Glenys, a traditional Celtic healer is falsely accused of sorcery. Pursued across the crumbling Roman Empire by a tenacious bishop, she reaches Alexandria in the company of the heretic Pelagius and her on-again, off-again lover Ceallaigh.

Befriended by Hypatia, the famous pagan philosopher/librarian, she becomes enmeshed in the struggle to preserve Classical knowledge from the bonfires of religious zealots. When Hypatia is murdered by fanatical churchmen it sets off a slaughter of pagans and Jews. Though Glenys gets a measure of revenge darkness begins to fall over much of the ancient world.

• Rated 4.7 out of 5 and FEATURED on SCRIBD (under the title Dawn of Darkness.)
• Five Stars on Amazon
• Four Cups of Coffee (out of five) Coffee Time Reviews.
  

What they are saying about FLIGHT OF THE SORCERESS:

“Big, Bold, Imaginative…Spectacular women characters…Soars majestically”

“Read Barry Willdorf’s new novel from a purely historical perspective. Or read it as an allegory of our own twisted times. Or just read it for the fun of it. A big bold imaginative work of fiction, with spectacular women characters and dramatic settings, Flight of the Sorceress soars magically. The past comes to life, and ancient struggles take on new meanings in a powerful story that transcends time and place and achieves universality.” Jonah Raskin, author of Natives, Newcomers, Exiles, Fugitives.

“tight and it’s dynamic… the best sort of historical fiction”

“The Flight of the Sorceress is the best sort of historical fiction: set in a grim and fascinating age, when Roman civilization was giving way to triumphal Christianity, it brings a vanished world vividly to life. The Flight of the Sorceress is tight and it’s dynamic.” Tamim Ansary, author of West of Kabul, East of New York, Destiny Disrupted, A History of the World Through Islamic Eyes and The Widow’s Husband.

“Rich in ideas…Compelling characters…A page-turner to boot”

“Impressive breadth and scope…Painstaking attention to detail and to the big themes of feminism, anti-Semitism, patriarchy and violence against women by men…Flight of the Sorceress is bold, vivid, and engrossing.  It’s rich in ideas, full of compelling characters, and a page-turner to boot.” Holly Shumas, author of Five Things I Can’t Live Without, and Love and Other Natural Disasters

“The only problem I had with the book was that it ended. Hopefully, there will be sequel.”

“From the very first page of Flight of the Sorceress you are thrust back into 410 AD by the vivid description of Britannia. The drama of this chaotic period places you within battles between sanity and delusion. The suspense never stops, setting up conflicts that move you forward. Throughout the book are insightful explorations of ancient prejudices and myths that for someone like myself, with little knowledge of the period, made me want to know more. The story draws vivid parallels to the great religious conflicts throughout history into modern times. The continuous development of characters is laudable, especially with Glenys, the heroine of this marvelous story. The only problem I had with the book was that it ended. Hopefully, there will be sequel.”  Stan Goldberg is the author of the award winning book, Lessons for Living: Stories of Forgiveness, Gratitude, and Courage at the End of Life

“I could hardly put it down. It calls out for a sequel.”

“…(V)ery exciting to read because of the always moving and changing story elements. The women were especially wonderful as characters, and women…. As the book drew toward its conclusion, I could “hardly put it down” or as I guess we say now about a digital book, I could hardly turn it off…. It calls out for a sequel.”   Johnny Sundstrom, author of Dawn’s Early Light.

“a stirring adventure tale that is also a timely warning”

The Flight of the Sorceress dramatizes the end of Antiquity, bringing to life such iconic figures as Hypatia and Pelagius. Willdorf’s sympathies are primarily with the pagans and the Jews, as he follows the adventures of plucky heroines from Bath to Rome to Alexandria. Reimagining the onset of the Dark Ages and the consequent loss of secular values, he has written a stirring adventure tale that is also a timely warning against fundamentalism. James Warner, host and co-producer of InsideStoryTime, voted SF Weekly BEST NEW READING SERIES 2006.

