She pulled Mystic around hard in front of Toby and waved an arm at him, spooking the big bay and directing him back down the gravel drive, back towards the pony club.
If she could get Toby to lead the way, maybe the others would follow. It was their only chance. Two cars had already nearly hit them. How long could their luck last?
Suddenly the deep low boom of a truck horn sounded off behind her. Issie heard the sickening squeal of tyres and smelt burning rubber. As the truck rounded the corner towards her, everything suddenly seemed to go into slow motion.
To Issie it seemed as if Mystic was turning to face the truck, like two stallions set to fight. The grey horse reared up suddenly, throwing her backwards with such force that she flew clear of the oncoming traffic, landing hard on the shoulder of the road. There was a sickening crack as her riding helmet met with tarmac, the peak splintering as it took the full force of the blow.
Groggy from the fall, Issie tried to stand up, to move, but her vision blurred and she could taste blood in her mouth. In the distance came the screech of tyres again and then the most hideous sound she had ever heard, the sound of a horse screaming. Through the sirens and the traffic noise she could make out a voice calling out her name, and then everything faded to black.
Issie could hear hoofbeats. In the pitch black she saw the blurry grey shape of a horse galloping towards her. Just out of her reach, the horse reared to a stop. His nostrils flared, and he pawed the ground impatiently, flicking his head and nickering to her. Then, as suddenly as he had come, he wheeled around and galloped away again. Mystic? It had to be. Issie tried to yell out to him but she couldn’t speak. What was happening to her?
“I think she’s coming round,” a voice broke through the blackness.
Then another voice, softer, calling her, “Isadora. Isadora. Wake up.”
And there she was, lying between the cool white sheets of a hospital bed, looking up into her mother’s eyes.
“My God, Isadora! You gave me such a scare.” Mrs Brown had tears in her eyes as she hugged her daughter tightly. The embrace was so strong, Issie found it hard to breathe and had to gasp for air. As she took a deep breath her chest ached and she let out a squeal of pain.
“Do your ribs hurt?” A woman in a white coat was leaning over her. Issie nodded yes.
“Isadora, my name is Doctor Stone,” the woman said. “I don’t think your ribs are broken. I suspect it’s just bruising. We’ll be sending you down to x-ray shortly to check. But first I need to ask you a few questions, just to check that you’re OK. You had a bad fall and you may be suffering from concussion.” The doctor held up her hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Three,” said Issie. She was surprised at how wobbly her voice was. “And what day is it?” Doctor Stone asked as she checked Issie’s eyes with a little torch light. “Umm…Saturday?”
“Excellent.” The doctor was making notes on her chart now as she talked. “How old are you, Isadora?”
“Twelve,” Issie had to think for a moment, “but I’ll be thirteen soon.”
Doctor Stone gave her young patient a concerned look. “Now, I want you to think carefully, Isadora. I want you to try to remember the last thing that happened to you. Do you know why you’re here?”
Issie shut her eyes and tried to think. What had happened to her? She remembered the sound of a truck horn, and the way Mystic had reared up, as if to protect her from the huge steel vehicle that was bearing down on them. Then nothing, nothing but the tarmac rushing up to meet her, that inhuman scream and then the blackness.
“Where is Mystic?” Issie felt a wave of panic sweep over her. “Mum, is Mystic OK?”
Her chest ached sharply as she tried to sit up. “Isadora, please try and stay still until we can get those ribs x-rayed,” Doctor Stone said firmly. She turned to Mrs Brown. “I don’t think we’ll need to keep her in overnight. If the x-ray comes out OK, she can be discharged this evening.”
“But what about my horse?” Issie was cold with horror as she spoke. Her mum kept ignoring her questions about Mystic. Something was wrong. Mrs Brown had turned her head away from her now. At first she couldn’t speak. Finally, she faced her daughter and took her hand. Her words came softly but in Issie’s ears they were like crashes of thunder.
“Isadora, there was nothing anyone could have done. The truck…” Her mother’s voice trailed off for a moment. “…Isadora, Mystic is dead.”
“No!” Issie felt hot tears running down her cheeks. She was shaking, gasping once more for breath. “No!”
“I’m sorry, honey.” Her mother was still clutching her hand, and she was crying too. “Stella saw it all from the side of the road. You and Mystic saved the other horses, you know. If you hadn’t gone after them and herded them back up the driveway, who knows what would have happened. But then the truck came…” Mrs Brown stroked away her daughter’s tears. “You know, I think Mystic was trying to save you too. When he reared up and threw you clear of the truck, it saved your life. So it wasn’t just the other horses he saved. He saved you.”
“Isadora,” the doctor interrupted, “I’m just going to give you a sedative. It’ll take away the pain and let you relax for a while.”
Issie nodded vacantly. She didn’t really hear what the doctor was saying, and she could no longer feel the pain in her ribs. Instead, it was her heart that ached. An ache that consumed her entire soul. Mystic was dead.
Issie barely even noticed the sting of the injection that Doctor Stone gave her, but she began to feel its effects almost immediately. She felt woozy, and her muscles went limp. Through half-closed eyes she could see her mother sitting beside the bed holding her hand, then she drifted off, back into darkness, back into black sleep.
Her mother was still sitting by the bed two hours later when she opened her eyes again.
“How are you feeling, honey?” Mrs Brown ran her hand softly over her daughter’s forehead, smoothing back her dark hair. Issie’s complexion, usually a light olive colour just like her mum’s, was so drained and pale she was almost the same colour as the hospital sheets.
“I’ve telephoned your dad,” Mrs Brown told her, still stroking her hair as she spoke. “He said he would fly up to see you, but I told him it would be OK, that you were likely to be going home tonight. Still, he was very worried about you.”
“Sure he was,” Issie said. Since her mum and dad divorced three years ago it seemed like she hardly even existed. Her father had remarried and had a whole new family in another city now and it had been months since she saw him last. What made her mum think that just because she’d been in an accident he would come running?
“Anyway, he sent you these.” Mrs Brown lifted up a pot of yellow chrysanthemums and plonked them down on the table by Issie’s bed.
“Issie,” Mrs Brown took her daughter’s hand, “when you’re ready to talk about what happened to Mystic…”
“Mum, I don’t want to. Not yet…” Issie was
