Flight: Book Two in the Defining Gravity Series Read online

  Flight

  Genevieve Mckay

  StonePony Studios

  Copyright © 2017 by Genevieve Mckay

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Genevieve Mckay

  Chapter One

  “Easy, boy.” I laid a steadying hand on Quarry’s shoulder as his sturdy legs swished effortlessly through long grass so high it brushed my bare toes. The morning sun was warm on my back, the whole meadow alive with bird-song. I inhaled deeply, delighting in the smell of fresh, spring grass and wildflowers.

  Quarry mouthed the bit gently, the movement travelling up the reins and translating his question to my fingers: can we go faster?

  I kept my hands feather-light on the reins, sending a whispered message back in the most tactful way I could.

  Never interfere with impulsion, Claudia would say, always channel forward energy; never stifle it.

  Be patient, I told him, shifting my weight back slightly.

  His grey mane fluttered in the breeze, silver strands catching the sunlight so they glowed with an otherworldly light. One ear flicked toward me, reading my seat, my hands, my mind perfectly. He compressed his steps, arching his neck and floating into that powerful lofty trot that always felt like flying.

  “Good boy,” I said as he slowed, trotting nearly in place, each footfall lasting an eternity. And then he sat, rocking back on his hocks like a pendulum, elevating his powerful shoulders until he’d risen into a perfect levade. I sat motionless, legs draped around his sides like I’d been painted there, smiling from ear to ear with the astonishing perfection of it all. The good horse, the sun, the meadow—all blended together in one moment of harmony that was as close to magic as I’d ever get.

  “Astrid?”

  No. I opened my eyes reluctantly, the disappointment of being pulled from the dream a physical pain in my chest. No. I sighed and stared blearily out the widow, squinting in the late afternoon light.

  Brown, sunburnt hills whooshed past our rig; an endless line of dry slopes, dotted with dead trees, their blackened trunks scorched like there’d been a recent fire.

  I rubbed at the goosebumps rising on my good arm, the one not encased in a cast, and held back a shiver. Despite the oven-like heat outside, inside the cab felt like winter.

  “Are we here?” I asked, looking at the shrivelled countryside. For some reason, I’d imagined my aunt’s ranch would be all lush green grass and rolling hills. I hadn’t thought the heatwave crouched over Vancouver Island like a suffocating blanket would follow us north across the ferry and way up into the interior of British Columbia. From the looks of it, things had worsened the further inland we’d driven. The fact that it was mid-September meant nothing at all to the weather gods.

  “Yep, almost there.” Allan smiled so his tanned face crinkled into a hundred laugh lines. “You’ve had a long sleep.”

  “Sorry about that,” I said, yawning. “It’s the pain medication; I sleep all the time.”

  My phone beeped faintly, and I reached down to fish it out of my backpack.

  Hey, are you there yet? How’s Folly?

  I glanced at the large monitor above our heads, the one trained inside the trailer we pulled behind us. There was only one horse left in the cavernous space: Folly. She leaned her big shoulder against the wall like it was the only thing keeping her upright, her head held low, almost dozing.

  She’s okay, I typed back to Hilary, it looks hot here.

  Like, full of hot cowboys?

  No. I laughed. Definitely not, more like a hot desert. I pressed send but an error message flashed up. Message unsent. I frowned and poked a few buttons.

  “Yeah, cell service is hit or miss in these hills. It comes and goes,” Allan said, glancing over at me.

  “Great.” I sighed and flopped back in my seat then looked up at the monitor again. “How has she been?”

  “Oh, she’s hanging in there. She’ll be glad to get on solid ground, though. She’s probably ready for some grass under her feet.”

  “Is there grass?” I asked doubtfully, staring at the brown hills dotted with charred-looking trees. “It looks…scorched.”

  “Oh no, those trees are from the pine beetle kill.” He looked over at me and frowned, registering my confusion. “We lost millions of acres of forest to it. You must remember; it was all over the news. The trees turn black like that once they die. The lack of grass is just from the drought, it will be back once this heatwave ends. Your aunt’s place has that big lake, so it fared a little better.”

  I nodded and rubbed my eyes, still not fully awake. I didn’t remember anything about beetles on the news, but I wouldn’t insult him by telling him that.

  We turned left off the highway, tires crunching onto a narrow gravel road that cut between two sunburnt hills. Rickety fence posts held together by strands of barbed wire lined the road beside us; I couldn’t imagine something that flimsy could contain an animal wanting to escape. Folly would barge right through in a heartbeat. I hoped my aunt’s fences were more substantial.

  Ten minutes later we slowed, the rig swinging wide to make a left-hand turn into a broad driveway.

  I gulped and wiped my damp hand on my leg. This was it; my new home.

