Destiny and the

Wild Horses

STACY GREGG

Copyright

www.stacygregg.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2008. This edition published in 2015 HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd, The News Building 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

1

Text copyright © Stacy Gregg 2007

Illustrations © Fiona Land 2008

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

The author and illustrator assert the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrator of the work.

EBook Edition © 2009 ISBN: 9780007302208

Version: 2015-02-19

For my mum, who never liked horses at all, but loved her two horse-mad daughters. Thanks for everything.

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

The Pony Club Secrets series

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

One of the best feelings in the world is waking up and thinking, Ohmygod, I’m late for school! That isn’t the good bit obviously. The good bit comes in a sudden rush a few seconds later when you realise that you don’t have to go to school after all because today isn’t an ordinary Monday—it’s the first day of the summer holidays!

Issie was savouring that exact moment right now as she lay snuggled up in bed. She gave her legs a big, wriggly stretch underneath the duvet. There was something so luxurious about lying there, knowing that she didn’t have to hurry up and put her uniform on and pack her book bag. No school for two whole months. And this summer promised to be the best ever.

Issie had big plans for the holidays. And most of those plans involved Blaze, her chestnut Anglo-Arab mare. Summer meant pony-club season. There would be gymkhanas, ribbon days and one-day events to ride, and Issie had Blaze in perfect condition ready for competition.

Her pony had been schooling beautifully ever since Issie got her back from Francoise D’arth. They had been having regular dressage lessons with Tom Avery and she was amazed at how responsive and clever her horse was. Now that Issie and Tom knew Blaze’s real background—that she had once been part of a famous troupe of dancing Arabians—they had begun to try new things with her. Under Avery’s tutelage, Blaze and Issie had easily mastered fancy moves like shoulder-ins and piaffes.

“That mare is the perfect school mistress for you,” Avery told her. “We’re going to make huge strides in your training this summer, Issie.”

Avery was confident that Blaze was ready to compete in the summer series dressage competitions at the Chevalier Point Pony Club which began that weekend. “You’ll only be in the novice section so there certainly wouldn’t be any piaffes in your dressage test,” he said.

Still, Issie was nervous. She had never done dressage on Blaze before. What if the mare got all heated up and panicked in the arena? What if she forgot the test and got lost halfway through?

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Stella had told Issie when she blabbed her fears. “You and Blaze have practised your test, like, at least twenty times! I still don’t know it and Coco is being so stubborn lately she won’t even lead on the correct leg when she canters. She’s being a total nightmare!”

With the competition looming, Stella, Issie and Kate all agreed that they needed more dressage practice, so Tom Avery had arranged a training session for the Chevalier Point riders at the pony club that morning.

Issie gave one last squirm under the duvet. It was so warm and comfy she still didn’t want to get up. “One, two, three!” she counted herself out of bed, jumping up on three and making a dash across the bedroom to the pile of washing on the floor. She pulled on her jodhpurs and grabbed a hair band off her dresser, sweeping her long, straight, dark hair back in a ponytail as she headed down the stairs.

Her mother had left for work early that morning but she had left Issie a note on the kitchen table.

Gone to Work (obviously!) Have to pick up groceries on the way home so won’t be back until six. We need to talk about the holidays-make sure you are home by seven for dinner. Mum x

Issie read the note, popped two slices of wholegrain bread in the toaster and poured herself a glass of orange juice from the fridge.

What did her mum mean “We need to talk about the holidays”? Her holidays were already decided—she planned to spend every minute at pony club with Stella, Kate, Dan and Ben. What else was there to talk about?

After a second round of toast she finished getting dressed, grabbed her bike out of the garage and cycled off to pony club.

When Issie arrived at the club she found her two best friends Stella and Kate staring at an expensive-looking silver and blue horse truck that had just pulled up at the club grounds.

“Wow! Very flashy,” said Kate.

“I’ve never seen that truck before. It doesn’t belong to any of the Chevalier Point riders, does it?” Stella asked. Her question was answered instantly as a girl with a sour expression and two ramrod-straight shiny blonde plaits emerged from the truck to open the gates.

“I should have known! Stuck-up Tucker’s mummy has bought her a brand new horse truck,” Stella sighed.

They watched as Natasha stood sulking beside the truck, refusing to move until her mum asked her for a third time to help lower the ramp. Issie had been expecting to see Natasha’s palomino mare Goldrush coming down the ramp. Instead the girl led out a very refined-looking rose-grey with a white heart shape on his forehead and a steel-grey mane and tail. He wore a dark navy wool rug and matching floating boots to protect his delicate legs. As Natasha removed the boots the girls saw that his hind legs had two pretty white socks.

“Check out Natasha’s new horse!” Stella gave a low whistle of admiration.

“Issie! You have to go and ask her about it!” Kate demanded.

“What? Why me?” Issie groaned. “Natasha can’t stand me!”

“At least she speaks to you! She won’t even bother to talk to me or Kate,” Stella countered. “Go on! Go and ask her.”

