Finding wonder, p.15
Finding Wonder, page 15
‘I mean Rhianna Cooper’s Wonder Boy,’ she admitted.
Calli said enviously: ‘Are you friends with Rhianna?’
‘I’ve met her a couple of times, but we’re not close or anything,’ was Roo’s awkward response.
‘No offence, but if you hardly know her, why would she let you ride her champion horse?’
Calli’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Unless … Was it something to do with your dad? I heard he passed away in January. I’m so sorry.’
Roo fought back sudden tears. Calli’s unthinking words were like salt in a raw wound. She missed her dad and mum every day.
After a pause, Calli pressed: ‘Did one of those Make-A-Wish charities help you meet Wonder?’
‘Sort of.’
It had been weeks since Roo had felt the pain that the girl’s casual remarks inflicted. She clammed up. Not for anything would she relate one detail of her Wonder Boy encounter.
They rode on in silence.
‘Funny about Wonder being stolen, isn’t it?’ remarked Calli, adding hastily: ‘Not funny ha ha. Just a bit too convenient, don’t you think?’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Roo, ready to defend Rhianna if necessary.
‘So, Rhianna and her family live in a mansion and have all of these gold-plated horses. Yet a friend of Mum’s, who knows Rhianna’s mother, went to a restaurant with them. When the bill came, Mr Cooper’s credit card was declined.’
Roo tried not to dwell on the many times that ATMs had spat out her own father’s card.
‘Stop gossiping and look at the tor!’ shouted Cormac.
Roo swung in her saddle. The tor was gone, as if an illusionist had vanished it the way David Copperfield once magicked away the Statue of Liberty.
The change in the Cutters was night and day. They moved their horses alongside Roo and Drifter, flanking them so closely that their stirrups kept clinking.
Roo was touched by their concern. ‘Thanks, guys, but I’m fine. It’s only mist.’
‘Have you any clue how many people have perished mistaking Dartmoor fog for mist?’ scolded Calli. ‘If it’s a proper pea-souper, it’s impossible to tell up from down. Stick close to us and we’ll get you home safe.’
‘Roo, if we get separated, find the road and follow it south,’ instructed Cormac. ‘It goes directly to our farm. If you go north by mistake, worst-case scenario, you’ll end up at the Reids’ farm. They’ll take care of you till Mum can pick you up.’
‘What about the cows?’ asked Roo as the Cutters spurred their horses past them. The temperature had plunged, and she pulled the hood of her jacket up over her riding helmet.
‘Forget the cows,’ Cormac said shortly. ‘Unless they stumble into a bog, they’ll live. If we get lost on these moors, we might not.’
Roo thought he was being a touch melodramatic. According to Calli, they were barely fifteen minutes from home.
But as he spoke, a tentacle of mist swirled in out of nowhere. It encircled him like a lasso, before moving on to his sister and Roo.
More tentacles followed, rising from the bracken like swamp creatures. They swallowed the horses and sent exploratory tendrils upwards. A dense foggy dampness filled Roo’s lungs, making her cough.
She had a flashback to the battlefield scene on the film set, with its machine-generated fog. Under controlled circumstances on a country estate, with Skylar watching and cameras filming every move, Magician had disappeared off the face of the earth.
How much greater was the risk in a real fog on these wild moors?
But she was anxious rather than afraid. The Cutter kids seemed unfazed by the fog. They were following a road and routine they’d known all their lives.
Too late, a squeal of tyres alerted them to disaster. An electric car zoomed out of the mist and almost hit them, skidding to a crooked stop.
Utterly unprepared, the riders were almost hurled from their terrified horses. Rebel reared. Honey bucked so high that Calli ended up halfway down her neck.
Drifter recovered quickest. Roo barely moved in the saddle. She felt quite proud that two Dartmoor newbies had coped best.
‘I’M SOOO SORRY!’ said the driver, projecting her voice through a crack in the window of her Mini Countryman while her companion restrained a hysterical Yorkshire terrier. ‘Are you and your horses okay? It’s impossible to see a thing out here.’
