“So you’re implying…” Winny couldn’t quite formulate her thoughts.
“Someone’s cheating,” Mike said, his blue eyes penetrating. “And they’re willing to go to extraordinary lengths to try and win.”
Chapter Seventeen
I pranced under saddle, nearly overwhelmed with the turn of events. Someone had been methodically targeting their biggest rivals to get them out of the picture and was willing to risk injuring, and possibly killing, other horses and riders who got in their way.
Winny took it all in faster than I could. “Don’t let that stirrup leather out of your sight,” she commanded. “We’ll deal with this when I’m back.”
Mike reached up and squeezed her hand. “Alright. Good luck.”
Winny glanced over her shoulder. Five seconds until we were to start. “Gotta go!” she shrieked and pressed my sides with her spurs. I powered forward from my haunches and we passed through the start box without a moment to spare.
“Go, Nadia!” Danika cheered from behind. I could see her scrambling into the golf cart to tear up to the top of the hill, the best place for watching a majority of our ride.
The wind whipped my face and I could feel a few droplets of rain from a heavy, overhead cloud. We came to the first flower box, and there was a sparse crowd, cameras out and ready, to watch our first attempt. Winny didn’t rein me in much but made sure I found the correct distance before taking off. We leapt over the obstacle, landed and tore off without looking back.
“That-a-girl,” Winny patted my neck encouragingly. Before long, we came upon the arched log. It was amazing how powerful I felt. At a full gallop, I was covering a dozen feet per stride. I pricked my ears forward as we came near the jump. “Easy,” Winny warned, the arch being snuggly set in the crook of two adjoining hills. Winny fell forward a little as I made contact with the ground. She recovered and giggled apprehensively, “Oops.”
I thundered up the hill and balanced myself over the crest and the downhill gallop to the third jump. Where the cross country trail had been sparsely populated by spectators, all of a sudden, a whole new world opened to us. I could see almost the entire course, snaking around the lush green acres fringed by woodlands and thousands of people were waiting for us to pass by.
“Hey, pay attention,” Winny chastised, brushing the crop across the point of my hip. She must have known how overwhelming it all was to me and felt my strides growing choppier.
I collected only slightly as we approached the hammock and Winny swallowed a lump in her throat, muttering something about how wide it looked. Taking the initiative, she guided me toward the slightly lower end of the obstacle. She knew that there was a small chance I’d balk and miss the jump all together but she did it to conserve energy. As much as cross country was a game of speed, it was also about strategy.
Cameras snapped as we leapt. I smirked a little, catching a scrawny teenage girl, her face in awe, staring up at us as we bounded over the jump. I didn’t want to disappoint and cleared it magnificently. Winny’s skills were continuing to improve, too, and she didn’t get yanked forward upon landing even though the terrain was uneven.
We met jumps four and five with confidence. They were out in the wide open, unobstructed by the shadows of trees or tricks of light. Of course, what they lacked in cunning, the course designer had made up in sheer intimidation. I almost felt myself shy at the fifth jump, which appeared to be a simple assemblage of heavy logs, but once I approached, its appearance made me feel faint. It seemed like Winny was pressing her heels into my sides and asking me to jump over it—and off the edge of the earth. I gulped, reminded myself that I trusted her and moved my feet. Once I left the safety of the ground, we fell in slow motion. Winny angled backwards and it seemed her helmet would bounce off my trailing haunches. At just the right time, she slipped me the reins and held on for the ride. The crowd went wild as we took off again to which I flagged my tail happily.
“Well done,” Winny complimented, “but that’s not the worst of them.”
There was a bit of a stretch between the fifth and sixth jumps so Winny urged me onward a bit to give ourselves some buffer time as a precaution. I was enjoying myself, and I think Winny was too. We’d both settled into an easy rhythm and though I drew a deep breath with each stride, the bodies we now both possessed had been thoroughly conditioned for this. I could’ve galloped for hours, it seemed.
