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    Witch Child

    Witch Child

    3.4 9

    by Celia Rees

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    Customer Reviews

      ISBN-13: 9781408810378
    • Publisher: Bloomsbury USA
    • Publication date: 05/03/2010
    • Sold by: Barnes & Noble
    • Format: eBook
    • Pages: 256
    • Sales rank: 290,449
    • File size: 684 KB
    • Age Range: 12 Years

    Celia Rees is one of Britain's foremost writers for teenagers and her titles for Bloomsbury have enjoyed huge success. Witch Child has been adopted by educational boards up and down the country and is required reading in secondary schools in the UK, with life sales of over 180,000, and has been translated into 25 languages. Celia has a degree in history, a strong interest in which is evident in her brilliantly researched books. Sorceress, Pirates! and Sovay have all met similar critical acclaim and are loved fro their strong characters and skillfully plotted adventures. Celia Rees lives in Leamington Spa, with her husband.
    Celia Rees is the author of many books for young readers including the bestseller Witch Child. She has been shortlisted for both the Guardian and the Whitbread children's fiction awards and her novels have been translated into over twenty languages. Celia lives in Leamington Spa.

    Read an Excerpt

    The following manuscript comes from a remarkable collection of documents termed "the Mary papers." Found hidden inside a newly discovered and extremely rare quilt from the colonial period, the papers seem to take the form of an irregularly kept journal or diary. All dates are guesswork, based on references within the text. The first entries are tentatively dated from March 1659. I have altered the original as little as possible, but punctuation, paragraphing, and spellings have been standardized for the modern reader.

    Alison Ellman
    Boston, MA
    1. Early March 1659

    I am Mary. I am a witch. Or so some would call me. "Spawn of the Devil," "Witch child," they hiss in the street, although I know neither father nor mother. I know only my grandmother, Eliza Nuttall; Mother Nuttall to her neighbors. She brought me up from a baby. If she knew who my parents are, she never told me.

    "Daughter of the Erl King and the Elfen Queen, that's who you are."

    We live in a small cottage on the very edge of the forest; Grandmother, me, and her cat and my rabbit.
    Lived. Live there no more.

    Men came and dragged her away. Men in black coats and hats as tall as steeples. They skewered the cat on a pike; they smashed the rabbit's skull by hitting him against the wall. They said that these were not God's creatures but familiars, the Devil himself in disguise. They threw the mess of fur and flesh on to the midden and threatened to do the same to me, to her, if she did not confess her sins to them.

    They took her away then.

    She was locked in the keep for more than a week. First they "walked" her, marching her up and down, up and down between them for a day and a night until she could no longer hobble, her feet all bloody and swollen. She would not confess. So they set about to prove she was a witch. They called in a woman, a Witch Pricker, who stabbed my grandmother all over with long pins, probing for the spot that was numb, where no blood ran, the place where the familiars fed. The men watched as the woman did this, and my grandmother was forced to stand before their gloating eyes, a naked old lady, deprived of modesty and dignity, the blood streaming down her withered body, and still she would not confess.

    They decided to "float" her. They had plenty of evidence against her, you see. Plenty. All week folk had been coming to them with accusations. How she had overlooked them, bringing sickness to their livestock and families; how she had used magic, sticking pins in wax figures to bring on affliction; how she had transformed herself and roamed the country for miles around as a great hare and how she did this by the use of ointment made from melted corpse fat. They questioned me, demanding, "Is this so?"

    She slept in the bed next to me every night, but how do I know where she went when sleep took her?
    It was all lies. Nonsense and lies.

    These people accusing her, they were our friends, our neighbors. They had gone to her, pleading with her for help with beasts and children, sick or injured, a wife nearing her time. Birth or death, my grandmother was asked to be there to assist in the passage from one world to the next, for she had the skill—in herbs, potions, in her hands—but the power came from inside her, not from the Devil. The people trusted her, or they had until now; they had wanted her presence.
    They were all there for the swimming, standing both sides of the river, lining the bridge, staring down at the place, a wide pool where the water showed black and deep. The men in tall hats dragged my grandmother from the stinking hole where they had been keeping her. They cross-bound her, tying her right toe to her left thumb and vice versa, making sure the cords were thin and taut. Then they threw her in. The crowd watched in silence, the only sound the shuffle of many feet edging forward to see what she would do.

    "She floats!"

    The chant started with just one person remarking, in a quiet voice almost of wonder, then it spread from one to another until all were shouting, like some monstrous howling thing. To float was a sure proof of guilt. They hooked her, pulling her back to shore like a bundle of old washing. They did not want her drowning, because that would deprive them of a hanging.

    Witch Child. Copyright (c) 2000 Celia Rees. Candlewick Press, Inc., Cambridge, MA. Published by arrangement with Bloomsbury Publishing plc.

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    When Mary sees her grandmother accused of witchcraft and hanged for the crime, she is silently hurried to safety by an unknown woman. The woman gives her tools to keep the record of her days - paper and ink. Mary is taken to a boat in Plymouth and from there sails to the New World where she hopes to make a new life among the pilgrims. But old superstitions die hard and soon Mary finds that she, like her grandmother, is the victim of ignorance and stupidity, and once more she faces important choices to ensure her survival. With a vividly evoked environment and characters skilfully and patiently drawn, this is a powerful literary achievement by Celia Rees that is utterly engrossing from start to finish.

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