//------------------------------// // Beware Rough Waters // Story: Cartography of War // by Daetrin //------------------------------// Fury roiled off the foam and froth of the water’s surface, saturating each drop of the mist they breathed and each fluttering gust of wind that blew off the unquiet surface.  It was not just one river, but a confluence of two.  The cool blue of the Baltimare poured in from the west, the muddy brown of the Hayseed thundered from the north, and where they met in a massive spume of indignant rage they refused to join. Rose had often thought that streams or brooks had their own personalities.  Some were cheerful and happy, others slow and sullen.  But she had never imagined such an extreme, in two mighty rivers that wrestled and thundered challenge at each other in the roar and crash of water and current.  Things too hungry and vicious to be called mere whirlpools formed and vanished between them, sucking down floating branches or entire trees, spitting them out again as wet splinters. Downstream was no better.  Even as they watched the struggling waters gave a mighty heave, the entire fifty yards of raging water jumping toward them and closing half the distance in a blink, sending it spilling off on a completely different course and swamping a new swath of bedraggled vegetation.  From here they could see that miles of the swamp had been turned into churned mud, scoured rock, and stubborn trees. She stared at it, rubbing her throat, and slowly sat, regarding the spectacle.  Her mind shied away from what might have happened if they’d rafted into that, but the splintered and shredded debris provided picture enough.  The growl drowned out the sounds of the swamp, but didn’t quite cover the occasional horrible splintering noise from somewhere in the maelstrom, making her ears flatten against her skull. “And here I thought we were looking for less difficult terrain,” Gérard murmured through the noise, sitting down beside her and regarding the mangled expanse. Rose snorted, though the corners of her muzzle curled up in a brief flash of amusement.  “Hush.  I’m thinking.” Gérard lifted his eyebrows at her.  “Truly?  Are you considering something other than going around this madness?” “Anger,” she said absently.  “Not madness.” His ears flicked, pointed at her.  “That wasn’t a no.” She swallowed, then swallowed again. The river was as far from inviting as possible, but she could count their choices on two hooves. “I don’t know if we can go around.  We’re going to run out of solid land in a mile or two.  It’s turning into some enormous swamp lake, and this is the closest shore.” He lifted a paw.  “You need not convince me, Rose.  If you say we must go this way, then we must.” “I’d rather go back,” Rose admitted.  “Upriver, and cross somewhere else.  But that would add at least a week.”   His eyes closed, and she knew what he was was thinking.  Or at least, what he was feeling, torn between her safety and his haste. “We won’t.  We’ll cross here.”  He opened his eyes at her and she gave him a wry smile. “Upstream might not be much better.  But the land is higher over there, across the river.  If nothing else, we’d be out of the mud.” The gryphon clicked his beak, some of the life returning to his expression. “Tch.  For that, I would brave a thousand rivers, be they ever so angry.  Though I tell you Rose, I do not see how it is possible.” “You don’t have a cartography cutie mark.”  Rose studied the river as it roared and shuddered and jumped, swaying like the largest snake in the world as it lifted itself bodily from the riverbed and slammed down again as if in challenge to her intentions. It was a challenge she would have declined, if she were alone and unhurried.  If she still had her friends, Scarlet would have been able to calm the river, or at least Sky could have taken to the air and surveyed the true scope of things.  But these were all ifs, so she squared her shoulders and stared at the river. Gérard was blessedly silent as she concentrated, watching the river shift again.  And again.  And again.  Then she nodded.  “All right.” “You have a path for us?” “Yes.  It’s going to be like yesterday, just go from one hoofhold to another.”  She turned to him.  “Okay, not that simple.  But it’s the same idea, only a little more fluid.”  Her muzzle twisted at her own inadvertent pun.  “Just tell me when you’re ready.” “If I have learned anything, it is to follow you without hesitation,” Gérard told her, his voice calm.  “Lead on, Rose.” It was only after she’d cantered down the side of the riverbank, splashing into the thin film of muddy water there, that she realized that particular tone of calm was the one he used when he was terrified. She wasn’t settled herself but she paused for a moment as he splashed up beside her, no longer preternaturally silent.  That was her only hesitation before slogging as quickly as she could toward a sloping boulder that still had a tree clinging to it, the roots plastered in an unmoving waterfall down the surface and dipping into the swirl below.  