“Here comes six, and it might look a little daunting,” Winny mentioned. I doubted anyone would be able to hear her, and even if they could, it wouldn’t have been that bizarre to hear a rider speaking to their horse. Ever since I’d switched places with Winny at Gallant Farms and realized just how much she understood, I too spoke more openly and specifically with her as we rode.
We curved around some patchy sycamores, Winny caught me with her left leg to keep me from overshooting the line up with a bushy keyhole jump. I held my head high to get a good look at it. The base was constructed of wood with a circular hoop of brush all the way around. I felt like a circus lion jumping through a burning hoop, the way the wind rustled the foliage and made it look like a live flame. Suddenly, my knees felt weak.
Come on, Nadia, I coached myself. This is the kind of mind game they’re trying to play with the horses. I knew the jump wasn’t going to swallow me whole. Still I wanted to squeeze through it and hightail it as far away as I could.
Winny, innately horse, sensed my hesitation before anything could come of it. “Don’t even think about it,” she warned, pressing her calves harder against my ribs and sinking further into the saddle to drive me forward. I gathered courage from her confidence and took a deep breath, bouncing lightly toward the jump. When I could see nothing underneath me, and only the wispy arms of the brush near my peripheral, I jumped and basculed magnificently, subconsciously afraid I’d whack my head or scrape Winny off with my effort.
The crowd held their breath while I sailed through the greenery broken only by the sound of camera shutters. I flicked my gaze to Winny’s face and saw the faintest whisper of a smile. She was taking her job seriously, undoubtedly, but was borderline cocky at times. At least my face would look good in photographs, smirking coolly while we tackled a four-star cross country course like it was child’s play.
We passed successfully and I was again thankful that Winny had a knack for correctly handling the reins—no jarring yank of the bit, no unforgiving hands—a talent which could only come from years of firsthand experience.
The slope after the jump had seen better days and was nearly void of grass, leaving only slick clay to scramble up. Kally had carefully tightened studs into my shoes, and they gave me just the traction I needed to claw up the mud. The crowd let loose a wild, whooping cheer for our accomplishment. I couldn’t help but whip my tail happily for their support. We tore off, guided through the entire course by thin white strings.
“Water jump trio coming up,” Winny shouted into my ear.
The awaiting group that surrounded the first combination of jumps through the pond made all the previous amassing of fans look paltry. Though there should have been a clear line of sight to the pond, it was obstructed by bodies. As we galloped around the curve, heads turned in our direction and scrutinized our every move. Faces blurred as we whipped past. Winny half halted me while we rounded the corner, and I searched for the jump judges, spotting them in their identifying vests clutching clipboards and pencils ready to mark our score. The judges were the only ones who I truly needed to impress, not with spectacular displays of flash and show, but with true jumping prowess and courage. Even ungraceful attempts would be passed off as long as I didn’t refuse, stumble or fall.
“Easy does it,” Winny scratched my withers just in front of the saddle. I listened to her guidance. We were a team and I’d learned I could be humble enough to accept it. “Here we come,” Winny said as she bent my frame around an ancient ash tree and 7A came into view. In two strides, all I could see was the glassy, glitte
ring surface of the pond below. A few days ago when I’d walked it with Gretchen, Ms. Diederich and Danika, the water had been clear, almost pristine. Now, muddied by dozens of other horses before me, it was a murky, ashen gray.
Here goes nothing. I tucked my forelegs tightly under my breastbone and Winny rode smartly with me. Instead of raising her hind end out of the saddle, she sat her weight into the seat. Rather than springing over the obstacle, I almost slipped so close that I could feel the log rubbing against my hind legs. I tipped down the drop on the other side and Winny leaned her weight back to keep from being thrown forward and taking a bath in the muddy water.
My hooves found the gritty bottom as the water engulfed my legs. Though the weather was brisk, the water was a welcome reprieve for my steaming, sweat-soaked body. I looked to my hind end to make sure I didn’t clip the back of the jump and caught a glimpse of Winny, eyes clamped so hard her eyelashes disappeared.
