Sam rose at first light and put the kettle on. The first week of April and there was already a nip in the early morning air. Fog had crept down from the range overnight. Outside the window, trees loomed grey and amorphous in swirls of mist. Sam prayed it would clear to the sunny day promised by the forecast.
Charlie emerged from the hallway, pyjama-clad and yawning. The physical change in her sister these past six weeks had been nothing short of remarkable. She seemed taller. Her body had filled out, in spite of Sam’s fairly limited recipe range and Charlie’s own laziness in the kitchen. Her limbs, once skinny sticks, had grown ripe and smooth. Muscles were beginning to define her upper arms and calves, rounding out the knobbly bits. Her sister no longer peered at the world through gaunt hollows. Clear amber eyes gazed from an angelic face, its heart shape enhanced by a newly defined widow’s peak. Charlie’s hairline curved back from the dark triangle in a way identical to Sam’s own, exaggerating their resemblance. It was kind of flattering, to think that people had mistaken her for this gorgeous girl.
‘When are they supposed to get here, again?’ asked Charlie, slipping bread into the toaster.
‘Ten o’clock, and Drew will be over at nine to help saddle up. Is Topsy’s gear back up at the yards?’ Charlie nodded. ‘It’s a miracle you found that crupper. That pony’s got no wither at all. I lay awake half the night imagining the saddle and the girl too, slipping straight over his head on the way home.’
Charlie applied slabs of butter and lashings of honey to the toast, then popped another round of bread into the toaster. You couldn’t fill her up lately.
‘I’m still concerned about time,’ said Sam. ‘A twelve-year-old could slow us down more than we bargained for. Are you sure that track down to the creek isn’t too steep for a child? I’ll die if she falls off.’ Sam started going through papers on the table. ‘Where are those “waiver of liability” forms? Thank God, here they are. I wonder if we’ve got enough spares? People could make mistakes. Would it be enough for them to initial the correction, do you think? Or should we give them a completely new form? I think a new form, don’t you, just to be on the safe side?’
Charlie plonked down tea and toast in front of Sam. ‘Jesus Christ, will you chill already?’ She rolled her eyes and put more toast on. ‘It’s only five people. We can do this standing on our heads.’ Then she yawned and stuffed more toast into her mouth.
Sam pressed a hand over her eyes and squinted them tight shut. Her sister was absolutely right. She needed to relax – although not quite as much as Charlie, perhaps. Charlie appeared to have gone back to sleep, hunched over her coffee cup. Which was pretty remarkable, really, considering what a momentous day it was. Today, Brumby’s Run High Country Trails welcomed its very first customers. They’d put a test advertisement in the Currajong Gazette.
The majestic mountains of north-eastern Victoria abound with fascinating wildlife, ancient forests and stunning views. Brumby’s Run High Country Trails offers rides through the heart of the High Country. Explore spectacular Balleroo National Park. Visit historic huts, ride through unspoiled wilderness and breathe pure mountain air. An unforgettable horse-riding experience. Knowledgeable guides, and horses to suit.
Their target market wasn’t locals, of course, but tourists. City slickers after an authentic bush experience. But for now it seemed sensible just to dip their toes in the water – run a few rides and see if they worked. If all went well, they’d launch an internet advertising campaign in the spring.
Charlie and Drew had done a good job planning the course of the ride. It wound its way through the wildflower-strewn creek flats of Brumby’s Run, up to the entrance to the park, where Drew had built an imposing new bush-timber gateway. Then it struck out through the forest of candle barks and peppermint gums, stopping twice at lookout points. These offered sweeping views across the range and down to where Currajong nestled beside the Merri River. These stops would also allow any beginner riders to catch up with the faster ones. The forest leg of the ride gave opportunities for spotting kangaroos, echidnas and perhaps even a rare brushtailed rock wallaby or two. Near the end of the first hour, they’d ford Snake Creek and stop for photos at scenic Bluff Falls. Platypuses could usually be spotted in the ferny pools below the cascade, and eagles often soared above the bluff. Then it would be just about time to head for home.
