Destiny and Stardust (5 page)

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.

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…”

“Well, whatever it was, Blaze was terrified of it,” Issie said.

“I haven't heard any reports of lost stock or anything unusual lately,” Hester mused. “I think the best thing we can do is to let Cameron know about it. He's the local ranger with the Blackthorn Hills Conservation Trust. He's coming out to see me tomorrow and this is exactly the sort of thing he deals with. If there's a wild beastie in the woods he'll soon see to it.”

“Do you think he'll believe me?” Issie said.

“Why?” her Aunt said briskly. “Do you often go making up stories about being stalked by phantom creatures and coming home covered in mud? Of course he'll believe you! He's a good man, Cameron. If there's something out there he'll find it.”

They had reached the stables now and Issie undid the girth and slipped off Blaze's saddle while Aunt Hester hobbled across the stable to fetch the mare some hard feed. Issie took Blaze out to the rear of the stables and hosed her down in the wash bay to get rid of the sweat and dirt, using a sweat scraper to dry the mare off before letting her loose in the stall. Hester gave Blaze the tub full of chaff and pony nuts and they stood there together watching as she ate.

“Now,” Hester said, “you said you had two bits of trouble? What else did you find out there?” Issie told her about the herd of horses she had seen down at Lake Deepwater.

“Now this is a mystery that I can solve,” Hester said brightly. “Those are Blackthorn Ponies you're talking about. I'm surprised you've never heard of them before.”

“Blackthorn Ponies?” Issie said.

“A breed unique to this area. There's been a herd roaming the high country here for over twenty years,” Hester said. “They're wild horses, descendants of a few local riding ponies that got loose and then refused to be caught again. The herd has survived somehow over the years; they are very hardy little specimens I must say. There must be at least twenty of them by now?”

“Closer to thirty, I think,” Issie said. “Aunty Hess, there was a stallion with them. He was at least sixteen hands, much taller than the rest of them, and jet black.”

“Really?” Hester looked interested at this. “No, I don't recall a stallion, but then I haven't seen the herd in quite some time.”

“It was the stallion that attacked us – me and Blaze,” Issie continued. “It was my fault. He was so beautiful and I was so busy watching him, I didn't think. Then when I realised we were in danger and we needed to run it was too late. He was going crazy trying to protect his herd. We had to swim the lake to get away.”

“Ah, so that's where all the mud has come from!” Hester nodded. “Well, you were lucky, my dear. A stallion can be as ferocious as a tiger when he thinks he's protecting his herd. If it actually was his herd. You say this horse didn't look like the others?”

“Well, there were two foals – the black one looked just like him. But none of the others… There was something about him, Aunty Hess. He was so handsome, he reminded me of that painting on my bedroom wall.”

Aunt Hester raised an eyebrow at this. “Avignon? He reminded you of my darling Avignon? Well, I suppose anything is possible. Avignon was a great jumper, you know. Fences could never hold him and he frequently made his escape into the hills. I suppose on one of his great adventures he might have found the wild herd and bred with one of the Blackthorn mares.” Hester smiled. “Wouldn't that be a treat? If my great grey stallion had sired a son – and a few grandsons by the sound of it – and now they're running about the countryside following in his footsteps. You say the little black foal looked just like him?”

“Uh-huh.” Issie nodded.

“Well, this is very exciting news!” Aunt Hester said. Her smile suddenly faded. “Oh no. I've left lunch in the oven! It will be burnt to a crisp by now – if it hasn't set fire to the kitchen!” She turned towards the stable door and began to hop off briskly with her walking stick.

“Aunty Hess, don't be ridiculous. You can't run in a plaster cast. I'll dash back and turn off the oven,” Issie said.

“If it's burnt on the outside don't throw it away. Just cut the black bits off. That's what I usually do,” Aunt Hester called after her as Issie ran out of the stable doors.

When she arrived at the house Issie found what looked like the remains of a cottage pie burnt to a crisp on the top and promptly put it in the pig's bin before Aunt Hester could try to salvage it.

