The Crumpled Mirror by Elizabeth Loea (story books for 5 year olds txt) 📗

support—his hands were steady, his mind as clear as it could get—but he smiled nonetheless.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked Mint.

Mint shrugged. He spoke through gritted teeth, as though a wave of pain had washed over him, although he gave no other indication of physical difficulty.

“Split the floor in two. One chasm down the middle, between me and you.” He looked casual, as he always did, but the way he watched Indigo was nothing short of fearful. He reached out with the hand he hadn’t cut, as though he was about to ask for help, but pulled it back right away.

Indigo flexed his fingers, straightened his back, and pushed. Now that I’d used my magic a couple of times, I knew what it looked like in others—nothing big, but a sort of exhale. Indigo took the magic in his bones and squeezed.

A rumble echoed beneath us. It was fast, like a heartbeat, building and building until a little hairline crack formed mere inches in front of Indigo’s shoes.

Then, silence.

Indigo glanced up at Mint. I expected him to look anxious or afraid, but there was nothing but quiet calm in Indigo’s expression.

“That’s not—” Mint started.

The ground yanked apart, snapping like a tree branch in a thunderstorm, and I caught Lilac before she could tumbled to the ground from the force of the splitting. Indigo, meanwhile, stayed standing, tall and unafraid of his power.

No, that wasn’t right.

He was terrified of his power. He’d only used it when he absolutely had to in the time I’d known him, and he’d told me on the first day we’d met that he had been afraid of it most of his life. This stillness wasn’t confidence. It was fear.

When I glanced around at the faces of my friends, I realized we were all afraid. Not of Indigo’s earthquake, but of what magic made us capable of.

Mint strode to the edge of the chasm and looked down. He was about five feet from Indigo at that point, but when he spoke, his voice echoed as though he was much more distant. It was the chasm, I observed, that amplified his voice like that.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, that was...acceptable.”

Indigo cocked a brow but said nothing. On the edge of that chasm, framed in the golden light of the ballroom’s vines, he looked the part of the young mage. He looked like one of the magician’s I’d read about in stories. One day, he might be Merlin.

I hoped not. I hoped he would be more than Merlin. I hoped he would be...well, I hoped he would be Indigo. He was perfect as he was.

Mint gestured Lilac forward next.

“I’m not killing anyone,” she said. “I know you’re going to ask that of me and I’m not going to do it.”

“Fair enough,” he replied, and gestured her back.

“Wait,” I interjected. “What was that?”

“What is given can also be taken away,” Lilac explained. “I’m a necromancer, but I can also...take life. I think.”

“That’s how it is for most,” Mint agreed. “You can give and take. It is the balance of things.”

She nodded. “I understand the need to test me, but my ability is too...its consequences are too much for this kind of test. Bring me an animal and I’ll bring it back to life, if you wish.”

“You already proved yourself in healing Adrian. That kind of selflessness counts here, too,” Mint decided. I wanted to ask why he was being so lenient to us all today, but that might have led to him being harsher, and that would have been unpleasant.

“If Clementine kills again, I’ll bring whoever it is back to life,” Lilac suggested, sending a wry smile my way.

“That’s more than fair,” said Mint.

“Wait—” Adrian interjected. “What was that about years off your life?”

Lilac paused and glanced to Mint.

“You didn’t tell him,” Mint said. “You didn’t tell him what you sacrificed?”

Years off your life, kept ringing in my head. Years off your life. Lilac had sacrificed years of her life for a stranger, not pausing for a moment. And she hadn’t trusted the rest of us enough to tell us.

I promised myself I would never again criticise my friends for not doing enough.

Lilac looked to Ginger for support, but her girlfriend just grabbed Lilac’s hand and smiled softly. There was heartbreak in that smile—quiet, unending heartbreak. It was overwhelming.

I could just see Ginger’s anger, brimming over at this situation. Lilac could save lives. She could bring people back from the dead. But at what cost?

Adrian had the same thought at the same time I did.

“How many years?” Adrian asked at last. At least Mint had the good sense to shut up and wait for us to have this conversation. “How many years?” Adrian repeated, his voice breaking a little this time.

“Ten,” Lilac admitted. “Ten years. You get ten years. I lose ten years.”

Adrian coughed, gaped, tried to stay standing. Ginger was there before he could fall over, her arm around his back and her shoulder supporting him under his arm.

“You didn’t know me,” he said. “You didn’t know me and you sacrificed ten years of your life to let me live.”

Lilac nodded, slowly but surely. “It was the right thing to do.”

“It—” he tried. In the ballroom, in the half-light, he looked immortal. Immortal and exhausted and sad. He couldn’t say anything else. I couldn’t blame him. He’d had a rough day—a rough week, really. Perhaps rougher than any of us. He’d died and been resurrected. He’d had his heart broken (at least, as much as you can have your heart broken by someone you’ve only known for a week). He’d learned of this sacrifice.

But, to be fair. Lilac had made this sacrifice. That was much harder than merely knowing about it.

Ginger stepped forward to assuage the tension.

“Me next,” she said. “What do you want me to do?”

Mint glanced between us. He held his wounded hand against his chest. The blood still poured into the fabric and didn’t show any sign of stopping.

“You know how to read the