  There wasn’t an impressive gate with a horse statue like at Claudia’s. Instead, a huge wooden arch spanned the driveway, made from the curved, polished trunks of two dead trees. At the top of the arc where the trees merged together, hung a large, bleached-out cow skull topped with a set of long, twisted horns.

  I leaned sideways to get a better look as we drove underneath, shivering with the ridiculous impression that the empty eye sockets had blinked at me.

  A red mailbox shaped like a miniature barn stood on one side of the driveway and on the other hung a large cryptic wooden sign; no words, just a series of symbols burned deep into the wood—three wavy lines stacked horizontally one above the other.

  “What does that mean?” I turned to Allan. Was my aunt part of some sort of cult?

  “Well, that’s the name of the place: Triple Hills Ranch. It’s been called that for over a hundred and fifty years. The triple hills symbol is the brand they used to mark the cows and horses for identification.”

  “Oh.” It all sounded so wild and strange. A wave of homesickness hit me, and I wondered again if I’d made the right decision to come here.

  It had been an easy choice at the time. My dad and M
arion had practically begged me to come and, once I’d agreed, all the arrangements had been made at lightning speed. I’d been so busy saying goodbye to everyone, getting packed for the move, and worrying about Folly, that I hadn’t given much thought to what it would be like when I arrived at the ranch. I didn’t know if Aunt Lillian even wanted me and Folly, or if she’d been pushed into the visit just like I had.

  It was too late now to turn back.

  The driveway was in better shape than the road, gravel packed so smooth it was almost pavement. Allan slowed again as the road split in two. A wooden sign stood at the fork, two words branded at either end: ‘Homestead’, the scrolled word pointed uphill to the left, and ‘Barn’ read the other side, heading downhill to the right.

  Allan steered the big horse trailer in the direction marked ‘Barn’ and I hummed nervously under my breath, glancing again at the trailer cam.

  We’re almost home, Folly, I thought, don’t worry.

  She didn’t look up, just swayed tiredly on her feet with the motion of the trailer.

  The driveway curved around a low hill and the view opened all at once to a huge sweeping valley, unfolding as far as I could see.

  “Oh,” I said breathlessly, taking it all in as fast as I could. Beneath us lay miles of undulating hills and, far off to the right, shone a huge, dark lake shimmering in the late afternoon sun. Green grass radiated out from the lake like the arms of a gigantic starfish, five green fingers poking into the browner grass further up the hills.

  “Look at them all,” I said in excitement; craning my head to take in the hills dotted all over with horses. There were way too many to count.

  “Yep.” Allan nodded. “Those there are some of the finest minded horses put on this earth. Your aunt has a talent for mixing beauty with brains and athleticism. People come from all over the world to buy them. Or at least, they used to.”

  I twisted around to watch the valley until it disappeared. We went through a patch of woods and then came to a wide clearing where a huge barn stood. I could just make out rows of paddocks behind it.

  “This is the training and sales barn, and where the indoor is. Your aunt gave me orders to take your horse further up to the broodmare barn. It’s a bit quieter there this time of year.”

  I turned to look at the stable as we passed. The big wooden barn was the polar opposite of Claudia’s stable, Mud Lark, but was just as striking in its own way.

  “Oh,” I said, turning to Allan excitedly, “it’s beautiful. It’s all wonderful.”

  “I thought you’d like it,” he said, smiling. “Triple Hills is one of the nicest properties in this area. There was once over ten thousand acres of pristine farmland here. Of course, most of that has been sold off over the years but it’s still a good spread.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I said again, feeling glad for the first time to have made this long trip.

  Allan kept talking. “This next barn here was built by your aunt and your Uncle Trent before he passed away. There are suites upstairs for staff or working students.”

  “I don’t remember my Uncle Trent,” I said, frowning. “I heard he’d passed away a couple years ago, but we didn’t come up for the funeral. I haven’t been here since I was a kid.”

  “Is that so?” Allan maneuvered the truck carefully up to another wooden barn. This one was smaller than the first, but still impressive. “Well, your uncle was a good man. His death was a blow to the community and it hit your aunt especially hard. It hasn’t been quite the same around here since, but it’s still a fine place. They had a few upheavals with staff recently, but I’m sure that’s all been worked out.”

  He shut off the truck and stared thoughtfully out the window. “You’ll get on just fine here, Astrid. Your aunt went through a rough patch, but she’s smart as a whip and a fine horsewoman. Any horse I’ve ever picked up from Triple Hills was in mint condition. Your mare will do fine.”

  On the video screen, I saw Folly raise her head slightly and let out a half-hearted whinny. Somewhere, far off, another horse responded, and then another.

  I stretched the stiffness out of my muscles as best I could and slowly pushed open the door. Heat poured inside the cab, closing around me so thick I nearly choked. I clambered down as best I could, gravel skidding under my boots as my feet hit the earth with a thud.