“All right, all right…” Issie muttered as she walked off across the paddock. The truth was, she didn’t need much coaxing. She was dying to know about the new horse too.

“Hi, Natasha, I didn’t know you were riding with us today,” Issie said.

“Hmmph? Oh hello, Isabella,” Natasha said.

“It’s Isadora,” Issie replied flatly. One of Natasha’s favourite games was to accidentally-on-purpose forget Issie’s name.

“What-ever,” Natasha sniffed. “How’s your little circus pony?”

Ever since Issie had beaten Natasha Tucker at the pony-club one-day event, the bratty blonde had been spiteful towards Issie and her chestnut mare. Natasha had called Blaze a “scruffy pit pony with no papers” until the truth about Blaze was discovered: she had once been one of the El Caballo Danza Magnifico mares, the famous Anglo-Arabs with immaculate bloodlines dating back to the great desert-bred Arabians.

Of course even this news didn’t stop Natasha. Now that everyone knew just how valuable Blaze’s breeding really was, Natasha had taken to teasing Issie about having a “circus pony,” even though everyone knew that the El Caballo Danza Magnifico wasn’t a circus at all—it was a haute ècole riding school that travelled the world performing fantastic dressage movements to music. Blaze had once been the star of the school. But now, thanks to a mysterious benefactor, the chestnut mare belonged to Issie.

“Blaze is fine thanks, Natasha,” Issie said. She turned her attention to the beautiful rose-grey gelding. “Is this your new horse? What happened to Goldrush?”

“I told Mummy that Goldrush simply wasn’t up to my level any more so we got rid of her,” Natasha said coolly. “This is Fabergé. He’s a sport horse, bred by Iggy Dalrymple, so you can just imagine how much he cost us. Mummy says it’s vulgar to talk about money but she did tell me that he cost more than all of her Prada handbags put together.”

“He’s really beautiful,” Issie said as she ran her hand gently down the crest of Fabergé’s neck. “Are you going to enter him in the summer dressage series?”

“Uh-huh. I’d say we’re bound to win it actually.” Natasha smirked. “Fabergé has been off at Ginty McLintoch’s stables for two weeks being schooled up. Ginty herself has put in hours of work on him—Mummy paid her an absolute bomb to do it.” Natasha wrinkled up her nose. “I couldn’t be bothered with doing all that training myself! Anyway, now he is positively a push-button ride apparently. I can just sit there and Fabergé knows exactly what to do. It should be a piece of cake to win the novice ring this season.”

“Well, I guess we’ll see you at the dressage test on Saturday,” Issie said. “Blaze and I are in the novice ring too.” Issie was sure she saw the smug look on Natasha’s face fade for a moment. And then the blonde regained her haughty composure.

“They don’t give you points for doing circus tricks in proper dressage, you know.”

“That’s a pity because Blaze can balance a ball on her nose while doing a dance on her hind legs,” said a voice behind them.

Issie turned round to see Stella on top of Coco, smiling brightly at her. Kate, who was with her on Toby, was trying to suppress her giggles. Natasha’s scowl deepened.

“You always have your little gang with you to stick up for you, don’t you?” Natasha snapped. “I wonder how cool you’d be if you were all on your own with no one else to look after you.”

They were interrupted at that moment by Tom Avery’s booming voice.

“Riders into the arena now, please!” he instructed.

Issie gave the rose-grey gelding a pat. “Anyway, it was nice to meet you, Fabergé,” she said. Natasha continued to glare at her. “Bye, Natasha.” Issie shrugged and began to run back across the paddock to the tethering rail where Blaze was waiting for her.

“Can we all line up, please?” Tom Avery said.

The riders had been warming up their ponies. Dan and Ben had arrived a little late, but had quickly tacked up Kismit and Max and joined the others. Now the six riders all stood in the centre of the arena awaiting Avery’s instructions.

Avery slapped his riding crop against his long brown leather boots to get their attention. “With the dressage test approaching this weekend, I think you’re all ready for some more advanced schooling,” he said. “Does anyone here know how to do a flying change?”

Without hesitation a hand shot up amongst the riders.

“Ah, Natasha. Of course. Please come forward for a moment,” Avery said. Natasha cast a glance at Issie as she rode Fabergé past her to stand at the front of the ride.

“Now Natasha here is going to demonstrate a flying change,” Avery said. As you all know, a flying change is when we ask our horse to canter with a leading leg, and then we ask with our aids and make the horse change legs in midair.” Avery paused. “You might have seen this on your Olympic dressage videos at home. It looks a bit like the horse is skipping, doesn’t it?”

“Anky makes it look really easy when she does it on Bonfire,” Stella said.

“Well then, let’s see how easy it really is, shall we?” Avery said. “Natasha, why don’t you work your horse around the arena at a canter and then ride a flying change through the middle of the school to show us how it’s done?”