Here’s a link to the trailer/video for The Flight of the Sorceress, my historical novel from Wild Child Publishing. Trailer: The Flight of the Sorceress

Click the link to  Order “The Flight of The Sorceress”

Special Offer for a limited time

only:

2-FER, 2-FER

Buy both The Flight of the Sorceress and Burning Questions. $29.00 and I will send you signed copies of each and cover tax, shipping and handling. Click on the button below:

Read an excerpt for THE FLIGHT OF THE SORCERESS

PART ONE
A WANING SLIVER OF MOONLIGHT

Chapter One
Aquae Sulis (Bath), Britannia: Spring 410 A.D.

Glenys was roused from sleep by pounding at the door. It was well past
midnight. Concerned that the tumult would awaken the old woman in her care,
she gathered her bedclothes about her and stumbled barefoot across the drafty
hut with only the light of stars and a waning crescent moon through an open
window to guide her. Reaching the door, she pushed aside the hide that covered
its peephole to spy the face of a man who had always viewed her with contempt.

His ruddy nose glowed by the flickering light of the torch he held. Dank hair
matted his forehead. Great beads of sweat clung to his eyebrows and moustache,
like raindrops on the eaves of a hut. His sour odor seeped through the cracks in the door, making her gasp. “What do you want?” she hissed. “It’s late and you’re waking the whole town.”

He was panting heavily and obviously had been running. “Are you Glenys?
Glenys, who is the healer?”

“What if I am?”

“I hoped to find you at the baths but Ceallaigh told me to try here.”

“You’re breaching the peace, you know. What is it you want?”

“It’s me, the thatcher. My w…wife,” he sputtered. “Come quickly. She
cannot…the baby…is stuck… Please, Lady Glenys, come. We need you.”

Glenys cautiously pulled back the bolt.

The thatcher pushed aside the door and clamped a powerful hand around her wrist. Instinctively, Glenys pulled back but was unable to free herself.

“We do not live far from here,” he blurted before she could protest. “We need
your help right away.” Without awaiting her reply, he pulled Glenys down the
alley and then through a maze of passages until the shrieks of the mother became
audible. Women were standing in doorways, their hands over their mouths,
shaking their heads and choking back tears. Men, bleary-eyed, peered over their
wives’ shoulders looking worried.

“It’s just right over…here,” the thatcher stuttered, pointing with his torch to a
cottage that boasted a door of polished planking and matching shutters, in
distinction from those around it—signs of his prosperity. He set the torch in an
iron cradle, pulled clumsily at the latch and burst in, Glenys still tightly within his
grasp.

A circle of flaming torches illuminated a young girl lying naked on a bed of
soiled sheepskins. Shading her eyes from the glare with her free hand, Glenys
gazed into terrified blue eyes desperately pleading for succor. She gulped a
breath, gagging on the acrid black smoke that hung in the low rafters like a
prescient storm cloud and sniffed the sobering odors of urine and of broken
water.

As her eyes grew accustomed to the light, Glenys observed that the girl’s
tongue had become swollen, likely from dehydration, and now drooped to the
side of her contorted mouth as if she were a shipwrecked sailor expiring of thirst.
Her thin child’s legs were splayed wide, knees fully bent, soles flat on the
sheepskin. She shivered frightfully.

The image of her mother, who had lovingly taught her the contraceptive
secrets of Queen Anne’s Lace and pennyroyal danced before Glenys’ eyes. Glenys
unconsciously ran a hand over her mature hip. She’s no more than fourteen
years of age. Hardly five years separates us, but it is all the difference.

A gray-haired crone with a misshapen skull and a face as deeply crevassed as
the bark on an ancient oak ceased daubing the girl with a wet cloth and squinted
at the newcomer. Licking her barren gums with a colorless tongue, she cocked
her head and with a gnarled finger gestured at the girl’s vulva. “She’s a small one,
she is.”

The girl shrieked.