The growl of the river applied its spurs to her, and she jumped. Gérard followed her up, moving easier with his talons than she with her hooves, and tilted his head at her inquisitively as she squinted at the writhing mess upstream. “Wait,” she told him, watching the river.  He stirred restlessly beside her, once, and stilled, only the tip of his tail twitching.  Then the water shifted again, sending a plume of spray high into the air as the river roared past, blue on their left and muddy on their right, the fight between the Baltimare and the Hayseed parting, ever so briefly, around their boulder.  It spat and hissed, spraying them both and making their rock shiver underhoof, but it didn’t quite crest over onto the roots they stood on. “How?” Gérard asked.  “I did not see you cast any spells.” “I don’t have any spells for this. Scarlet could have done something but she had more power in her left hoof than I do in my entire horn.”  She shook her head.  “It’s just my special talent.” “Your mark?”  He glanced down at her flank, where her namesake design was obscured by spatters of mud.  “I cannot imagine that any amount of training would prepare you for this.” “Training?”  She frowned, still watching the waters.  “Cutie marks have nothing to do with training.” “Then, experience?  I thought it represented your profession.” “What?  No!”  Rose stared at him.  “It’s nothing like -” The river tumbled and twisted, swerving away as the bicolor torrent braided itself into a contorted knot, a wall of water not thirty feet away.  She stepped forward, hooves slipping on the water-slicked roots and sending her sliding and slithering down to splash into the hock-deep mud and water. Gérard landed next to her, wading gamely after her as she sloshed toward the rushing torrent. She managed to force herself to within a pony’s length before she stopped, the force of the rivers battering at the air, roaring and snarling as the muddled depths loomed impossibly above her.  The fury here wasn’t simply heard or felt, it was experienced with every sense at once, seeping into her bones and chilling her more than the water ever could. Gérard stood by her, ears plastered against his head, every muscle tensed. His beak opened and closed, but any words were snatched away by the water and wind, shredded and gone.  She lifted her hoof to put it on his shoulder in reassurance, but to judge by his eyes and ears all she managed was to smear his fur and feathers with mud.  Even now he seemed more annoyed than afraid, but he couldn’t possibly be at ease any more than she was. The timbre of the Baltimare’s growl changed a bare instant before it leapt upward, the unfathomable force of the river bowing into a monstrous arch above them.  Mud shuddered and air shivered, the rainbowed shadow of the river above sending a bolt of atavistic fear along her spine.  And started her hooves moving. “Run!” She shouted, though she didn’t know if Gérard could hear her, and followed her own advice by dashing under the frothing, heaving ribbon as it stood suspended above the muddy bottom.  The gryphon matched her step for step. They covered ten feet, then twenty, and Rose pivoted as sharply as she could in the squelching, sucking, ice-cold mud and forged her way east.  Her skin prickled as the bow of the river above them swayed and then suddenly dropped.  Even expecting it, she squeaked as it boomed down behind them, a wave of displaced mud slapping her haunches. Gérard was right there, shadowing her movements as her hooves flailed for a moment before finding purchase again. From there it was a relatively short wade to a small hillock of wet and struggling grass, but the threat of the river was at their heels the whole way.  She clambered up, panting and clinging to the lone willow.  Gérard joined her.  He surveyed the riverbed with a wary eye, watching as the Hayseed shoved the Baltimare around, scouring the mud they’d just run across. “If not a profession, then what?” She gaped at Gérard.  The conversation had gone completely out of her head, displaced by more important concerns, but the gryphon was focused on her with sincere intensity.  In fact, she realized as she struggled to recall the thread of conversation, too much intensity. This had to be his own personal nightmare.  He couldn’t swim, and hated boats.  He’d already mostly drowned, and the cold mud that they were both spattered in only added its own exquisite layer of misery.  And in it all, he could only blindly follow her, since he couldn’t see what she did or even understand what her cutie mark was. She didn’t blame him for wanting a distraction. “Well…”  She looked away from the unnerving golden gaze, focusing out over their path.  Soon enough they’d have to move again.  “Our special talents and cutie marks are more than just what we do.  Really it’s the other way around.  You get your mark when you’re a foal, and from there on out, you’re set.” “So it is assigned?”  He flicked his ears at her, a motion at the edge of her vision. “Oh, no.  