Natasha set off on Fabergé with a look of grim determination on her face. She cantered the rose-grey around the arena and then turned him down the centre of the school to begin her flying change. In the middle of the school Natasha gave Fabergé a big kick with her heels. Nothing happened. She looked exasperated. Poor Fabergé looked confused.

“Try again, this time with nice, clear aids. You don’t need to kick your horse! Just put that right leg forward on the girth,” Avery instructed. Natasha rode around and down the centre line again. This time, though, she ignored Avery’s advice and gave Fabergé an almighty boot with her right leg. Fabergé shot up like a rocket, putting in a vigorous buck. Natasha gave a yelp of horror as she flew over Fabergé’s head and sailed through the air, coming down in a heap on the sandy surface of the arena. Fabergé gave a terrified snort and cantered off. Dan and Ben quickly clucked their horses and rode after him while Natasha stood up grumpily and dusted herself down.

“Are you all right?” Avery asked her. Natasha, who was bright red in the face, nodded quietly.

“He’s a very sensitive horse. If I were you I’d master the basics on him before you try a flying change again,” Avery said kindly. Then he gestured to Issie. “Isadora, why don’t you give it a try on Blaze? Remember, you need to move your right leg to the girth.”

“Good girl, c’mon,” Issie clucked to Blaze as she set off around the perimeter of the arena. As she rode down the centre line in a canter she sat tall in the saddle and tried to think about arranging her legs into the correct position. Right in the middle of the arena Issie did exactly as Avery had instructed—she moved one leg forward and the other leg back and squeezed hard. Beneath her she felt Blaze rise up and throw out her front legs like a schoolgirl skipping down the street—a flying change!

“Textbook stuff! A very nicely executed flying change.” Avery was pleased. “Excellent. Now, who’s going to give it a go next? Dan? How about you?”

Issie slowed Blaze down to a walk and gave her a big slappy pat on the neck as she took her place back in the line. “Not bad for a circus pony!” she whispered to her pony.

In the end, Issie was the only rider that day to master the flying change. “It’s not as easy as it looks,” Stella had grumbled as they untacked the ponies. Issie had nodded in agreement with her friend, but the truth was that to her it had been easy. It was as if she only had to think about what she wanted to do and Blaze would respond. OK, so there weren’t any fancy flying changes in their dressage test this weekend. Still, Issie felt certain for the first time ever that she and Blaze stood a really good chance. They might even win.

“Mum! I’m home! I did a flying change today!” Issie charged in through the front door without pausing to take off her riding boots.

“Isadora! You’d better not still have your muddy boots on!” her mother yelled back from the kitchen.

Issie stopped dead and ran back to the laundry, stripping off her boots and socks before running back to the kitchen to find her mother.

“You can tell me all about it while you eat your dinner,” Mrs Brown said. And so, between mouthfuls of potato salad, Issie told her mum about Natasha and the flying changes and the dressage series that was starting on Saturday.

“Blaze is going so perfectly. This is going to be the best summer I’ve ever had!” Issie said.

Mrs Brown didn’t say anything. She just looked down at her plate and gave her quiche a distracted poke with her fork.

“Mum? What’s wrong? You’ve hardly said anything since I got home,” Issie said.

Mrs Brown pushed her plate aside. She looked serious, but still she didn’t speak.

“Mum?”

“Issie, I am afraid I’ve got some, well, it’s not bad news really. I mean it’s good but it’s not good…” Mrs Brown hesitated. “I’ve been invited away on a conference for work. They’re going to fly me there and pay for accommodation—the whole thing. I’ll be gone for two weeks.”

“That’s great!” Issie said. “When?”

“We leave on Friday,” Mrs Brown said. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you tonight about the holidays. I’ve made plans for you.”

“What do you mean?” Issie said.

“Sweetie, I can’t leave you here by yourself. If I’m away for two weeks then who would look after you? You’re only thirteen. You’re not old enough to be by yourself.”

“Cool. I can go stay with Stella!” Issie said.

Mrs Brown shook her head. “There’s something else, Issie. I got a phone call last night from your Aunt Hester. It turns out she’s had a bad fall off one of her silly horses and broken her leg.”

“Aunty Hess? That’s terrible! Is she OK?”

“She’s fine,” Mrs Brown sighed, “but she can’t possibly look after that farm of hers. She has Aidan to help her but it’s not enough…” Mrs Brown paused “…and so I suggested that you could go and stay with her until she gets better again.”

“Me?” Issie squawked.

“Sweetie—it’s perfect! You can stay with Hester while I’m away, and she needs your help so it suits her,” Mrs Brown explained. “Besides, you’ve never been to the farm before and I know you will just love it. Hester has loads of ponies and all those other animals that she trains. You’ll adore it there.”

“But, Mum! Blaze and I have been working so hard for the dressage competition,” Issie said.

“I know, honey. But I can’t see any other way.” Mrs Brown sighed. “I’ve already asked Aidan if he can drive through to get you. He’s going to be here on Wednesday morning.”