  “Astrid? Is that you?”

  A woman I recognized only from faded photographs strode toward me. She wore a grey cowboy hat pushed back on her head, tendrils of silver hair curling out underneath. The rest of her hair was plaited into a long braid that trailed over her shoulder.

  She stopped a couple of feet away and took a deep breath, frowning at the bandages still covering half my face. When her gaze slid down to the cast on my arm, her eyes widened, and she put a hand over her mouth.

  “Your father ought to be shot,” were her first words and, before I could form an answer to that, she reached out and pulled me into a tight hug that made me wince.

  She stepped back and held me at arm’s length, searching my face as if she were looking for something. “Sweetie, I’m so glad to see you. But I’m shocked at how badly you’re hurt. I had no idea.”

  “It’s no big deal.” I shrugged and looked at the ground, not sure if my dad or Marion had told her the important details about the accident; mainly that it had been my fault and that I’d nearly killed my horse. “They had to do surgery to fix my nose and cheekbone but it’s healing now. There shouldn’t even be much of a scar. I have to go to the doctor to get it checked in a couple days, and then hopefully they can take off the bandages and put on a splint.”

  “Oh, well,” she said, sucking in a deep breath. “We’ll get one of the boys to drive you to town; I don’t do doctors anymore.” Her eyes trailed back down to my cast and she frowned again. “That arm will take time to heal. You won’t be up to much riding or farm work for a while. That’s disappointing; I’d hoped you could ride some horses.”

  “Sorry,” I said in a small voice, feeling my face flush. Maybe she’d expected a farm hand that could earn their keep by shoveling stalls and stuff right away. And here I was; hardly able to dress myself let alone do heavy farm work.

  I must have looked miserable because my aunt touched my cheek softly with the tips of her calloused fingers. “Astrid, you took me by surprise. You remind me so much of your mother and I wasn’t prepared for that. I am so sorry I haven’t been in your life all these years. I blame myself. If I hadn’t been so stubborn…if I hadn’t fought with your father—”

  “Sorry to interrupt”—Allan came around the side of the trailer with a lead rope in his hand—“but we should get this horse settled. She’s sweating up a storm in there.”

  Aunt Lillian straightened, her expression business-like again. “Yes, of course, by all means bring her inside. I have a stall set up.”

  Please don’t attack anyone, Folly, I thought, trailing nervously after them, please be good.

  Allan swung the door open and Folly lifted her head and then dropped it back down again as if the movement had exhausted the last of her strength. Her coat was patchy with sweat and her eyes had a vacant look in them like she’d withdrawn somewhere far inside herself. She hobbled after Allan slowly, ears pinned flat, nostrils flaring and tail swishing in discomfort with every step.

  “Oh, that poor horse,” my aunt said under her breath, “the poor creature.”

  I looked away sharply, my throat so tight I could barely breathe. I knew it was my fault Folly was in this condition, she was living evidence of what an idiot I’d been. I would do anything to make it up to her.

  The cooler air in the barn was a welcome relief to the relentless baking oven outside. Immediately, some of my tension melted away and I could breathe freely.

  There were no chandeliers lining the ceiling like at Claudia’s place; instead, beautiful wooden beams crossed overhead and pigeons cooed gently in the rafters, wings rustling softly. Light shone in from dusty cob-webbed windows set h
igh in the wall. Instead of concrete aisles lined with rubber mats, there was a wide dirt aisle someone had raked into an intricate criss-cross pattern that my boots disturbed as soon as we walked on it.

  “Oh, don’t mind that.” My aunt laughed when I looked back guiltily at my foot prints. “I always rake when I get nervous. It’s a compulsion, but it does look nice afterward even if it doesn’t last.”

  The oversized stalls we passed stood empty, doors gaping open to reveal smooth, dirt floors bare of sawdust. I wondered where all the horses were.

  “The girls stay out in the fields until the snow comes,” my aunt said, reading my thoughts. “They like it better and that’s less work for us. That will make it nice and quiet for your mare in here.”

  Aunt Lillian led us to a roomy double-sized stall bedded in knee-high, yellow straw, and ushered Allan to lead Folly inside.

  Folly took a small nip at Allan as he unclipped her halter and then swung abruptly away. She lurched around the stall, checking every corner and pushing at the unfamiliar straw with her nose. She ate a few pieces before opening her mouth wide and spitting out the stalky, yellow strands in disgust. She stumbled over to the waiting pile of hay, lipping at it half-heartedly before moving restlessly on to inspect her water bucket. She snorted at it and wrinkled her nose but didn’t drink, just glared around her stall unhappily; a picture of discontent.

  “We’ll have to keep a good eye on her, Astrid. We don’t want her to colic,” Aunt Lillian said, shutting the stall door and frowning at the mare’s sweat-soaked sides.