On a terraformed Mars, young Debbie Miller was sent far from her rural village as part of a marriage compact between the rulers of two demesnes. A peasant who knew only obedience, she accepted her duty to bear her husband’s children and work alongside him. But when they were sent to build a village in a barren patch of nowhere, her abusive husband forces her to take action. She flees with her children and their dog into the vast open steppes where dying was preferable to life with him.
Debbie only wanted to escape, but her encounter with the Steppes Riders, and especially Yannick of Kenyatta, unwittingly ignites changes that attract the attention of Mars’ ruling families. Left to her own resources, Debbie must adapt to her new life and figure out how to defend her adopted people.
The Steppes of Mars series imagines a transformed world where a disaster on Earth decades ago cut off all contact with its wealth and resources. Experience a Mars where its genetically modified inhabitants have developed their own cultures, beliefs, and religions. A semi-feudal world where ruling families control vast demesnes under a central government at Barsoom. A world of limited resources where train travel is possible but cars and planes are not. A world of free-cities — open and domed — villages, vast fields and steppes, and people banding together to survive and thrive in this harsh new world.
You can buy it in paperback or as a Kindle ebook on Amazon. “Bride” is also available in Kindle Unlimited! I use special links from BKLINK to take you to the Amazon store in your country!
See also the Cast of Characters
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Odessa Moon has at various times painted, sewed, served in the Navy, worked as a sales clerk and cashier, taken care of her family, and gardened with enthusiasm. Her house and garden are a piece of performance art; a meditation on time, change, and entropy. She reads extensively, particularly on subjects like medieval history, the class struggle, colonization, and resource depletion. While growing up, she read plenty of science-fiction and fantasy and wondered what the authors hand-waved away about how difficult it really would be to terraform another planet. She read plenty of romances and wondered where the characters’ relatives were and how they paid the bills. The series The Steppes of Mars is her attempt to combine all those interests.
When Ms. Moon is not writing, she improves the soil in her own garden and plants trees in her municipality. She recommends you do the same.
Visit Odessa at Peschel Press (www.peschelpress.com). If you want to learn more about her books, sign up for the Peschel Press newsletter.
EXCERPT
CHAPTER 1: TRAPPED IN MISERY
DEBBIE STARED AT THE BRUISES on Ghita’s arms as her oldest daughter whimpered softly, the tears running down her face. The dull purple splotches blooming against her olive-green skin could not be denied. Aldo had slapped Ghita.
She had to do something, besides uselessly share tears with Ghita. Debbie thought of what her grandmother would say, so far away and so long ago in Dairapaska, and shoved the memories away. She could no longer pretend to make the best of it. The undeniable evidence was in front of her, pushing her to do something other than to endure. There was no question in her mind on that subject, not anymore. The new question was: What was she going to do about it?
Debbie looked at the dirt walls hemming them in and blocking the light and air and avoided her daughter’s red eyes. She hated living in Shelleen, she always had, and trying to manage in the new village trapped in the middle of nowhere was even worse. Not that she had had any choice in one single damn thing that had happened to her since she was sixteen. Her choice had always been limited to how she chose to cope with what was done to her. Now she had to cope with what was being done to her daughters.
Her thoughts refused to stay still and focused, a skill that normally allowed her to plod forward, putting one foot in front of the other, over and over until the day was done and she could escape into her dreams. The past reared up with all its ugly, painful memories, forcing her to see it again.
She remembered being shipped off to Shelleen with as much input into the decision as a sheep would get. Every day since her arrival, she had tried so hard, never complaining, never arguing, working as hard as she could and trying to be grateful for the good things and small mercies that came her way; but Aldo striking their daughter was unacceptable. She could no longer keep her head down and just endure. Debbie blinked and tried to pay attention to her daughter, huddled up against her and shaking.
“Ghita, angel, let me put some cold water on those bruises,” she said softly.
“Yes, mommy,” Ghita whispered.
Debbie was grateful that she had stopped crying. Aldo hated it when the kids cried, and it would be just like him to walk in from the stony fields with Ghita still in tears, no matter how quietly she wept. She wiped her own escaped tear away with a corner of her apron, knowing how the sight of it would infuriate her husband and upset her daughter still further.
“I want you to stay away from your father. Can you do that?”
“Yes, mommy.”
“And I want you to find your sister Carina and tell her to stay away from your father. You two be quiet little mice and go weed the vegetable patch. Remember to push the terraformers back into the dirt. Maybe it will help. And keep Spotty away from him. Can you do that?”
“Yes, mommy.”
Ghita looked so sad, her eyes downcast and her mouth trembling. Aldo hadn’t been any prize but he had never hurt one of the kids before they left for the new village. He was, Debbie supposed, an adequate husband. He didn’t drink that much, he worked most of the time, and when he came to her at night, he got it over with quickly so she could fall back into an exhausted sleep.
Debbie watched Ghita leave the gloomy soddy and when the door closed — blocking the sunshine and leaving her inside its dank embrace — she slumped down onto the splintery bench, ignoring the endless work waiting for her.
