Mystic and Blaze

They were gaining speed now, until it seemed to Issie as if she were flying. The grey gelding fought against the bit to go faster still and Issie was forced to hang on tight to the reins to keep Mystic under control.

By the time they rounded the corner to face fences six and seven – a double combination – Mystic was in full stride and too strong for her to hold back. Issie found herself on a sharp angle as the headstrong pony rushed the fence and had to put in a last-minute stride to adjust himself. His hind legs went thwack against the top rail of the first jump and Issie could hear the crowd gasp and hold their breath as the pole rocked in its metal socket. Would the rail fall? She couldn’t look, she must concentrate on the next fence ahead of her. She tensed, expecting to hear the crash of the rail falling behind her, but instead she heard a cheer rise up from the crowd. The rail hadn’t fallen. She was still clear.

Over the next fence and there she was with just one jump between her and a clear round. As they neared the big oxer she felt butterflies rise in her tummy and tried to calm herself. “Trust your horse, Issie,” she commanded herself out loud. She gave Mystic his head and sat deep in the saddle. The dapple-grey took off perfectly and soared over the rails, landing cleanly on the other side. Clear round!

Mystic was flecked with sweat and snorting from his efforts as the pair left the ring. Issie slid to the ground and threw her arms around his neck giving him a hug and inhaling the sweet smell of warm, damp horse sweat. It must be the best smell in the world! Issie thought, breathing in deeply.

“Good lad, Mystic. Well done! A clear round!” she murmured to her pony, her face still buried deep in his grey mane.

“Hey, hey,” Dan called as he rode over to her, “what are you doing? Get back on your horse – you’ll have to ride into the ring in a minute to get your ribbon!”

But which ribbon? With three clear rounds, Issie’s time was crucial now. Had she gone fast enough to beat Dan?

“Competitor number twenty-two, Isadora Brown, a clear round in two minutes fifty-six seconds,” the announcer called. “The winner is Dan Halliday on Kismit. Second place goes to Isadora Brown on Mystic, third Natasha Tucker on Goldrush. Would all riders please come back into the ring to collect your prizes.”

As Mystic trotted into the arena, Issie felt like she was in a dream. It didn’t matter that Dan had beaten her. She had won her first ribbon. Mystic seemed to know it too; as the three riders cantered around the ring in a lap of honour he bristled with pride, flicking his tail and arching his neck.

“You are totally the best pony ever, do you know that?” Issie told Mystic as they rode back to Avery’s truck. “Just the best,” she repeated again proudly as she pulled the little grey up to a halt. OK, so she’d lost her bet with Dan and she’d have to groom Kismit for a week—she didn’t care. Second place. And a clear round! How fantastic was that?

Issie was just about to dismount and give Mystic yet another hug when she heard someone crashing about on the other side of the silver horse float.

“Stop that! Stand still, damn you!” Natasha Tucker’s voice was raised in a high-pitched squeal. She had been trying to take off Goldrush’s tack but the pretty palomino kept dancing nervously as the girl tried to undo her bridle. “Stop it!” Natasha shouted again, this time giving Goldrush a slap across the neck with her riding crop.

As the whip cut hard into her flesh the palomino reared up, jerking the reins out of Natasha’s hands. Natasha stood there helplessly as Goldrush planted her front legs back on the ground, standing on top of the loose reins and tangling them around her legs.

Caught in the reins, Goldrush went wild with terror. The mare tried to back up to get free, but found herself pressed up hard against Toby and Coco who were tied to the truck beside her.

What happened next came so suddenly that Issie didn’t have a chance to stop it. She watched as Goldrush kept backing up into the other horses, kicking out in terror with her hind legs. Then Toby gave a snort and pulled back hard against his halter rope. The knot gave way and his lead rope came loose. Coco, too, had worked her way free from her tether. Now, all three horses were loose and heading for the paddock gate.

It was then that Issie noticed that the main pony club gate was still open – someone must have forgotten to shut it as they had driven in to park their horse float.

“Hey! The gates. Shut the gates!” Issie yelled.

As the horses bolted through the first paddock gate and headed for the main gate, Issie saw people running after them, trying to divert them from the exit. It’s no use, she realised. They’ll never catch up with them on foot. But maybe she could reach them on Mystic.

She wheeled the little grey around and clucked him into a canter, leaning low over his neck. The horses were through the gate now and already clattering along the gravel driveway that would lead them to the deadly road.

In full gallop now, Issie and Mystic rounded through the gate behind them. “Come on, boy, we’ve got to beat them to the road.” Issie dug her heels into Mystic’s sides, urging him on even faster. Mystic was gaining on the horses but as they got closer to the intersection where the roads met, Issie realised they weren’t going to make it in time. She would have to ride out on to the road after the horses and try to herd them back again.

The clatter of gravel became the clean chime of metal horseshoes hitting tarmac as the horses struck the main highway. There was the honk of a car horn as two vehicles sped past, one of them narrowly missing Toby.

Issie quickly checked for more traffic then followed the runaway horses out on to the road. She pulled Mystic around hard in front of Toby and waved an arm at him, spooking the big bay and directing him back down the gravel drive, back towards the pony club.

If she could get Toby to lead the way, maybe the others would follow. It was their only chance. Two cars had already nearly hit them. How long could their luck last?

