- -
- 100%
- +
“The horses are my first love, of course,” Hester said as they approached the stables. “Other animals are lovely, but there is something truly magical about horses, don’t you think?” She gave Issie a strange look as she said this and Issie didn’t know what to say. Even Aunty Hess would be shocked if she knew about Mystic.
Issie’s grey gelding had been such a special horse. She had loved him so deeply; it felt like her world had been torn apart the day he died. But since then, well, maybe magical was exactly the word for it. Issie had missed her horse so much that at first she couldn’t believe it when Mystic had come back to her. He would appear just when she needed him most – and not like some ghost or anything, but a real horse. He had saved Issie and Blaze on more than one occasion. If anyone believed in the magic that horses held within them, it was Issie. But Issie knew somehow instinctively that Mystic was her secret now – and anyway, how could she possibly explain it all to Aunt Hester?
The stable was a large building, just a single storey with wide weatherboard planks painted a clean, crisp apple-white. Next to the stable block was a covered arena, not like a dressage arena, but a round pen with high walls and tiered seating. “That’s where I do all of my stunt training.” Hester gestured to it as she breezed past the pen towards the enormous sliding barn doors that led into the stable complex.
“It’s so beautiful in here!” Issie was amazed. The stable doors were pale, honey-coloured wood. Each stall had a horse’s head carved ornately on the door and a horse’s nameplate hanging from a hook.
“We have seven horses of our own here so there is plenty of room for Blaze,” Hester said as they walked. “We’ve put her right here, in the nearest stall to your right. Why don’t we check on her first and then you can meet the others?”
Issie walked up to the stall. She ran her hand over the carved head on the door. There was no nameplate on the hook, but she could hear her horse nickering softly on the other side of the door.
“Blaze? Hey, girl, it’s me.” Issie said.
The mare went quiet for a moment, listening to Issie’s voice. Then she nickered back, louder this time. Issie could hear her shifting about anxiously in the stall. She opened the top half of the Dutch door and bolted it back. There was Blaze, standing in the far corner of the stall next to her hay net. She nickered happily and came over immediately to Issie, nuzzling her soft muzzle against Issie’s hands, taking a carrot from her palm. Issie raised her hand up and stroked just behind Blaze’s ears, her fingers tangling in the mare’s long flaxen mane.
“Well, isn’t she something!” Aunt Hester said. “Your mother told me the whole story,” she added, “so I knew your Blaze would be a beauty. But she’s more than that, isn’t she? She’s a very special horse indeed.”
Issie nodded silently.
“I know a thing or two about special horses myself,” Hester said. “Come on. I want you to meet them.” Hester walked over to the next stall and unbolted the door. “Come and say hello to Titan,” she said.
Issie walked over and looked into the stall. It was completely empty. “Umm, Aunty Hess? There’s no horse in here.” Issie was confused. She stared at the unoccupied stall and back at her aunt, who had an amused smile on her face. And then she heard a noise, just a faint sound, the sound of a pony’s hooves on the straw. Issie stuck her head right over the top of the Dutch door and there, hidden from view on the other side, was the smallest pony she had ever seen!
“Titan is a Falabella – a miniature horse,” her Aunt said. “Nine hands tall. But such a big little horse, so much character! And quite the bossy-boots too! She keeps the big horses in line, I can tell you. Don’t you, Titan?”
The tiny pony looked up at Issie and Hester. Her eyes were barely visible beneath her shaggy brown mane as she gratefully accepted Hester’s offer of a carrot.
Hester left the top half of the Dutch door open and moved on to the next stall. “This is Dolomite,” she said. Issie looked down, expecting to meet another miniature, but in fact Dolomite was just the reverse; he was an enormous bay Clydesdale with a broad white stripe running down his nose.
“Dolly is eighteen hands,” Hester said. “You’d need a step ladder to get up on him, wouldn’t you?”
Issie reached her hand up to pat Dolomite’s nose. The gelding was so huge she had to stretch to reach him.
“He’s a big softie. And very good for vaulting tricks,” Hester said as she bustled along to the next stall.
“This is Diablo, the silly boy that broke my ankle,” she said merrily. Diablo, a very handsome black and white piebald Quarter Horse, stuck his two-toned face over the stall. “Diablo loves doing cowboy tricks. He’s a bit of show-off but I do love him,” Hester said. “Diablo! Count to ten!” Hester barked at the horse.
