Blaze and the Dark Rider (20 page)

“No way!” Stella said. “I like going first. Last is way too much pressure!” She smiled at Issie. “You just had some bad luck in the flag race. The bending relay will be different.”

“I hope so,” Issie said ruefully.

If the butterflies in her stomach had been churning before, now they had formed a tight, fluttery knot that seemed to be making it impossible to breathe. Issie felt her hands clammy and damp on the reins. She wiped them on her jodhpurs. The team was lining up now for the bending relay. The final event of the day. If Chevalier Point won this, they would take the shield home. If they lost, Marsh Fields would be taking it home again for the third time in a row.

Behind the starting line, Tom Avery lined his riders up, working his way along the queue with last-minute advice for each of them. When he saw the look on Issie’s face his smile faded. “Something up?” he asked.

“I don’t think I can do it, Tom. I think Stella should go last,” Issie ventured.

“Coco and Stella are quick,” Avery said. “But Blaze is the fastest horse on the team.”

“But if we lose the bending relay, we lose the shield,” Issie protested.

Avery smiled. “Isadora, you need to start having a
little faith in your horse—and in yourself.”

He leaned in closer and whispered to her now, “You are one of the most talented riders I’ve ever taught, Issie. Don’t let fear make you underestimate your abilities. You don’t even know your true potential. But I do. I can see the rider that you will become…” Avery paused “…Anyway, I don’t think your mysterious benefactor would be very pleased to find out that he moved heaven and earth to get your horse back, only to have you lose your nerve over a silly bending game.”

Issie looked at Tom. Her benefactor? What did he mean? Was it possible that Blaze’s return had something to do with Tom Avery?

She wanted to ask him more, but there wasn’t time. Not now. The relay was about to start. Stella and Coco were already lining up at the start line.

“Issie?” Avery was standing there still, waiting for her answer. “Are you ready to do this?”

Issie nodded. “I’m ready,” she said. And she gathered up Blaze’s reins and took her place at the back of the lineup.

“On your marks…get set…GO!”

At the starter’s gun the first row of horses and riders
catapulted forward like racehorses from a gate and began weaving between the bending poles. Stella and Coco started well, but so did the rider from Marsh Fields—a girl on a rose-coloured roan, who whipped through the poles like wildfire.

By the time Stella reached the line and handed the baton to Kate, Marsh Fields were already ahead by a length.

“Go, Kate!” Dan, Ben and Natasha were yelling as Kate set off winding Toby through the poles.

Issie was at the back of the group, circling Blaze to keep her calm. The mare was so excited about the race she couldn’t stay still. “Steady, girl, steady now,” Issie soothed as Blaze danced beneath her. She was flicking her head trying to loosen Issie’s grip on the reins. There was already a froth of white sweat on her neck and her nostrils were flared wide as she breathed hard. Issie held on as Blaze suddenly spooked, shied to one side and let out a low snort.

“Are you OK?” Ben asked as he watched Issie trying to control the Arab mare.

“Yeah,” Issie said uncertainly, “Blaze is just a little nervous.”

“Go, Dan!” Kate shouted as she charged back across the line. Toby had done well on the bending race, but he wasn’t as fast as the Marsh Fields team who were now two lengths ahead.

“Go, Dan, go!” the team screamed as Kismit tore through the bending poles. At the last pole the flea-bitten grey made a tight turn, gaining a little on the Marsh Fields rider. By the time Dan crossed the line and passed the baton to Ben they were only one length behind.

Ben kept up the pace when it was his turn, riding like a speed demon. But so did the Marsh Fields rider, a boy on a brown mare. Not only that, Issie could see the Westhaven rider gaining on them too.

“Natasha!” Ben yelled as he thrust the baton into her hand. Natasha paused for a moment as she fumbled to get the baton out of Ben’s fingers and then she clucked Goldrush on into a fast canter and set off through the poles.

Issie was up next. On the starting line now she tried to calm Blaze down. But the mare refused to stay still, dancing and snorting underneath her. “Easy, girl, it’s OK,” Issie cooed. She kept a tight grip on the reins
as Blaze fought for her head. She wanted to go, but if she broke across the line too soon, the team would be disqualified. Issie had to hang on and try to keep her calm.

“Go, Natasha!” Ben and Dan were screaming now. The palomino rounded the last bending pole and headed back, weaving in and out of the upright plastic rods.

