The Greying

By Dallas Sutherland

LANDLAND CRIES OUT FOR A SAVIOUR...
Upon the death of her mother, Meah is pulled across the boundary that separates this world and another time and place where the dog-like Firbog have brought the mists of the greying.

Under the evil Queen Berilbog they threaten to claim all the lands. With her Mother dead and her Father missing – she is on her own!

Can Meah learn how to use the power of the thinking? Will there be enough time to save both Landland and herself? Will Meah ever find her way home again?
She must triumph over grief and sadness on her journey into a world made cold, grey, and colourless by the ravages of the greying. Meah travels into the depths of Bigriverland to find the mysterious sage, The Biggo. In the heart of Dead Wood, Meah meets Josh O’Tosh, the last of the warrior Pictish Priests.
Battling lurking homunculi and the horrors of the many-headed-winged-thing, they set out to recover the only thing that will save Landland ...her mother's Book-of-Colours!

• Language: English
• Publisher: CUSTOM BOOK PUBLICATIONS
• Release date: Mar 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311540508

Dallas Sutherland

Over the last twenty-five years, the Author has exhibited a creative bent across a range of industries in graphic design including trompe l'oeil murals, and has lectured in Fine Arts. His education included art history, literature and creative writing. Works include play scripts and short stories. The Greying is his first published novella, with further books planned as part of the fantasy series. He draws inspiration from myth, legend, and fairy tales.He lives on the Sunshine Coast in Queensland, Australia with his partner Kerri, and daughter Ruby.

Book preview

LANDLAND CRIES OUT FOR A SAVIOUR…

Upon the death of her mother, Meah is pulled across the boundary that separates this world and another time and place where the dog-like Firbog have brought the mists of the greying.

Under the evil Queen Berilbog they threaten to claim all the lands. With her Mother dead and her Father missing – she is on her own!

Can Meah learn how to use the power of the thinking? Will there be enough time to save both Landland and herself? Will Meah ever find her way home again?

She must triumph over grief and sadness on her journey into a world made cold, grey, and colourless by the ravages of the greying. Meah travels into the depths of Bigriverland to find the mysterious sage, The Biggo. In the heart of Dead Wood, Meah meets Josh O'Tosh, the last of the warrior Pictish Priests.

Battling lurking homunculi and the horrors of the many-headed-winged-thing, they set out to recover the only thing that will save Landland …her mother's Book-of-Colours.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Over the last twenty-five years, the Author has exhibited a creative bent across a range of industries in graphic design including trompe l'oeil murals, and has lectured in Fine Arts. His education included art history, literature and creative writing. Works include play scripts and short stories. The Greying is his first published novella, with further books planned as part of the fantasy series. He draws inspiration from myth, legend, and fairy tales.

He lives on the Sunshine Coast in Queensland, Australia with his partner Kerri, and daughter Ruby.

Copyright © 2014 Dallas Sutherland

The right of Dallas Sutherland to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted

CU

STOM BOOK PUBLICATIONS

Smashwords Edition

All the characters are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

THE GREYING

A Series for Believers

from the pen of

Dallas Sutherland

BOOK ONE:

The Landland Chronicles

Chapter ONE.

A Farewell Gift

Meah sat in the stern of the boat with the dreaded Auntie Beryl. In her arms she cradled the Book-of-Colours, a last farewell gift from her mother.

Out of the corner of her eye, Meah felt Auntie Beryl watching. Ignoring her for the moment she traced a finger over the cover of the book. It had been dyed a deep and peaceful purple. Each page spilled over with notations, and colour experiments.

Auntie Beryl intruded on her thoughts. 'Are you going to carry that book with you wherever you go?'

Meah nodded without looking up.

One last caress and the Book-of-Colours was slipped back into the black, leather portfolio. She fastened the zip and tucked it away under the seat.

'Did Mum give you the portfolio too?' her aunt asked.

Meah smiled. 'Dad gave it to me last year. He said turning twelve was a special time and that it was a special present.'

'Well, it's a real pity he couldn't be here now, isn't it?' Auntie Beryl said. In her grief Meah could find no answer, but it seemed symbolic to keep the two presents together, even if her mother and father could never be reunited again in this life.

Both wore clothing that was funereal. Only Meah's golden hair stood between the sameness of

sea and sky. She looked back towards home at the big headland jutting out into the sea, and as if on cue she stood up.

'I think this is far enough,' she yelled to the boatman. The roar of the motor faded as the man throttled back and the boat came to rest.

Meah looked at Auntie Beryl. 'Yes, this should do nicely.'

Auntie Beryl raised an eyebrow. 'Are you sure you want to do this?'

