Chapter Text
More than two weeks have passed since the beginning of the fourth stage of Steel Ball Run, and the head of the leading group had already disappeared among the trees slowly transforming "The Great Plains" into a forest more than two weeks ago. Mysterious "Hot Pants" was the first to blaze the trail, and Johnny, Gyro and a few other participants, among others Guacho, followed in their hoofprints. Diego chose a completely different path, turning more north, and Pocoloco followed [Hey Ya!]'s advice to get away from Gyro and Johnny as trouble clinged to them, and headed further south. From time to time he encountered human footprints, distinctive in the way in which their toe part was imprinted deeper into the ground than their heel part, which meant that Sandman had to choose a similar path to him.
“Ayo, [Hey Ya!], where do I gotta go now?”
Pocoloco's horse stopped at a fork of the narrow dirt path leading through the forest. Its rider was struggling to read the large map, which was packed with so many tiny markings that it was barely legible.
“Just trust your gut-feeling, Coco! It’s always the best to do so, your own luck’ll guide you!”
Pocoloco glanced back at his stand, who was currently lounging around with his small, spindly hands folded under his head in one of the saddlebags. Some time ago he had arranged a comfortable rack there specially to suit his companion’s preferences, as he didn't like being called off and liked to laze around, but this might’ve been a serious mistake, as in recent days [Hey Ya!] had become exceptionally lethargic and his advice was limited to only a few repetitive phrases.
“Ain’t you getting a little too comfortable back there?” he asked with humor in his voice, not irritated by his companion's attitude. How could he blame his stand, since if he could, he would do the same thing?...
“Yeah, yeah, do whatever, I’m telling you. It’s all gonna be nice and…”
“Ayo, you ain’t listening to me for one bit now!”
[Hey Ya!] yawned, stretched and then covered his eyes with his hand as if the absent that day sun was glaring down at him.
“It's so hard to live with you, Coco… You see that guy over there, on yo right?... Go after him, he’s gotta know the way.”
Pocoloco whirled back forward, just in time to spot “that guy over there” running across the forest undergrowth. A familiar runner hopped softly from foot to foot as he weaved through the trees, not bothering with anything as trivial as moving on the designated path. He seemed completely in sync with nature, totally calm and focused, as he moved smoothly in rhythm with the rustling leaves. Well-trained muscles beneath the Native’s skin flexed rhythmically, betraying only a fraction of his strength. Pocoloco had seen him in action many times before. This man could jump across a canyon without any difficulty and read the weather from the smell of the west wind; the assumption that he knew which way he should be heading seemed highly probable.
So Pocoloco followed [Hey Ya!]’s advice and, keeping some distance, led his horse along a track parallel to that taken by the Native. Sandman would occasionally disappear from his sight as he slipped behind the trees, but the lighter patch of his skin standing out against the tree trunks always guided him back to the right path. Pocoloco wasn't sure if his “guide” was pretending not to see him because he found him annoying, or if he simply preferred to avoid confrontation for safety reasons, but either way, there was no interaction between them that day. They followed each other step by step, human footprints mixing with horse hooves.
Only when the sun was already low on the horizon did Sandman suddenly stop, standing ramrod straight. He looked around, for a split second gazing Pocoloco straight in the eyes. This look was the first sign from him suggesting that he even saw the other man since their paths in the forest had crossed, and it didn't look very inviting. Especially since behind the runner's back was towering a large, sinister shadow with a head crowned with a war bonnet. Pocoloco preferred not to stare into the bony (literally) face of what was most likely an another stand and took the warning, retreating to the other side of the forest path to set up his camp for the night. He lit the fire in the chilly eventide, glancing every now and then towards the place where the hunched figure of the Native should've been crouching on the ground in the darkness. For some time he wondered why the other man wasn’t lighting a fire and whether he should do the same, but he didn’t even have anyone to ask for advice because [Hey Ya!] was incessantly snoring in his makeshift bed.
And so that was how the night fell upon them; in solitude, for one with a false substitute for light and warmth, and for the other with the bitter-sweet feeling that if an enemy appeared, he would not be the easiest target in the area.
