Gray Mist Soldiers - Ebook

The gray mist soldiers’ struggle is never-ending, their peace never realized, their atonement eternal…or is it?

They’ve spent 160 years fighting an endless war, unable to pass into the next life until eleven-year-old Peter Taylor unearths an antique timepiece and becomes the newest captive of the mist.

Will he be able to return home?

Disoriented and frightened, Peter narrowly escapes catastrophe when he's rescued by four soldiers of the mist. As these men become a surrogate family, an unbreakable bond forms - but Peter doesn’t belong in their world.

What dangers await him if he stays?

If you enjoyed The Neverending Story, you'll love Gray Mist Soldiers. Join Peter on a harrowing journey into an unknown world full of secrets.

Get it now.

Lexile: 740L

Waves crashed against the craggy cliffs of Torrey Pines State Beach, sending flecks of spray high into the air like spit. Peter wiped the wetness from his cheek, then tugged at his tight shirt collar. The late morning sun had begun to burn through the clouds, making the occasion seem happier, like they were gathered to celebrate a birthday. He preferred the gloomy mist.
Mom called him over. They were starting. Keeping his gaze downcast to avoid everyone’s stares, Peter shuffled along the cliff’s edge to join his brothers around the urn.
This is pointless.
As the minister started babbling about eternal peace, Peter stared at the ground and focused instead on the restless waves. One by one, his brothers stepped forward to grasp a fist of sand from inside the urn. Jeff cleared his throat and spoke with a husky voice out of place with his seventeen-year-old face. His solemn words were appropriate, and heartfelt. Mom began to sniffle. Jeff turned away from the crowd and stepped to the edge of the bluff, releasing the sand over the side. It drifted peacefully out of sight. The twins were next. Being two minutes older, Stephen went first. He said something funny, but inappropriate. Mom smacked his arm as a warning. He flung his sand out to the ocean. A gust of wind tossed it back in his face. Stephen cursed, which got him another warning smack. Then it was Derek’s turn. He uttered an almost inaudible goodbye, and let the sand sift through his fingers into a pile at his feet. Peter was the youngest, and therefore always last. He stepped forward; endless blue stretched out beyond him. Peter watched the rows of waves make their way one by one to crash against the shore in a line of white foam. Jeff grasped Peter's shoulders and turned him toward the urn. Peter took a fistful of sand. It felt cold and lifeless against his palm, so unlike the sand beyond the bluff on the beach. That sand had been warm between his toes when he and Dad spent long summer days at the beach together. The memory caught him off guard, and Peter stared at the urn with contempt.
“This is stupid!” Peter yelled, shaking off Jeff’s grasp. “Dad’s not dead. He’s coming home!”
Peter shoved the table aside and ran. He heard a collective gasp followed by a satisfying crash as he bolted between the two sections of folding chairs filled with family and friends. No one tried to stop him. Before doubling back along the path, Peter glanced over his shoulder and saw mom kneeling beside the broken pieces of the urn. A cold sensation dropped into his stomach as he turned down the steep sandy steps cut into the cliff. Peter knew he’d get a scolding for being immature, but all this was pointless. The fact that they had never found Dad’s body was obvious proof he was alive. They had waited a year, and Mom said they had to accept the facts, but Peter knew better. Before Dad left for this last tour, he had promised to come home, and he never broke a promise. Ever. He was alive. He had to be.
Now that they were moving it was getting harder to hold on to hope. The thought of Dad coming home to find strangers instead of his family brought a fresh surge of anger. How would Dad find them once they had moved across the country? Peter felt so helpless.
This was Dad’s favorite spot, he realized, stopping suddenly. Is. It is his favorite.
In a few days Peter wouldn’t be able to wander down the street to visit this place when he missed Dad so much the hurt was unbearable. Peter clenched the sand in his fist, but the tighter he clung to it the easier it slipped through his fingers.