Issie stood there for a moment and stared at the charred remains on top of the bucket of pig slops.
Another narrow escape in my first day at Blackthorn Farm.
She smiled to herself. Avoiding Aunt Hester's cooking efforts was one thing, but wild stallions and black panthers were another matter entirely. Issie knew they had been lucky to escape with their lives today.

When Issie checked in on her horse at the stables later that afternoon Blaze seemed none the worse for wear after her adventures. She fed Blaze her chaff and pony nuts for dinner and hung up a hay net for the mare to munch through overnight. Then she checked on the other horses in their stalls.

Issie was adjusting Diablo's stable rug when she heard a noise behind her. “Miaow!” The sound made her jump and she turned around to see Aidan leaning over the stable door, smiling at her.

“Ohmygod, Aidan! You scared me!”

Aidan pushed his long dark hair back out of his eyes. “It wasn't me – it was the Grimalkin, the witch's cat of Blackthorn Ridge!” He grinned at her.

Issie threw a sponge out of Diablo's grooming kit at the stall door and Aidan ducked as it flew past his ear.

“I'm not imagining it, Aidan. I was chased by something today in the woods. I'm not saying it was some imaginary cat. I don't know what it was, but it followed me and Blaze and it was fast and it was huge.” Issie stood her ground.

“Hey,” Aidan raised both his palms up as if surrendering the conversation to her, “I believe you. There's a big kitty out there who wants a saucer of milk and a pony.”

“Aidan!”

“No, seriously, Issie, I do believe you. The horses have all been very spooky lately and last week we lost two chickens from the henhouse. I thought it was probably a stoat, but maybe it was whatever was chasing you and Blaze.” Aidan cast his eyes over Diablo. The piebald was shifting restlessly in his stall. “Horses can sense things, you know,” Aidan said quietly. “They know when there's trouble about.”

“So can pigs,” Issie added.

“What?” Aidan said.

“Well, I hear that Butch doesn't like you much, so I guess he knows trouble when he sees it too.” Issie grinned.

“Yes,” said Aidan, “yes, I guess he does.”

After she'd helped Aidan feed all the horses and lock the stalls for the night, Issie took the leftover scraps of burnt lunch, potato peelings and last night's supper and went to visit Butch.

“Don't worry, Butch, it's just me. Aidan isn't here,” she reassured the big, black pig. Then she tipped the scraps into his trough and, while he ate, gave him a firm scratch behind the ears with his favourite scratching stick.

Once Butch was fed she headed down past the stables to the cattle pens where Blossom and Meadow were kept. Blossom looked at Issie gratefully with her scary yellow goat eyes as she filled the feed bin with carrots and apple slices.

Issie pulled a carrot out of her pocket. “Count to five, Blossom!” Issie instructed, holding the carrot over the goat's head just as Aunt Hester had done with Butch the other day. “Count, Blossom!” Issie commanded again.

Blossom looked up, snatched the carrot out of Issie's hand and then carried on eating.

“Ummm, well, I guess I'll start training you properly tomorrow,” Issie said.

In the pen next to Blossom, Meadow, a patchy chestnut and white Hereford calf, was pacing up and down waiting for her supper. She gave Issie a friendly lick with her coarse sandpaper tongue as she entered her pen. Issie had heated a bottle full of milk for the young calf and, as she produced the teat, Meadow suctioned on immediately and began to drink, pushing and nudging at Issie as the bottle began to empty.

“Wow! You have a big appetite for a little cow,” Issie said. Meadow had emptied the bottle now and was sucking on Issie's fingers instead. “Stop it!” she giggled, edging backwards out of Meadow's pen and locking the gate after herself.

Before she left the stables Issie stopped in once more at Blaze's stall to say goodnight. “Sleep tight, Blaze,” she said, patting the mare's velvet-soft nose. Blaze nickered softly in return and Issie gave her one last carrot before she locked the stall doors behind her.