“But it’s Monday now! When were you going to tell me this? What about Stella and Kate? What about my holidays? What about Blaze?”

“I’m sorry, Issie. It’s the only option. Really, you’ll see. You’re going to love it at the farm…Issie? Issie!”

But Issie didn’t hear her. She had already left the kitchen in tears, run up the stairs to her bedroom and slammed the door shut behind her.

Chapter 2

How could the school holidays go so wrong so fast? Issie flung herself down on her bed and buried her face deep in the duvet. She couldn’t believe her mum would ruin her summer like this!

“Issie? Come on. Let me in and let’s talk about this,” Mrs Brown’s voice echoed softly outside Issie’s bedroom door.

Issie stood up and walked over to let her mother in, before flopping back down, rather over-dramatically, with her face in the duvet again.

“It’s not fair. Why do I have to go to Aunty Hester’s?” She gave a muffled groan from beneath the blankets.

“Sweetie, I really do think it’s the best idea for everyone—especially Aunty Hess,” Mrs Brown said.

“It would be a huge favour to her if you helped out until her leg is better. Hess has a big movie coming up. They start filming in a couple of months and she has dozens of animals that need to be trained. She has so much work to do she could really use an extra pair of hands…”

“But I had plans!” Issie said. “The dressage series is on and Blaze is going so well. I can’t just leave her and go away to the farm.”

Mrs Brown suddenly perked up. “Hey! I tell you what—how about if you could take Blaze with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You could take Blaze to Aunty Hester’s. I could call Aidan and ask him to bring the horse truck when he comes to pick you up on Wednesday and then you can take Blaze with you. I’m sure Hess won’t mind. One more horse on that enormous farm of hers won’t make the slightest difference.”

Issie sat up. “Do you mean it? Could Blaze really come too?”

“I don’t see why not,” Mrs Brown said. She was clearly very pleased with herself for coming up with the idea. “You know what? I’m going to give Hess a call now and ask her!”

Mrs Brown trotted off down the stairs and a moment later Issie could hear her on the phone chatting and laughing happily with her sister.

If I could take Blaze with me, Issie thought, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Issie really liked her aunt. For starters, Hester was horsy through and through. Issie always thought it was so unfair that her own mother hated horses while her Aunt Hess adored them. If Aunt Hester had been her mother then she would have got a pony straight away. Instead she had to beg for years before her mum finally gave in and bought Mystic.

Mrs Brown couldn’t understand why Issie loved horses so much. “It must be genetic. Your aunt was exactly the same when she was your age,” Mrs Brown had told Issie on more than one occasion. “Hess was totally horse-mad! And now look at her—she has seven horses, a trained pig, a goat, several sheep, those nuisance blasted dogs and heaven knows what else on that crazy farm of hers!”

Hester worked as an animal trainer for the movies. Three years ago she decided to set up her own business, and so she bought Blackthorn Farm, where she kept and trained her menagerie of four-legged movie stars.

Blackthorn Farm was a rambling old country manor, high up in the hills near Gisborne. The manor and grounds had once been quite grand, apparently, but Hester had got the place for very little because it had become quite rundown.

Blackthorn Manor was huge—it had eleven bedrooms—but Hester lived there alone. She had been married three times—“All of them wonderful weddings!” she told Issie—but she had never had any children of her own. She called Issie her “favourite niece” which was a bit of a joke between the two of them since Issie was in fact her only niece.

Hester ran the farm herself with help from her young stable manager, Aidan. With her leg in plaster and all those animals to look after, she was bound to need some extra help.

Issie listened to her mum hang up the receiver and head back up the stairs. When she entered Issie’s room she had an enormous smile on her face.

“Good news! Hess says she’d love to meet your horse, Issie. It all sounds perfect. There’s a spare stall for Blaze in the stable complex and she’s getting it ready for your arrival and Aidan will be here to pick you both up first thing on Wednesday morning with the truck. It’s a long drive. It will probably take you most of the day to get there.”

“Really? So Blaze can come with me? And we’re actually going?” Issie said.

Mrs Brown looked at her daughter’s uncertain expression. “Issie? I thought that would make you happy. You can take Blaze with you—there’s lots of land to ride there—that farm is positively huge—you could ride all day without leaving the property.”

“I know…I mean, yes, it’s great, Mum. Honestly. And I want to go and help out Aunty Hess and everything…” Issie sighed. “It’s just that Stella and Kate and me had the whole summer planned out and now I’m not going to be here. And what about Tom? He was expecting me to ride the dressage series and—”

“I’m sure Stella and Kate will understand. I know you three are pretty hard to separate but maybe it will be nice to have some time on your own for once,” Mrs Brown said. “As for Tom, you leave him to me. I’m sure he’ll agree with me that a few weeks out of your training schedule isn’t going to ruin your chances of riding at Badminton!”

“Mum! As if!” Issie laughed.

