Chapter 1
The moon shone brightly in the night sky, casting an eerie glow over the deserted town of Anasberg.
The only sounds that I heard were the chirping of crickets and the occasional cough of a disgraced elder man, banished to the streets for inability to work on ranches. It was a quiet, a lonely night, the kind of night perfect for crime.
Billy was inside the sheriff’s office, fiddling with the damn safe. My job was simpler: make noise, be seen, and keep those lawmen too distracted to notice what was happening behind their backs. I took a deep breath, staggering a bit, and gave my best impression of a drunken fool.
“Evenin’, fine citizens of Anasberg!” I hollered, my voice echoing down the empty street. I stumbled towards the sheriff’s office, an empty bottle of whiskey clutched in my hand. “Where’s the fine women at?”
I saw A flicker of light in the sheriff’s house next door, it was a signal for the showtime. I started belting out an old mining song, making sure to hit every wrong note possible. The bottle in my hand became a prop.The door to the sheriff’s house flew open, and out stomped Sheriff Hawkins himself, looking like a bear rudely awakened from hibernation. His wife, Mabel, peered out from behind him, her curlers still in her hair.
“You there!” Hawkins bellowed, his mustache quivering with rage. “What in bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”
I grinned sloppily at him, tipping an invisible hat. “Why, Sheriff, I’m just providin’ some entertainment for this fine evenin’. Seems awful quiet ’round here.”
“It’s past midnight, you blithering idiot!” He took a menacing step forward. “I ought to lock you up for disturbing the peace!”
“Now, now, darlin’,” Mabel cooed, placing a restraining hand on her husband’s arm. Her eyes widened as she recognized me, but she quickly composed herself. “He’s just had a little too much to drink, no need to get all riled up.”
I winked at Mabel, a gesture loaded with shared secrets. “Listen to your lovely wife, Hawkins. She’s got more sense than the lot of us put together, and might I add, she’s looking particularly fetching tonight.”
Hawkins’ face turned a shade of purple I didn’t think possible. He squinted at me, trying to place my face. “Do I know you, boy? You seem awful familiar with ma wife.”
I chuckled, swaying. “Oh, Sheriff, I’m hurt. Don’t you remember ol’ Neil Morstrong? I was just passing through town and thought I’d pay a visit to my old friends, Mabel and I go way back, don’t we, sweetheart?”
Mabel’s face flushed, and she tugged on her husband’s arm. “Come now, it’s late. Let’s just go back to bed.”
But Hawkins wasn’t having it. His eyes narrowed as recognition finally dawned. “Morstrong! You no-good, womanizing scoundrel! I thought I ran you out of town years ago!”
“Seems I couldn’t stay away from Anasberg’s charms,” I slurred, my eyes flicking meaningfully to Mabel. “Some things are just too sweet to forget.”
Hawkins’ face contorted with rage. He turned to his deputies, who had gathered on the porch, clearly enjoying the show. “Boys, get this drunk off my street! And make sure he doesn’t come back!”
As the deputies advanced, I started to back away, still singing and sloshing my empty bottle.
I needed to buy Billy more time. ”′Cm’on, fellas," I slurred, “don’t you know how to have a good time? I’m sure Mabel remembers!”
Just then, a low whistle, our signal. Billy had cracked the safe. Now came the tricky part: making our escape without arousing suspicion.
I stumbled backward, narrowly avoiding the grasp of one of the deputies. “Whoa there! No need to get handsy!” I chuckled, my eyes darting to the shadows where I knew Billy was waiting. “I think I’ve had my fill of fun for the night. Time to hit the hay! Though I wouldn’t mind some company, eh Mabel?”
With an exaggerated bow that nearly sent me sprawling, I turned and ran, the angry shouts of Sheriff Hawkins fading behind me, as I rounded the corner, Billy fell into step beside me, a burlap sack slung over his shoulder.
“You get it?” I whispered, my heart racing.
Billy’s grin gleamed in the moonlight. “Every last dollar. Let’s ride!”
We mounted our horses, tethered in a nearby alley, and galloped out of Anasberg as fast as we could. The cool night air whipped against my face, washing away the act of the drunken fool and replacing it with the exhilaration of a successful heist.
As the town faded into the distance behind us, I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, partner,” I said to Billy, “looks like we’re official outlaws now.”
Billy chuckled, patting the sack of money. “That we are, Neil. That we are. Though I gotta ask, what was all that about you and the sheriff’s wife?”
I smirked, memories of passionate nights flashing through my mind. “Let’s just say Mabel and I have a history that the good sheriff wouldn’t approve of, made for one hell of a distraction, didn’t it?”
Billy’s laugh echoed in the cool night air. “You sly dog! No wonder she was all flustered. Thought it was just your natural charm.”
“Natural charm, a shared bottle of whiskey, and a secluded spot behind the saloon,” I chuckled, the wind whipping through my hair as we galloped. “But enough about old flames. We’ve got a small fortune to count!”
The thrill of our escape had my blood singing, but fate had other plans. As we approached the rickety bridge spanning Eagle Canyon, a deafening explosion shattered the night.
The world turned upside down, and immediately I was airborne, the scream of my horse cutting off abruptly as we dived.
My fingers scrabbled desperately at the cliff face, hooking on a jutting rock. Pain shot through my arm as I jerked to a stop, dangling precariously over the abyss. The sickening crunch of horse flesh hitting rock echoed from far below.
“Billy!” I shouted, my voice hoarse with fear and dust. “Billy, help me!”
