Alcatraz Versus the Evil Librarians

“Whatever,” she muttered, walking over to kick at the hay pile with a frustrated motion. “It’s just that… Old Smedry… I mean, he’s a fool, but I think of him being tortured…”
    She kicked at the hay again, tossing a pile into the air. The way it bounced off the wall and fell back on her might have been comical, had the situation been different.
    “We all care for him, Bastille,” Sing said.
    “You don’t understand,” Bastille said, picking a few strands of hay out of her silvery hair. “I’m a Knight of Crystallia! I’m sworn to protect the Oculators of the Free Kingdoms. And I was assigned to be his guard. I’m supposed to protect the old Smedry – keep him out of situations like this!”
    “Yes, but – “
    “No, Sing,” Bastille said. “You really don’t understand. Leavenworth is a fully trained Smedry of the pure line. Not just that, he’s a member of the Oculator Council and is the trusted friend of dozens of kings and rulers. Do you have any idea the kinds of state secrets he knows?”
    Sing frowned, and I looked up.
    “Why do you think the Council insists that he always keep a Knight of Crystallia around to protect him?” Bastille asked. “He complains – says he doesn’t need a Crystin guard. Well, the Council would have conceded to him long ago, if it were just his life that he endangered. But he knows things, Sing. Important things. That’s why I’m supposed to keep him out of trouble, why I’m supposed to do my best to protect him.” She sighed, slumping downs beside the well. “And I failed.”
    And at that moment, I probably said the dumbest thing I ever have.
    “Why you?” I asked. “I mean, if he’s so important, why – of all people – did they choose you to protect him?”
    Yes, it was very insensitive. No, it wasn’t very helpful. However, it’s what slipped out.
    You know you were thinking the same thing anyway.
    Bastille’s eyes widened with anger, but she didn’t snap at me. Finally, she just let her head slump against her knees. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “They never told me – they never even explained. I had barely achieved knighthood, but they sent me anyway.”
    We all fell silent.
    Finally, I stood. I walked to the bars of the cell. Then I knelt. I’ve broken cars, kitchens, and chickens, I thought. I’ve destroyed the homes and possessions of people who took me in. I’ve broken the hearts of people who wanted to love me.
    I can break the cell that is keeping me a prisoner.
    I reached out, gripping the bars, then closed my eyes and focused.
    Break! I commanded. Waves of power washed down my arms, tingling like jolts of electricity. They slammed into the bars.
    And nothing happened.
    I opened my eyes, gritting my teeth in frustration. The bars remained where they were, looking annoyingly unbroken. There wasn’t even a crack in them. The lock was made of glass as well, and somehow I knew that it would react the same way to my Talent.
    Again, I feel the need to point out the Popsicle lesson. Desire does not instantly change the world. Sometimes, stories gloss over this fact, for the world would be a much more pleasant place if you could obtain something simply by wanting it badly enough.
    Unfortunately, this is a real and true story, not a fantasy. I couldn’t escape from the prison simply because I wanted to.
    Yet I would like to note something else at this point. Determination – true determination – is more than simply wanting something to happen. It’s wanting something to happen, then finding a realistic way to make certain that what you want to happen, happens.
    And that happened to be what was happening with the story’s current happenings. I ignored the bars, instead laying my palm flat against the stones of the cell floor. They were large, sturdy blocks, plastered together with a smooth mortar. The bars ran directly into holes in the stone.
    I smiled. Then closed my eyes again, focusing. I hadn’t often used my Talent so intentionally, but I felt that I was gaining some skill with it. I was able to send a wave of power through my arms and into the rocks.
    The mortar cracked quietly beneath my fingers. I focused harder, sending out an even larger wave of breaking power. There was a loud crack. When I opened my eyes, I found that I was kneeling in dust and chips, the stones beneath my knees reduced entirely to rubble.
    I stared, a little shocked at just how much of the stone I had broken. Sing stood, looking