Issie was forced to turn Blaze so that her hindquarters were facing the start line to distract the mare and calm her down. “Wait, girl. Waiiitt…”

Issie spun Blaze around to face the poles just as Natasha raced over the line to hand her the baton. Issie reached her hand out. She felt the smooth wood of the baton with her fingers. It was almost in her hand when suddenly Blaze reared up. The chestnut mare went up on her hind legs, her front legs thrashing wildly in the air.

As Blaze reared over her Natasha squealed in fear and nearly dropped the baton.

“Blaze!” Issie shouted. She could feel herself slipping back in the saddle as Blaze went up, but she fought to hold on, gripping hard with her legs and grasping
desperately at Blaze’s mane with one hand. With the other hand she reached out in midair and made one last snatch at the baton.

Natasha, who was cringing away from Blaze’s hooves, managed to keep her arm sticking out far enough for Issie to wrap her fingers around the wooden bar.

Issie felt her fingers close around the smooth wood. She had it!

Blaze brought her front legs down, and as soon she hit the ground Issie kicked her on towards the poles. “Go, Blaze!” she shouted at her horse, “Go!”

Issie looked to her right where the rider from Marsh Fields, a girl on a jet black gelding, was a full length ahead of her. The rider from Westhaven was right beside her too. If Issie wanted to win she had no choice but to ride as hard as she had ever done in her life.

Lying low over Blaze’s neck, she kept a tight grip on the reins to guide her horse and urged her on with her legs and hands. “Let’s go, Blaze!” she whispered hoarsely. Her heart pounded in her ears as she looked ahead down the row of poles. No more mistakes now. She couldn’t afford to make any after a start like that.

Issie hung on and tried to get her horse into a rhythm as they slalomed down through the poles.

When they hit the final pole Blaze pivoted the turn at a gallop and as Issie leant over to try and keep her balance she thought that both of them might lean too far and fall. But Blaze kept her footing and the tight turn gained them some ground. As they wove back through the poles there was less than half a length between Issie and the Marsh Fields rider. Then Blaze inched forward and they were running next to each other. Blaze gave a snort of defiance as she eyed up the black gelding next to her and Issie felt the mare beneath her give a burst of speed.

The finish was ahead of them now—just one more pole to go. Issie leant low and hung on as Blaze gave a final surge and galloped across the line. She was almost half a length ahead of the black gelding. They had won.

When Issie thought back afterwards, it was hard to pick her favourite moment that day. There was the excitement of crossing the line with her team mates
screaming and whooping so loud she had wanted to let go of the reins to cover her ears. Then they all stood there and watched with enormous grins on their faces as the scorekeeper wrote up the final tally on the board. Marsh Fields eleven points…Chevalier Point twelve!

The best of all though, she decided, was when she and Blaze stood before the judges with the rest of their team and had their red sashes tied on. Then Issie took the shield in her hands and rode out in front as the whole team did the lap of honour, cantering around the field with their red ribbons flapping around their ponies’ necks.

There were more awards too at the pony-club rally the following weekend when the six riders came forward to accept their certificates in front of all the other Chevalier Point riders. The shield was presented to them again—this time with their names engraved on their own miniature gold shield.

“It will hang in our clubroom for the rest of the year,” Avery had told them. “And the year after that too, I hope.” He smiled at them. “Now that we have it back, I have no plans to let Marsh Fields or anyone else win it from us again.”

Issie, Kate and Stella spent a long time at the clubroom that evening after the other riders had gone home, looking at the shield and re-enacting the moment when they had won.

“And what about when Blaze reared up?” Stella said. “Honestly, I never thought we would win at that point. I thought Natasha was going to drop the baton for sure.”

“I thought she was going to hit Issie with the baton when I saw the look on her face,” laughed Kate. “It’s just as well you won, Issie—Natasha would never have forgiven you otherwise.”

Issie smiled. “I can’t believe it’s all over,” she said.

“Over? Hardly,” Stella replied. “The Interclub Gold Shield might be over but the summer holidays have only just started. School is finally out and we can ride every day now. I can’t wait.”

Issie couldn’t wait either. Especially now that she finally had a horse of her own to ride. “You’re really mine now, Blaze. No one can take you away from me again,” she told the mare as she let her loose in the paddock that evening.

The chestnut Arab nickered back her approval, and then she nudged Issie once more with her nose in the hope of maybe getting one last carrot.

“Sorry, girl,” Issie giggled, “they’re all gone. You ate the last one.”

With this news, Blaze set off at a high-stepping trot, and Issie began to walk back in the other direction towards her mother who was waiting for her in the car.

“All right, then?” her mum asked as Issie got in.

“Yep,” Issie beamed.