A second woman, younger than the crone, the girl’s mother, Glenys guessed,
put her hands to her temples and began to cry out, “Dear God, dear God.”
Glenys bit hard into her lip to keep from chuckling. The woman’s face
appeared to her as an exaggerated pair of pendulous cheeks like sacks of the flour
hung from the rump of the miller’s ass. Glenys felt a hot blush of guilt. I am a
healer, and this is a matter of life and death. She regained her composure and
plucked a torch from the circle.

Holding the fire as close as she dared, she knelt down to examine the girl
closely, running educated fingers first along the cervix and then probing further
inside. To no one in particular, she reported, “She is ready to deliver but the
head’s not engaged. I’m feeling the baby’s rear. It’s breached, and the feet are
caught. I’ll try to push the baby back and free its feet.”

The girl screamed again and the muscles of her abdomen tensed.

Glenys pushed away from the child and stretched to relieve her own
cramping. She accepted a damp cloth from the old woman, wiped her hands and
turned to the thatcher. “Your wife is very young and very small,” she explained.
“Unless I’m able to relax her sufficiently so I can free the baby’s feet, they both
will surely die.” Failing to make eye contact, she shook her head and addressed
the mother. “Even then, I can’t promise success. The baby’s head will come out
last. It may be too large for her. If that’s the case, the only thing to do is to cut the
baby free.” Again she turned to the husband. “Your wife will certainly die if
cutting must be done, but I cannot do it. Just three weeks ago, the vortigern
prohibited all women from performing surgery. Perhaps you saw the edict nailed
to the door of the old temple? You must summon the physician at once.”

The thatcher’s mouth opened and shut like a netted salmon. Balling his fleshy
hands into ham hock fists, he pounded his temples. “The physician . . . cannot . . .
be found,” he sputtered. “We looked for him before I came to you.” He fell to his
knees and, looking up at the woman towering above, clasped his hands at his
chest. “She is only fourteen, Lady Glenys. Only fourteen. Please help her, I beg of
you.” The mother too was praying now, her hands pressed together, mouthing the
words of a psalm.

Glenys had little hope. She wiped the perspiration from her brow with the
sleeve of her nightgown and attended once more to the screaming girl, whose
feeble attempts to writhe were being foiled by exhaustion. Absent a miracle, the
young girl and her baby were both going to die. Taking an iron key that hung
from a cord around her neck, she dangled it and addressed the thatcher, hardly
sparing him another look. “How well do you know the baths?”

“…well.” Glenys ventured. “But I am certain you will find it without difficulty.
Be quick. This key will open the gate. Go to the great pool. At the far end there’s a
hall. The first door you come to will be my treatment chamber. Inside you’ll see
shelves. Upon the top shelf, in a blue basket, there you’ll find herbs. The one you
are looking for has leaves of dark blue-green and the smell will remind you of a
skunk. Bring me that basket in all haste!”

The thatcher snatched the key and rushed from the cottage.

“What herb is that?” asked the old crone.

“A rare herb,” said Glenys. “I obtained it from a Jew in Clausentium who
trades with Palestinia. It should relax the girl so that I can manipulate her baby.”
The old woman fussed with the wattle beneath her chin. “From Palestinia, you
say? I’ve heard of this herb. You will burn it, yes? The girl will breathe the smoke
and lose her senses? Is this the herb?”

Glenys scrutinized the woman before responding. “Perhaps, I’ve not used it
before. But this is an emergency and I’ve been told that in Egypt they use this
herb for difficult childbirths.”

I hope it’s still there, Glenys prayed silently. With luck, Ceallaigh’s not gotten
round to dismantling my chamber yet. But he’s become so erratic… Could it
have been just three weeks? So much has changed since that night.

This entry was posted on October 11, 2010, 11:57 am and is filed under ORDER OUR PUBLICATIONS, The Flight of the Sorceress. You can follow any responses to this entry through RSS 2.0. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site. Edit this entry

Order “The Flight of The Sorceress”