The handsome piebald began to tap against the floor of the stall with his hoof, “one… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight… nine… ten!”
Issie was amazed, but Aunt Hester just shrugged. “It’s not so clever. A simple trick. I’ll show you how it’s done.”
She moved across now to the other side of the stable and worked her way along the row, opening the doors to another two stalls. To Issie’s surprise, each stall contained a palomino. The horses were so alike they were almost identical. “Meet the girls,” Hester said. “That’s Paris Hilton and this one is Nicole Ritchie.” Hester stood there in front of the golden mares. “They’re as pretty as their namesakes but much smarter.” She grinned.
Hester opened the doors to the last two stalls now. “This is Scott,” she said, patting the nose of a large skewbald gelding with a white face. “He’s not the star, you understand, hasn’t got that look-at-me quality in front of the cameras. But he’s a good solid bet as a horse to play supporting roles.”
Issie fed Scott a carrot while Hester walked on to the last stall and gave a soft cluck. In the final stall was a handsome bay gelding. “Tornado is the bad boy of the stable,” Hester sighed. “But he will do absolutely anything you ask if you bribe him with peppermints. He used to be my eventing mount years ago. I still hunt on him occasionally. At least I did until this season.” She tapped her plaster cast and shrugged. “I have tried to teach Tornado tricks like the others but frankly he doesn’t want to know! He’s very bright; I guess he thinks it’s beneath him.” She pulled a mint from her pocket and slipped it to the bay horse, who snuffled it down happily and poked his head over the stall looking for more.
“Well!” Hester put her arm around her niece’s shoulder and gave Issie a squeeze as she looked about contentedly. “Now you’ve met just about everyone. What do you think?”
Issie gave her aunt a hug back. “I think this place is totally mad!” She grinned. “And I think this could be my best holiday ever!”
Issie could feel the waves lapping at her feet. Her toes wriggled in the delicious warm sea. Suddenly a sharp nip on her big toe woke her up and she sat bolt upright in bed. Her feet, which were sticking out from under the duvet, were being vigorously licked by Strudel the golden retriever.
“Ewww! Gross! Strudel, get out!” Issie shrieked, throwing a pillow at the dog, who loped happily off through the door.
Issie jumped out of bed and picked the pillow up off the floor. The alarm clock said it was only six a.m. Bleary-eyed, she changed into her jeans and a navy v-neck jersey before heading downstairs. She wasn’t getting caught by Aidan in her pink pussycat pyjamas in the kitchen a second time.
“Ah-ha! I sent Strudel up to wake you. I see she did her job nicely.” Aunt Hester smiled as Issie walked into the kitchen. “Did you sleep well?”
“Uh-huh,” Issie replied.
“Sit down. I’ve made us some breakfast,” Hester said. She began to dish up some rather strange-looking lumpy objects out of a frying pan.
“Pancakes!” Hester said brightly. Then she frowned and looked at them again, “Or are they griddle scones? I can’t quite remember what I put in the recipe and I got confused halfway through… anyway, here’s some maple syrup, If you pour enough of this on them I’m sure they’ll taste fine!”
Issie ate a mouthful of pancake and discovered that they tasted just as odd as they looked.
“Now,” Hester said as she watched her niece slowly eating, “the weather promises to be just beautiful today. Why don’t you take Blaze and go explore the farm? It goes for miles, you know. I was just about to find you a map and then I got sidetracked with the pancakes…” Aunt Hester put down the pan and began rummaging through the kitchen draws. She pulled out a piece of dog-eared paper. “Here we are – a map of Blackthorn Farm.” Hester spread the pale parchment out on the kitchen table.
“Our land stretches from Blackthorn Forest here at the rear of the property,” her finger traced along the dotted red line, “all the way to the east along the edge of the forest to Lake Deepwater, and then up along the ridge of the hills to the Coast Road until you reach the sea.”
Issie looked at the map and hesitated for a moment. “But Aunty Hess, shouldn’t I be helping Aidan with the animals?”
“Oh, there’s plenty of time for that!” Hester smiled. “Aidan will manage for now, I’m sure. You need to get your bearings first before you start work. It’s such a lovely day; it doesn’t do horses or girls any good to be cooped up inside.”
