Fatefall - 25

Chapter 25 - Sage

As it turns out, the Fates are capable of love.

Sage wondered how Adrian had ever managed to arrest Poppy in the first place. He didn’t know the whole story, but he’d heard enough to know that Poppy had only allowed herself to be captured because she’d get to choose when to reveal her identity. He’d naturally assumed that Adrian had managed to get the jump on her or something. 

Now, watching Poppy fight---practically a dark blur against the gold of the sand---he wondered if she’d let herself get caught. Either that, or Adrian had gotten really, really lucky. 

Not wanting to be a burden, Sage tried to join in by throwing all of his weight against his captor, to little effect. The man holding him grunted but did not loosen his grip. 

Unfortunately, Poppy had not tried to rescue Sage. She leapt for Adrian---which was probably the practical choice considering his fighting skills were second only to Poppy. Still, Sage couldn’t help but feel a little hurt. 

He stomped on his captor’s foot, achieving little success.

Unless a knee to the gut counted. Sage doubled over, trying not to retch. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes. 

When he looked up again, Poppy had freed Adrian and the two of them had their daggers against the throats of two other competitors. Poppy’s eyes were filled with steel and Adrian’s lips were pressed into a thin line, the scar at the corner of his mouth looking more like a deadly smirk than a smile. 

“It appears that we’ve reached an impasse,” said the man holding Sage. 

“Not really,” Adrian replied, his tone emotionless and flat. “My team got here first and we obviously have the upper hand. If you possessed any intelligence, you would release my friends and your lives would be spared. It’s the only reasonable course of action.”

He spoke much better than his father did, Sage had to admit. If Adrian’s negotiating skills were any hint to what kind of king he might be one day, Sage had high hopes for the Xegalla. As for getting out of the current situation…

The man holding Sage didn’t seem impressed. “I believe that our teams arrived at the same time, and that as we hold three hostages whereas you hold two, my team has the upper hand. If you possessed any sense, you would release my friends and your lives would be spared.” His dagger bobbed, dipping closer to Sage’s throat.

“Unfortunately for all of us, I’m notorious for having no sense,” Poppy said sweetly. “And I’m also easily bored, so why don’t we move this along--”

She didn’t get the chance to finish before lightning leapt across Sage’s gut. 

Blood soaked his shirt around the shallow wound and Sage let out a startled gasp, the pain an afterthought as his head went light. 

Someone screamed his name. Jett? Probably. 

In his mind he knew the wound wasn’t that bad---a graze at the most, which would heal in a few days and probably wouldn’t even leave a scar. His heart, however, assumed that blood meant dying and fear dug its claws into his chest. 

“You said you wanted to speed things up,” Sage’s captor said accusingly. Sage wished he could see his teammates’ reactions. Wished he could tell them that he would be fine. But his vision blurred and his tongue seemed to swell enough that he couldn’t speak at all. “So since you’re so eager, let’s get on with things. First thing’s first: the knife I just used on your little friend here was coated in poison. I assume you’re all familiar with Fatesbane?” 

Sage struggled to recall his notes on poisons from his studies. He’d never liked the sciences much, had never cared to learn about nature because he’d figured he was set up for failure. 

Poppy’s voice broke through the fog, finally betraying a hint of panic. “There’s no cure for Fatesbane!”

“Ah, so you are familiar with it.” Sage could sense the smirk in his captor’s voice. “What if I told you that there is a cure. You’ll have to trust me on that---but I promise I wouldn’t coat my knives with it if I didn’t know an antidote.”

Sage registered Adrian and Poppy conversing in low tones, but the words slid past his ears and disappeared. He was also aware of Jett’s eyes on him and Nakoa subtly shifting her weight towards her weapons, but he was powerless to change anything. His fingers and toes tingled, which couldn’t be a good sign. 

His hearing began to drift in and out of focus. “...my team and I are using the checkpoint…we’ll take the boy…heal him…truce…swear on the Fates…welcome to hang around…”

Eventually, he gave up on trying to comprehend what was happening around him. Breathing took all of his energy and every lungful of air became a struggle. His beating heart felt more like a ticking time bomb. 

Phantom hands rippled across his skin and the ground fell out from underneath him. He was barely aware of the voices around him. Was that someone shouting his name? 

Sage couldn’t be sure how much time he actually spent in that agonizing state, every second lasting a million years, every breath the equivalent of a lifetime. He found himself wishing for Nakoa’s Grace so he could truly know if he’d endured the horrors for days or mere minutes. 

Then came the blissful cool on his brow. Hands on his shoulders, burning with heat for a few moments and then they were gone again. Breathing became easier and his thoughts came in ebbs and flows and--

Sage snapped to attention, feeling perfectly normal, albeit the dull pain of his stomach wound and slightly more exhausted than he’d been earlier. 

