Horses

Jessica Terry sat in the front seat of the truck, her window half rolled down, willing cool air to come in and blow the sweat off her face and hands. Her thick, dark hair blew, untamed, around her pretty face and large, dark eyes. “How much longer, Dad?” Jessie asked, and felt a sudden flutter in her stomach. This was what she had been working towards for the past many months. This was what she had driven for, and a lot of labor and sweat had gone into her hope for success at this event. But now, Jessie was seriously questioning her ability to go into this. She had changed overnight from the sensible, stubborn, and never-give-up girl she was into an emotional wreck. She tugged on her dark hair again, waiting for her father’s response. “Not too long now, hon.” He looked into her worried eyes and let out a soft chuckle. “Don’t worry, honey. You and Bailey are only the most fantastic performers in the country! You’ll do fine.” Jessie gave him a wobbly smile. “Sure,” she said. “And someday pigs will fly,” she huffed under her breath, so soft even her father’s keen ears did not pick up her doubts. *          *          * Thirty minutes later, Jessie was in the warm-up ring. Bailey felt fresh and distant beneath her, like he was one being and she was another. Her face closed and annoyed, Jessie watched other riders canter their horses perfectly over a small warm-up course of three-foot jumps. Jessie warmed up at a trot and then a canter, but Bailey wasn’t going well for her. Deciding to ignore it instead of deal with it, Jessie urged him over a low two-foot vertical. He launched himself into the air at an off-stride and sent Jessie flying into the dirt on the other side of the jump. Her face literally burning, Jessie picked herself up and went to go catch her pony. Bailey had an evil glint in his eye when she angrily grabbed his reins. Jessie forgot there was anyone in the world but her and Bailey Settling down, Jessie began to trot Bailey around the ring. It wasn’t a good trot, though. It was an unconnected, novice trot, and although Jessie knew it looked fine, she realized that her many years of hard work, learning how to trot perfectly, were really nothing compared to the beautiful, framed, airy, and connected trots others were warming up on. Jessie picked up a canter, but it was flat and bored, not the springy, exciting-to-watch canter it should have been. Jessie was getting ready to jump a two-foot oxer when her father came running over. “Jessie,” he called, “you’re up in two riders!” He obviously saw the shock and horror on her face as she brought Bailey to a walk before he added, “Get to the arena, hon. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” “But Dad,” Jessie objected, “I haven’t even warmed up over a low cross-jump! How in the world will we jump four feet?!” “You’ll do fine,” he repeated, obviously unable to add any more encouraging words. With a grunt and moan of frustration, Jessie followed him to the show arena. *          *          * “Your next rider is Jessica Terry on Bailey Star, number 897. Jessica Terry on Bailey Star, number 897.” Jessie barely heard the announcement, so nervous was she. She trotted in, circled once, and pushed Bailey into a rock-solid canter. She waited until she had momentarily tamed the butterflies dancing in her stomach before heading towards the first jump. For a second, she felt the old Jessie coming back, just a little bit. This was it! This was what she had been working towards! Then a sudden shudder of nerves ran through her stomach, and Bailey faltered. She retrieved him immediately with a firm squeeze and then focused on counting down the strides towards their first jump. Three, two, one. Jessie felt Bailey lift up into the air. He soared over the jump, landed on light feet, and, to Jessie’s instruction, turned towards the three-foot-nine oxer. The stubborn, irritating horse he’d been in the warm-up ring was gone, and Jessie thanked the heavens for it, even if she wasn’t in the time and place to puzzle over why exactly he was all of a sudden a dream to ride. Jessie was so concentrated and focused, she forgot there was anyone in the world but her and Bailey. The next few jumps passed in a blur of flight, suspension, and the soft thud of hooves on sand. But even Jessie could detect the crowd hush as they made their way towards the wall. This jump was large, solid, and terrifying. They hadn’t been permitted to warm up over a wall, and that was part of the drama of it. Jessie had to get this right! A spider of self-doubt began to crawl into her stomach. She didn’t have time to shoo it away, and before she knew it, Bailey had launched himself into the air! Caught off guard, Jessie was thrown forward into the saddle. She sat back hard, trying to regain her balance, but made Bailey’s hind end so suddenly heavy that his back hooves knocked the jump and a few bricks went flying. Jessie tasted bitter disappointment as they landed, but she knew what she had to do. If her riding coach had taught her anything, it was to continue the round as if everything was perfect, even if she’d messed up big-time. Jessie put all her concentration in getting over the last few jumps spotlessly and effortlessly. They flew over the last jump, and the crowd broke into applause as Jessie brought Bailey down to a walk and exited the arena. Jessie bit her lip. She knew they’d done well, better than many, but the knock on that wall was driving her crazy. “Jessie! Jessieeee!” Jessie looked up to see her father running towards her. His eyes were lit up with absolute pride

