Libra: The Zodiac Series, #10

THE ZODIAC SERIES

The Zodiac Series is a collection of twelve speculative fiction anthologies, each focusing on one of the Zodiac signs. The anthologies feature short stories and poems inspired by each sign, and retellings of the various myths behind those signs.

Capricorn  Aquarius  Pisces

Aries  Taurus  Gemini

Cancer  Leo  Virgo

Libra  Scorpio  Sagittarius

The Zodiac Series has been produced by Aussie Speculative Fiction, and each anthology contains a diverse selection of tales by talented writers from Australia and New Zealand.

First published by Deadset Press in 2020.

© Deadset Press 2020

All rights reserved.

Cover design Copyright © Austin P. Sheehan.

Edited by Austin P. Sheehan and

Helena McAuley.

Foreword by Sasha Hanton.

I am Libra

Zoey Xolton

I am the Scales and my constellation is Libra.

My tarot card is Justice; I am a peace-keeper and am socially minded.

At my best I am cooperative, diplomatic and gracious.

At my worst I am indecisive, self-pitying and bitter.

Intellectual and free, like my element: Air, mine is a Cardinal sign.

I appreciate harmony, sharing, gentleness and time outdoors.

However, I dislike conformity, violence and injustice.

I am ruled by Venus, and am guardian to the fifth day of the week.

My colours are pink and green.

About the Author:

Zoey Xolton is an Australian Speculative Fiction writer, primarily of Dark Fantasy, Paranormal Romance, and Horror. Her works have appeared in over one-hundred themed anthologies, with more due for publication!

She has recently celebrated the release of her debut short story collection Darkly Ever After. You can find further details regarding her many publications on her website: www.zoeyxolton.com!

Foreword

Sasha Hanton

REPRESENTED BY A SET of scales, which once were considered the claws of Scorpio, Libra is the youngest of the Zodiac signs. Ruled over by the planet Venus, the seventh sign of the zodiac is the only one not represented by an animal or human.

Looking into the history of Libra you will find that the constellation was only catalogued by the Romans approximately 3,500 years ago, they divided the claws from Scorpio to create their Libra which incorporated the Autumnal Equinox and the balance between day and night. Whilst the current designation of Libra was done by the Romans, they were not the first to separate the stars into a constellation; the Babylonians had a name for them which translated to the heavenly weighing scales. However, the ancient Greeks knew the constellation as Chelae or claws and considered it the claws of Scorpio; though when the Romans dubbed them Libra the sign became associated with the Greek Goddess Astraea, and other goddesses of Justice. Libra still bears a connection to when it was the claws of Scorpio with its two brightest stars Zubeneschamali and Zubenelgenubi, respectively meaning Northern Claw and Southern Claw in Arabic.

The myth most associated with Libra is also linked to Virgo; it is the myth of the goddess Astraea. Daughter of Zeus and Themis (in some accounts there is debate on who her parents are), Astraea is said to be the last of the gods to live on Earth with humankind. She watched humanity become sinful and, deeming them as no longer upholding justice, she decided to leave the Earth and rose up into the skies becoming the constellation of Virgo while her scales of justice became the constellation of Libra.

Coming from its connection to a goddess of Justice it is no wonder that the constellation shares a special tie to the Justice, eleventh card of the Major Arcana of the Tarot. Adorned with a seated figure holding a double-edged sword in her right hand and a scale in her left, this card has a clear meaning: balance. Finer details in the imagery often show the figure seated between two pillars, a single jewel in her crown, and perhaps most significant of all the lack of a blindfold—symbolising that the figure is a personification of spiritual justice. However, the Justice card also stands for injustice, inequality and chaos when in reverse. In relation to Libra the card represents the poised and balanced nature most Libras possess along with keen intuition but can also be said to show in reverse the risks a Libra can face at becoming unbalanced.

Aside from being well balanced, organised, and capable decision makers, Libra natives are known for being charming which is no surprise with their ruling planet being Venus. Named after the Roman counterpart to Aphrodite, the Greek Goddess of love and beauty, Venus bestows those under its rule with beauty, charm, a cheerful demeanour, and a leaning towards the arts and other creative fields. However, the planet also imbues them with a love for finer things, a craving for company, and a vulnerability towards becoming careless or lazy. Libras tend to share similar traits with Taurus natives thanks to their shared ruling planet of Venus, though they don’t share all their traits.

For those born between September 23rd and October 22nd Libra grants its gifts. An upstanding drive for justice or a desire for harmony may guide a Libra’s hand. As you flip through the pages of this anthology prepare to see not only harmony and balance but undoubtedly the chaos that can unfold when the scales tip, revealing what lurks beneath waiting for Libra to lose its path.

About the Author:

Sasha Hanton grew up in the tropics of Darwin, Northern Territory. From a young age, she devoured books and iced coffee, both of which she continues to intake on an almost daily basis. Now living on beautiful Bribie Island in Queensland, her time is split between writing and spoiling her puppy Miley.