‘You might want to try switching on your fog lights,’ was Cormac’s caustic advice as he struggled to control Rebel. ‘Fog lights. F-O-O-G LIGHTS.’
The woman pressed her ear to the gap. ‘Apologies, it’s difficult to hear. Quiet, Trixie! Are you kids with the endurance race?’
‘Do we look like we’re with the race?’ replied Calli through gritted teeth, adding more politely: ‘No, we’re not. The competitors will probably be held at support points until the fog lifts.’
‘What a nuisance. We’ve been driving in circles for nothing. Any chance you could point us in the direction of Chagford? Our phones are out of charge.’
‘MAKE A U-TURN AND TURN LEFT AT THE T-JUNCTION,’ instructed Cormac, raising his voice above the dog’s yammering.
‘WHAT NOW? QUIET, TRIXIE! I NEED TO GO WHERE?’
She opened the window wider. The terrier shot through the gap like a furry missile, Yoda ears flying. It launched itself at Drifter at the exact moment that the driver, clambering out, pressed the car horn in error.
The horses scattered in three directions.
To Roo’s horror, the naughty terrier came after Drifter, spooking her into the mist. Now it was Roo’s turn to try to stay aboard as Drifter bucked and plunged.
A whistle pierced the gloom. The car purred away soon afterwards.
With the yapping dog gone, Roo had no trouble reining in Drifter. The mare was the best-schooled horse she’d ever ridden, and that included Wonder. Still, her small hands trembled on the reins. She took her time settling the horse before looking around.
The world had turned white.
Roo could no longer see the Cutters.
‘Calli! Cormac!’
‘ROO! Over here!’
Roo rode in the direction of their calls.
They kept shouting but, weirdly, their voices grew more and more muffled. Soon she couldn’t hear them at all.
She was beginning to panic when she found the road. Drifter was insistent that they should go in the opposite direction, across the moors, but Roo soon set her straight.
‘Cormac said if we stick to the road, we’ll get to Bellwether Farm. Worst-case scenario, we’ll find their friends’ house.’
It entered her head that the Cutter boy had mentioned a T-junction. Surely that meant that while one road ran north to south, another ran east to west. What if they’d found that one by mistake? Where did it lead?
To Roo’s alarm, Drifter began to plunge and yank at the bit as if something larger than a terrier lurked in the mist. Something like a puma.
‘Easy, girl, what’s upsetting you?’ Roo steeled herself to look over her shoulder and nearly fainted.
A black SUV with blacked-out windows was creeping along behind them, its engine almost soundless.
Roo was scared but also relieved. At least she was no longer alone. Talking to a stranger on a misty moor was not ideal, but Roo felt safely out of reach, high up on Drifter.
If the driver was a local, she could ask directions. If the stranger turned out to be a weirdo, she and Drifter could take off across the moors. Fat chance they’d have of catching Roo’s Quarter Horse. In this fog, she and Drifter wouldn’t need to go far to be out of sight.
Whoever was at the wheel was invisible behind blackout windows. Roo was about to flag them down when she noticed that the car’s number plate had been concealed with tape.
Roo could think of no good reason why any honest driver would want to conceal their number plate.
She urged Drifter into a rapid trot, overtaking the vehicle and leaving it in her wake. If the driver’s intentions were honourable, they would keep their distance and leave her alone.
Before she could relax, the SUV zoomed past her and stopped again, its lights fuzzy in the fog.
Roo was disturbed. What was it doing?
Drifter skewed to a halt. Roo yearned to yell for Cormac and Calli, but instinct told her to stay silent. Icy fingers of dread crawled down her spine.
The mare stood unmoving, her eyes on stalks.
Unsure what to do next, Roo sat deeper in the saddle and tried subtly to get Drifter to trot on. Her heart clattered in her chest.
The back of the SUV hissed open. Roo cried out in fright.
Two immense dark-grey wolfhounds, eyes shining red in the glow of the brake lights, were poised to pounce.
At some unheard command, they jumped out. Crouching low, they began herding Drifter along the tarmac like sheepdogs.
Before Roo could blink, the Quarter Horse was facing the other way.
She stifled a scream. A horsebox was parked on the road, mist swirling like dragon’s breath around its crimson lights. The lowered ramp was a hungry maw, trying to lure them in.
