Destiny and Stardust

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.

“Come on, girl!” Issie gave Blaze a sharp kick in the ribs. “Come on, girl! Let’s go!” The kick made Blaze leap forward again. Issie looked around her and realised that they were already in the middle of the lake. Then they were past the middle and heading back out the other side – and the water hadn’t so much as gone over Issie’s boots!

So much for Lake Deepwater, she thought with relief. More like Lake Shallowmud.

Issie looked back again over her shoulder. The stallion had given up on them and turned around now, trotting out of the lake and back towards his herd.

“We’ve lost him, Blaze! Not much further to go, girl!” Issie gave her mare a slappy pat on her neck. Once they reached the other side, Issie was pretty sure that just over the ridge they’d find the Coast Road that would lead them home to Blackthorn Manor.

“Good girl, Blaze!” Issie gave the mare another big pat on her neck as Blaze leapt up the muddy slopes of the bank and on to the green grass that bordered the lake.

She had been worried that Blaze might have been exhausted from the chase that morning, but the mare still seemed to have plenty of speed left in her. As they rode up the grassy slope and hit the dirt track that led them along the Coast Road back to the farm, Blaze stretched out at full gallop.

The black horse hadn’t followed them. They were safe. All the same, Issie stayed low over Blaze’s neck and let her run. She didn’t stop galloping until they were another two miles down the road. And she didn’t stop checking over her shoulder until they were safely home at Blackthorn Manor.

Chapter 5 (#ulink_ac0499b4-f667-55e8-9349-8f2ebc8b0289)

Aunt Hester sat on the front veranda of Blackthorn Manor with a mug of piping hot tea and a copy of the Times. As Issie and Blaze trotted down the long, leafy avenue of the limestone driveway towards her she looked up and gave them a cheery wave. Then suddenly she stopped waving. Her face turned dark with concern and she propped herself up with her walking stick and hobbled down the steps that led from the veranda and across the cherry-tree lawn to meet the horse and rider.

“What on earth happened to you two?” Hester said as she took Blaze’s reins. Issie dismounted and promptly flopped down, lying spread-eagled on the cool, green lawn next to her horse. She was completely exhausted. Blaze, who was caked with dried sweat and mud from her marathon galloping efforts, looked even more wretched than her rider.

“We got into a bit of trouble – well, two bits of trouble actually,” Issie said.

“I can see that!” Aunt Hester said. “Isadora, how did you end up in this state? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Aunty Hess. Honest. I just need a minute to get back up…” Issie took a deep breath and forced herself to stand up again, reaching out to take Blaze’s reins. Aunt Hester reluctantly handed them to her.

“Her stable is all ready for her. Aidan mucked it out this morning. I’ll come with you and help you untack. And on the way you’re going to tell me what in the blazes you two have been getting up to out there!”

As they walked slowly down the driveway to the stables Issie told her aunt about the animal in the woods that had stalked them along the ridge track.

“So you didn’t see this creature at all?” Hester asked. “Not even a glimpse?”

“It was too dark in the trees and we were moving so fast that I couldn’t see,” Issie said. “All I know is that it was big. Really big. It could keep up with Blaze even when she was galloping.”

“Could it have been one of the dogs? Did they follow you out?” Aunt Hester asked.

“It was far too big to be Taxi or Strudel,” Issie said, “but I suppose it could have been Nanook.” The enormous black Newfoundland was large enough to have made the crashing noises she had heard.

“Oh, I doubt it. Nanook never goes for a walk without me. She’s bone idle and as slow as a wet week.” Hester dismissed the idea. Then she paused for a moment. “Could it, well, could it have been a cat?”

Issie looked at her aunt. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, I don’t mean like a common moggy, dear,” Aunt Hester said. “No. I mean a big cat, a mountain cat. There’s a myth in these parts, you know, about a black cat that lives wild in the hills. They say it escaped from a zoo, and I suppose it’s possible since there was once a wildlife park not far from here. They had antelope and lions and all sorts. When the wildlife park closed down all the animals were shipped off, but this particular black cat escaped and they never found it again. I’ve always thought the whole story sounded rather ridiculous. You hear a lot of tall tales about that sort of thing when you live out this way. Still, people do believe the myth. The Grimalkin they call him. The witch’s cat. Although I can’t imagine that even a witch would be too pleased if she came across an enormous great panther! Old Bill Stokes who lives down on the Coast Road farm claims he saw it one night. He said a great black cat the size of a bear came out of the undergrowth and attacked one of his sheep, dragged it off right in front of his eyes. Of course they never found any sign of the sheep – and old Bill Stokes does like a drink so his accounts cannot always be relied upon…”