Principles, p.1
Principles, page 1
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
About Sun, Moon, and Stars
Keep in Touch - wide
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
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A Message from E.J.
Also by E.J. Russell
About the Author
Acknowledgements
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All person(s) depicted on the cover are model(s) used for illustrative purposes only.
Principles
Copyright © 2024 by E.J. Russell
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review.
NO AI/NO BOT. We do not consent to any Artificial Intelligence (AI), generative AI, large language model, machine learning, chatbot, or other automated analysis, generative process, or replication program to reproduce, mimic, remix, summarize, or otherwise replicate any part of this creative work, via any means: print, graphic, sculpture, multimedia, audio, or other medium. We support the right of humans to control their artistic works.
Cover art: L.C. Chase, http://lcchase.com
Edited by Meg DesCamp
ISBN: 978-1-947033-90-0
First edition
February 2024
Contact information:
ejr@ejrussell.com
Sun, Moon, and Stars marries magic and science, featuring a road trip, deepening friendship, and a world where choice is the most sacred value.
The books follow the continuing adventures of asexual Sun mage Zal and nonbinary cyborg Torian. Because the stories are serial in nature, they are best read in order:
Partnership
Principles
Prosperity (coming soon)
Peace (coming soon)
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Zal
“Are you all right?”
At Torian’s soft question, I tore my gaze away from the vale below us where the village of Market Spinney was just waking in the wan morning light. A chill breeze stirred the bare branches of the copse where we stood, tugging at Torian’s dark hair—soft, loose, and still short enough to make it appear that they’d committed a crime that warranted a shearing.
“I think I should be asking you that question,” I said.
A dark lock blew across Torian’s face and they pushed it aside with a pale, impatient, gold-latticed hand. “I’m operating at only slightly suboptimal levels. You needn’t worry about me.”
“No? I think I do.”
When Torian chose to escape the world they’d always known, in the Infomancers’ Lab on Star Mountain, they couldn’t have expected the journey that followed, trekking miles through the wilderness with me on the cusp of winter, clad in poor clothing and ill-fitting boots.
They couldn’t have expected being faced with taking a life. But they had. And they did.
It had been barely a fortnight since Torian had sacrificed themself to save me from injury or death at the hands of one of those blasted Infomancers of theirs—the Star-born who’d been playing with my people, my planet, my home, from the very beginning, as though we were no more than a child’s poppets.
While I’d been able to bring Torian back—reboot them, they’d called it—that hadn’t erased the fact that they’d killed another person—Edric, the very Star-born who’d threatened me, who’d treated Torian as though they were nothing more than a tool like my Sun Stone.
Or the fact that my Sun Stone had shattered as a consequence, rendering me no longer a Sun mage. And that was something I’d never expected.
I had no regrets. I’d choose the same path again in a heartbeat. But my life had altered just as drastically as Torian’s had, so perhaps they were right to inquire about my welfare. I’d told Edric that Torian was more than the Infomancers gave them credit for. Perhaps I should remember my own words.
I sighed, gazing down at the scatter of wood-shingled buildings and thatched-roofed cottages that lined the muddied snarl of the village’s meandering streets, the faded awnings of its central market square like a cluster of drooping wildflowers in a frost-killed field.
“It’s still… unsettling. Peculiar. Like I’m missing a leg at every third step.”
Torian moved closer to me so that our arms pressed together. “A period of adjustment is to be expected. You’ve been traveling with a staff taller than you for, what? Ten years?”
“Closer to fifteen.” My fingers flexed on the sturdy branch that, at Torian’s suggestion, I’d fashioned into a walking stick. It wasn’t the same as my old staff, not without my Sun Stone affixed to its crown.
Not without my magic.
But at least it made hiking rough trails easier.
Torian laid their hand on my forearm. Through my heavy sleeve, I didn’t feel the little fizz I’d have felt if they’d touched my bare skin, but their presence, their concern, was welcome in any event.
“I know it’s not the same. But you’re not helpless, Zal. You’re big. You’re strong. You’re kind. You know how to navigate your world. That counts for as much as or more than the clutter of facts and theoretical information in my data banks. So I’ll ask again. Are you all right?”
I smiled down at them, smoothing the crease between their dark brows with a fingertip. “I will be. If you can learn to manage without… What was it again? Indoor plumbing? Surely I can learn to manage without my Stone. After all”—I gestured to the town below us—“the Earth-born do so all their lives and are perfectly happy.”
“Yes, but…” They shook their head. “Never mind.” They squinted down at the village. “What is our plan?”
“Once we get down off this hill, you mean?” I asked, straight-faced.