Their first clients were locals from nearby Tallangala, experienced riders all of them, and a perfect group for a test run. Sam had chosen their horses with great care. The skewbald pony Topsy was for the girl. Gemma and Golden, the two creamy brumby mares, for the older aunts. And the pair of flaxen-maned taffies for the mother and father. Sam would ride Tara, a sensible brown mare, and Charlie, of course, would ride Tambo. Drew was coming along too on Clancy.
They’d groomed the horses to within an inch of their lives. Their coats gleamed. Their manes lay combed and smooth. Even their hoofs were oiled and freshly trimmed. ‘We’re not off to the Royal Show,’ Charlie had said. But she’d still seemed pleased at how well the horses scrubbed up, especially Tambo. The two of them had cleaned and polished the old tack that had been thrown in as a package deal with the Mitchell horses.
There was something marvellously therapeutic about the process. They’d sat together in the kitchen, watching the ancient leather soak up warm neatsfoot oil applied with paint brushes, past differences forgotten. A final buff up with saddle soap completed the procedure. Bridles that looked like they’d never been cleaned in their lives hung shining and supple. Buckles and bits gleamed. Saddles that had been covered in green grime came up as good as new. Sam had been looking forward to this day; couldn’t wait to show off their beautiful new horses and equipment. But now the day had actually arrived, nerves had got the better of her.
‘I don’t suppose you’d go into town for more milk?’ she asked Charlie. ‘We mightn’t have enough if they all want loads of coffee.’
‘We’ve got plenty of milk,’ said Charlie, in the sort of tone one might use to reassure an anxious child. ‘They’d need to drink about five mugs each for us to run out. And anyway, you know I don’t go to town.’
‘Charlie,’ said Sam. ‘You’re being ridiculous. You can’t just never go into Currajong again.’
‘Why not?’ she said, licking honey from her fingers. ‘I’ve managed it so far. Don’t blame me. If you hadn’t decided to steal my life, I wouldn’t be in this position.’
Sam sighed and nodded. ‘If that’s what you want … and I suppose you’re right about the milk.’ She put the forms into a plastic sleeve, and grabbed her hat from the hook near the door. ‘I’m going up to feed the horses.’
Sam emerged into the chilly morning, wrapped her coat tight around her and looked up. Streamers of pastel blue showed beyond the mist, and a wan sun seemed determined to break through. Good, the day promised to be fine. A volley of neighs greeted her on her way up the hill, and Phoenix reared and boxed the air. Even the prospect of losing him wasn’t enough to spoil her happiness today. Sam was firmly in denial on that score, determined to believe in miracles.
She smiled and broke into a small dance, finishing with a twirl and a curtsey as she reached the yards. A row of curious heads were lined up all along the rails. Jarrang snorted and turned his back on her foolishness. She laughed and plucked a sprig from a fragrant native mint bush that was blooming beside the yards. She buried her nose in its snowy-white flowers. They really were very beautiful, like little orchids. Trumpet-shaped, with splotches of colour – purple, red and yellow. She breathed in deep lungfuls of perfumed air, held the tiny bouquet aloft and bowed to her watchful, prick-eared audience. It would be impossible, at that particular moment, to feel any happier.
Sam took hold of the wheelbarrow and headed for the shed. Soon all the horses were happily munching their hay – all except for Whirlwind. She sulked in the yard next to Jarrang’s, refusing to touch her food while Sam was watching. ‘You’re just like Charlie,’ Sam scolded the mare as she poured a measure of oats into her feed bin, and another into Jarrang’s. ‘You’ll bite your nose off to spite your face.’
After feeding up, Sam went to the little room beside the hayshed that was to serve as their office. She stacked the liability-waiver forms neatly on the desk, and tested the mobile eftpos machine. She picked up a business card and read it aloud. ‘Brumby’s Run High Country Trails. Horses to suit all riders. Proprietors Charlie Kelly and Sam Carmichael.’ They were partners now, practically and legally.
By quarter to ten Drew had arrived and Sam and Charlie were ready. Horses saddled and brushed, forms waiting to be signed, hard hats lined up on a bench. Sam had brought the portable butane cooker up to the office, and a bright new kettle was on the boil. Milk in an icebox, mugs and spoons in a row, Tim Tams for afterwards.
