Victory and the All-Stars Academy. Stacy Gregg
rider—but she was also a great instructor.
“What about the dressage and cross-country?” Issie asked.
“Minka Klein will be taking the dressage masterclass. She’s a German dressage rider, but she’s based in Australia and has worked with some of the best riders in the country. She’s very strict, but her methods are very well respected. I’m looking forward to watching her work.”
“Will you be taking us for cross-country?” asked Stella.
“I was planning to,” Avery said, “until we got a better offer. Have you heard of Tara Kelly?”
Issie was wide-eyed. “You’re kidding! You don’t mean the Tara Kelly?”
“Who’s she?” asked Stella.
“She’s this amazing rider!’ Issie enthused. “I used to watch her on TV when I was little. She won the Lexington Three-Day Event on this really cool grey horse called Mighty Mouse.”
Avery smiled. “That was a long time ago, Issie. I’m surprised you remember her.”
“I loved her!” Issie grinned. “She always wore a pale blue jersey and a matching hard hat and she won Lexington, like, three times…”
“Four times,” Avery confirmed.
“Is she still riding?” Kate asked.
Avery shook his head. “She gave up competing and now lives in Lexington, Kentucky, not far from where they hold the three-day event. She’s a riding instructor and teacher at a school called the Blainford Academy.”
“Ohmygod! I’ve heard Mum talk about that place!” Morgan said. “They call it the All-Stars Academy. It’s like this fancy high school where you can take your horse with you—the best riders in the world go there.”
Avery nodded. “It’s just like a regular school, with all the usual subjects—but they teach riding as well. Pupils are invited to bring their own horses with them, which means you see all kinds of breeds and riding styles there. Tara is their Eventing Mistress.”
“So why is she coming to Melbourne?” asked Kate.
“She has some work to do there,” said Avery. “So I convinced her to run the training squads while she’s in town.”
“If we’re her pupils, does that make us New Zealand’s All-Stars?” Stella asked.
“I suppose so,” Avery smiled. “You’re very lucky. Tara Kelly is considered to be one of the best instructors in the world.”
“But what about the horses?” Issie asked. “If we can’t take our own horses with us, won’t we be at a disadvantage?”
“A little,” Avery admitted, “but some of the Australian team will require loan mounts too. There are riders coming from Sydney and Adelaide. Besides, the horses that Havenfields are providing will be solid eventing prospects. It’s usually a bit of a mixed bag when you borrow horses, but you can be certain that these ones will all be talented.
“There’ll be eight horses waiting for you when we arrive in two weeks’ time,” Avery said. “All you have to do is choose one.”
The grey pony was galloping fast, but Issie knew they would never make it in time. Up ahead of her the other horses had already reached the road. There was the sharp honk of a car horn as two cars sped past, one of them only narrowly missing Toby.
For a brief moment Issie thought about stopping, but instead she pressed her pony on, asking him to gallop faster. She had no choice. No one else would be able to reach the horses in time. She would have to ride out on to the road and herd them back towards the pony club, and out of harm’s way, or they would be killed.
“Come on, Mystic!” Issie heard the chime of the grey pony’s shoes beneath her as they hit the tarmac of the main road and she wheeled the grey pony around to confront Toby, blocking his path. She waved her arms at the big bay hack. “Go back!”
If she could convince Toby to turn around and go back towards the pony club then Goldrush and Coco would be bound to follow. But she had to be quick. Two cars had already nearly hit them. How long could their luck last?
Starting at the sight of Issie and Mystic, Toby turned abruptly, leading the other ponies back up the gravel driveway and out of harm’s way. Issie was about to follow when suddenly the deep, low boom of a truck horn sounded off behind her. She heard the sickening squeal of tyres and smelt burning rubber. As the truck rounded the corner, coming towards her, everything seemed to go into slow motion.
Mystic turned to face the truck, like a stallion set to fight. As he did so, the grey horse reared up in the air, unseating Issie. There was a sickening feeling as Issie felt herself thrown backwards out of the saddle and then she was falling, falling…
This time she didn’t hit the ground. You never hit the ground when you fall in your dreams. Instead Issie woke up with a jolt, her heart racing. She looked around her. Where was she? What was going on? She was in bed, but this wasn’t her bedroom. And then she realised. She was at Havenfields.
The house at Havenfields had been cloaked in darkness when they arrived. Exhausted by the flight and the long drive from the airport, the girls had gone straight to bed without even unpacking. Now Issie had woken up from her nightmare, alone and disoriented, in this strange new bedroom.
She gave a shiver and pulled the duvet up around her. The dream had spooked her. Even though Mystic’s accident had happened over two years ago, the wrench of waking up and realising that it was true, and that the grey pony really was gone, still upset Issie as if it were yesterday.
Mystic had been Issie’s first pony and she had loved him more than anything. It hurt so badly when she remembered the events of that horrific day at the pony club.
The last thing she recalled was falling from Mystic’s back as he reared, then the crack of her helmet on the tarmac and the taste of blood in her mouth. The next thing she knew she was waking up in a hospital bed with her mum beside her. Issie would never forget the awful look on her mum’s face when Issie asked, “What about Mystic, Mum? Is Mystic OK?”
Mystic had saved her that day. Issie was sure that he had thrown her clear of the truck and taken the blow to save her life. How could she forget what had happened and move on? It hurt so much when he died, she told herself she would never love another horse and that she would never ride again.
Then Tom Avery brought Blaze to her. Poor, broken, abused Blaze. Together, the girl and the horse had helped each other to heal and Issie had found the strength in her heart to love again and ride again.
Through it all though, she never let go of her love for Mystic. Issie had always known that her pony was special—but Mystic was much more special than anyone could have realised. He was like a guardian angel for Issie—and for Blaze. After the accident at the pony club, the grey gelding came back to Issie. The bond they shared couldn’t be broken and whenever she really needed him, Mystic would turn up. Not as a ghost, but real and ready to help. Mystic had a sixth sense for danger. He had saved Issie’s life so many times, she had lost count.
Now here she was, thousands of kilometres from home, in a strange bed, dreaming of him once again. Issie looked out the window. In the past, a dream like this was a portent, a signal that Mystic would be outside waiting for her, ready for an adventure. Was he waiting for her now? Would it really be so strange if he had followed her here to Australia? After all, he had turned up in Spain when Issie had needed his help to rescue Blaze’s foal, Storm.
There was no sign of Mystic when she peered outside though, and Issie somehow knew that her pony wouldn’t be coming this time. Things had been different lately. She had been dreaming about Mystic a lot—always the same dream—and yet the grey pony was