“Aha! I knew I could get you smiling again.” Mrs Brown grinned back at her daughter. “Now, I’ll dig out your suitcase and let’s make sure you actually have some clean clothes to pack, shall we? Hand me that pile of washing over there and we’ll get started!”

The news that Issie was going to Blackthorn Farm left Stella speechless—for a moment anyway. “Stella?” Issie said. There was silence at the other end of the phone and then a torrent of words came pouring out.

“I can’t believe your mum is doing this! We had plans, Issie! Big plans! What about the dressage series? What about the summer holidays? It’s not fair! How long will you be gone for?”

“I don’t know. I suppose I’ll stay there until Aunt Hester’s leg is better and she can manage on her own again.” Issie sighed. “You know, I am her favourite niece and everything.”

“Very funny, Issie! Your mum’s ruined our whole summer! Have you told Kate yet?”

“No,” Issie said, “I thought I’d tell you first because I knew you’d take it so well!”

Stella gave a giggle at this. “You’re right, I am overreacting, aren’t I? You might only be gone for a couple of weeks. I suppose we can always email each other while you’re away.”

“Actually I don’t even know if Aunty Hess has email. Blackthorn Farm is in the middle of nowhere. Aidan is coming to pick me up first thing on Wednesday morning and it will take us pretty much all day to drive there.”

“Who’s Aidan?” Stella said.

“He works for Aunty Hess. He runs her stables and he’s driving the horse truck down from the farm to pick up me and Blaze.”

“Oooh! How old is Aidan? What does he look like?”

“What? Oh, Stella! I think he’s, like, maybe seventeen. I have no idea what he looks like. I’ve never been to the farm so I’ve never met him, OK?” Issie snapped. Stella had gone a bit boy-mad lately, which Issie found very annoying. She hadn’t even thought about what Aidan might be like—but now she realised he would be here tomorrow and they would have to spend the whole day together driving to the farm.

“I’d better tell Dan. I’m sure that will make him jealous,” Stella laughed.

“Stella! Don’t!” Issie said.

Dan had asked Issie out once—at least she thought he’d asked her out—but things got all confused because it turned out he’d asked Natasha too and maybe it had never been a date. Anyway it was all a big mess and nothing had ever happened after that.

Issie sighed. “Oh, go on then. Tell Dan and Ben that I’ve gone away and tell Natasha too while you’re at it; I’m sure she’ll be thrilled that I won’t be competing against her in the dressage.”

Stella groaned. “Ohmygod! Natasha. I’d forgotten about that. She’s going to be unbearable if she wins. Issie! How can you leave me? Don’t go!”

“I’m hanging up now, Stella,” Issie said. “I have to go pack and then I have to clean Blaze’s tack and get her floating boots out and make sure that all her gear is ready to go…”

“OK, OK.” Stella sighed. “But you’d better email me. And if they have no email then send a carrier pigeon or whatever they’ve got up there.”

“Knowing Aunty Hess, I wouldn’t be surprised if she hasn’t trained up a pigeon or two,” Issie giggled. “It’s a deal—I’ll send you a letter by pigeon post.”

Aidan was due to arrive at seven a.m. on Wednesday morning to pick Issie up. But when Issie opened her curtains at six a.m. to check the weather, she saw the horse truck was already parked outside.

“Mum?” she called out as she padded downstairs, still in her pyjamas. “The horse truck is here already.”

“I know,” her mother replied from the kitchen. “Come in and meet Aidan!”

Issie walked through to find her mother making coffee for a young boy in a plaid shirt and jeans who was sitting at the table. The boy, who looked not that much older than Issie, had black hair that fell over his face in a long, floppy fringe almost covering his eyes. He stood up as Issie sat down next to him and stuck out his hand for her to shake.

“Hi,” he said, “I’m Aidan.”

“Hello Issie! I mean…hello, I’m Issie!” Issie said, flustered. She shook Aidan’s hand. “Sorry, I’m not ready to go yet obviously,” she said, looking down at her pyjamas, which she now realised were the ones with pink kittens all over them. “I didn’t expect you to get here so early.”

“I got here late last night and slept in the horse truck,” Aidan said.

“Was that uncomfortable?” Mrs Brown asked.

“It’s better than my bed back at the farm!” Aidan grinned. “It might look like a horse truck on the outside, but the inside is pure luxury. Hester’s got it rigged up with two beds and a shower so we can travel with the horses. There’s a kitchen too,” he added, “but I never use it. I’m not a very good cook.”

“Well, don’t you worry about that, I’ll make you breakfast.” Mrs Brown smiled.

“Thanks, that would be great.” Aidan grinned.

He looked over at Issie, who was fidgeting and looking down at the table, clearly embarrassed to be meeting a boy for the first time dressed in her pussycat pyjamas. Mrs Brown noticed her daughter shifting uncomfortably in her chair. “Issie, it will take a few minutes to get breakfast sorted. Why don’t you go and have a shower and get dressed and I’ll call you when it’s ready?” she suggested.

“Thanks, Mum!” Issie said gratefully.