Charlie was trotting Topsy up and down the drive so he wouldn’t be too fresh. ‘Don’t get him all sweaty,’ yelled Sam as they swept past. Bess was barking now, and Sam could hear a car. Their first-ever clients had arrived. Sam walked down to meet them, resisting the impulse to run. A pretty blond child was hugging a happy Bess around the neck.
‘Welcome to Brumby’s Run,’ Sam said, smiling. Everybody introduced themselves. Sam kept repeating their names in her head to ensure she’d remember. The blond girl was Meg Morgan. Her even blonder mother was Sue. Her good-looking father was named Craig. The two older aunties were Tracey and Mel. Five wasn’t too hard. She wondered how well she’d manage with more.
‘Are there brumbies here?’ asked Meg, her eyes shining with expectation.
Sue hushed her. ‘Don’t mind Meg,’ she said to Sam. ‘My daughter’s obsessed with those Silver Brumby books. I told her there wouldn’t be real brumbies.’
‘Oh, but there are,’ said Sam. She did a quick mental calculation. Jarrang, Phoenix and Tambo. Whirlwind and the two creamies. ‘We have six brumbies,’ said Sam. ‘Two stallions and four mares.’
Meg exploded with questions, and Sam answered them as best she could. ‘Can I ride one?’ the girl asked excitedly as they walked up the hill to the yards.
‘I actually had a lovely pony picked out for you,’ said Sam.
‘Couldn’t I ride a brumby,’ begged Meg. ‘Please?’
‘My daughter’s an excellent rider,’ said Craig, ruffling the girl’s hair. ‘She’s done five years of pony club, and has outgrown her Welsh mountain pony. In fact we’re looking around to buy something bigger. It would be a real thrill for Meg to ride a brumby.’
Sam considered her options. This was proving to be more difficult than she’d imagined. Their first clients weren’t even mounted, and already things weren’t going according to plan. She compared the temperaments of the two creamies. They were equally quiet, especially if allowed to follow along in the middle of the string. Gemma was a little friendlier, perhaps more affectionate than Golden. Sam excused herself and went to talk to the others.
‘The kid’ll be fine on Gemma,’ said Charlie.
‘But we had the aunties on the brumbies,’ said Sam. She’d never liked sudden changes of plan. Ruby might be too flighty, and the black mare, Jet? She liked the lead way too much. She wouldn’t suit the aunties at all.
‘It’s simple,’ said Charlie. ‘Put an auntie on Tara, and you ride Phoenix instead.’ Sam considered her sister’s suggestion. Sam hadn’t ridden the golden colt out with the other horses before, but it was either that or disappoint both the girl and her parents.
Sam nodded. ‘Right, I’ll get him ready. You guys have them sign the forms, and don’t forget to offer them coffee, and ask them if they need the mounting block, and …’ But Drew and Charlie had already walked off, talking and laughing with the clients.
To say that Phoenix was keen would have been a monumental understatement. He trembled all over while Sam gave him a swift brush down. He neighed wildly while she saddled and bridled him. Then he danced down to meet the other riders. There was an audible gasp from the girl, and admiring glances all round.
‘He’s the most beautiful horse in the world,’ sighed Meg. As if he understood, Phoenix redoubled his efforts to show off. All colts were full of themselves, but this was ridiculous. He frisked about so much, that it took all Sam’s skill just to mount. It was a bit like riding a pogo stick. He pranced and capered, seemed to hang suspended in space between strides, striking heroic poses in silhouette. He arched his neck and flirted with the mares, impressing everybody except his rider. Sam wrestled with the reins, trying without much success to make him pay attention.