You...find it out yourself, as a foal.  There’s just a moment when it all comes together and you know what you’re going to be.” “That sounds terrifying.” Rose blinked and glanced over at him long enough see he was absolutely serious.  “No, it’s wonderful!  To know who you are, what you can do and what you can share with everypony  It’s something you carry with you your whole life.” “I think that would be stifling.”  His voice was careful, almost hesitant. She shook her head.  “More the opposite.  There’s a comfort in being able to rely on your talent.” Gérard was silent.  Only his tail was moving when she risked a glance at him, but the river interrupted before she could add anything more.  She led the way off the other side of the island, glad that the gryphon was fast and sure enough to keep up with her on this mad scramble. Like with the path from island to shore, there was no straight line from one side of the desolation to the other, not unless the rivers actually let them.  And Rose was just as glad they were too focused on each other to notice the pair of them sneaking through their duel.  She’d never thought of rivers as particularly frightening, but then, she’d never encountered any that might have actually noticed her before. The crossing was short, but no less nerve-wracking than the other two, with the water thrashing and writhing just on the other side of a small ridge.  The two rivers knocked pieces off each other, sending choking, blinding jets of spray across the two of them and soaking them through. She spluttered her way into a sudden current, snatching at her hooves despite how shallow it was, streaming through a crack in the ridge and into the greater tumult beyond. Gérard, not expecting it like she was, grunted and staggered half a step   “Almost there!” She shouted at him, wishing she had the time - and the quiet - to properly warn him of little things like that. They sloshed and splashed their way to another chunk of rock, carelessly dropped by some glacier in a bygone age and too large even for the wrestling rivers to dislodge.  She tottered up the slick surface, shivering from head to hoof from the soaking she’d gotten and the breeze that in no way helped.  When she’d picked out the path she hadn’t envisioned it being so cold. Gérard shivered once, shaking himself and sending muddy drops flying just before the river rolled over and sprayed them once again as it smashed into the base of their rock.  He blinked, wiping water from his beak with a resigned expression.  “Gryphons,” he said meditatively.  “Are not like that.” Rose made an encouraging noise, spoiled only slightly by her own full-body shake.  Despite their surroundings, she really did want to hear what he had to say.  If Gérard thought it was important, it was. “We strive every day to be what we are.  We fight, every day of our lives, to be blacksmiths or teachers or architects - or soldiers.”  He shook his head.  “We have no guide.  No marks.  Our only talents are the ones we make for ourselves.” “Now that sounds terrifying.”   Gérard clicked his beak at her.  “Tch.  It may be less of a comfort but we are not bound to a single purpose.” “It’s not a single purpose at all,” she protested.  “It’s what we’re best at, yes, but we do have other interests and hobbies.  You saw Scarlet’s crochet and Goldy’s journal.  What would you say if I thought you were limited to fighting and war?” “I would say you were quite right,” Gérard said easily.  “Gryphons become what they need to be, I think.  And that is what I needed to be.  I do take your meaning, Rose, but it still seems to me a confining thing.  Yet you do not seem confined.” “No…”  Rose frowned as she considered the subject, an odd feeling given how heavily she was relying on her talent and her mark at that very moment.  “It’s just part of you.  Like eating or breathing.  It isn’t something that stops you from doing things, it’s more your center that you can reach out from.  Like this.”  She waved a hoof at the froth and foam about them.  “This is terrifying.  But I know I can do it.  Pathfinding is what I do, what I am.” “When you say you know, that is not just a phrase. It is certainty.” “Well, yes.” “Hmph.” Gérard looked down at his talons where they gripped the rock, his ears flicking back and forth.  Her own ears swiveled as the growl of the twin rivers changed subtly, and her head snapped around. “It’s about to shift,” she said.  “We’re going to have to really hurry on this one.” “Simply tell me where to go, Rose,” he told her, muscles rippling under his hide as he braced himself. She pointed at a white-barked tree that, absurdly, was still rooted in the middle of a jumble of mud and river gravel.  It wasn’t a species she knew or even recognized, but the waters had left it alone enough that it still stood.  But unlike their other perches, it was on the river’s bottom and promised to be a miserable stopover. The waters rolled back over, tumbling past their rock and soaking them yet again as it coiled into a new course, looping behind the tree and granting them a narrow corridor with trembling walls.  