The distant presence of a distant warm glow didn't bother Soundman as much as he expected. On the contrary, despite the loneliness intensified by the fact that two unaccompanied people were sitting so close to each other and yet were unable to come into contact (theoretically speaking, they could… But Soundman preferred to stay cautious and Pocoloco, despite his sociable nature, was sincerely afraid of the shadow following the runner. Besides, the time when he puts his pride in his pocket and admits that he found the right path thanks to the help of Soundman who guided him through the forest and not because of his advanced abilities has not come yet), it gave him some comfort to see that delicate light under closed eyelids. It gave him a tiny bit of comfort and reminded him of home, ritual fires and… Whatever. This was no time to get sentimental. Not over a campfire. He buried himself under a pile of leaves and moss to provide himself with some warmth, and, first calling off [In a Silent Way], he settled down to sleep.
Though he didn't even have time to close his eyes when his alert ears picked up the drawn-out animal-like groan somewhere in the distance. His eyes immediately snapped open. It wasn't like anything he knew. He propped himself up on one elbow, looking around. The howling had faded, but Soundman still couldn't shake off the feeling of cold shivers running down his spine, even though the sound seemed more vague from where he was lying on the ground. He instinctively summoned [In a Silent Way], but the stand only appeared at his side after several tiring seconds. For some time now, he'd had the feeling his spiritual companion was weakening, but he preferred not to think about it. At least not while he lay in the middle of the forest, with the distant sound of an at least worrying howl echoing through the pitch dark night air.
Alarmed, he glanced in the direction where the sound came from. As chance would have it, he saw nothing but his race rival. The other must’ve heard the same thing, because he froze, his back straight as a rod, but for some reason he was looking in Soundman's direction and not behind himself, from where the howl originated. Could it be that he's deaf?... Or maybe just stupid? the Native wondered, but his thoughts were quickly dispelled. The sound repeated itself.
It was like a deer roaring - a powerful, guttural bass that soon turned into a series of shorter moans. However, it was not a pure animal song - there was something else in this sound, like an imperfection that allowed you to detect that it was not an ordinary deer roar. When this noise had been ringing in your ears for a long time, you heard that its edges were not smooth - they were slightly distorted, like the static on early telephones during a heavy storm. It was synthetic and artificial, like a cruel satire of the moaning of a real animal, intended to lure a deer to the rutting ground, which turned out to be the hunter's camp only the moment after the bullet pierced straight through the young hart’s skull. Moreover, there was something in that roar - something that can never be fully described, because it has to be felt - something that filled a person with primal fear and put all his senses on alert. Maybe it was some sixth sense from his most distant ancestors, but at that moment it told the Native to hide.
The strangest and perhaps scariest part of it all, however, was the fact that this time the sound actually came from behind Soundman, and not from the direction of Pocoloco's camp. The black man, on the other hand, seemed to have a different opinion on the matter, because this time he turned his head over his shoulder, staring at the forest behind him, as if he had heard the roar from a completely different direction than Soundman. The wailing was thankfully still very far away, but something about it scared Native so much that he wasted no time climbing the nearest tree. It wasn't the time to go to the neighboring rider for help yet, nothing had happened, it was just a roar, probably from a wounded animal, that's why it was so distorted… And most people would’ve probably thought that he was overreacting by climbing the tree, but still, most people didn't feel the cold shiver down their necks that he felt. Besides, years spent in nature among all sorts of folk tales had taught him one thing: to always trust his instincts.
The sound repeated itself several more chilling times, but not as loud or resonant as before. It kept coming from different directions, however, which was what worried Soundman most. After all, if something is multiple, or, worse yet, can mislead the listener as to its location, it certainly isn't something to be ignored.
The roars stopped after some time and Pocoloco, somewhat calmed by this turn of events, finally went to sleep. Soundman, on the other hand, couldn't close his eyes after hearing that disturbing sound. He sat up on his tree all night, with [In a Silent Way] dozing on a branch nearby, and as soon as the sun rose, he set off without delay. Maybe it was just a false premonition, but he had a feeling he would hear that sound again someday, and probably sooner than he thought. Either way, he had had enough and wanted to leave this forest as soon as possible.