Thunder roared. Lightning split the sky. Leeto’s mane flapped in the harsh wind. The man’s silver arrow glimmered every time lightning struck. He shot at Leeto. The arrow struck Leeto’s leg. At the same time, lightning struck Leeto’s hide. Leeto’s eyes widened. Leeto was a special horse. All horses with his blood were called ghost horses. Ghost horses were magical. They were the only animals—or living creatures—to become ghosts after death. But there were only two ways for a ghost horse to die. One was for two ghost horses to fight, which was rare. But even rarer was the other way—for a ghost horse to be struck by an arrow and lightning at the same time. Right now, Leeto’s life was fading away. *          *          * Leah yawned and made her way downstairs. A bowl of oatmeal and juice were waiting for her. Leah sat down and took a big sip of juice. Suddenly, she heard a sound—something like hooves against metal. Leah ran outside. A pure-black horse was standing next to the shed. Gasping, Leah drank in the sight. The horse’s coat was silkier than any she had ever seen. His mane and tail were longer than she knew possible. The horse was a gorgeous sight. “You beautiful thing,” Leah whispered, stroking his velvet nose. “Where’d you come from?” Slowly, Leah walked toward the horse. She grabbed a rope from the shed and looped it around his neck. “You beautiful thing,” Leah whispered, stroking his velvet nose. “Where’d you come from?” At that moment, Leah was very glad that no one else was home. *          *          * “Come on, boy,” Leah urged. “Get in.” She held the door to the shed in the woods open and finally got the horse to step inside. Then she noticed it. Right on the stallion’s forehead was a white marking, shaped like an arrow. “I guess that settles it, then,” Leah said in a low voice. “Your name is Arrow.” *          *          * “How was school today, Leah?” Mrs. Koble asked at dinner. “Um, fine,” Leah said. “We learned four-digit division.” Mr. Koble laughed. “I remember the good old fours. Did you have any problems?” Leah stared at her beans. “No… Mr. Jacobs said I was best in the class.” “We-ell!” Mr. Koble rang out. “Good for you, Leah!” Leah smiled. “Pass the potatoes, please.” Mrs. Koble slid the bowl her way. “Tell me, sweetie, what did you learn in history class?” Leah groaned silently. She wanted to keep quiet so that she could have room to think about Arrow. “Uh, about the defeat of the Spanish Armada… I think,” Leah replied. “Quite interesting that was,” Mr. Koble approved, cutting off a piece of pork chop. “I loved reading about that so much when I was a kid, I went searching the libraries just so I could learn more about it.” “That’s interesting, Dad,” Leah said. Personally, she didn’t know how anything about the Spanish Armada could be interesting. “Um, may I be excused?” Mrs. Koble nodded. “Yes, dear.” Leah jumped up and grabbed an apple from the fridge. “Heavens!” Mrs. Koble exclaimed. “You’ve just eaten a hearty meal. Whatever do you need an apple for?” “Uh, a science project,” Leah lied, bursting out the door before anyone could object. Once outside, Leah breathed a sigh of relief and headed to the woods. *          *          * “Hello, my beautiful one!” Leah greeted Arrow. She held out the apple, and the horse gobbled it up greedily. Leah sighed. “I’m going to have to find you some real food if you’re going to stay here,” she announced. Suddenly, Leah heard a distant voice calling her name. Leah groaned. “That’s my mom. I have to work on a death trap called homework.” She gave him a kiss on the nose. *          *          * Leah woke to a strange sound. She heard a shotgun going off outside. A sick feeling washed over her. What if somebody was shooting at Arrow? Had he escaped? Alarmed, she jumped out of bed and pulled on a pair of sneakers. Then she ran outside into the dark night. “Dad!” she called to the dark figure standing by the shed. “Dad, what’s going on?” “There’s a horse,” Mr. Koble replied grimly. “Black as night. Shot at it.” Leah held her breath. “Why?” “It was trying to kick the shed down.” His voice was tight. Leah’s heart skipped a beat. “What happened?” “Bullet seemed to run right through him.” Mr. Koble sounded confused. “Leah, that horse was a ghost.” Leah had to grasp onto her father’s arm to keep from falling. “But, Dad,” she said, “a ghost?” Mr. Koble pushed her back. “Get down!” he yelled, focusing his gun. Then Leah saw it. A pitch-black, yet transparent horse stood before them. Mr. Koble held up his gun. “Dad, no!” Leah screamed. But Mr. Koble shot. Just like he said before, the bullet went straight through the ghostly figure. The horse was unfazed. *          *          * “Several people have reported a ‘ghost horse’ to have shown up in their yard,” the news lady announced. “It seems unbelievable, but it’s true. In fact, we even have some pictures.” Leah recognized the horse on the TV screen. No doubt, it was Arrow. The white marking on his foreheard was unmistakable. But Leah wondered how this could be. Yesterday, Arrow was normal. Leah jumped up. “Where are you going, honey?” Mrs. Koble asked. “Outside!” Leah answered. She grabbed a bag of stale bread and a carrot and ran outside. Leah ran as fast as she could into the woods. She ran until she could see the shed looming ahead of her. Panting, she burst through the door. “Arrow!” she gasped. “You’re here!” Arrow looked at her in surprise. “How did you do that, boy?” Leah sighed. She opened the bread and held out a piece. Arrow ate heartily. “It’s not much,” Leah said, sitting on the floor, “but it’s food.” She dumped the bag out on