Rose skidded down the slick rock face while Gérard simply leapt, splashing down just ahead of her, and forged on toward the tree. She scrambled after him, following his trail for once, splashing and squelching through the mud.  The rush of the river reverberated through what passed for the ground, making the thin film of water atop the churned mud quiver and dance.  Somehow the waters seemed closer than when she’d approached them before, or maybe just more angry. By the time she was one quarter of the way across Gérard had covered half the distance and paused, looking back.  She waved a hoof to gesture him onward, and it was then that the river gave a snort and smashed her across the barrel. Rose shrieked as the sudden jet of water knocked her down, dragging her along the ground in a horrible, hungry current.  Despite her flailing hooves she couldn’t get enough of a purchase to escape the drag, pulling her inexorably toward the muddled, murky wall of the fighting rivers.  The frothing surface seemed to bow over her, ready to swallow her up, her hooves scrabbling uselessly at nothing. Then Gérard was there. He’d somehow crossed the mud and water in a few scant seconds and his talons wrapped around her leg with an iron grip, hauling her up without any apparent effort and throwing her across his back.  Wordlessly, he turned and ran. She’d forgotten how fast he was.  His muscles flexed as she clung for dear life as he covered the distance to the tree, through mud and with her weight on his back, faster than she could have on dry land.  And behind them, the river poured in, growling and nipping at his tufted tail, cresting and growing above them until he leapt into the air, landing heavily in the branches of the safe tree. Below them the waters swirled and muttered around the base of the tree, a slow motion maelstrom rising to the full depth of the river outside the spreading, bare branches.  She found all four of her legs were clamped around Gérard, her heart hammering as she gasped for breath.  The gryphon was himself puffing from exertion, though not for long as he settled down on a limb that refused to bow under their weight. “Gryphons,” he rumbled as if nothing had happened.  “Don’t know.  We don’t have that certainty.  We strive against each other and against the world, not to remove our doubts but to learn when to listen to them, and when not to.  We have honor, loyalty, and duty to guide us, but it is that struggle which makes us strong.”  He twisted his head to look back at her, his beak almost bumping her snout.  “You simply know.  You do not struggle.  And yet you are not weak.” She gulped air, still trying to recover from such a near thing, and shuddered as she pushed away the image of the water doing its best to swallow her whole. Gérard’s method of distraction had something to recommend it.   “It’s not that we don’t compete at all,” she said.  “Or struggle at all.  You do improve your talents.  But strength or weakness… She stopped as he shifted under her, talons gripping the bark and making her cling even tighter as she slipped ever so slightly, as if the water were pulling at her even here.  “I think,” she said a bit desperately, doing her best to ignore her precarious position.  “That for us if there’s strength, it comes from how much we can help others.  How we can use our talents for everypony.” “Not for yourself,” he said.  “For your community.” “That’s right,” she agreed.  “What you can do for yourself is fine, it’s just not what we really think about.”  Then she shook her head.  “No, that’s not right.  You have to be happy yourself first, and that’s important, but it’s not until you can help others that you really get to be who you are.” “Tch.”  Gérard clicked his beak softly, looking out at the encircling waters.  “To us it is not a matter of helping or harming.  What you do is a reflection of who you are, rather than a piece of it.”  It seemed a subtle enough difference to Rose, but if Gérard thought it was important then of course it was.  She tried to focus on it, but as her eyes traveled over their perch another thought intruded.  “Could you move that fast again?  Like you did getting here, with me on your back?” “If I must.”  He didn’t sound enthusiastic, shifting again on the branch and reminding her that he was still far from fully healed. “Well, if we wait for the right moment you’ll be able to make the shore from here.” “Tch.”  His ears swiveled forward.  “We shall do that.” “Good,” she said with feeling.  “That’s much, much shorter...and I’m afraid the rivers might have noticed us, now.” “The very land seems to object to us,” Gérard sighed.  “How do you ponies tame it?” “I’m not sure.”  Rose blinked at the back of his head.  “Goldie would have known...it’s more something Earth Ponies do.  It’s something they want to do,” she added, trying to connect the conversations.  “Because that’s part of who they are.” He flicked his ears and nodded, tilting his head to gaze at her from the corner of his eye.  “I believe I understand,” he told her, though he sounded far from certain.  “Though I admit I do not find it a comforting idea.” She gave him a somewhat shaky smile.  “Well, you’re not a pony.  I’m not exactly comfortable with the gryphon way, myself.” His sides rose and fell under her as he puffed a short, soft, humorless laugh and shifted on his perch, clambering easily around to a vantage point closer to the shore.  “What can be done if everything we are disturbs the other?” “We get used to it,” she said.  “That’s all.” He tilted his head again to look back at her, blinking golden eyes, and the river began to move again.  The sound of rushing water made his attention snap back to their surroundings, soft pops and dull booms coming from somewhere upstream as water rolled away and exposed a deep trough of mud and gravel. “Not yet,” she muttered into his ear as he tensed to leap.  “Give it a moment.” He grunted acknowledgement, gathering himself up in a purely feline way as rogue waves sprayed across their path and were sucked back into the thundering bulk of the angry rivers.  They didn’t look like much, but Rose had felt the cold grasp of one such wave and had no desire to feel it again.  She watched as the water rolled, writhed, and hissed, waiting. “Now.” He leapt instantly, exploding out from the tree as she gripped him with desperate strength.  Rose’s view bobbed wildly as he fairly bounded through the mud and water, aimed directly at the tantalizing shore.  But the safety of that path was illusory, with deep pits beneath the mud waiting to swallow them whole. “Right!” She told him, and he obeyed, skidding as he changed directions, running parallel to the shore.  Ominous liquid noises came from behind them but she refused to look, directing Gérard along the narrow safe route to dry land.  The moments seemed to stretch out as the gryphon hung in the air for seconds, minutes, hours. Then his claws scrabbled on rock and he was leaping up the bank, vaulting to higher ground and sudden grass.  She toppled off his back, heart pounding and legs cramping as if she had been the one running, and Gérard stood with his head drooped, once again covered in mud and breathing hard. They just breathed in silence for a time, until Rose finally clambered to her feet. Gérard cocked his head at her.  “I think I understand now. Why you offered to help me hunt without pause.” “What?”  Rose stared at him. “It is what you said.   That a pony is strong when they help others.  And you are strong as a pony is strong.” “I-” Rose wobbled, caught off guard.  “That’s an interesting way to put it...” His eyes caught hers and held them.  “I trust what you tell me.  That who you are and what you do is bound up in your talent. In finding a path.  So I listen to all your words, and I take them as a path you are laying out for me.  Should I not?” The river shifted, and it seemed to Rose that it took the ground with it.  It was as if Gérard had turned her around and shown her the back of her own head, or finally let her put all the meanderings in her head onto a map.  It was perspective, and perspective alone, but it was enough to make her feel a little dizzy.  It was one thing to use your talent, and it was another to have your talent use you.  “No,” she said faintly.  “You’re right.” “Are you well, Rose?” Gérard asked with concern, one of his forepaws twitching as if in a suppressed attempt to reach out to her. “I’m fine.”  She blinked a few times, hard, trying to clear her head.  Her head was still buzzing, sides still aching from the river crossing, and this threatened to be altogether too much.  “I just hadn’t thought of it that way.” “I did not mean to upset you.” “I know.”  She tried for a reassuring smile, and only ended up with something cracked around the edges.  “Celestia knows I’ve upset you enough times.” He waved it away. “I still would rather not cause you any more pain than I have.” She swallowed against the sudden ache in her heart, the sight of the slaughtered camp flashing into her head before she closed her eyes against it.  “I believe you.”  She opened her eyes again to find him still watching her with a mirrored pain in his own expression. Then she laughed.  She couldn’t help it. The grief and fear and misunderstanding between them was too much, and it all toppled into a heap of absurdity.  “Look at us!  Taking turns scaring each other senseless just by existing!”  Rose wiped at her eyes, her sides heaving. “We must be the most ridiculous pair in the world.” “Yes.” Gérard said, his head tilted the other way.  But he wasn’t laughing.  She gulped air, the laughter bubbling out and out, sliding into something high and hysterical and impossible to stop.  The gryphon reached out to her, stopped, and drew back.  Then, slowly, awkwardly, he reached out to put a foreleg over her withers in a clumsy mirror of the comfort that she’d once tried to offer him.  Then her laughter turned to sobs and she buried her face against a muddy shoulder far too hard, too scratchy, and too musky to even pretend it was a pony’s, and cried.