When she came downstairs for the second time that morning, Issie was ready to go. She was wearing her favourite jeans, a pair of brown leather boots and her favourite T-shirt. Her long dark hair was now neatly combed and tied back in a thick ponytail. She carried a big overnight bag thrown over one shoulder and was dragging a suitcase with her right hand.

“Let me help you.” Aidan smiled, taking the bags off her. “I’ll put these in the truck.” He went out the front door with Issie’s bags and she sat down at the table as her mum dished up her bacon and eggs.

“Aidan’s already eaten. You finish up and then you can get going,” Mrs Brown said as she poured herself a coffee from the plunger and sat down next to Issie. “Aidan will help you load Blaze at the pony club and then you can set off straight from there. Aunt Hess is expecting you in time for tea. I’ve packed you a banana cake to take with you; Hess is terrible at baking. In fact, all her cooking is terrible! You’ll probably come back as skinny as a rake!” Mrs Brown said. She gave Issie a big hug.

“I’ve packed you a big bag of carrots for Blaze too in case she gets hungry during the trip.”

Issie smiled. “Thanks, Mum!” she said.

“Take care, honey. Call me every night, OK?” Mrs Brown was still hugging Issie.

“Mum, you have to let go of me now, I need to leave.” Issie laughed.

“Are we ready to go?” Aidan stuck his head around the kitchen door. “The truck is all packed. Let’s go get this horse of yours.”

It was only a five minute drive to the pony club, and Issie said nothing all the way. She was quiet even as she velcroed on Blaze’s floating boots and loaded the dainty chestnut mare into the truck stall, tying her up with a hay net for the journey.

Issie hopped back into the cab, Aidan raised the ramp and they drove out through the pony-club gates. Issie took one last look over her shoulder at the horses who were left behind grazing happily. “Bye, Toby. Bye, Coco,” she murmured. She felt a strange sensation in her tummy, like the butterfly nerves she usually got before a showjumping competition. She looked back through the window of the cab. Blaze was chewing contentedly on her hay net. Issie pressed her nose up against the glass and gazed at her pony, taking in the delicate dish of her nose and the deep, dark eyes fringed by her flaxen forelock.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Aidan said.

“What?”

“Your mare.” Aidan smiled at Issie. “An Anglo-Arab, right? Half Arab and half Thoroughbred?”

“Uh-huh,” Issie said.

“She looks like a very special horse. Where did you get her?” Aidan asked.

“It’s a long story,” Issie said.

“It’s a long drive too,” Aidan smiled, “so why don’t you start now and maybe you’ll be finished by the time we get there.”

Issie laughed. “OK,” she said. And so she told Aidan the story of Blaze. She started right at the very beginning, from the awful tragedy of Mystic’s death. When she had lost her lovely grey gelding she thought she could never love another horse again. And then Avery had turned up with Blaze. She had been rescued by the International League for the Protection of Horses and was in a desperate state, terrified and half-starved. It had taken every last ounce of love that Issie had in her to win Blaze’s trust and bring her back again. She nearly lost Blaze once more when Francoise D’Arth arrived in Chevalier Point and told her that Blaze was actually one of the famed El Caballo Danza Magnifico Arabians.

“She must be worth a fortune!” Aidan said.

Issie nodded. “I guess so. I don’t really know. When Francoise brought Blaze back to me she told me that someone had paid for Blaze and wanted to give her to me. Now she’s mine to keep for ever. I never found out who it was or how much they paid for her—and since I’ll never, ever sell her I guess it doesn’t really matter how much she is worth.”

Aidan looked at Issie. “You’ve been through a lot with this mare, haven’t you? I can see why you didn’t want to leave her behind.”

“She’s my best friend.” Issie smiled.

Aidan was right: it was a long drive to the farm. They made their way out of the city into the open countryside, and it was late in the afternoon when they drove up to the crest of a very high hill and Aidan finally turned the truck down the driveway that led to the farm. The limestone driveway seemed to almost burrow a tunnel through the dense native woods that surrounded them. The trees blocked out the light above them and Issie could hear scraping and rustling as the enormous branches that hung overhead began to brush against the roof of the horse truck. She pushed her nose up against the passenger window and stared out at the lush ferns, bright vermillion fuchsias, brilliant yellow kowhai flowers and boughs of crab apples laden with blood-red fruit. When the truck finally emerged into the golden afternoon light she found herself in front of an enormous two-storey white mansion, with latticed Victorian verandas and broad balconies on the second floor. There were cherry trees in full bloom covering the vast circular lawn in front of the house.

Standing in the middle of the lawn under the cherry trees was Aunty Hess. She wore a long, white, cotton dress and her hair, which was very blonde and tightly curled, tumbled over her shoulders. There was a loud baying as three dogs came bounding out of the house to join her. One was a smiling golden retriever, the other was an enormous black shaggy Newfoundland and the third was a whippet-thin black and white hound.