They all set off up the hill. The plan was for Charlie and Drew to go up front, as they knew the way better than Sam did. If Charlie got too tired, she could just go home. Sam would go last in line and keep an eye on the slower riders. At first Phoenix objected to the arrangement, tossing his head and jogging to try to overtake the leaders. But soon his herding instincts kicked in. Within a wild mob, the oldest mare travels at the front of the group and the stallion at the rear. By driving the mares ahead of him, he ensures that none stray, and they’re less likely to be stolen by other males. Phoenix enthusiastically threw himself into the role of mob stallion. He drove the group forward by running alongside the creamy mares in front of him, urging them on if they dawdled. Gemma and Golden had been raised in a wild brumby herd, and fell quickly in line with his demands. It was really very useful. The mares were a bit on the lazy side, and the bossy colt was saving their riders from having to constantly kick them on.
Golden stopped abruptly and ducked her head for a mouthful of grass. Phoenix snaked his head at her, swinging it from side to side like a threatening cobra and flattening his ears. The mare moved smartly forward.
‘However did you teach him that?’ asked Mel. Or was it Tracey? Sam had already gotten the aunties mixed up. ‘You must be a wonderful trainer. I can’t wait to tell my friend about you. She’s wanting a horse for her daughter. I’ll get her to give you a ring.’
Sam almost admitted to the woman that Phoenix had taken it upon himself to keep the group together. That Sam doubted she could stop him, even if she tried. But instead she just smiled and took the credit. ‘Brumbies are highly intelligent and highly trainable,’ she said. ‘They make excellent saddle horses.’
‘Well you’ve certainly sold us,’ said the smiling auntie, and they all took off up the hill at a gentle canter.
The ride was a terrific success. Nobody fell off, for starters. Meg had no problems handling Gemma; in fact, all the horses behaved themselves beautifully. And it wasn’t only the horses. At the lookouts, eagles wheeled overhead on cue. In the forest, wallabies bounded by. Echidnas waddled across the path, and they spotted a koala and her baby up a tree. It was neither too hot nor too cold. A light breeze helped keep the flies at bay, and Charlie didn’t get too tired.
The falls were a big hit, offering plenty of photo opportunities and a pair of obliging platypuses playing in a shady pool. Phoenix seemed determined to go for a swim, barging into the shallows, scattering diamonds of spray with his forefeet. Sam pushed him on with all her might, but Phoenix wasn’t listening. Any minute now he’d roll in the stream and make a complete fool of her. Just as his legs buckled, Drew was at her side, quietly taking the colt’s reins and urging him from the water. Then he was gone, cantering off with the panache of a movie hero and the easy grace of a man born in the saddle. And to think that dashing man was in love with her.
They left the falls precisely at eleven-thirty as scheduled and, thanks in no small part to Phoenix, arrived back at the yards on time. Sam had enjoyed herself as much as or even more than anybody else, and she couldn’t quite believe that she was about to be paid for the privilege. Meg helped Drew and Sam unsaddle the horses, while Charlie handed around coffee and biscuits.
‘Brumbies are awesome,’ the girl announced as they turned Phoenix out. ‘Can I see the others?’ Meg was looking towards the far side of the hayshed, where Jarrang and Whirlwind stood in adjoining yards. ‘Are they brumbies too?’ she asked. Sam nodded. ‘Can I have a look?’ asked Meg. ‘Please?’
Sam hesitated, but the girl’s enthusiasm was infectious. ‘Come on, then.’ She indicated for the girl to follow her. ‘Just don’t get to close to the yards. They’re still quite wild.’
Jarrang barely deigned to notice them, but Whirlwind rushed the fence with her ears back. Meg took a few startled steps backwards. ‘I told you not to get too close,’ said Sam, laying a protective hand on the girl’s arm.
‘What’s her name?’ Meg asked quietly.
‘Whirlwind,’ said Sam.
‘She doesn’t look like a brumby,’ said Meg, moving forward again. She seemed unfazed by the mare’s attack, and had an appraising eye that belied her youth. ‘She’s too big, for one thing.’ Sam nodded. Whirlwind was tall for a brumby. Undoubtedly Jarrang had sired her – they had the same presence, the same white stripes on their hoofs. But Sam knew that none of the mares in Jarrang’s captured herd could have been Whirlwind’s dam.
‘Whether she looks it or not, that mare was wild-caught just a few months ago.’ Sam pointed to Jarrang. ‘That stallion is her father.’
