The Doom of the witch Madir
by betty

The Doom of the witch Madir

betty

Summary

"Can you stand it if I tell you a riddle?"

Notes

My lovely and talented beta, Mari, is responsible for any harmony of language this story contains.

Written for treetelling

Imported from Archive of Our Own. Original work id: 1635884.

Chapter One

In the fall of the year she was fourteen, Radearle of An found herself named the third most beautiful woman in the three portions of An. She celebrated this by slipping out of the king's white house at the top of the hill and into the city of Anuin, where she travelled from tavern to tavern until finally she found one, auspiciously named the Boar's Ear, where the woman sighed and took her money.

"Although what your father will say I don't like to think."

"He'll ask me who Hillion of the City of Circles was, and why he sang," said Raederle under her breath, and retreated with her beer to a corner before the woman's expectant silence could compel the riddle's answer from her.

As much as her father's aggravating wisdom, it was her mother's inexorable practicality that she found herself unwilling to face; Cyone had no patience for attempting to avoid the unavoidable and only a little sympathy.

The tavern was dim, wood polished like the ruins of the city of the Earth-Masters scoured smooth by the endless wind, the tables and chairs rough-hewn, and bent to the daily usage of the bar's visitors. Raederle curled herself onto a bench, and applied herself to the beer with determination.

When the High One's harpist entered along with a blast of chill wind, Raederle was scowling into the tankard.

"Deth," she said, and managed to smooth a smile onto her face for his sake, but it lasted barely until he sat. "Did my father send you?"

"Yes. He told me to ask if you had discovered yet that you have no taste for beer." The arch of his eyebrow was polite, yet as immobile as a creek's rills and falls made ice by winter.

"I could bear it if he were wrong sometimes, if only in little things," Raederle despaired, and clutched the tangle of her fiery hair up where it was in danger of falling into her beer.

Deth leaned forward and tipped his head to examine her, as if she were some infinitely precious mystery. "I had not seen it in you before, but you have something about you which favors your kinswoman, the witch Madir."

Raederle sat up, and pushed her beer to one side. "Oh. I had forgotten that you would have known her. I only know her from the histories in the library."

"Raederle," asked Deth, gently, "Why are you here?"

She traced the wet ring where her beer tankard had been with an incurious forefinger. "Some damned Baron of Hel came to see the third most beautiful woman in the three portions of An. I suppose the other two were busy. And I remembered that I've always wanted to know why Rood likes beer so much. I thought I might like to know what it was like to be drunk."

"Not particularly glamorous, I assure you, my dear."

Raederle looked at her mug, despairing. "Well it can't be if it involves that much beer." She left the subject of beer, gratefully. "Do I really favor the witch Madir? I imagine no one ever rode across An because they heard tales of Madir's beauty."

"Rather the opposite. Roil of Aum was not the only one."

"Who?"

"Roil of the riddle."

"I don't know that riddle," said Raederle, sitting up straight for the first time.

"Who was Roil of Aum and what doom did he give?" asked Deth, and then answered himself. "Roil was a farmer of Aum and the witch Madir saw him and desired him, as she had many before him. Unhappily, Roil was a quiet man, and told Madir that he sought a faithful marriage. The Witch Madir could think of no other while he denied her, and in the end she swore she would be a faithful wife to him, and they were wed. It may be that they were happy for a while. But Madir found herself trapped by her oath, and grew to hate Roil, and he to hate her. He grew old, while she stayed young. And he cursed her, saying that she would love without ceasing the next creature that spoke her name to her, whether she was loved in return or no.

"She fled him in terror, for she could imagine no more terrible fate. She styled herself as mute and hid among the pigkeepers of Lord Nemir of Hel. There, they set her to the care of a litter of piglets, the get of Nemir's prized sow who had died. She lived with the pigs, shunning mankind, always fearing her fate. Then, one fall day, the runt of the litter, a boar she called Hegdis-noon looked up at her and said, 'Madir.'"

Deth broke his narration for a moment. "Mind, knowing Hegdis-noon it was most likely 'Madir, I'm hungry.' But there can be no doubt that although Madir loved pigs to her death, she loved Hegdis-noon best."

Raederle propped her chin in her hands. "I suppose the stricture is, 'never promise anyone anything that you don't have to give, not even for love,' only said in that dry Caithnard way."

Deth smiled, a little crookedly. "I believe the stricture is, 'the wise woman knows what she is.'"

Raederle sighed. "I suppose you mean that it's as useless to protest being called the third most beautiful woman in the three portions of An, -- if that's who I am -- as trying to get Mathom to tell you if spring will follow winter."

Death smiled at her fondly. "My dear. You are Raederle of An, and the girl who kept herself awake until the moon rose when she was six to hear the end of the ballad of Yon and Illyon."

Raederle stood up, made a face, and drained the dregs of her beer. "And my father's daughter. Well. I'm sure my mother will have something to say to me, I had best go hear it. I suppose my father is treating the poor Baron of Brycheiniog to a foretaste of Pevin's games. With luck, he'll find the Lord of An so disagreeable he'll stay away from that thrice-damned tower."