The dogs bounded along beside Issie as she walked down the limestone driveway and through the heavy wooden stable doors.
“It’s me, girl!” Issie called to her horse as she hurriedly unbolted the top half of the Dutch door. Blaze immediately thrust her head over the door, nuzzling Issie and nickering happily.
“Hey, Blaze,” Issie said, “did you miss me? Were you lonely here all by yourself in the stable?” She fed the mare a carrot and felt the tickle of her velvet muzzle on her fingers. “C’mon, we’re going for a ride.”
As Issie led Blaze through the stable block towards the back door the other horses nickered out friendly greetings to her. Diablo put his pretty black and white patchy head over the top of his stable door and gave her a vigorous whinny.
“Good morning to you too, Diablo!” Issie grinned. Blaze skipped along lightly at Issie’s side, her hooves chiming out a delicate trip-trap against the concrete floor of the stables.
Issie led Blaze through the cattle pens at the rear of the stables and used the fence rails to mount up. Then she pulled the map out of the pocket of her shirt. To her right was the duck pond and a small cottage surrounded by magnolia trees, which Issie figured must be Aidan’s house. To the left was a five-bar wooden gate and on the other side of the gate was a dirt track, bordered on the far side by dense forest. Issie looked at the map. There was a gate and then a red dotted boundary line marked: CATTLE TRACK.
“This must be it, Blaze,” Issie said to her horse. “According to the map, this track takes us all the way along the edge of the forest and then down through the farm to Lake Deepwater.”
Issie clucked Blaze through the gate, doing the latch back up after herself. Ahead of her the red clay path ran all the way along the ridge next to the trees.
Blaze jogged nervously along the track, her ears pricked forward, nostrils flared. The mare was keyed up after spending the day in the truck and then being kept stabled last night. All she wanted to do was run.
“Easy, Blaze, easy,” Issie steadied the mare, keeping a firm grip on the reins. She knew she shouldn’t give Blaze her head so soon, especially in a new environment. Then again, Issie had been cooped up too and she couldn’t bear the thought of a quiet walk any more than her horse could.
“OK, OK, you win.” Issie smiled. She readied herself, standing up in her stirrups in two-point position, and slackened her grip on Blaze’s reins.
Issie felt her stomach lurch suddenly as Blaze lunged forward and she got left behind. She quickly regained her balance and crouched low over Blaze’s neck as the mare stretched out into a gallop. The red clay soil was hard from the summer sun and Blaze’s hooves beat out a clean rhythm as she ran. Issie sat very still, barely moving in the saddle. She didn’t need to urge her forward, Blaze was running for the love of it.
To the right of the ridge track the land dropped dramatically away down a steep grassy slope which was dotted with surefooted, grazing sheep. To the left was the forest, a dense blur of trees and shadows flashing black and green as they galloped past.
Suddenly Blaze let out a snort and swerved hard, away from the trees. Issie shrieked as she felt the pony’s centre of gravity shift out from beneath her. For a moment Blaze teetered sickeningly close to the edge of the track and Issie was terrified that they would plunge down the slopes of the steep bank.
“No!” Issie shouted, thinking fast and pushing Blaze back on to the track with her legs, yanking at the mare’s mouth with the left rein. Blaze responded instantly, correcting herself, and Issie regained her seat and gathered up the reins again.
Why had Blaze spooked like that? Maybe Issie had been wrong to let her gallop too soon. She had just decided it would be best to pull the mare up and trot for the rest of the track, when she heard a noise in the forest that changed her mind.
From the dark blur of the trees right beside them came the sound of an animal crashing through the undergrowth. Even though Blaze was in full gallop the creature was keeping pace with them. It was now so close it was running alongside them. Issie felt a chill of horror. Whatever it was, it was big. And it was after them.
Now Issie understood why Blaze had bolted. She wasn’t misbehaving after all. She was terrified!
Issie tried to look into the woods to see what was chasing them, but Blaze was moving so quickly and the woods were so thick and impenetrable, it was impossible. She couldn’t see a thing. One thing was certain: she wasn’t waiting around to see what it was!
