. It doesn’t mean they were peculiar or crazy. It is the Anglo-Saxon wyrd , a word meaning Fate or Destiny, which is now completely forgotten in England, but is still sometimes heard in Scotland, in encouraging remarks such as ‘Weel, laddie, ye maun e’en dree your weird’ (roughly, ‘That’s your bad luck, son, and you’ll just have to put up with it’). Shakespeare’s witches could foretell, and probably direct, your destiny.
    Shakespeare found their name in the book where he first read about Macbeth’s career, Raphael Holinshed’s History of Scotland (1577). Holinshed was too cautious to commit himself as to what exactly the three women on the heath can have been. He wrote:
    The common opinion was, that these three women were either the weird sisters, that is (as ye would say) the goddesses of destinie, or else some nymphs or feiries, indued with knowledge of prophecie by their necromanticall science, because euerie thing came to pass as they had spoken.
    Goddesses, nymphs, fairies, witches, necromancers, prophets? You can take your pick. But there is no doubt that they had power.
    But why, in both universes, are there precisely three of them? It is of course true that this suits the theatre, as the great playwright Hwel remarks when he looks through a script which, emanating from the mighty power-source of Shakespeare’s mind, has drifted over to the Discworld without too much damage.
    There were, he had to admit, some nice touches. Three witches was good. Two wouldn’t be enough, four would be too many. They could be meddling with the destinies of mankind and everything. Lots of smoke and green light. You could do a lot with three witches. It was surprising no one had thought of it before. [ Wyrd Sisters ]
    But the true reason lies far, far deeper. Three has always been an important number in stories, and in magic. All good things come in threes, and all bad things too. Which is why the Ancient Greeks and Romans spoke of three Fates who held in their hands the thread of each person’s life: Clotho spun it on her distaff, Lachesis measured it, and in due time the dreaded Atropos (‘She who can’t be turned aside’) snipped it with the shears of death. They were usually said to be old women, looking much alike, except that the first two wore white robes and the third, guess who, black.
    Norsemen too believed in goddesses of destiny, the Norns. According to one poem there were just three, whose names were Urd–r, Verd–andi, and Skuld – meaning ‘what’s-happened-already’, ‘what’s-happening-now’, and ‘what’s-bound-to-happen’. But others said there were many of them, and that they came to every child when it was born, to shape its life.
    In southern Europe people thought that there were supernatural women who bestowed wishes and gifts on newborn babies. They were a kind of fairy, but it was most unwise to use that word – better to refer tactfully to ‘Ladies from outside’, or ‘Ladies who must not be named’. They were the original fairy godmothers. In Greece and the Balkans, they would arrive on the third night after the birth, and there were three of them. Everyone went to bed early that night, the dogs would be chained up, the door of the house left unlocked. The baby’s cot would be placed near the icon in the main room, and beside it a table with three low stools for the Ladies. There would be a candle burning, and heaps of food – bread and wine, fruit, nuts, honey-cakes. Nobody could enter the room till morning, when themidwives and female relatives would eat up the goodies themselves, for the Ladies had already magically taken what they wanted of them during the night.
    On one occasion (as recounted in Wyrd Sisters ), Granny Weatherwax, Nanny Ogg and Magrat saved a baby’s life and appointed themselves his godmothers. In normal circumstances, they would certainly have appreciated a cosy midnight feast, if one had been on offer. But the circumstances were far from normal, and they had to bestow their gifts from a distance.
    Magrat sighed.
    ‘You know,’ she said, ‘if we are his godmothers, we ought to have given him three gifts. It’s traditional.’
    ‘What are you talking about, girl?’
    ‘Three