As they drove up towards the manor the dogs all leapt up dangerously, bouncing up to put their paws on the side of the horse truck as it pulled to a stop in front of the cherry trees. Then they dashed off again at a mad run and sat obediently on either side of the woman in the white cotton dress.

“Lie down, stay,” Hess instructed the dogs. All three of them put their heads on their paws and lay perfectly still as she walked towards the horse truck and opened Issie’s passenger door.

“Aunty Hess!” Issie beamed down at her aunt.

“Isadora! My favourite niece!” Hess held her arms up to help her down from the truck cab. “Welcome to Blackthorn Farm.”

Chapter 3

Aunt Hester led Issie through the cherry trees and up the wide path that led to the grand entrance of Blackthorn Manor.

“You must be starving after driving all day!” she said. “Don’t worry about your pony; Aidan will take the truck down and settle her in at the stables. You come with me. I’ve made you dinner.”

Dinner, it turned out, was three burnt fish fingers with runny mashed potato and peas. “Your mother probably told you that my cooking isn’t up to much,” Hester smiled, “and I can tell you that she’s quite right and it really hasn’t improved!”

While Issie ate, Hester sat down next to her with her leg propped up on a chair. Issie hadn’t noticed at first, but under that white cotton dress Hester was sporting a brilliant pink plaster cast that ran from her toes to her knee.

“Wow!’ Issie said.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Hester smiled, knocking on the plaster with her knuckles. “They let me choose the colour, you know. Schiaparelli pink is so chic, don’t you think? I’m still supposed to use crutches but I can’t be bothered so I use a walking stick or I sometimes just hop,” Hester continued. “It’s a very long driveway down to the stables when you’re hopping on one foot, I can tell you. And feeding out the farm animals takes me for ever.”

“How did it happen, Aunty Hess?”

“Oh, I was training one of the horses, Diablo. I was teaching him to lie down dead as if he had been shot, you see, like in a cowboy movie. Well, he lay down dead all right, but he did it right on top of me! Not his fault, of course; he was only doing what I asked him to do. But it broke my leg in two places, and there you go!” Aunt Hester smiled. “I must say it is lovely to have my favourite niece and her mystery mare here to help me out.”

“Blaze! I should go and check on her.” Issie suddenly panicked. “She’s not used to being stabled and she doesn’t know any of your horses. I should—”

“Don’t worry about Blaze,” Aunt Hester reassured her. “Aidan will take excellent care of her. He used to work at a fancy stable in Ireland when he wasn’t much older than you are now—looking after racehorses for some high and mighty Arab Sultan. It was all rather grand. Frightfully expensive horses too! I’m sure looking after your pony is well within his capabilities. We’ll go down there in just a moment and you can check on her. But first…” Aunt Hester swept her hand dramatically towards the doorway that led to the main hall “…the grand tour!”

“Downstairs to start with, I think,” Hester said. “Yes, yes. Follow me.” She led Issie through a maze of vast wood-panelled rooms, each one more fantastic than the last, all of them with high ceilings, well-worn parquet floors and enormous, sparkling crystal chandeliers. The walls, which were papered in faded flock wallpaper, were adorned with antlers and wild boar heads. There were paintings everywhere of elegant racehorses and black and white photographs of grand old ladies looking out at you regally from the frame.

“Not my taste, you understand,” Hester giggled. “I’m a little more shabby chic, aren’t I, darling? Most of this lot was already here when I arrived. They sold the place to me lock, stock and barrel,” she said, sweeping through the billiard room, where a game of pool was set up under the watchful gaze of two large stuffed pheasants.

Hester set a cracking pace through the manor. Issie had thought the plaster cast would have slowed her aunt down, but she grasped herself a walking cane out of the wicker basket in the hallway, propped herself up on one leg and skipped along very quickly indeed. Her progress wasn’t aided by the three dogs, Strudel the retriever, Nanook the enormous black Newfoundland and Taxi, the skinny black and white cattle dog. The dogs all darted constantly around Hester’s ankles, getting underfoot and almost tripping her up as she hopped from one room to the next.

“…and this is the ballroom, and the servants quarters—not that we have any servants!”

“What about Aidan?” Issie said.

“Oh, he’s got his own place down the hill, next to the stables. Farm manager’s cottage—very sweet. Right next to the duck pond,” Hester said. “I’ll show you when we do our outdoor tour. Now follow me up the stairs.”

The grand, wooden staircase stood proudly at the centre of the manor. “There are seven bedrooms upstairs,” Aunt Hester explained as she reached the top of the landing. “This one is your room.”

Hester swung open the door and beckoned for Issie to step inside. The room was enormous, but it felt cosy. The walls were papered with the most beautiful wallpaper Issie had ever seen, illustrated with old-fashioned drawings of exquisite Thoroughbreds standing with their jockeys dressed up in racing silks. Above the grand fireplace was a large oil painting of a beautiful grey horse with a long, silky mane. The horse was captured in action, cantering with his neck arched, and his proud head held high.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” Hester smiled. “That’s Avignon. He was my very favourite horse—a Swedish Warmblood stallion. I just adored him! Oh, I could look at this painting for ever…” Her voice trailed off as she stared at the painting. Then she picked up Issie’s luggage, throwing the bags on the four-poster bed.