She remembered the tears at leaving Dairapaska, hers and all the other girls and all their families, now so far away. The train ride across what felt like half of Mars had been endless. The only relief had been to stare out the windows at the steppes in the government corridor and the road alongside the train. The road had had people of all sorts walking along it, people choosing where they wanted to go. Debbie had watched them through red-rimmed eyes and wished desperately that she could have joined them.
The grass of the steppes had blown and waved under the wind, filling the world to the horizon, free and spreading forever. The government corridors were not farmed like Dairapaska was or Shelleen, she supposed. There was no wheat, no barley, no oats, no maize, no peas and beans, just grasses of every shade of green filling the world and growing as they pleased. No man told them what to do.
She and the other twenty-three brides had known so little about what waited for them in Shelleen. It was Northern Agricultural Tier, like Dairapaska, and they were needed there. They would be married into the families of Shelleen, bringing much-needed new blood unrelated to anyone in the quadrant. The daimyos had been heartily pleased with their deal, improving the fertility of the peasants of both demesnes with a single, bold action. The peasant families involved, she reflected sourly, had felt differently.
That was all that they had been told. The brides speculated endlessly, chewing over what little they did know until the words were empty of meaning, leaving only loss behind.
A noise outside startled her, yanking Debbie back from the past to her surroundings. She tensed and leaped to her feet, praying that it was not Aldo. She had learned long ago to never be caught sitting and doing nothing. It was not Aldo and Debbie was grateful for that tiny mercy. The nameless baby woke up, demanding her attention. Debbie picked up the baby and stared at her sweet face in the dim light. She was only six months old, but it seemed so much longer.
Aldo hated the new baby. He had refused to name her or carve her a kuksa as was customary, and he had resented every moment of Debbie’s time that she took. The baby had been colicky and that had enraged him still further. It would have been so different if this baby had been the desperately needed son.
Debbie slumped back on the stool and let the nameless baby latch on, hungry again. Aldo had been so happy when she had caught this baby. It had quickened early on during the endless trek away from the old village, grown slowly as they had struggled to build a new village out on the steppes.
“A son,” he had said over and over. “A son at last.” He had been kinder. Letters from his family had been sweeter in tone when they had mentioned her. His mother, Mrs. Acconcio, had even been gracious enough to acknowledge her existence without adding a complaint about her daughter-in-law’s many faults.
And then the baby had been born in its own time in the grim soddy in the hateful, desolate village and it had been a girl. Aldo had screamed at her in his fury, cursed the midwife, and thrown the bloody afterbirth at her. The midwife had left as soon as she decently could and when the door was closed, Aldo struck Debbie but not for the first time.
She had to do something. She could not stay here anymore with her children. But what could she do? She was trapped, hundreds of klicks from nowhere and even further away from the family she still missed every day.
It would have been so much better for all of them if they had not been chosen to settle the new village out on the steppes. His family would not have been happy with another girl but a grandchild was a grandchild and they desperately wanted more. But Aldo had been chosen, the last man to be selected as a pioneer, and so Debbie and their daughters had to leave their home, too.
The noise started up again and got louder, becoming a clatter of wagons, neighing horses, and coarse shouts from outriders to get out of the way. Yapping dogs added to the clamor, alerting anyone who didn’t already know that something had happened. Debbie jumped up again, startling the baby into a howl. She knew the sound of wagons, but this rumble and grumble went on and on as wagons rattled and bumped down the corduroy road that wound by the cluster of soddys. A wagon meant the daimyo’s overseer had returned with letters from relatives left behind, news of the villages, a few desperately needed supplies, and instructions from the daimyo. But the overseer had never before arrived with this much noise. He rarely traveled with more than his crew, a single wagon, and a string of packhorses.
Word would spread quickly and Aldo would return early from the fields with the other men. Debbie soothed the baby hastily while looking around the soddy to see if she had missed any of the day’s chores. There was nothing amiss that would upset Aldo, so she walked outside into the sunshine, blinking at the brightness after the dim soddy.
A visit from the overseer was important. He would expect every peasant in the village, young and old, to gather quickly and listen to him pass along the daimyo’s requirements.
Debbie clustered with the other silent, anxious women near the village hall and stared, her hand to her mouth, as the overseer’s crew unloaded crates of mil-rats from the many wagons into the hall. They were famine food. It was true the fields were yielding poorly. Every plant the farmers tried struggled to grow. Nothing thrived and everyone went around with a growling belly as they tried to make the supplies they brought with them last. But to see this, crate after crate of mil-rats being unpacked, was a frightening omen. She forced herself to be still, commanded her heart to stop racing. Rumors would spread quickly enough, racing up and down the dirt lanes between the soddys, growing far better than the barley or cabbages did, but those rumors would not be true. Nothing official, nothing accurate would be said until the overseer was ready. She would have to wait for his words.
Debbie refused to speculate with the other women of the village. “There’s no use borrowing trouble,” was all she was willing to say when she was asked.