'It's what Mum wanted …and we're going to do it just how she said to.' She held out her arms to Auntie Beryl who stood up and handed over the urn. Meah carefully tipped the three glass phials of powdered pigment into the urn that held her mother's ashes; first the red, then the yellow, and finally the blue. She raised the urn high and tipped it over. They both watched the swirling and whirling, the mixing and blending of both powder and ashes as they scattered in the air behind the boat. It was a wonderful sight to see, but Meah was left with a nagging doubt; she did not see the ashes settle on the water like they were supposed to.

It was as if the wind had decided to play one, last, cruel trick. The ashes were whisked away towards the shore. Meah spoke a quiet farewell and after a moment of silence, she retrieved the portfolio from under the seat.

Auntie Beryl nodded to the boatman.

Meah looked back only once as the boat turned for home. The throb of the diesel motor and the thud-thudding of the waves on the bow of the boat soon lulled any sense of despair into one of quiet solitude.

What lay ahead for her now? thought Meah. Back to the big, weatherboard house on the headland; back to the normality of school again, now that the holidays were over.

Auntie Beryl, whom she had not seen for a number of years, would stay with her for the moment. She had taken over when her mother had been too ill to do anything. Meah did not like Auntie Beryl. She could not put her finger on what it was exactly. Perhaps it was her domineering personality, for Auntie Beryl did seem to fill up the whole house.

'Yuck!' spat Meah.

She was beginning to feel sick from grief, and sick at the prospect of living with Auntie Beryl for who knows how long. There had been no real comforting from Auntie Beryl, just a stiff kind of embrace was all she could seem to manage.

Meah had stopped to listen outside Auntie Beryl's door sometimes. She was always in there, locked away. Just what did she do in there?

A faint tap tap tapping had come from within the depths of the big room that her aunt now inhabited. Yes, tap tap tap tappetty tap tap … driving Meah almost insane with annoyance, and crazy with curiosity. It was her father's writing room, his office, and his computer.

But her dad would not be back. There had been no more emails since the Christmas holidays began and no phone calls. Her mother's illness had taken hold so quickly, and in the end they could not find him. Dad was always off around the world on some new adventure.

Auntie Beryl had arrived from the city in answer to her sister's call. She was some years older than Meah's mother, somewhat like her, and yet not; her mum had hair of gold, Auntie Beryl's had faded to a silvery, monasterial grey. In fact, Auntie Beryl's pallor had taken on the likeness of her hair. To Meah, she had become the Grey Lady.

Meah leaned over the side of the boat and trailed one hand in the water. It was so cool and refreshing, comforting. She watched small ringlets of foam shoot out and away from the wake of the boat, where they were finally broken and reclaimed by the swelling of the sea.

She felt as if someone was watching her. It was not Auntie Beryl, and the boatman was busy. It was then that she saw them!

'Dolphins!'

She stood as the boat turned, reaching out to touch them. Clasping the portfolio tight to her chest with one arm, she stretched as far as she dared with her other, but in the turning of the boat and the buffeting of the waves, Meah lost her balance.

Her over-reaching hand grasped for the railing, but remained empty. She fell, banging her head on the edge of the boat. She went straight down into the cool embrace of the sea, still clutching the portfolio tightly to her chest.

The bang on the head confused her senses. She could not swim and drifted just below the surface. The portfolio floated beside her.

Neither Auntie Beryl nor the boatman had seen her fall. By the time they realised she was missing, the boat was at least a hundred metres away. Meah continued to float just beneath the surface. Her head swam with visions of sadness … was she dying?

Ooh! The dolphins were back again. If she could just touch one – that dark one there! Please come closer, dolphin!

She fought hard to keep the dreaming alive, to touch the dolphins, but the dreaming became fuzzy and grey, then black.

The sea surged. The black dolphin came closer. Gently, it nudged the girl and towards the surface they rose together.

The sky grew black, almost as black as the obsidian sheen of the dolphin. Bubbles glistened on the girl's skin. Rain pelted at the sea.

On and upwards the dolphin pushed until finally it held the girl above the water.

They were close to the shore now. At last, the dolphin relinquished its grip on the girl and gave her up to the care of the waves.

A peak rose out of the water and lifting the girl up on its crest, it tumbled her over and down the face of the forming wave.

Like escorts, the pod of dolphins swam in and out of the lurching wave as the girl glided like a body-surfer towards the beach.

Rain continued to beat down on the water leaving tiny pockmarks in the sea foam. Seaweed entangled the girl's limbs, bearing her up and easing her passage towards the shore.

Out at sea, the pod of dolphins watched and waited