Civility's Last Hope: THE BARNACLE CHRONICLES, #2

By Arthur Rigley

A kingdom teeters on the brink of complete annihilation.

For two years, The Marshlands have been under attack. With Civilian soldiers storming through the great divide and Timber Creek savages raiding the fields and villages, Simon Barnacle wonders if there can ever be peace. Can battle-weary Simon find the strength he needs to lead the Marshlands to victory? Find out in Book 2 of The Barnacle Chronicles.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Arthur Rigley
• Release date: Feb 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781651765395

Arthur Rigley

Arthur Rigley writes books for middle-grade readers. With an interest in high fantasy and epic adventures, Rigley has enjoyed success with his tales of distant lands and heroes that come in all shapes and sizes.  For more information follow Arthur Rigley on Facebook @RigleyBooks

Book preview

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PROLOGUE

A Superior World

Civility was a superior world made of superior people who languished on the brink of annihilation following the great rebalancing on the Marshlands. Despite their advancements in technology, Civility had not improved their beliefs. They clung to the old ways of doing things and were an arrogant world. They believed it was their right to take back the Marshlands from a group of farmers and villagers who had just freed themselves from their landlords’ control and nobody could tell them any different.

Soon after the rebalancing of the Marshlands and the imprisonment of the Wickfields, the Civilians gathered in the great halls of their kingdom and decided they must forcefully take back what was rightfully theirs. There was really no choice in the matter since the Marshlands were their only food supply and without control of the lesser world, the Civilians knew they faced starvation.

Legions of men and women stepped through the great divide near Bog’s End, armed with their advanced technology. Each fighter carried ion lasers to subdue and control the Marshlanders. The leaders estimated it would only take days to regain control.

Each Marshland farmer who raised a scythe to a Civilian soldier was blasted with a shot of the high-powered beam, flung to the ground, and forced to give up, but it wasn’t enough to just shoot a Marshlander the Civilians quickly came to realize.

The Marshlanders had the power of regeneration. So, a farmer who lay in a field, shot through the shoulder, would soon heal himself, rebalancing his light and dark energy, and rise, angrier than ever, and charge towards the Civilian soldiers cutting them down one by one as if they were nothing more than tufts of wheat.

It wasn’t long before Civility knew their weapons weren’t enough. The only way to destroy the Marshlanders was to burn them, so they prepared to do that, but before they could send another legion of fighters through the divide, a blackened shape appeared at the edge of their great hall. The leaders rushed to it, touching the object.

It didn’t ripple like the technology their scientists had created to allow them to step from their world into the Marshlands. It was solid and permanent. It was then the Civilians realized they had under-estimated their opponents.

The Marshlanders had sealed the great divide, filled it in, preventing the war to continue another day. For six generations, the divide had existed and now Civilian scientists scrambled to create a new one. Food supplies began to run low and just as the people of the Marshlands had suffered hunger and disease before the rebalancing of their land, so too did the Civilians in those coming days.

CHAPTER 1

The Last Messenger

The elderly farmer spat at Gideon’s feet. I don’t know how you managed to get here, the farmer said, but I’ll have the Marshland soldiers after you, if you don’t get out of here!

I’m starving, the boy cried. "I just need your help and a little food—please. The people of Civility need your help."

The farmer examined Gideon. He had caught him in his field and had little patience for excuses. It’s true what they say about Civilians—arrogant, every last one of you. Even if you are nothing but skin and bones, you still want to take from us.

Gideon sighed and ran his bony fingers through his hair. It was harder to stay focused now. It had been several days that he hadn’t eaten a good meal. His stomach twisted and bile rose in his throat.

You’re about my grandson’s age, the farmer said. "Sixteen, seventeen years old, are you?

Sixteen, Gideon muttered.

The farmer nodded. Same thin brown hair and pale skin. Your eyes are hollow, too, just like his were when he died. Bog pox killed him and whose fault was that?

Gideon lowered his head. He was too familiar with what had happened when the Wickfields ruled the Marshlands. Their quest for dark matter nearly destroyed everyone. There was no sense in trying to reason with the man. Not enough time had passed for there to be forgiveness. The entire land before him despised Civility and what he represented even if he never had a say in the matter.

If you could tell me how to get to Bog’s End, Gideon begged. I promise to be on my way and not steal anymore from your field.

The farmer grumbled something beneath his breath, shook a fist at Gideon, and went inside his cottage, slamming the door shut.

Gideon eased back to the road. He had traveled the North Road since early in the morning when he first crossed over. It hadn’t been easy walking by foot along the dusty paths. His feet ached and months of starvation couldn’t be repaired quickly, despite how much food he shoved into his mouth in the last few hours.

When he found a field of ripe strawberries, he ate so many he threw up. After waiting a short while, he came upon another field. This time it was barley. There wasn’t enough time to soak the grain. He shoved fistfuls into his mouth then staggered to a nearby well and pulled up a pail of cold water, drinking steadily.  

It’ll never be enough to fix what’s happened, he said to himself, pulling another fruit from a tree as he continued his journey northward. He couldn’t help but remember what had happened right after his fourteenth birthday when the war between the Marshlands and Civility began. Rumors filled the great halls that a boy had taken dark matter and would reverse the Wickfields’ damage to the land.

