Storm and the Silver Bridle. Stacy Gregg
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darkness, a dapple-grey horse stepped forward to meet her.
“Mystic!”
The bad dream had left Issie so shaken-up that the sight of her pony actually standing right there in front of her made her instantly burst into tears once more. She wiped her cheeks roughly with her sweatshirt sleeve. She had to pull herself together.
“Hey boy,” she murmured. She put out her hand to touch her beloved pony and for a brief moment she wondered if Mystic would disappear again, nothing more than a misty shadow in the rain. Then she felt her fingers close around the coarse, ropey strands of Mystic’s long, silver mane, and her hands touched the soft warmth of his dappled coat.
“Hey, Mystic, did you miss me?” Issie smiled. She was so desperately pleased to see her pony, yet his presence sent a chill through her heart. Issie realised immediately that if Mystic was here, then something was wrong. Very wrong.
The grey gelding seemed tense and anxious. He turned away from the house and began to trot back down the lawn towards the far end of the garden. Issie had seen him do this before and she knew exactly what he wanted her to do. Pulling on her boots, she followed him in the darkness, heading for the gate at the end that led to the street. Issie swung the gate open, taking hold of the pony by his mane so that he stood parallel to it. Then she climbed the wooden gate to the third rung and, without a second thought about what she was doing, leapt on to the grey pony’s back.
Issie took a moment to get her balance, then tapped the pony lightly with her heels. He responded instantly, moving off at a brisk trot. As soon as they reached the grass verge of the road, Issie urged Mystic on from a trot into a loping canter. She had no saddle and the canter was less bouncy and easier to ride bareback. Issie had no reins either, but it didn’t matter. She could have guided Mystic with her legs, but she knew better than to try and steer the pony. After all, Mystic had come to her with a warning and that meant he knew exactly where he was going. All Issie needed to do was wrap her hands into his long mane and hang on.
She gripped his mane tightly and bent down low over his neck as the rain began to fall harder. She realised she had been stupid to race out in weather like this, without changing into her jodhpurs and raincoat. Already she was chilled to the bone as the wind whipped her icy skin and the rain soaked her pyjamas. It was too late to worry about that now, though. Beneath her, Mystic’s canter was almost hypnotic, rhythmic and steady, as his hooves pounded a tempo on the grass verge. There was no turning back.
Issie still had no idea where they were going. It wasn’t until they had been riding for almost ten minutes when she saw tall rows of poplar trees rising up in front of them and realised they had reached the banks of the river. As Mystic turned along the esplanade she guessed they were heading towards Winterflood Farm. She felt a chill up her spine. Nightstorm was at Winterflood Farm. This couldn’t be a coincidence—the arrival of Francoise D’arth and now Mystic? No. It was clear that all of this had something to do with the bay colt.
Beneath her, Mystic’s strides lengthened as he reached the wide grass strip that ran along the banks of the river. They had ridden this path once before in the dark and Issie had trusted Mystic then to get her there, just as she did now. Instead of trying to slow the grey pony down, she leant down low over Mystic’s neck and let him gallop. If Nightstorm really was in danger then they had to move fast. There wasn’t a moment to lose.
Minutes later, the clatter of Mystic’s hooves on the gravel driveway announced their arrival at Winterflood Farm. As Mystic slowed to a trot, Issie vaulted off his back and hit the ground running. She sprinted around the side of Avery’s house, taking the short cut past the tack room and out the back of the house. She had put Nightstorm in the magnolia paddock when they came back from pony club. Her eyes flitted across the paddock now. She couldn’t see the colt anywhere.
“Storm?” Issie’s voice was trembling as she called out to the colt. “Storm?”
She fought her rising panic, took a deep breath, pursed her lips and blew. Once, and then a second time. Storm always came when she whistled.
Issie strained her eyes in the darkness, looking for the colt. She couldn’t see a thing. She tried shouting out his name again.
This time, the lights in the house went on and a few moments later Tom Avery emerged from the back door.
“Issie? I thought I heard you…” Avery was half asleep on the back porch of the cottage, tying his dressing gown and rubbing his eyes. “What on earth are you doing? It’s the middle of the night!”
“Tom?” Issie said. “Where’s Nightstorm? He’s not in his paddock.”
Avery shook his head.
“The weather report was for thunderstorms so I moved him inside. He’s in the stables…”
Before Avery had finished speaking Issie was already moving, running hard towards the stables. Avery shouted something else after her, but she couldn’t make out what he said. All she could hear was the rush of her own heartbeat, pounding in her ears.
When she reached the stables, she realised that Avery must have gone back inside to switch on the mains for the stable lights because they suddenly flickered to life above her head. There were three loose boxes in Avery’s stables. The two at the far end were open and empty, but the one closest to the entrance was bolted shut. This was the stall that Avery usually kept Storm in, and Issie raced towards it now. With trembling fingers, she tried to open the door and was driven into a frenzy of frustration when she found that her hands were so numb from the cold it was impossible to work the bolt loose.
“Here!” A voice said. “It gets stuck sometimes. Better let me do it.” Avery was standing behind her. He was dressed in his boots and an oilskin, which he must have stopped to pull on before following her, and Issie suddenly realised how mad she must look in comparison, standing here in her soaking-wet pyjamas and sweatshirt in the middle of the night. She stood aside and let Avery step forward to work the bolt loose and swing the stall door open.
When Avery opened the door Issie felt stunned disbelief. She had been expecting to find her colt injured or sick, but instead she was staring at an empty stall.
“I don’t understand!” Avery said. “I locked him in myself!”
Maybe I’m still asleep, Issie thought, maybe this isn’t real It’s all part of the dream. She wished it were true, but the prickle of the goosebumps on her freezing skin told her otherwise. She was wide awake and she understood now why Mystic had come to her tonight. She had dreamt that she was losing her horse, the most precious thing in the world. Now, in a sickening rush, she realised the nightmare was real. Once again, she had lost the thing that was most precious to her. She was too late. Nightstorm was gone.
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