The wolfhounds drove the roan towards it, snapping at her heels.
Roo felt almost incredulous as it hit her that the thieves she’d sought for a month had somehow come to her.
Was this how it had happened for Magician? Were she and Drifter to be abducted in real time? Or was it just the horse the gang wanted? Would she be dumped in the middle of nowhere?
The foggy moors were full of invisible dangers: bogs, ditches, and beasts. But the horsebox was a clear and present danger. It had only one intention: to gobble them up.
Girl and horse were on the same page as to which terror was more terrible.
As Drifter exploded into a Quarter Horse gallop, Roo flung herself forward and held on tight. A split second later, she was riding for her life.
33.
Haunted Wood
Roo’s dad had been obsessed with horse racing, and she’d spent many weekends watching it with him. ‘Sofa jockeys,’ he’d called them. But nothing had prepared Roo for the brutal reality of hurtling blindly across a moor on an out-of-control Quarter Horse, chased by killer dogs.
A single misstep would be the end of them.
Roo concentrated on staying still and staying on. Her eyes streamed. She longed to wipe them but didn’t dare distract Drifter or touch the reins.
The dogs were lean, mean running machines but, for the first quarter of a mile, Drifter’s speed left them in the dust. Their blood-curdling baying faded. Soon Roo could hear nothing but the red roan’s breath coming in gasps.
Then Drifter began to slow. She was spent.
Sensing weakness, the wolfhounds reappeared. They gained on the horse with every stride.
Lights careered in the distance. The SUV was ramping across the moors. The dogs wore thick tracking collars. If the Quarter Horse faltered, she and Roo would be hunted down like deer.
In vain, Roo searched the blurry shapes and shadows for some sign of help or refuge. A cave? A crumbling bothy? An endurance race refreshment station or support team on the lookout for lost riders?
But there was nothing and no one.
It was then, when Roo was at her most desperate, that she heard her aunt’s voice as clearly as if Joni was riding beside her.
If he’s with you, I know you’ll be safe, whatever the weather.
‘Fearless Fire,’ cried Roo, ‘do something!’
Out of the mist swerved a Dartmoor stallion, his coarse black mane whipping in the wind. He galloped alongside Drifter, his muscles bunching and releasing like pistons beneath his shaggy bay hide.
A wolfhound went for him, fangs bared. The wild pony wheeled with a shriek of rage. Two kicks, two yelps. The dogs lay still in the heather.
As Drifter galloped on, Roo’s ears filled with the thunder of hooves. The stallion had summoned his entire herd.
The mares formed a protective shield around Roo and Drifter, running with them as if they were part of their wild family. The stallion led the charge.
Nobody, thought Roo, will ever believe this.
A calm sensation stole over her. She felt cloaked in wild magic, lighter than air. Drifter drew strength from it too. She picked up speed again. Her breath came more easily.
Just as Roo was starting to recover, a grotesque forest of shrunken oaks loomed out of the fog. It was one horror too many for Drifter, who slammed on the brakes. Roo shot over her head.
She landed on her feet, teetered, and crumpled dizzily to the ground. By the time her head cleared, her pony protectors had melted into the mist. She and Drifter were on their own.
Roo struggled to comprehend what had just happened. Why had the wild herd saved them from the dogs and hunters only to deliver them to Wistman’s Wood, den of adders and ghouls, and lair of the Wisht Hounds?
There was no time to feel sorry for herself. Sweeping searchlights were combing the moors. The hunters were coming.
Roo ran for the shelter of the twisted trees, dragging Drifter under low branches, draped with horsehair lichen. She and the roan squeezed between mossy boulders, and slipped and stumbled over tangled and slimy roots.
When the roan refused to move another step, Roo sat at her feet, holding the reins in one hand and Fearless Fire in the other.
Car doors slammed. Men’s voices snarled. Boots clomped across the granite rocks, sounding like soldiers on a route march. Nearby, a dry branch cracked.
Roo shut her eyes and squeezed closer to Drifter, quaking with terror. If the hunters didn’t get her, the ghouls or adders surely would.