“C’mon, girl,” Issie clucked the mare on now, asking her for more speed. Blaze immediately responded, her stride lengthening, her neck stretched out. Issie felt the pony surge forward underneath her and she bent down low over her mane. The wind whipped against her face, stinging her eyes and whistling around her ears. She strained to listen, trying to hear if the creature was still following them, but any sound was drowned out by the blur of Blaze’s speed.
It was only when they had reached the ridge of the hill that Issie sensed she and Blaze were alone once more. Whatever was in the woods, they had outrun it.
“Easy, girl, steady. It’s OK.” Issie pulled the mare back. Blaze’s flanks were heaving, and her neck was wet and frothy with sweat. “It’s all right, girl. I don’t know what that was, but it’s gone now,” Issie said, giving Blaze a comforting pat on the neck. She knew that she was trying to reassure herself as much as her horse. She listened, but there was still no sound of anything following them. Issie turned her head slowly and looked back up the track behind her. There was nothing there.
Ahead of them, the red dirt path ran close to the forest for another mile or so, then the trail cut down through the paddocks towards the lake. Good, Issie thought, the sooner we get away from the trees the better. She coaxed Blaze into a trot. They needed to keep moving, keep up the pace until they were away from the trees.
When the track finally veered away from the forest and down into farmland again Issie heaved a sigh of relief and let Blaze walk for a while. She still couldn’t believe it. What was that creature in the forest? It must have been almost as big as Blaze – and almost as fast. One thing was certain: she wasn’t taking the same way home!
Issie took out her map again. Lake Deepwater was maybe an hour away. Once they reached the lake they could loop around on to the Coast Road and go back to the manor that way. Then they wouldn’t have to ride back past the forest again.
Issie had the feeling they were still being followed. “Trust your horse, Issie,” she reminded herself. Horses have strong instincts for danger and if Blaze was calm now, that meant they had nothing to fear. Besides, they were in open grassy pasture so if anything was following them Issie would be able to see it coming.
They had been riding on for about an hour when they reached the brow of a hill and looked down at Lake Deepwater. The lake, which was smaller than Issie had expected, sat in a natural basin. The area around the banks was grassy pasture, dotted with a few willow trees by the water’s edge and on the far side next to the water there was a thick grove of blackthorn trees.
Issie looked at her map again. It looked like the Coast Road lay just over the ridge beyond those blackthorn trees. Once she was on the road it wouldn’t take her long to get back to the farm again.
Issie was about to ride Blaze towards the trees when she heard a crashing noise from over the ridge that made her freeze. Not again! Issie thought.
She began to gather up Blaze’s reins, looking around, trying to decide which way they should run. The noise was getting louder now. It sounded like thunder; Issie could feel the rumble shaking the ground beneath her.
With relief, she realised that this sound was nothing like the one coming from the trees earlier that morning. No, this was a sound she had heard many times before and it was unmistakeable. It was the sound of hoofbeats.
From behind the blackthorn trees the horses came into view. Issie watched in amazement as the herd rounded the edge of the lake at a gallop, bucking and swerving wildly as they ran. At the head of the herd was a thick-set buckskin with a bushy black mane and fiery eyes. The buckskin was followed by a stocky strawberry roan, a black and brown skewbald and a motley assortment of buckskins and bays. At the rear of the herd was a grey mare and a chestnut skewbald with a white face, both of them with foals running at their feet. The foals stuck close to their mother’s side. The grey mare’s foal was jet black. The skewbald’s foal was the spitting image of its mother with chestnut and white patches all over its body and a broad blaze down its face.
The horses pulled up on the other side of the lake and stared at Issie and Blaze. They were stocky and broad, Issie noticed, and not really horses at all. Most of them were ponies, not much bigger than thirteen hands high. Their manes and tails were ragged and sunbleached. Their coats were dusty and mud-caked. These were wild ponies, totally unbroken. Maybe they had never even seen a human before.
Blaze, who had been pacing nervously beneath Issie this whole time, suddenly let out a shrill whinny. To Issie’s surprise the mare’s call was immediately returned as a horse rose up before them over the brow of the hill.
This horse’s whinny was brutal and fierce. It sounded to Issie like a battle cry. There was something defiant and challenging about the call and Issie realised what it was. It was the cry of a stallion.