Suddenly the deep low boom of a truck horn sounded off behind her. Issie heard the sickening squeal of tyres and smelt burning rubber. As the truck rounded the corner towards her, everything suddenly seemed to go into slow motion.

To Issie it seemed as if Mystic was turning to face the truck, like two stallions set to fight. The grey horse reared up suddenly, throwing her backwards with such force that she flew clear of the oncoming traffic, landing hard on the shoulder of the road. There was a sickening crack as her riding helmet met with tarmac, the peak splintering as it took the full force of the blow.

Groggy from the fall, Issie tried to stand up, to move, but her vision blurred and she could taste blood in her mouth. In the distance came the screech of tyres again and then the most hideous sound she had ever heard, the sound of a horse screaming. Through the sirens and the traffic noise she could make out a voice calling out her name, and then everything faded to black.

CHAPTER 4 (#ulink_31daaa79-a14c-5731-975b-6ef28b577f02)

Issie could hear hoofbeats. In the pitch black she saw the blurry grey shape of a horse galloping towards her. Just out of her reach, the horse reared to a stop. His nostrils flared, and he pawed the ground impatiently, flicking his head and nickering to her. Then, as suddenly as he had come, he wheeled around and galloped away again. Mystic? It had to be. Issie tried to yell out to him but she couldn’t speak. What was happening to her?

“I think she’s coming round,” a voice broke through the blackness.

Then another voice, softer, calling her, “Isadora. Isadora. Wake up.”

And there she was, lying between the cool white sheets of a hospital bed, looking up into her mother’s eyes.

“My God, Isadora! You gave me such a scare.” Mrs Brown had tears in her eyes as she hugged her daughter tightly. The embrace was so strong, Issie found it hard to breathe and had to gasp for air. As she took a deep breath her chest ached and she let out a squeal of pain.

“Do your ribs hurt?” A woman in a white coat was leaning over her. Issie nodded yes.

“Isadora, my name is Doctor Stone,” the woman said. “I don’t think your ribs are broken. I suspect it’s just bruising. We’ll be sending you down to x-ray shortly to check. But first I need to ask you a few questions, just to check that you’re OK. You had a bad fall and you may be suffering from concussion.” The doctor held up her hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three,” said Issie. She was surprised at how wobbly her voice was. “And what day is it?” Doctor Stone asked as she checked Issie’s eyes with a little torch light. “Umm…Saturday?”

“Excellent.” The doctor was making notes on her chart now as she talked. “How old are you, Isadora?”

“Twelve,” Issie had to think for a moment, “but I’ll be thirteen soon.”

Doctor Stone gave her young patient a concerned look. “Now, I want you to think carefully, Isadora. I want you to try to remember the last thing that happened to you. Do you know why you’re here?”

Issie shut her eyes and tried to think. What had happened to her? She remembered the sound of a truck horn, and the way Mystic had reared up, as if to protect her from the huge steel vehicle that was bearing down on them. Then nothing, nothing but the tarmac rushing up to meet her, that inhuman scream and then the blackness.

“Where is Mystic?” Issie felt a wave of panic sweep over her. “Mum, is Mystic OK?”

Her chest ached sharply as she tried to sit up. “Isadora, please try and stay still until we can get those ribs x-rayed,” Doctor Stone said firmly. She turned to Mrs Brown. “I don’t think we’ll need to keep her in overnight. If the x-ray comes out OK, she can be discharged this evening.”

“But what about my horse?” Issie was cold with horror as she spoke. Her mum kept ignoring her questions about Mystic. Something was wrong. Mrs Brown had turned her head away from her now. At first she couldn’t speak. Finally, she faced her daughter and took her hand. Her words came softly but in Issie’s ears they were like crashes of thunder.

“Isadora, there was nothing anyone could have done. The truck…” Her mother’s voice trailed off for a moment. “…Isadora, Mystic is dead.”

“No!” Issie felt hot tears running down her cheeks. She was shaking, gasping once more for breath. “No!”

“I’m sorry, honey.” Her mother was still clutching her hand, and she was crying too. “Stella saw it all from the side of the road. You and Mystic saved the other horses, you know. If you hadn’t gone after them and herded them back up the driveway, who knows what would have happened. But then the truck came…” Mrs Brown stroked away her daughter’s tears. “You know, I think Mystic was trying to save you too. When he reared up and threw you clear of the truck, it saved your life. So it wasn’t just the other horses he saved. He saved you.”

“Isadora,” the doctor interrupted, “I’m just going to give you a sedative. It’ll take away the pain and let you relax for a while.”

Issie nodded vacantly. She didn’t really hear what the doctor was saying, and she could no longer feel the pain in her ribs. Instead, it was her heart that ached. An ache that consumed her entire soul. Mystic was dead.

Issie barely even noticed the sting of the injection that Doctor Stone gave her, but she began to feel its effects almost immediately. She felt woozy, and her muscles went limp. Through half-closed eyes she could see her mother sitting beside the bed holding her hand, then she drifted off, back into darkness, back into black sleep.

Her mother was still sitting by the bed two hours later when she opened her eyes again.

“How are you feeling, honey?” Mrs Brown ran her hand softly over her daughter’s forehead, smoothing back her dark hair. Issie’s complexion, usually a light olive colour just like her mum’s, was so drained and pale she was almost the same colour as the hospital sheets.