Happy New Year! Escape with a Writer Sunday welcomes author & publisher
Marci Baun!
A
fifth generation California, Marci Baun has had a passion for books from an
early age. Unless climbing trees, swimming, catching frogs, or getting into the
usual hijinks with her friends, she had one everywhere she went. That passion
turned into desire to create her own stories. She wrote her first one in sixth
grade, decided it sucked, and promptly lost it. It took her nearly 20 years
before she wrote her next story. That only happened after she opened her own
publishing house and had published books by some very talented authors.
Her
stories, ranging from horror/science fiction to paranormal to contemporary
romance and beyond, are influenced by her early years in Central California and
her travels around the States and the world. But no matter the genre, you’ll
always find a love story winding its way through it. Because . . . love.
She
lives in California with her husband, her child, and two cats.
Snow
Spirits
Not quite human, not quite
animal, and isolated in a tiny village in the Qílián Shān mountain range, Lin
Xuě just hopes to survive and live in peace.
When her parents insist
she marry Kwan Bao, a young man from a neighboring village, her life is
overturned. Bao is handsome, gentle, and unlike any man she’s ever met.
But, with the Great Famine
in full swing and Chairman Mao’s oppressive presence felt in every inch of
China, Xuě and Bao find themselves running for their lives across the Asia
continent with the People’s Liberation Army hot on their heels.
Excerpt
They stepped
outside into brilliant sunshine, and all of the hairs on her body stood on end.
Something wasn’t right. Loud, angry voices filtered back to them from the
direction of the banquet. She recognized her father’s voice, but not the other
male.
Xuě looked to Bao. His entire body tense, he grabbed
her arm. Their gazes met. Without a word, she motioned for him to follow her.
They circled around the back of her parents’ hut and slipped into the forest.
Retreating
farther into the trees, they sneaked around the village until the banquet area
came into view. A truck with eight to ten soldiers of the People’s Liberation
Army with rifles at the ready stood next to the vehicle. An officer stood at
the front of the soldiers and looked around the village as if searching for
something. Her heart raced, and she shrunk back. Slipping her hand in Bao’s,
she pulled them behind a tree and crouched down in the melting snow. A pit
opened in her stomach.
Why were they
in her village? Soldiers only arrived to take something, or someone, away.
Even from the
distance, their conversation echoed loud and clear in her ears.
“Where is she?
Where is your daughter?” the officer asked.
She peeked
around the tree.
Her father
bowed his head and said, “I don’t know.”
The man stepped
closer to her father, towering over him, and scowled. “I don’t believe you.
Tell me where she is, and you won’t be punished.”
Her father
stared at the other man, his expression giving nothing away. “I don’t know.”
The officer
stared at her father. “I will only ask one more time: Where is your daughter?”
“I don’t know.
She went for a walk early this morning with her new husband, and she hasn’t
returned yet.”
“You lie. This
is their banquet feast. They wouldn’t miss this.” He turned to two of his
soldiers. “Check their hut.”
“No,” her
father protested. “They’re not there. I told you they left early this morning
for a walk.”
The officer
raised his arm and struck her father, who reeled and crumpled to the ground.
She gasped and
rose, almost giving away their position, but Bao pulled her back, whispering in
her ear, “No. They’re protecting us. The best thing we can do is leave.”
“But—”
“If we’re gone,
then your father isn’t lying. The officer may not punish him. We must leave
before the soldiers find our wedding clothes.”
Fear rocketed
through her. “The clothes will prove Father has lied.”
“No, they will
prove we were married, but not when.” He pulled on her arm, and she turned to
face him. “We must leave now.”
“We can’t—”
“Xuě, we must. What do you think will happen when they
confront you?”
Xuě paused. She would freeze. Her yukihyō instincts ensured that. All of her life, she’d
battled those instincts. Not once had she won, but maybe this time . . . “We
can save them.”
“No, we can’t.”
He grabbed her shoulders and captured her gaze. “Why do you think they’re
looking for you?”
Her heart
stuttered in her chest. Somehow, Mao knew. They knew about her. If they knew
about her, then they knew about Bao, too, and possibly all of the others. Mao’s
government had proven to be no more kind than the Japanese. Mao might kill
them, but he might also do as the Japanese had done and experiment on them. He
was right. They had to leave.
Behind them,
someone said, “Zhōngwèi, the old man
is telling the truth. They aren’t in the hut.”
“Then they are
somewhere in this village. Search all of the huts,” the lieutenant ordered.
When they didn’t
find them in the huts, they would search the forest. At least, the snow had
melted enough to hide their tracks. And she knew this forest better than
anyone.
“Come.” Bao’s
whisper, a breath on the air, tickled
her ear.
Xuě bowed her head and nodded. With one last glance
at her parents and the village, she sprinted after him into the trees. He
surged ahead of her. She picked up her pace. Their footfalls barely a murmur
above the silence. Some minutes later, he stopped and turned to her, his
eyebrows raised. This territory belonged to her. He could only lead them so
far.
With a nod, she
ran ahead through the trees, heading toward her hunting ground and the cave she
used to get away from everyone to think.
A few gōnglǐ away, the cave would be a perfect hiding place.
Above the scree, in a rock outcropping, it nestled between two large boulders.
From a distance, it looked like the other rock formations around it. Not even
an experienced tracker would find them let alone regular soldiers. They would
disappear into the mountains, like ghosts.
In a few days,
still unable to find their quarry, the soldiers would give up and move on. Then
they could return to the village and check on their parents.
Her spirits
lifted, and she smiled. Plans of returning home and then continuing on to Bao’s
village spun in her head. The comforting sound of her husband’s light rasping
breath urged her forward.
They’d covered
about a quarter of the distance to the cave when a shot rang out. Its echo
ricocheted through the silent forest. A second shot followed by a third and a
fourth then multiple shots reverberated in her ears. Xuě stumbled. Bao
caught her and pulled her into his arms, turning her to press her face into his
chest. She clung to him.
“Bao?”
The unasked
question hung between them.
She looked up
into his face. All color had drained from it. He nodded. She didn’t need to
witness what had happened. In her heart, she knew. Her entire village was dead
because of her and what she was—what the Japanese had made her and her new
husband. Because their family had protected them, their blood now seeped into
the earth, their lives but a memory.
Her knees
buckled. Bao clasped her to his chest, supporting her.
“We can’t stay
here. We must leave,” he said, but he didn’t move. Instead, his arms tightened
around her. His chest expanded and shuddered under her cheek.
She closed her
eyes. “I know.”
Her whispered
words caught on a sob, but she couldn’t cry. She didn’t have time to cry. Once
they reached the cave and they were safe, she would let her emotions take hold,
but not now. Now, they had to escape.
Releasing Late January
2020
Marci’s works are available on Amazon and
through Kindle Unlimited:
https://www.amazon.com/Marci-Baun/e/B01L2SQZ52
Links:
Website: https://www.marcibaun.com/books
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/marcibaun
Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/marcibaun
Instagram:
https://www.instagram.com/marcibaun
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