His teammates must have let the other competitors take him. The thought stung more than he would’ve expected, but he knew that they’d only been trying to save his life. They’ll come back for me. They have to. 

He was propped up in a cushioned chair, his ankles fastened to the legs with tight rope but his arms were free. At first, he wondered if his captors were amateurs. Why leave his hands untied when he could easily undo his ankle bonds and go free? He then noticed the three masked competitors watching him with interest, their eyes burning with curiosity. Sage scanned for weapons, but the red tent walls were bare and unless the competitors were hiding daggers under their tight-fitting shirts, they were all unarmed. 

Sage rubbed at his eyes, longing for the glasses that sat on his nightstand back in the apartment. He couldn’t fit his glasses over his mask and so he’d foolishly left them behind assuming that blurry vision would be a price he’d be willing to pay. 

His muscles didn’t even ache, which seemed odd, especially considering his miraculous recovery. He’d had enough experience with the Grace of Life to know that healing rarely made someone feel as good as new. These people had threatened his life, so obviously they didn’t care that much about his well-being. Then why bother healing him so thoroughly?

Unless he’d never been in danger to begin with.

Sage glanced at his captor---recognizing the piercing blue gaze that had frozen him on the spot. “You faked the poison symptoms,” Sage realized. 

The man nodded, smiling slightly. “I’m impressed, but I suppose you’re smarter than your father gave you credit for.”

“My father?” Sage couldn’t keep the disgust from his voice. 

The man avoided the topic. “You’re right, though I’m surprised you’re the one who noticed. When I faked your poisoning, I figured your Graced of Life would see right through the trick. I suppose she wasn’t lying when she said she had little sense.”

Sage bristled, knowing that if Poppy were in his shoes she probably would have already freed herself. Same with Adrian and Nakoa. Even Jett probably could have charmed his way to safety. Too bad Sage’s only skills seemed to be making people angry and failing to live up to everyone else’s standards. 

“You’re lucky our Graced of Void is currently out of commission, thanks to your friends,” the man continued with a sigh. “But because you still have your Grace, I’m going to lay out some…ground rules for your stay with us.”

Sage stifled a laugh. These people actually thought he had a Grace---and why shouldn’t they? Obviously, they’d talked to his father at some point, but his father had failed to mention Sage’s “delicate condition.” They assumed that he was dangerous because of a Grace he didn’t have, which was something Sage planned to use in his favor.

“Firstly, you will not use your Grace against us.” Well that wouldn’t be a problem. “You will not try to escape or attack any of us. If you thought your poisoning was bad, I can show you much, much worse.”

“Got it,” Sage said, trying to summon a bit of Jett’s confidence. “Don’t make the scary, mean people mad.”

He earned a glare in response. Sage grinned, forgetting to feign innocence. 

“Additionally,” continued the man, as if he hadn’t heard Sage’s interruption. “You’ll be spending the rest of the Trial with us---on your father’s orders. I don’t know---or care, for that matter---what kind of issues you have with daddy, but he specifically requested that you aren’t to leave our sight.”

“My father orchestrated this?” Sage asked, not sure whether he should be shocked or not. He had assumed his father would try to forcibly remove him from the Tournament, but he hadn’t expected to have any other people involved. 

“Unless you know another Franklin with the Grace of Soul--” began one of the other competitors.

The man cut them off. “Listen, I don’t care who it was or if you’re really his son. You’re staying with us, and you’re going to tell that to your team when we leave tomorrow morning. I’d prefer to avoid further injury, so--”

Sage scoffed. “And why should I listen to you?”

The man pursed his lips. “I thought we’d already made this clear: you disobey, I hurt you.”

“My father wouldn’t like that.”

“Your father didn’t specify whether he wanted you unharmed or not,” the man countered. Sage had no problem believing that. He was more shocked that his father hadn’t instructed these people to knock some sense into him. As though seeing that this was the case, the man smiled. “I assure you that I have no desire to hurt you, so why don’t you just behave like the good little boy your father claimed that you are--”

Another masked figure burst into the tent, eyes wide with panic. “The checkpoint is on fire.”

The man in front of Sage stood abruptly. “What do you mean the checkpoint is burning?”

The newest competitor seemed to cower, shrinking back towards the entrance to the tent. “We smelled smoke and when we went to investigate, we found that someone lit the back tents on fire. The medic’s supplies are up in flames right now, and the soldiers are trying and failing to put them out.”

The man cursed, turning his attention back to Sage. “I suppose this is the doing of your friends?” He shook his head, eyes focusing on Sage with their burning intensity once again. 

Sage’s heart clenched in his chest and he gave a cry of protest as his vision tunneled. Fates, this man was using his Grace against Sage--

He didn’t get to finish the thought before darkness consumed him. 