In an instant, Winny was correcting my line with a very distinct poke of her right spur in my ribs. I obeyed, keeping my nerve as we bounded toward the masterfully crafted trout. As I kept my focus on the floundering fish, I could swear it moved, its glassy eyes vaguely observing me. A trick of the light and shadow. It was wood and I knew it but the scales were practically glistening. Winny took a risk and guided me to the lower but easier-to-run-out tailfin. At the right instance, I maneuvered over, splashing down without trouble on the other side.
“One more, over there!” Winny cheered. She steered me up the rocky slope to an oxer with an impressive span—nearly six feet if I remembered my notes correctly. Once my forehand hit the ground on the other side, the crowd burst into thunderous applause. Winny beamed and smacked me on the shoulder. “Yeah!” she shouted exuberantly.
Water dripped from my undersides and my tail billowed as we left the combination. Traipsing through the pond had left me cooler and renewed. A little over a third of the course had been mastered, though it was only the tip of the iceberg. There were more monstrous obstacles—some bold, some beguiling—that we still had to tackle.
We galloped up and around gently rolling hills and heard our name echoing over the loudspeakers. Still enjoying a strong rhythm, I could barely feel her over my back. Once a rider found the perfect balance in the two-point position—which took hours of practice to train muscles to endure the tedious balance of weight—a horse could carry them over great distances like they were little more than a knapsack.
I could see the eighth jump coming up fast. It was the split, suspended rail with a bushy evergreen planted in the gap. I could choose to jump either side though both were noticeably narrow. With a tap of her calf, Winny chose the left. I edged toward the fans, who stood as close as they could to the wisp of string barely separating them from a sprinting horse.
I did my best not to look at the trail of people who stood close enough they could almost lean over and touch me as I passed. Training my eyes on the job at hand, I lowered my powerful hind end to lighten my forehand before takeoff and prepared to propel over the jump.
From the corner of my eye, I saw something break loose from the crowd and bolt toward me at surprising speed. All I could see were rows of sharp, glistening teeth.
Chapter Eighteen
Winny almost somersaulted back over my haunches as I bolted sideways to escape. A hulking German Shepard had yanked free of his owner and, hackles raised and razor-sharp teeth bared, was hot on my heels.
Winny tugged on my reins, preventing an acrobatic dismount from the saddle. She shouted angrily, “What are you doing?” and smacked my hip with her crop. My eyes rolled back in my head, trying to keep my gaze on the persistent canine and my tongue lolled out the corner on my mouth. No sooner had she scolded me than I managed to turn enough, while she fought to keep me moving forward, and she saw the vicious dog. Show volunteers and Good Samaritans dove left and right for the trailing leash but failed while his owner ran after us. He was sheet white and looked like he’d faint any minute, either from exertion or sheer horror at his dog’s behavior.
“Watch out!” Winny shrieked and the crowd sharply inhaled in unison. The dog had run us straight to the base of the jump, giving me no time to properly attack it. At the speed we were going, there were only two options: jump or crash. In a split second, I chose to jump.
There was nothing graceful about our attempt. Instead of a flowing arch up and over, I sprang off all four legs like a frisky antelope and scrabbled mid-air as if running my legs would paddle me safely over. Thankfully, the challenge of the jump was not in its enormity—instead it was a tricky because it was so narrow, giving horses plenty of room run out. My hooves scraped over the sturdy top log and we landed with a heavy thud on the other side. I didn’t wait for Winny to give me the cue. I bolted.
So far, I wouldn’t claim to have been particularly fortunate at the Regalia: Mike’s ill-timed car repair, being stalled near Gloria or switching places with Winny. I did, however, thank my lucky stars when the determined German Shepard’s leash snagged on the roots of a bush. He continued to gnash and bark as we galloped away, but at least we were putting distance between us and him.
“Deep breaths,” Winny said, I’m not sure if to me or herself. I willed my pulse to return to normal and my mind to focus on the next challenge, but all I seemed to be able to think was how desperately I wanted to escape.
Thankfully, we were able to recompose ourselves by the time the ninth jump came into view. My heart matched the rhythmic staccato of my hooves and I was focused on finishing our test.