Sasha, who has a Bachelor of Journalism from Bond University, has dabbled in the journalistic profession but finds fiction far more fascinating. Her first published work The Short Story Press Collection draws on her love for a diverse range of genres and passion for short stories. Coming from a multicultural background (Eurasian) she aspires to make her writing inclusive for people from all walks of life and to bring a unique blend of eastern and western culture to her writing.

Throughout her life, she has been a lover of history and mythology, and at any time will find some way to worm one or the other into her storytelling. When she’s not writing or reading she can be found walking her dog and volunteering. You can keep up with her writing over on www.theshortstorypress.wordpress.com

The Scales Always Balance

LJ McLeod

THE SCALES ALWAYS BALANCE. My grandfather always said that, even before the Alzheimer’s. I thought it was the Russian equivalent of Karma’s a bitch. That is, until the day he grabbed my wrist, looked me right in the eye and said, The scales always balance. 

I would have pulled away, but Grandpa’s gaze held a clarity I hadn’t seen in years. He licked his lips, and his grip on my wrist tightened. Her name was Katya. She lived down the road from me. She was beautiful—pale skin, long black hair, lips the colour of mulberries. His breath hitched and his eyes dropped to his lap. Even when they found her broken, battered body in the stream behind our village, she was still beautiful. 

"Everyone knew her husband did it, even if the politsiya could never prove it. He never moved. He just stayed in their house. Within a year there was another beautiful young woman living there with him. The babushkas in the neighbourhood shook their heads, but what could be done? This was during one of the harshest winters we had seen in a decade. Food was scarce for everybody. 

One day I was out hunting in the woods by the lake. If I could take down a rabbit with my slingshot, we would have meat in the stew that night. It had gotten dark, but I was too hungry to give in just yet. The first sickle moon of spring was in the sky, giving me just enough light to see by. It was so cold. When I first saw the white shapes moving in the distance, I thought I was hallucinating. As I got closer I could see the shapes were women. They danced on the bank of the lake, barefoot in the grass. One of them had long black hair and lips the colour of mulberries. It was Katya.

Then what? Grandpa? What happened next?

But the moment had passed. His eyes stared into the distance, at something no one else could see. Pushing him now would only upset him.

Before the disease, my grandfather had been full of life, always willing to lend a hand or an ear. He could fix just about anything with his pocketknife and his wits alone. Now he was someone else—a stranger that lived in our home. He had helped to raise me. Now it was my turn to look after him. Both of my parents worked full-time, and we couldn’t afford care, so I was the only option.

It was time for lunch. Ham and cheese sandwiches were the extent of my culinary skills, so that’s what I made. As I pulled the ingredients from the fridge, my grandfather wandered into the kitchen and searched through cupboard doors. 

Unable to find what he was looking for, he moved on to the drawers, pulling out utensils in order to search further into the depths. 

When I turned to see what he was doing, the countertop was strewn with scissors, tongs, and the kitchen scales. The scales always balance, hey Grandpa? I’d meant it as a joke. Or at least I thought I did. 

His eyes cleared and he looked right at me. "The Unquiet Dead. That’s what they were. You would say ‘siren’ or ‘spirit’. In Russian, ‘rusalka’ or ‘rusalki’, for there were five. Women who had died violent deaths. Women who could not move on. Women who hungered for revenge. They haunt the waterways, leaving only to dance under the sickle moon. They delight in drowning men and forcing them to dance until they die. I had thought them only stories, but there was Katya.

As if the mere thought of her name summoned her, she turned and saw me standing there. Her eyes were all black, like midnight on a starless night. I couldn’t move. They came for me, taking my hands and leading me forwards. We began to dance. 

He stopped, when he noticed the sandwich sitting in front of him. He started to eat, and I sighed. I had hoped he would hang on a little longer. 

Let an old man finish his lunch, he said.

Satisfied that the Alzheimer’s hadn’t crept back in, I poured him a glass of milk, pulled up a chair and waited. 

When my grandfather finished eating he sat back and, with a contented sigh, continued. "I had never killed a man before, but when I hit Katya’s husband with that rock I thought for sure he was dead."

Wait, you missed a bit! I interrupted. 

Did I?

"Yes! The rusalki had caught you and forced you to dance."

"Da. Just making sure you were paying attention. Now, where was I?"

"We danced until my feet bled. Then we danced some more. I knew I was doomed. My heart raced. It was hard to catch my breath. When I stumbled, they laughed. When I tripped, they pulled me upright. I’m not too proud to tell you that I begged. I pleaded for my life. I said I would do anything, anything, if they would let me go. As one, they stopped. Anything? Katya said. Her voice was like dead leaves on the wind. What else could I say? I was not ready to die. So they told me what I could do to live. The rusalki whispered it into my ear and I . . ." 

His eyes glazed over and he was gone again. The story couldn’t be real, yet I was disappointed nonetheless. This was something different to the usual stories Grandpa told when he spoke about the old days. I had heard about his days of hockey glory and the time he ran across thin ice so many times I could recite them myself. But stories of homicidal ghosts? This was new. 

I cleaned up the dishes as Grandpa wandered into the living room and turned the TV on. It wouldn’t be long now before he fell asleep on the couch. Once I had finished tidying up, I dropped onto the couch beside him. He still had that vacant look in his eyes.

"You never killed a