The stallion who stood on the ridge was nothing like the rest of the herd. Those wild ponies were no bigger than Blaze. The stallion, on the other hand, was huge. He must have been at least sixteen hands high and his coat, which was jet black, shone in the sun. He had no markings, except for a slender white stripe which ran down his forehead.
The black horse held himself so proudly with his neck arched and his tail held erect. He had the noble bearing that comes with fine breeding – his face handsome and aquiline, his body large and powerful. It was as if he was sculpted from granite. Issie was possessed with the feeling she had seen this horse somewhere before. But where? Then she realised. He looked just like the painting on her bedroom wall, the portrait of Avignon, Aunt Hester’s great grey stallion.
For a moment the stallion and Issie stood staring directly at each other. Then the big, black horse gave an arrogant snort and began to canter down the hill after his herd, rounding on his mares and threatening them back into formation with his ears flat back. With his teeth bared and his magnificent neck arched, the stallion nipped and squealed at his mares as he cantered. The grumpy buckskin mare nipped defiantly back at him, but even she obeyed eventually, and within a few minutes the stallion had gathered the whole herd together and was standing between Issie and his mares.
With the herd corralled safely behind him, the stallion seemed uncertain what to do next. He cantered back and forth and then stopped, pawing the ground restlessly as if he was considering his next move. Then he raised his head and let out a war cry that was filled with fury, like the bellow of a wild boar.
Issie’s face went pale with fear. Beneath her she felt Blaze stiffen in terror.
I’m so stupid, Issie thought, furious with herself. He’s a stallion and we’re a threat to his herd and now he’s going to attack. We should have run the moment I saw him. Why didn’t we run?
The black stallion was close now – too close for Issie and Blaze to turn and run. His eyes were black with anger. His teeth were bared, ready to fight.
Issie tried to steady Blaze, but the chesnut mare trembled with fear and rage. What would Blaze do if the black horse attacked? She was no match for a stallion! No. They had to make a run for it. What else could they do? After all, there was no one here to save them.
And then Issie realised. Mystic! The little grey gelding always seemed to know when they needed help. Well, she was certainly in trouble right now. Surely Mystic would appear? Issie’s eyes scanned the crest of the hill. Nothing. Maybe she should call for him?
“Mystic!” Issie yelled. Her voice came out reedy and shrill, strangled by her fear.
Mystic had died trying to save Issie. Since then he had saved Issie and Blaze so many times. He was always there when she really needed him. So where was her grey pony now?
The shrill whinny of a horse shook Issie back to reality. Not Mystic’s whinny, but the piercing call of the stallion. In that split second Issie made up her mind. She couldn’t do nothing and rely on Mystic to come and fight her battles; there wasn’t time for that. She would have to find her own way out of this.
OK, so they needed to run – but where? Issie looked around for a way to escape. To her left were the grassy slopes of the hill. Should she try to outrun the black horse? Could they make it up the hill? She looked now to the right of her at the still, deep waters of the lake. No way out, Issie thought. What now?
As the black horse began to gallop towards them Issie felt her pulse race and she realised she knew what to do. They weren’t going to run away from this horse. They were going to run straight for him.
“C’mon, girl!” Issie said to her pony. And with an almighty kick she drove Blaze on straight at the stallion in a hard gallop. Blaze was only too willing. The mare’s eyes were fixed on the black stallion. She was ready to fight.
Issie held her path as the two horses bore down on each other. Keep your head, she told herself, keep going. Just a bit closer…
Suddenly, just as the horses were moments away from colliding, Issie hauled desperately on Blaze’s right rein. “Go, Blaze!” Issie yelled at her horse. Shocked, the mare leapt forward at Issie’s command, up into the air and down again into the murky waters of the lake.
There was an awful moment when Blaze hit the water, lost her footing and stumbled forward. Issie managed to pull the mare’s nose up and ride her on, keeping her at a canter as she regained her feet. Then they ploughed on through the mud and the reeds, the water splashing up Issie’s jodhpurs, seeping into the leather of her boots. Blaze snorted in fear as she cantered in deeper; the water was up to her chest now. Issie looked back over her shoulder. The stallion was behind them. He had followed them into the lake, but he was hesitating. Instead of cantering after them he was weaving backwards and forwards, as if uncertain whether to go any deeper into the water.