I heard the scuffle of boots on loose gravel, and then Billy’s face appeared above me, his eyes wide with shock.
“Neil! Christ almighty, hold on!”
He took a step towards me, his hand outstretched. Our eyes met, and I saw something flicker behind his gaze, doubt, fear, greed? My arms trembled with the effort of holding on.
“Billy, please...” I grunted, feeling my grip weakening.
His eyes bounced to the money bag lying a few feet away, then back to me. At that moment, I knew. I saw the decision in his eyes before he even moved.
“I’m... I’m sorry, Neil,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the wind. “A man’s gotta look out for himself.”
“You goddamn bastard!” I roared as he snatched up the bag. “After everything we’ve been through!”
But he was already gone, disappeared into the night with our ill-gotten gains. Fury and betrayal surged through me, giving me strength for one last desperate attempt to pull myself up. My muscles screamed in protest as I inched upward, fingers clawing at the loose rock.
I thought I might make it. Then, with a sickening lurch, the rock I was clinging to broke free. Time seemed to slow as I fell, the world spinning around me. The last thing I saw was the unforgiving ground rushing up to meet me, and then everything went black.
Pain. That was the first thing I became aware of, a dull throbbing ache that seemed to encompass my entire being. Then, slowly, other sensations filtered in: the soft crackle of a fire, the earthy scent of herbs, the low murmur of unfamiliar voices.
I forced my eyes open, blinking against the dim light. A young face swam into focus, a boy no more than ten or twelve, with rich bronze skin and dark, curious eyes.
"Ashi’i!" he exclaimed, breaking into a wide grin. “Eagle Eye is awake!”
Before I could process what was happening, the boy darted out of the tent, his voice carrying on the wind. “Eagle Eye has won against the fever!”
Confusion washed over me. Eagle Eye? Fever? I pushed myself up on shaky arms, my head spinning. The last thing I remembered was the rush of wind in my ears as I fell, the certainty of death closing in around me. How was I still alive?
I raised a hand to rub my aching head and froze. The skin of my arm was no longer the pale white I remembered, but a light reddish-brown. Heart pounding, I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the protest of my battered body, and lurched towards a bucket of water in the corner of the tent.
The face that stared back at me from the rippling surface was not my own. High cheekbones, weathered skin, long black hair streaked with gray. I stumbled backward, my breath coming in short gasps.
“What in God’s name—”
The tent flap burst open, and a woman rushed in, her wrinkled face alight with joy. Before I could react, she threw her arms around me, peppering my face with kisses.
"Shiyáázh,” she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks. “My son, you have returned to us. The spirits have heard our prayers!”
I stood frozen, unable to comprehend what was happening. This woman thought I was her son? But I was Neil Morstrong, a thief, a scoundrel, a man who should be dead at the bottom of a ravine.
“I... I don’t understand,” I stammered, gently trying to extricate myself from her embrace. “Who are you? Where am I?”
The woman pulled back, her dark eyes searching my face. ”Shiyáázh, it is me, your mother. Do you not remember? You are home, with your people, the Diné.”
The boy from earlier poked his head into the tent, his expression a mix of excitement and concern. “Grandmother, is Eagle Eye alright?”
She turned to him, her brow furrowed. “Bring the medicine man, quickly. The fever may have taken his memories.”
As the boy scampered off, I sank back onto the bed of furs, my head spinning. “Please,” I said, looking up at the woman who claimed to be my mother. “Tell me what’s happening. Who am I? How did I get here?”
She knelt beside me, taking my hands in hers. Her touch was gentle, comforting, despite the calluses that spoke of a hard life. “You are Tse’lanya’i, Eagle Eye, brave warrior of the Diné people. Three moons ago, you were struck down by a terrible fever. We feared the spirits would take you from us, but you fought, my son. You fought and you have returned.”
I shook my head, trying to make sense of it all. “But I... I remember falling. There was a bridge, an explosion...”
The old woman’s eyes widened. “Uh no, son it’s maybe the heat damaged your brain, try to remember, you were the greatest hunter son.”
As she spoke, memories began to surface fragmented, hazy, but undeniably real. I saw myself as a child, running through fields of corn. I felt the weight of a bow in my hand, the thrill of a successful hunt. I heard the rhythmic chanting of a sacred ceremony, felt the beat of drums in my chest.
But alongside these memories were others of saloons and gunfights, of heists and betrayals. Of a life lived on the wrong side of the law. The feel of Mabel’s skin under my hands, the burn of whiskey down my throat, the exhilaration of a successful con.
“I don’t know who I am anymore,” I whispered, looking into the old woman’s, my mother’s, eyes.
She cupped my face in her weathered hands, her touch anchoring me in the storm of conflicting memories. “You are my son, a warrior of the Diné, and a man blessed by the spirits with a second chance at life. Whatever visions the spirits have shown you, whatever life you may have lived in the realm between worlds, you are home now.”
As her words washed over me, I felt a sense of peace settle in my chest.
“Thank you,” I said softly, squeezing her hands. The word came to me, as if from a half-remembered dream. ”Shimá.”
"Shimá,” I croaked, the word feeling strange on my tongue. “How long... how long was I out?”
She stroked my forehead, her touch cool against my burning skin. “Three winters, my son. The fever nearly took you from us.”
Three winters? Christ, that couldn’t be right. I was about to ask more when the tent flap burst open. In strode this old fella decked out like some kind of medicine man, hollering to the heavens.