As I’d hoped, Torian cut a sidelong glance at me, their full lips twitching. “Yes, Zal. Aside from the obvious.”
I chuckled as we started down the path toward Market Spinney, adjusting my longer stride so Torian could keep pace.
“First, we’ll head to the shoemaker. Even if we’re lucky and they’ve got a pair of boots that’s close to fitting you, chances are they’ll need time to perfect them. The boots will also be the most expensive, so best we know how much we’ve got to work with when we head to the market stalls for everything else.”
I winced a bit. I hadn’t intended to let on to Torian that I was worried about how we would pay for our purchases. In the past, I bartered for what I needed with magic: stones imbued with healing, peace, or prosperity spells. I still had a few stones in my pack, but my stock was running dangerously low, and I had no power to make more.
I was loath to part with the healing stones particularly, because despite Torian’s proven ability to heal themself when they were… what had they called it? Operating at only slightly suboptimal levels? When their energy was close to fully depleted, they weren’t able to mend so much as a hangnail. Gradually, as we’d traveled, Torian’s well-being had become essential to me, so I was determined to save the healing stones for them. Just in case.
Torian hummed, a tune that I recognized from our time on the trail, when they’d sing to me evenings around our fire. This one was about something called money, and it seemed like the Infomancers’ world had more words for it than were necessary. Marks? Yens? Bucks? Pounds? Just call it a trade and have done.
According to Torian, the names weren’t the only things that differed. In order to barter, people in other places, on other worlds, needed to first establish an exchange rate so they could figure out how many marks were the same as how many yens.
Our way was much simpler. Decide what you want, and what you’re willing to give away in order to get it. The other party decides whether what you’re offering is worth losing what they’ve got. Certainly there was haggling—everybody wanted to get their best possible bargain—but far easier to negotiate when you had actual things to see, to touch, to use.
We reached the foot of the hill and joined a straggle of people heading into town, clearly coming in from their farms for market day, their bundles of trade goods looped over their shoulders or strapped to their backs or stacked in their barrows.
Those were material goods. Touchable. Real. And they’d go home with things equally real. When I’d argued with Torian about that, they’d retorted, “And exactly how touchable is magic?”
I’d spluttered, because while you couldn’t see the magic itself, you co uld measure its results easily enough. But Torian had just shaken their head and bent over the herbs they’d collected, tying them into neat packets with deft fingers.
We’d merged with the foot traffic and had been walking for a few minutes when Torian edged closer to me.
“Zal?”
“Hmmm?”
I was peering ahead, trying to remember the way to the shoemaker. Market Spinney wasn’t in my circuit—it had been part of Loriah’s—but I’d passed through it more than once. The last time I’d been here, however, was when I’d been tracking Loriah after she’d gone rogue.
The last time I’d been here, I’d had both eyes.
So the difference in my depth perception was making navigation… challenging.
“People are staring.”
My attention snapped from the village outskirts to the path near us. Torian was right: If the others heading into town weren’t gawking at us outright, they were at least casting us furtive sidelong glances.
“Shite,” I muttered.
It stood to reason no one had ever seen anyone like Torian before. They were the last Moon-born on the planet, and most of the Earth-born trudging toward town looked to be too young to have seen a Moon-born before the Lunaria virus wiped them all out over thirty years ago.
The only reason Torian had survived was because the Infomancers had kept them alive with technology. I was more grateful than I could say that the Star-born had done so, but still as angry as I’d ever been about the way they’d treated Torian like a thing, not a person.
I slowed my pace, taking Torian’s elbow and drawing him off the path. “I’m sorry. I should have realized. I should have had you wait—”
“No!” Torian’s protest was loud enough that a tall, stocky fellow who’d just passed paused and looked back around the enormous bundle of firewood strapped to his shoulders.
Torian shrank against me, tucking their chin so their hair obscured their face. “No,” they said more softly, “that wouldn’t have served. First, the shoemaker can’t fit my boots unless I’m there. We’d be in the same situation as we are now in that case, and although my feet are a lot tougher than they used to be, breaking in another ill-fitting pair is not on my preferred agenda. Second…” Torian pressed their cheek against my chest. “Second, I don’t want to wait alone. I don’t want to be alone.”
“It’s all right, love.” I kissed the top of their head. “We’ll get you a cloak with a hood to hide your face and hair. Gloves, too. You need them anyway for warmth, and they’ll help mask the most obvious differences.”
Torian nodded, but didn’t say anything, not then, and not the rest of the walk to the shoemaker. Once we stepped into the shop, its rough floorboards creaking under our feet, they finally stepped away from me and raised their chin.