An enraged shout cut through the fog. ‘Wrong ponies, you clueless dolts. What happened to the horse and rider you were chasing? Surely even you can tell the difference between the endurance champion in the photo and these stumpy feral beasts. Now I have two dogs down and nothing to show for it. The boss is going to murder me.’
The doors slammed again. An engine revved and roared. Tyres scrabbled on the stones. Silence fell.
Roo opened her eyes. She was surrounded by wild ponies. They’d been there all along, guarding her and Drifter.
Her head swam as she grappled with what she’d overheard. She and the Quarter Horse had been hounded almost to death by vicious, bungling thieves. They could have fallen into a bog or broken legs or neck in holes, and it was all a case of mistaken identity. It was mind-boggling.
Which endurance champion were they really after?
With the men gone, the Dartmoor ponies crowded closer, A curious foal snuffled Roo. As the stallion kept vigil, the peaceful energy and heat emanating from the thick coats of his herd warmed Roo’s heart and bones.
Drifter’s knees buckled. She collapsed in a nest of moss, huffing with exhaustion. Roo used her silky neck as a pillow.
In another moment, they were both asleep.
34.
Desperate Measures
Roo woke in a shaft of otherworldly light. A silver moth twirled in it.
The ponies had gone, but she was no longer afraid. They’d led her to Wistman’s Wood because it was their safe place. Forever afterwards, she’d see the forest through their eyes, not as the haunt of hellhounds but as a place of enchanted oaks, fluffy foals, and pony angels.
The memory of running with the wild Dartmoors, of being under their protection, would stay with Roo for the rest of her life.
She stood up. Drifter, her pillow, got to her feet too, shaking off scraps of moss and fern. Roo wasn’t sure how long they’d been there, but she did know that Joni and the Cutters would be worried.
Wrapping her arms around Drifter, she pressed her cheek to the red roan’s warm shoulder, overwhelmed with love and gratitude. The roan had given her all to carry Roo to safety. How could Roo ever thank her enough?
Trust your instincts, Skylar had advised. A strong bond with a horse can save your life. Save theirs too. Drifter seemed to feel the same way. She kept nudging Roo with her muzzle, breathing her in.
Out on the open moor, the fog had given way to bolts of blue and patchy sunshine. Roo and Drifter took a long drink from the sparkly West Dart River and got their bearings. Using a tree stump for a mounting block, Roo swung into the Western saddle like an old hand. Her pre-ride nerves had gone.
She felt different. Lighter. Stronger. Braver.
Part of the reason she’d got into difficulty in the first place was because she’d ignored Drifter when the roan had tried to communicate that they were on the wrong track. This time, Roo let her have her head. Drifter turned confidently for home.
They traversed the moors at a lope. The Quarter Horse’s stride was so comfortable that Roo could have napped in the saddle. It helped, too, that they could finally see where they were going.
They found the north–south road first and Calli and Cormac soon afterwards.
Honey and Rebel neighed a greeting to Drifter.
‘Roo, I’ve never been so relieved to see anyone in my life!’ cried Calli. ‘You’ve been missing for nearly two hours. We tried looking for you but had to give up and take shelter. You must have been so frightened! Where were you?’
Belatedly, Calli noticed that Roo’s jacket was covered in green slime and moss.
‘Omigod, you fell off! Are you hurt? I told you to let me ride Drifter. Did she run away with you?’
Roo was fizzing with adrenaline. She couldn’t wait to tell Joni what had happened. She was even overjoyed to see the Cutters.
‘Drifter didn’t hurt me. She saved me,’ she said to Calli.
On the twenty-minute ride back to Bellwether Farm, she told the Cutters about the black SUV with the taped-over number plates, the horsebox with the dragon’s mouth, and about being pursued across the moors by wolfhounds with red eyes.
She described Drifter’s breathtaking speed and the Dartmoor stallion’s courage. She told them how the wild herd had led them to Wistman’s Wood and kept them safe from a murderous gang.
With every sentence, the siblings’ disbelief grew. Cormac’s mouth dropped open. Calli stared at Roo as if she’d lost her mind in the fog.