He remembered how his sister laughed that a boy could never destroy Civility. His parents who were great scientists laughed, too. But in two years that’s just what happened.

Gideon remembered wanting to go to the war, but he had been too young. Instead, he listened the stories of the men and women who went through the divide. At first the stories were exciting, but then after so many failed battles, the generals were sent to negotiate, but there were no leaders in the Marshlands—only farmers still trying to put together a new world.

Thieves from Civility slipped through the second divide his father created. They entered by dusk to ravage the fields, selling whatever they could steal to the highest bidder. It only worked a few times until the Marshlanders began to kill whoever stepped foot through. They’d lay in wait on the opposite side, scythes pointed at their victims, then with one quick whoosh of the farm tool, another Civilian would be killed; their body shoved back through the divide.

It wasn’t long until the second divide was filled just as the first one had been. Civility grew even weaker. The great leaders told their people to prepare for death.

Gideon squeezed his eyes shut as he remembered the day the second divide was sealed. All hope was lost and the people turned against one another finally brought down from their arrogance. If only he could find the Wickfields and kill them for what they did to Civility. The rumor was they sat in a jail cell at Bog’s End. Every day that passed the lightness that was once their strength weakened. It was the only thing that brought Gideon some joy. He hoped the Wickfields suffered the same agony as his mother did when her light finally went out.

Gideon knew he should be dead, too. If not for his father being a scientist and learning how to construct a new divide, he would be dead. But his father created another passage, another divide farther away from Bog’s End; a secret passage, he was told. His father begged Gideon to steal food for the family, enough to not be caught, and Gideon did so, sometimes just a fistful of grain or an apple that would be split between him and his sister.

Gideon stepped from the road to a nearby hill. He climbed up, throwing one lanky arm after the other. Panting and exhausted, he continued to pull until he reached the top then turned to survey the land around him. The sky was blue, not a cloud, and the land green as far as his eye could see. In every direction, crops grew. The smell of baked bread from nearby cottages drifted to him. His stomach rumbled. Enough food to feed every mouth on the Marshlands and Civility. If only the military leaders had agreed to the terms, he wouldn’t be standing skin and bones now. His sister would be alive. But, it was too late to save her now.  

He slid to the ground, running his hand through the soft soil. If only he could rest beneath the rustling leaves of the oak tree in the distance, but there was no time for that. He pushed himself up to standing. Revenge didn’t linger in Gideon’s heart like it did in some of the others. He knew the next generation of Civilians wouldn’t carry the arrogance of their parents. They had learned a hard lesson and they would bend and concede to work with the Marshlanders. If there was any hope left for the worlds, they would agree to terms to share the harvest world.

Further off in the distance, Gideon spotted the green waters off Bog’s End. He was almost there. By the evening, he would find Simon Barnacle.

CHAPTER 2

A New Home at Bog’s End

I say, boy, Oculus groaned as he pulled himself from a chair. We must get you a proper house—one that isn’t so drafty. Can’t you keep the windows closed? The Bog’s End waters kick up such a wind.

Simon crinkled his brow and raised his head from the book he was reading. Why would I get a new house? I’ve got everything I need at Bog’s End. Two years of fresh crops stored in the barn, a bed, books, and a dungeon to keep the enemy if they try to storm the land again. My mother is happy here and I like the breeze.

Aye, boy, Oculus shrugged as he picked up a handful of grapes from the side table and ate the bunch whole. But, you best build a few more dungeons if you’re to keep all the Civilians who try to find their way to the Marshlands.

There’s no need for that, came Lark’s voice. She stepped into the room. Tywin’s soldiers have been told to toss them back to Civility if they’re found. They’re nothing but skin and bones now anyway. Hardly a threat.

Simon’s pulse quickened as Lark came closer and sat in the chair beside him. She wore a velvet dress, one his favorites on her. It made her green eyes glisten and her white hair shine. The breeze ruffled her hair. She smoothed it back then reached to warm her hands by the fire.

He couldn’t help but think how much they changed in the last two years. Even though they were fourteen years old, they were no longer children. War had made sure of that. Simon had grown taller, by four inches. His shoulders had broadened and he no longer felt as if he was just as wisp of a boy. It helped to have as much food as he wished for. He’d only have to step outside his home to find a fresh apple growing on a nearby tree or a head of lettuce sprouting alongside the gravel walk.

Lark had grown stronger, too. Together, they practiced combat skills each morning and in the afternoons, they worked together in the surrounding fields to harvest the crops. The Marshland sun had tanned their skin and the hard work had helped build strong muscle. In the evenings, they honed their rebalancing skills. Separately, they were each strong enough to turn a blackened field green, but together they could raise hilltops and topple forests by directing their energy of light and dark.

It’s been a long time since the Civilians have tried anything, Lark said. Do you think they’ve finally conceded?

Oculus snorted. His big barrel chest rose and fell. Not the likes of them. They’re no doubt preparing their next attack.

Foolish really, Lark laughed. Two years of fighting hasn’t taught them anything. We still hold the Wickfields in our dungeon. They’ve lost control of the land. And, they don’t stand a chance at defeating us.

Simon nodded at Lark’s assessment. We are the true owners of the land now and well deserved. Six generations of free labor was payment enough.

Aye, Oculus said, spitting a seed to the floor. "There are rumors, however of a