Fatefall - 8

Chapter 8 - Sage 

You haven’t experienced loneliness unless you’ve lost half of your friends to a losing battle and everyone you know sees you as the cause of their death.  

“Please, Peter. Just one more favor and I swear to the Fates that I’ll try harder not to make your life miserable,” Sage begged, practically on his knees. 

Peter frowned down at him, his disgust evident in his features. “You said that last time and yet here we are. Maybe I should tell your father about these little excursions. I’m sure he’d offer me a lot more than a day of peace and quiet for some explanations.”

Sage cursed under his breath. “Why are you being so difficult? Is it because I’m actually on a time crunch for once.”

Peter crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently. “I find it hard to take orders from a child playing dress-up.”

A fiery blush heated Sage’s cheeks and he straightened up so he towered above Peter. So what if his Dusan costume was less than flattering? When it came to the most mysterious Fate, everything was left up to interpretation. 

Sage had opted for a basic pale blue shirt and black pants. He’d convinced one of his mother’s maids to embroider a crow and dove on the sleeves of his shirt and he’d ordered a mask in secret. The mask was plain and gray, but it functioned well enough. He’d also stolen one of his father’s winter cloaks that had a hood large enough to obscure his curls. Peter could make fun of the outfit all he wanted, but Sage was proud of it. 

“All you have to do is cover for me for one afternoon,” Sage said at last. “My father thinks I’m grounded, Peter, so your job is pretty much cut out for you. How hard is that?”

“It’s worth more than what I’m being offered for my silence,” Peter retorted. 

Sage sighed. “Fine. I’ll get you 500 marks when I get back.” 

Peter’s face lit up at the idea of burning a hole in Sage’s pocket. “Deal. Do I get any payment up front?”

“Definitely not,” Sage grumbled with a roll of his eyes. He knew for a fact that his father paid the servants well - especially Peter. The greed of some men, he thought to himself with a scoff. It was funny how Peter could play the role of concerned caretaker when Sage was injured, but the moment he recovered, Peter fell back into his typical unsatisfied brat of a self. “If I found out my father caught wind of this - regardless of what he hears - you don’t get paid.”

Peter nodded once. “Yes, sir. How would you feel about catching a rather harsh illness for the afternoon?”

Sage forced a fake smile. “Sure, Peter. Knock yourself out. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to try to win a fight for once.”

All of the other competitors had an assistant to help prepare them for the fights. 

Sage had only his anxious energy as a comfort, and it really just made him want to vomit. 

He paced the covered benches that made up the ring of the arena, unable to keep his fingers from shaking and his heart from racing. If this all went according to plan, Sage would be the first official Ungraced competitor. 

The trick was getting through the Qualifiers, where using a Grace like the Grace of Soul was pretty much expected. 

“Hey, kid, if you keep wringing your fingers like that, you’re gonna be left with stumps,” another nearby competitor commented. 

Sage flashed another false smile and forced his hands to fall still. “Sorry.”

“You don’t got to apologize, I’m just sayin’ that I’m sure you’ll be fine,” the man said, leaning back against the bench with his hands behind his head, the picture of confidence. 

Sage chuckled. “You say that now, but you haven’t seen me fight yet.”

“Pfft, you can’t be as bad as some of the other competitors,” the man scoffed. His silver eyes seemed to dig into Sage’s soul, as if searching for an answer to a question he’d never asked aloud. “What Grace are you, anyway?”

“Grace of Soul,” Sage answered without hesitation. Finally, his father’s constant reprimanding had brought him some luck. 

“Same as me, then,” the man said with an amused nod. “I don’t suppose we’re competing against each other?”

Sage reached for the paper that gave him his assigned fight time and competitor. “I’ll be fighting Dusan forty.” 

The man didn’t react. “Interesting. Well, your fight is coming up, ain’t it? I suppose I’ll leave you alone, then.” And with that, he stood abruptly and offered his hand for Sage to shake. 

Sage was surprised to find himself dreading the other man’s departure. “Good luck, sir.” 

The man raised an eyebrow at the title but said nothing as he strode off, hands casually stuffed into his pockets. No good luck, no see you around. Sage tried not to be disappointed, but it was refreshing to have a conversation that didn’t end with him being called a spoiled brat. 

He turned his attention to the current fight, trying to soothe his nerves by forcing his attention elsewhere. 

The current competitors had the Grace of Medea, same as the boy from the streets the other day - the boy Sage had foolishly tried to ally with. He still wasn’t sure what had prompted the change of heart in the boy, but he wished he’d left the stolen goods there and never showed up to their meeting. 

“Medea twelve takes the match!” shouted the announcer. The smaller competitor lifted his hands over his head in victory. Sage marveled at how quickly the match had passed.