“Come on,” she smiled at Issie, “that’s the tour over and done with. Let’s get out of here and go and see that horse of yours, shall we?”

If Hester had bounded swiftly around the manor, the long walk down to the stables seemed to take the spring out of her step. The driveway wound along the side of the manor then down past the garden, bordered by a stand of enormous puriri trees. Beneath the trees were gardens filled with magnolias, camellias and ferns, bordering a green lawn covered in daisies. At the far end of the lawn was a tennis court which looked as if it had seen better days. There were weeds springing up everywhere and the dilapidated old tennis net sagged in the middle.

“As you can imagine, tennis is not my priority right now.” Hester said, tapping her cast. “Still, if you want play, I’m sure I’ve got racquets somewhere.”

They continued their walk to the stables. Hester had to pause for a rest several times on the way, propping herself up against the huge boulders that lined the driveway to catch her breath. The three dogs all lay down obediently at her side each time she stopped, waiting until she instructed them to move again.

“This is why I need your help, Isadora darling,” Hester said. “I simply can’t get about to manage the animals. And Aidan couldn’t possibly do everything on his own. Besides, Butch cannot abide Aidan, so that would never do.

“Who’s Butch?” Issie asked. Just as she said this, round the corner from behind the stables lumbered a massive, black, hairy boar.

“Butch!” Hester cried. “Come and meet Isadora!”

The pig grunted happily and broke into a jog as he came towards them. His tiny little trotters looked like they might not be able to support the enormous bulk of the beast for much longer as he wobbled along.

“Butch is one of my superstars,” Hester cooed as she reached down to feed the pig a carrot and give him a vigorous scratch behind the ears with a stick. “Do you know he’s been in three TV commercials already this year? He’s the pig in that bank ad—you know, the one with the piggy banks? He’s rather famous, aren’t you, Butchy? Shall we show Isadora some of your tricks?”

Hester put down her scratching stick, stood up from the boulder and produced another carrot which she held high above her head. “Beg, Butch!” she commanded. The pig grunted and then shifted his enormous weight, slumping back to sit on his haunches. Slowly he adjusted his position and lifted one front trotter and then the other off the ground so that he was balanced back on his hind legs. He looked just like a begging dog.

“Good lad!” Hester praised him and tossed the carrot up in the air. Butch opened his mouth and snapped at the carrot as it fell, crunching it up eagerly in his vast jaws.

Hester produced a second carrot. This time she held it directly in front of her like a magician brandishing a wand. “Play dead!” she commanded the pig. Butch gave a grunt and then fell dramatically, landing on the ground with a leaden thud. He lay perfectly still, even when Hester gave him a gentle prod with her foot. “Nice and dead,” she cooed. “What a good pig! Now, Butch, up!” Butch grunted again and lifted his head, then braced himself with his front trotters and rather ungracefully pushed himself up again so that he was standing facing Aunt Hester.

“Well done, good Butch,” she said as she fed him one more carrot.

“How did you teach him the tricks?” Issie asked.

“Oh, pigs are very easy to train; they’re smarter than dogs,” Hester said. “I’ve had Butch since he was a little piglet and I always knew he was clever. When he was a piglet Aidan caught him in the veggie garden and pelted him with an acorn. Butch has never forgiven him. That’s why you’ll have to look after him and keep his training up while you’re here.”

“But I don’t know anything about pig training!” Issie spluttered.

“Don’t worry, I’ll explain everything. It’s all quite simple,” Hester said. “I’ve figured out a roster. Aidan will take care of the chickens and ducks. They’ve got a big role in this movie and they all need to learn their cues. One of the ducks needs to open a door—you can imagine the fuss he’s made learning that…You’re in charge of the rabbits,” Hester continued. “There are seven of them and they’re quite a funny bunch, I can tell you. You’ll look after Butch too, of course, and then there’s Meadow and Blossom.”

“More pigs?” Issie asked.

“No, dear, a calf and a goat. Both of them are frightfully naughty and I’m afraid I’ve fallen quite behind in their training. You’ll have to be rather firm with them.”

“What exactly am I going to teach them?” Issie asked, feeling nervous.

“Oh, the usual. When to stop and go, nodding and shaking their heads…all the standard stuff,” Hester said. “It’s such bad timing to break my leg just when all my little stars are needed for such a big movie. Tenderfoot Farm, that’s what it’s called. It’s an American crew. They’re coming here next month to start filming. They need barnyard animals that can act on cue—and that’s where I come in. My darlings are the best in the business.” Hester gave Butch one last scratch behind the ears with the stick and then began to walk again towards the stables. The pig now joined them, trotting alongside with the dogs.

“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!”

Chapter 4

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 Deep water.”

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.

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