As the wagons were unloaded, the word spread to the peasants to assemble two hours before sunset in the village square, a grand name for an empty rectangle of beaten down, dusty, orange-tinged soil. Everyone had to be there, from the oldest to the youngest, and no exception was given for illness or infirmity or work that had to be done. So Debbie attended, carrying the new baby, and with Ghita and Carina clinging to her skirts. She was grateful that the new baby wasn’t crying, unlike some of the other babies and toddlers. The colic seemed to have finally run its course.
Aldo chose not to stand with his wife and daughters, causing sidelong glances and disapproving murmurs that he chose to ignore. The midwife’s husband in particular was, Debbie noticed, contemptuous of Aldo’s decision. She chose to be quietly grateful for his absence as she waited patiently for the overseer to speak.
The overseer stood on a wooden platform in the center of the village square, and he spoke loudly and clear, so his voice could be heard over the unhappy babies. He told the silent, resentful adults and their silent, sullen children and whimpering babies what the daimyo expected from them and how disappointed he was in their performance. Things weren’t moving quickly enough. Not enough sod had been broken for the new barley fields. Not enough stone had been moved.
He told the peasants that the new daimyo was generous and understood their plight. To that end, he had delivered the wagonloads of mil-rats. It would feed the peasants and their children over the winter as they continued to break the sod, move more stone, and build new, better houses to shelter in.
This brought murmurs of rage and fear from the huddled serfs, which the overseer ignored. They had been told when they first set out that when winter came, they would be allowed to retreat back to the old villages for the worst of the season, rather than freeze on the steppes. It was something that everyone looked forward to. They would see their much-missed families and have a break from the endless, thankless work trapped in the middle of nowhere.
The overseer finished with a grand flourish, telling all the peasants how lucky they were to have such a kind and caring daimyo and how fortunate they were to be the first people in the new village. They and their children would have status for generations to come. Their names would be listed forever in the cadastre, showing exactly which family held the rights to every piece of land surrounding the new village. They were the ancestors of the greatness to come. Their labors were building a golden future for Shelleen.
He did not circulate among the crowd of peasants afterwards to receive their effusive thanks, but instead retreated to the luxury of his guarded tent with its thick, warm carpets, lanterns, and soft bed on the hill overlooking the village of dank soddys.
Debbie silently took her children back to their dark, grim soddy and got back to work preparing supper of boiled grain and a few herbs. Everyone else went back to their assigned tasks, in the village or out in the fields. Before he trudged back to his own barren field, Aldo hit her again and then, right in front of her, slapped Ghita for being disrespectful.
Shortly after dawn, word spread again, carried from soddy to soddy by anxious children tasked with the job. Another assembly had been called. Everyone in the village trooped wearily to the village square to hear what new blessing they were to be granted.
The village headman stood on the wooden platform this time. He told everyone that most of the men in the village would be going out to a further set of fields and would spend the next three days there, breaking sod. They would stay overnight, so as to get more work done. If they camped where they labored, they could start work earlier and stay later as they would not have to waste precious time walking back and forth.
He did not look happy about his announcement, his eyes darting back and forth resentfully towards the stone-faced overseer watching him closely, his arms crossed. No one else was happy either, but they did not dare say anything with the overseer’s guards watching and ready for signs of trouble.
The headman then named every man he expected to see at dawn the next day; every man who would have the privilege of breaking new sod for the benefit of Shelleen. The first name he called was Aldo’s.
That evening, Debbie made every effort to keep her daughters meek, obedient, and quiet, and she did the same herself. She busied herself making sure that Aldo would have everything he needed for the next three days out on the steppes. It worked well enough as he did not berate his older daughters and he ignored, as always, the new baby. He did not ignore Debbie and found fault with everything she did.
That night, Debbie found solace and freedom in her dreams as she always did and, in the morning, she knew what she could do. She saw Aldo off as always, and as soon as the chosen men left for the far off new fields, she took Ghita and Carina aside and spoke to them.
“Girls, I want you to trust me. We’re leaving the new village. Ghita, I want you to find, rinse, and fill every waterskin we have. Carina, I want you to watch the baby and try and neaten up the soddy. I will be back as soon as I can. Do not speak to anybody, and do not leave the soddy.”
Debbie slipped quietly through the lane winding among the soddys to the village center. It was deserted as everyone, from the tots to the oldest, was working in the desolate fields, hoeing the struggling vegetable plots, searching for eggs from half-molted chickens, milking scrawny goats, or slaving in their hovels. The usual workload was heavy enough, but with most of the men gone, the same amount of work still remained to be done, now parceled out among the remaining villagers.
Inside the hall, she quietly took as many mil-rats as she could carry in her pack, taking the time to fit them in tightly. She filled the pockets of her kirtle and apron as well. She took care to rearrange the heaps that remained, so that what she took did not show.
She had eaten them before; everyone had. The brick-like bars were starvation food when there was nothing else available. The lords of a demesne only supplied them when famine threatened. It was thought that having them widely available to the peasants encouraged sloth and idleness. Why they thought this was strange, as nobody would normally eat mil-rats if anything better was available. They were a chewing exercise that filled the belly and nothing more.
Today, Debbie looked on them as a gift, a gift that would allow her to escape.
The Bride from Dairapaska is available as both a paperback and as a Kindle ebook on Amazon.