“Go Nadia!” I heard a shrill voice over the polite hush. Mom. It didn’t take much to spot her, once again screaming uncontrollably, nearly tipping in her fold out chair as she stood in the seat.
“Your mom’s ridiculous,” Winny said with an unmistakably fond expression.
The epitome of ridiculous, I snorted. But, I loved her too. She’d always been one of my biggest fans, and everyone knew it.
We came to the hulking bench with a deep swath of dirt cut out of the ground two strides before. Then, there was a tight hairpin turn around a cluster of willowy poplars leading to a sod cabin and we’d be on our way.
My mother had calmed from yelps of excitement to small whimpers as I slowed to a springing canter, enabling me to land at the right spot on the other side of the gaping ditch. That’d give me two neat strides to the bench.
I had to bunch the muscles in my hind end to make it over the ditch without the momentum of full out galloping. Over the jump, two quick canter strides and I was up in the air again. The sturdy jump was as high as my chest and was decorated on the edges with pots of fragrant annuals. When I clipped the bench with my hind hoof, I thought my mom would pass out. Dad looked a little sick to his stomach, too.
We put our dressage skills to good use and curved fast but balanced around the patch of poplars without losing speed or risking a slip. I tore up the grass as we turned and we sailed over the sod cabin in the cool shade of a motherly oak.
“Yeah, Nadia!” yelled my dad while my mother fist pumped the air. People near her took a cautious step back.
It was a short gallop to the next jump, barely enough time to mentally recover from the previous combo of obstacles. At the back of my mind, the nagging sensation of fatigue was registering. It wasn’t that I couldn’t keep going, but the thought of a cool bath and a mound of hay and fresh shavings sounded very welcoming.
We raced around the course, successfully maneuvering angled and curved brushes, shelters and imposing logs. Our confidence was growing stronger. Other than the incident with the snarling dog and a few smacks of my hooves on jumps I misjudged, we were making good progress. More than once, Winny had to grab a chunk of mane to balance herself and I was tempted to balk at the stranger looking obstacles but mastered the urge to stop or run out. We were moving swiftly enough that most fans wouldn’t be aware of our singular struggle, and though some of our efforts were less than textbook, it had been getting the
job done.
We descended into a valley and came around a tight turn. In front of us, I could see the ominous Jump 15 near the next cluster of people. A few additional spectators, when seeing us approaching, ran over to get a decent spot to observe our effort at the massive fallen log. Winny gave me an encouraging squeeze with her calves and I answered by lengthening my stride. “You can do it. You can do it,” she chanted rhythmically.
As we were making our approach, another fast moving figure caught me out of the corner of my vision. Oh, no, I moaned. That crazy dog is back? I resisted the urge to interrupt my stride and waste precious time by striking my hind feet out defensively. Instead of fighting, I decided to run but before I could sprint away, I heard a familiar voice.
“Hold up, Nadia!”
Chuck and his bulky little quarter horse, Boy, sprinted until we were neck and neck. I was shocked just how fast his copper hide caught up to us while carrying Chuck, whose cowboy boots practically scraped a rut in the dirt when atop his trusty steed. Compared to the leggy, tall eventing horses that were here in droves, Boy looked like little more than a muscular, round pony.
Winny gave him a confused look and shouted, “Stop? Now?”
Chuck nodded. “Rider in front of you had a fall at the second pond.”
Winny agreed and reined me in, close enough that I experienced a renewed intimidation by the enormous jump. It made me nervous having to stop when we were on a roll—couldn’t we have been halted after the log?
“I’m sorry,” Chuck apologized, taking off his Stetson and rearranging it on his head after his and Boy’s valiant dash.
“It’s okay,” Winny panted. “At least we get a minute to catch our breath, right?”
Chuck smiled under his moustache. “Wish I could chat, but that’d be breakin’ the rules,” Chuck whispered, poking his thumb toward the chief jump judge who held a clipboard, a timer and a severe frown. “I’ll catch up with you another time.” Chuck turned Boy who lazily loped back outside the roped barrier.
Road to the Regalia (Nadia and Winny Book 2) Page 12