Sage woke with a gasp, his ears ringing and his neck aching from how his head had been lolled to the side during sleep. 

He appeared to be alone in the tent, though his captors had taken the care to fasten his wrists to the arms of the chair. The scent of smoke clung to the air. Sage had no way of knowing how long he’d spent unconscious either, but he figured it couldn’t have been too long if the smoke still lingered. 

That, or his captors had abandoned him and the flames had been inching closer to Sage all night. He pushed the thought away. 

His attention caught on the candles sitting on the table. An idea surfaced in his mind. 

Sage threw his weight against the side of his chair, glad that the tent had floors and not just plain sand. His chair slid a few inches closer to the table. He repeated the process until he was close enough that he could shake the table with his knee. 

One of the candlesticks fell over and rolled to the edge of the table, nearly sliding off the edge. Sage lunged forward, catching the candle with his mouth. It took a bit of maneuvering, two more candles, and several burns on his arms before he managed to hold the candle between his teeth in a way that allowed him to set the ropes on his wrists aflame. 

The pain was harsh but worth it. Within minutes, Sage had freed one hand. He tossed the candle to the floor beside the others, wincing as it ignited part of the carpeted mat. He set to work on his other hand, tugging at the knots but failing to untie them. 

He ended up using another candle from the table on his remaining wrist and both ankles. The process left his skin raw and sore. 

Sage hurried to the flaps of the tent, prepared to run for the entrance to the checkpoint. 

Instead, he slammed right into the chest of one of the other competitors. The man grabbed Sage by the shoulders and dragged him out of the tent. 

Right into a circle of other competitors. 

Sage swallowed his fear, holding his head high despite the ice of a blade being pressed to his throat. 

“You were right, Quince,” said the man holding Sage. “He set fire to the tent. It seems he and his friends share an affinity for arson.”

Sage’s vision was too blurry to completely discern any of the competitors, but he did recognize the voice of the man who spoke in response---who must have been Quince. “I told you, he doesn’t get nearly enough credit for being a sly little fox.”

“More like a slimy eel,” chimed in one of the smaller competitors. 

The man holding Sage barked a sharp laugh. “It doesn’t take smarts to set yourself on fire. I’d say he’s more along the lines of a kitten---he has his claws but he doesn’t know how to use them.” 

This voice did prickle at the edges of Sage’s memory, but he couldn’t place it. He closed his eyes, trying to figure out why it seemed so familiar.

He was vaguely aware of his captors discussing departure. They planned to leave in a few minutes to try and get some distance on Sage’s team. The gears in his mind continued turning as someone looped rope around his wrists. It chafed against his burns and brought tears to his eyes and still he kept silent. 

Sage personally didn’t believe that the Fates had ever answered prayers and yet he found himself praying at that moment. 

He had to hope that his friends were awake, ready to ambush his captors the moment they stepped out of the checkpoint. Doubt crept into the back of his mind, the dark cloud before the storm.

His captors led him out of the checkpoint by the leash attached to his wrists. 

Sage’s hopes sank. 

His teammates were strewn about in the sand, backs to the entrance to the checkpoint, bodies still in sleep. They could have been rocks, unmoving and uncaring. Sage bit back a cry, knowing that if he tried to arouse them with a shout, he’d probably end up losing his tongue. 

He tugged at his leash, trying to dig his heels into the sand. 

The captor holding the other end of the rope gave a loud grunt, and yet none of Sage’s teammates stirred. He kicked sand at the nearest lump, earning no reaction. It was like he wasn’t real. 

Not real.

The illusion flickered a moment later and the sleeping figures on the ground disappeared, replaced by four dark shapes charging towards Sage. 

He threw up his hands and a dagger sliced the ropes off his wrists. 

Sage glanced up, unsurprised to find Jett hovering over him. “Thank the Fates. I thought you weren’t coming.”

“Talk later,” Jett insisted, his voice a hiss. “Duck!”

Sage dropped to the ground and Jett stabbed the man who had been lunging towards them. Without another word, Jett tossed Sage his spare dagger. Sage nodded his thanks and then, as though they were two bodies under the same mind, they bolted in the same direction. 

They rounded the corner of the checkpoint, ducking away from the action. Sage scooped two of the packs leaning against the outer walls of the tents and Jett snatched the rest. 

“What about the rest of the team?” Sage asked, half-delirious with adrenaline and exhaustion. 

“We have a meeting place already picked out,” Jett explained, out of breath. “Nakoa, Poppy, and Adrian can handle themselves. Sorry. We tried to rescue you last night, but the fire idea didn’t work--”

“Talk later,” Sage said, using Jett’s own words against him. Jett offered a ghost of a smile in response. “Thanks, though. I wasn’t sure if you guys would decide to leave me behind.”

Jett shook his head, his laugh more of a wheeze. “I could never leave you behind, Goldie.”