The ceiling inside the door was high enough for me to stand, but it sloped down sharply to where the shoemaker hunched on a stool behind a counter, a wooden last in his lap. His silver-gray braids were gathered neatly at his nape with a leather thong, their ends trailing nearly to the floor. Their length and color, as well as the creases on his mid-brown skin, spoke of his age.
The shelves that lined the walls behind him and along either side of the room spoke of his experience: They were full. Pairs of boots, shoes, and slippers were arranged neatly along each shelf, not crowded together, but not widely spaced either.
I blinked in the early light filtering through the distorted but spotlessly clean window. For a village this size, this vast selection was startling.
On the other hand, Market Spinney was on a main trade route between the northwest cantons and the capital, which was why I’d chosen it in the first place.
The shoemaker set aside his awl and last. He squinted at us for a moment before removing his spectacles and wiping at his eyes with the back of his wrist as though he was having trouble seeing in the dim light, too.
Or perhaps because he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
He settled his spectacles back on his nose. “Good morning,” he said. “I am Ranolt. How may I serve you today… Magister?”
I shook my head. “Not a mage, good citizen.” His assumption was reasonable. Most Sun-born, folk with skin as dark as mine, stayed in the milder south climes unless they were circuit mages as I was. As I had been. “Just a customer. My friend is in need of boots. Do you think you can help us?”
Ranolt slid off his stool and circled the counter, hands tucked behind his back beneath the fall of his braids. He came to a stop in front of Torian and tilted his head as he studied Torian’s boots.
“Hmmmph.” He made a circling motion with one finger. “If you wouldn’t mind turning about?” Torian complied. “I’m surprised you can walk at all.” He gestured to a low stool in the corner. “Sit. Sit. And remove those abominations from your feet.”
After a rather startled look at me, Torian did as they were told. Ranolt, pacing along the shelves, said, “Stockings too.”
Torian hesitated a bit at that. They’d told me that when they’d acted as the sole sex worker in the Infomancers’ Lab, one of the Star-born had been fixated on their feet. Nevertheless, they removed all three pairs of socks that had been the only thing making the second-hand boots even a passing fit.
“Aha.” Ranolt selected one pair of ankle-high boots and two pairs that would reach nearly to Torian’s knees. “These should do.”
I cleared my throat. “I beg your pardon, Ranolt, but I fear I can only afford a single pair.”
He glanced over his spectacles at me. “Perhaps. But these are not for you, are they?”
What was that supposed to mean? I frowned as he crossed to Torian, the square heels of his own brogues clacking on the floorboards. He hooked a lower stool with one foot to drag it in front of Torian and sat, setting the footwear on the floor next to him. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, he peered down at Torian’s feet, his forehead bunched in a scowl.
“It is a crime to subject feet such as these to objects such as”—he sniffed, casting a disdainful glance at Torian’s boots—“those.” He extended a hand. “Do you permit?”
I exhaled, relaxing a trifle. Torian had a problem with the way some questions were phrased, but this one seemed safe.
“Yes.” Although their shoulders were clearly tense, Torian nevertheless lifted one foot and placed it in Ranolt’s hand.
Ranolt lifted it closer to his face, as though bringing it into focus. With a jolt, I realized that at his age, his eyesight must be failing despite the spectacles. That had to be devastating to a craftsman whose livelihood depended on close, precise work. As I thought about it, Ranolt was possibly the oldest craftsman I’d ever seen still plying his trade. Most had already ceded their business to their apprentices by this time and retired to live out their last years in peace with family.
I swallowed, shifting my gaze to the window. If they hadn’t already died. Life on our world wasn’t easy. It took its toll, often early. Anger simmered under my breastbone. Was that the Star-born’s doing, too? While they had been toying with us, using us, had they chosen to make our lives harder than they needed to be?
“We are heading into winter,” Ranolt said, “so you need sturdy boots with room for heavy stockings.” He held up a finger and shook it at Torian. “A single pair at a time, mind. Wearing many pairs at once doesn’t help the fit, merely presents more opportunities for chafing. Since you are not from Market Spinney, I deduce that you are on a journey, so you must be able to tramp over rough ground in comfort.” He looked up and grinned at Torian, revealing two missing teeth in his lower jaw. “But when you reach your destination, you won’t want such heavy footwear. With spring and summer coming, stockings need not be so heavy either.”
“Ranolt,” I said, “we really have not the funds—”
“Hush,” he said. “I am not trading with you.” He looked up at Torian. “I am trading with the Traveler.”
Torian
The Traveler? My jaw sagged. What did that mean? Was Ranolt referring to our journey that he’d already flagged because we weren’t village residents? But if that were the case, Zal would be a Traveler, too, and Ranolt had implicitly excluded him from the label with that last statement.