‘I love her mane,’ said Meg. ‘It looks like it’s been crimped. I could brush it all day.’ Sam nodded. Whirlwind really did have an incredible amount of mane. But there was something odd about it, now that she looked closely. It was no longer snarled and tangled. Instead it lay in silky waves. The mare’s tail, too, fell in a full, luxurious curtain to her dappled hocks.
‘Do you know who she looks like?’ said Meg. She didn’t wait for Sam to answer. ‘Shadowfax, Gandalf’s horse in the Lord of the Rings movies. Shadowfax was a magical creature – Gandalf’s partner, not his servant. Whirlwind looks just like Shadowfax.’
Charlie strolled over. ‘She does, doesn’t she?’
‘Don’t ask me how,’ said Sam. She was a fan of those movies. They’d showcased so many beautiful horses, and she’d read quite a bit about their equine stars. ‘Shadowfax was played by a sixteen-year-old Andalusian stallion named Domero,’ she told Meg. ‘He was trained to work at liberty, responding to off-camera cues.’
‘He was awesome,’ said Meg with a dreamy smile.
Sam nodded. ‘Yes, he was.’
‘Can I pat Whirlwind?’ asked Meg.
Sam was about to warn the girl away when her sister interrupted. ‘Sure thing, kid.’ Charlie slid through the rails and pressed her cheek against the mare’s neck. ‘Come on in.’
Meg opened the gate before a horrified Sam had the presence of mind to stop her. The child held out her hand. Whirlwind arched her neck, elegant ears angled forward and her eyes kind. Whirlwind accepted Meg’s hand on her mane with a gracious nod of her head. There was a certain import, a holiness about the interaction, which was evident to both horse and human.
‘Shadowfax could understand the speech of men,’ Meg told Charlie. The child whispered as if she were in the presence of royalty. ‘He was fearless and faster than any other horse in Middle Earth. Nobody could ride him except for Gandalf. He would accept neither bridle or saddle, and carried Gandalf only by his own choice.’
‘What,’ said Charlie, ‘like this?’ She grasped a handful of mane and casually swung herself onto Whirlwind’s broad back. The horse twisted her neck and snuffled Charlie’s leg.
‘Come out now, Meg,’ said Sam in a low voice. Her heart was thudding hard. With one last pat, Meg slipped back through the gate. Sam resisted the impulse to seize the girl and hug her tight to her chest. Should she be furious with Charlie or in awe of her dazzling horsemanship? Sam understood now. Charlie was in a league of her own. Still, if her sister ever got out of that yard alive, Sam might kill her herself.
Meg sparkled with a kind of intense joy, chattering on about how much she’d loved the day. Her prattle blurred into white noise. ‘Get off now, Charlie,’ said Sam, trying to keep her voice calm. ‘I think she’s had enough.’
‘No, wait,’ Meg was saying. ‘Wait!’ The girl was pulling at Sam’s sleeve now. ‘My uncle’s here. I want to show him how Charlie can ride Whirlwind without any saddle or bridle.’
Sam looked towards the yards and her skin crawled with fear. Spike Morgan was lounging on a rail. And this girl beside her with the shining eyes? This must be Spike’s niece. What a fool she was, not to have made the connection. He’d recognise the stolen mare in a second. Bushy had altered the brand but the new scar was still fresh, the deceit still apparent. And they’d let a twelve-year-old child go into a yard with the horse that had killed Rowdy Clarke, Spike’s best friend, not two months ago. It would be the end of the road for their business. There’d be charges of negligence and of theft … And it would be the end of the road, too, for Whirlwind. Sam fought for breath.
‘Uncle Spike,’ yelled Meg, and ran off towards him.
Charlie started at the sound of Spike’s name and gave Sam a shocked glance. Her apprehension was shared by Whirlwind. The mare reared. Charlie leaned low over her neck and clung to her mane, became part of the beautiful mare. ‘Open the gate,’ she said urgently. Sam shook her head and began to protest, but her voice came out in strangled gasps. ‘Just do it!’ hissed Charlie. Sam said a prayer, opened the gate and closed her eyes.