The Violet Rebels

Prologue

12 years before the story starts.

Phoebe walked briskly through the streets. They were empty, although she was sure they wouldn't be that way for much longer. She was in the meanest part of the kingdom, and was intent not to get robbed by street gangs. Besides, she was way beyond the curfew. If she was a child, she would be let off easier, but she was 21. She had to stay in the shadows, which was, unfortunately, the same tactic most of the thugs used. She was cold, tired, and hungry, but she could not turn back. She was on a mission - and a very important one at that.

She still remembered the meeting in the underground hideaway. Zara, the leader, had announced the news about the battle. Two-hundred and three rebels had come to fight the king, and failed. One-hundred thirty six had died, forty-two had been injured, and only 25 had survived. Now, if she was a normal citizen, Phoebe would have been jumping for joy at the news of the king's success. But instead, she cried.

She, along with many other people, had sobbed for at least 30 minutes, filled with anger. Why?

Because Phoebe would not serve the king - and never would. Phoebe, along with everyone else in the underground hideaway, was a rebel. All members of her family were rebels, although her parents had been killed on missions years ago.

It was only her and her sister, Olive. And, she realized, her sister had gone on a mission to fight. Even though she just had a child, she insisted. Phoebe walked straight over to Zara and asked, "Did Olive die?" Zara lowered her head. "No. But she is critically injured. She was hit by a poison arrow." Phoebe had stumbled back to her chair and collapsed. "No," she gasped. "No. She's going to die? Can I see her one last time?"

Zara looked up at her, sadly. "I'm so sorry. Olive is one of our best rebels. We've tried everything to remove the poison, but... anyway. You'll see her soon."

Zara walked back to her chair at the head of the table. Phoebe mourned silently.

After some time, Zara stood up. "Because this battle resulted in a failure, we need to take measures to prevent that from happening in the future. All of you know the legend of the purple eyes, right?"

Everyone in the room nodded. One person spoke up. "But isn't that just a myth? Isn't it untrue?"

Zara shrugged. "I don't know. But we're desperate. We need help, and soon."

"Wait," another person said. "How does it go again? I forgot."

Zara began to recite,

"On the coldest week, in the coldest season,

At the rightest time for the rightest reason,

Five brave children with blue-violet eyes shall be born,

In a terrible time when their country is torn,
Between rebels and royals, much blood will be shed,

While throughout the country these children are spread.

For only with them shall one side win the war,

While the other side shall be simply no more.

But remember, these children are humans too.

Treat them unkindly and they'll turn against you.

Find and care for these kids, and your future is bright,

With them on your side, you'll win this terrible fight."

Zara stopped speaking, and looked at her audience. "That's the prophecy", she said. "There are many clues pointing to my guess that it's tonight. The first clue is the first line. 'On the coldest week, in the coldest season.' This week has been pretty cold, right?"