“Next fight: Dusan thirteen and Dusan forty!”

He startled when his identification was called, leaping to his feet and flushing when he realized people were staring. He’d never done well with crowds, and now he was about to stand before the biggest one in all of Xegalla. 

Sage trudged into the arena, his feet raising a cloud of dust behind him. You’re making a huge mistake, chided the logical side of him. He pushed the thought away. Running out of the arena would be an even bigger act of cowardice than losing this fight. 

He approached the painted circle, his mind threatening to shut down at any moment. The assistant gave him a sorry look that Sage tried to ignore. 

There was no sign of Dusan forty and Sage’s stomach twisted itself into a complex knot. Was his opponent preparing for a big entrance? Another announcement of the fight line-up fell on deaf ears. Still no sign. Sage started to panic until a tiny boy hurried into the announcer’s box and whispered something to the announcer. 

Sage watched the announcer’s face morph into one of horror. “Unfortunately, we have just been alerted that one of our competitors has been found dead. Dusan forty will no longer be competing.” There was a note of fear in his voice when he spoke again. “That means that Dusan thirteen takes the match.”

The crowd fell silent and Sage could hear his own heart thudding wildly in his chest. “We will pause momentarily to increase security, but the Qualifiers will resume shortly. Thank you for your patience.” 

Sage blinked once and felt a hand on his shoulder gently ushering him to the edge of the arena. Fates, he’d won?! Bile rose in his throat. Surely he would be the prime suspect in this case. How suspicious that a competitor disappeared in the few moments before his fight? He hugged his arms to himself, barely aware of the assistant forcing him to sit on one of the benches. 

“You’ll be alright, kid,” the assistant promised, tone solemn as he backed away. “We’ll figure this out, don’t you worry.” 

Sage nodded blankly, his mind still scrambling for some semblance of reassurance. It stuck him as odd that no one was panicking when a competitor was dead. Maybe he was just overreacting, but Sage couldn’t believe they were allowing the Qualifiers to continue. 

A tap on his shoulder sent Sage jumping out of his seat, hands forming fists to protect himself. He found a boy and a girl staring at him in surprise. 

The girl blew out a breath. Sage noted that she wasn’t wearing a costume, meaning that she had to be the boy’s assistant. “Someone’s on edge.” 

Sage scowled, but before he could argue his case, the other boy cut him off. “We saw you having a bit of a … panic attack. I told my friend here that we should stop and make sure you were okay, but she didn’t want to.”

The girl rolled her eyes and said something that Sage didn’t quite catch. He was too preoccupied with the boy’s voice. 

Even with silvery robes and a veil obscuring his face, Sage recognized the boy. Graced of Deceit, dressed as Medea. This was the boy that Sage had forced into the competition, though he must have been in a different form. 

Sage schooled his expression into one of indifferent politeness as the girl finished walking him through whatever breathing exercise she’d been explaining to calm him down. 

“--happens again, just try to remember what I told you,” she finished, looking pleased with herself. “Did you get all of that?” 

Sage nodded vigorously. “Yes, thank you. I feel much better now.”

He watched as the boy’s expression behind the veil morphed into one of shock for a split second before returning to his casual smirk. At least he knew now that the thief had made it into the Tournament---Sage had watched that fight. He had to admit, the boy had skills with a sword as well as with his Grace. 

“Y’know, you could repay us by joining, uh, this kid’s team here,” the girl offered abruptly, patting the thief on the back. “He’s really good under pressure-”

“Evangeline,” the thief interrupted, brushing her hand away. The girl, Evangeline, wrinkled her nose at her true name being revealed. “I’m sure this young gentleman already has a team picked out for himself.” His words were barbed and Sage tried not to let them sink in. 

“I’ll join your team,” Sage interjected. 

Evangeline’s freckled face broke into a smile. The boy frowned. 

He held out his hand, a peace offering. “I’m Sage.”

The boy shook, though his disgust was evident. “Jett.” 

“Wonderful!” Evangeline exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “So we’ll see you at the ceremony tonight?” 

“Of course,” Sage said. “How could I miss it?” 

They exchanged a few more pleasantries, mostly between Evangeline and Sage. Jett remained content glaring at Sage from under his veil. Jett. A peculiar name, one Sage hadn’t heard before. 

When they finally parted ways, Sage couldn’t get Jett’s words out of his head. I’m sure this young gentleman already has a team picked out for himself. 

Not quite. Sage still needed three more Graced to complete his team. And he had no idea where to start looking.

Author's Note

Sorry that this chapter was a little shorter than normal. After two fight scenes in a row, I needed a way to change it up and I only had one thing planned for Sage's chapter (a fight, obviously). I think that in general the "major scenes" will mostly have shorter chapters because I'll try include multiple character perspectives.