Chapter 1

1

Rhys Davis reined in the stocky bay gelding at the crest of the ridge. To his watchful gaze, the valley below yawned black and threatening. He heard the muffled sounds as Liam Malone checked his horse just to Rhys’ left. After that, he couldn’t hear a thing—silence, a profound and unusual silence. Not quite total, though, for, after a moment, he could hear the horses breathing and a whispery sigh of the fitful breeze, but not the usual small noises of the night, no coyotes or night birds. Too quiet, unnaturally quiet.

He tugged the night vision goggles free of his jacket and settled them over his eyes. As the wind slipped in through the opening he made at his neck, he shivered. The late-November night’s stillness seemed to add to the chill. They might be far south, but they were also about a mile high, far enough up in the bleak, rugged mountains of the New Mexico border land that winter was tangible.

Even the goggles didn’t show him much detail. The deep narrow valley remained shrouded in charcoal gray. The faint glowing traces of a few small animals slipping about their nocturnal business were all he could see.

“Too quiet,” Liam said, speaking in a low, flat tone. “Billy would say the tchindi were walking.”

Rhys snorted. “He would, and he might be right. This whole scene smells bad to me, a stench worse than rotting corpses and bad drugs. Something’s not right besides the fact there’ve been a dozen murders in the past month scattered along both sides of the border and nothing to lead to the perp. Whoever is doing it isn’t particular, either. Anglos, illegals, Mexican law enforcement and some officers on our side. Skinwalkers? Tchindi?Hell, it’s demons for all I know.”

The Billy who Liam had mentioned was the third member of the triumvirate they had been from the age of eight until the present with only a few small breaks. Billy Sundog had been in the same class at Window Rock School as Liam and Rhys. Billy was Navajo, while the other two boys were Anglo—or belagani in Navajo—sons of the teachers in the school system of the Navajo nationtrsquo;s capital.

Billy had been a bit of a misfit, too, born to “city” Indians who’d lived in California until his father’s death drove his mother home to the rez to live with an elderly aunt and uncle, her nearest kin. Billy didn’t blend in with the local kids, so he’d teamed up with the two other new boys in the third-grade class—Liam with flame-red hair and freckles and Rhys, almost dark enough to be taken for Latino or Indian, yet clearly not either.

Billy’s great-uncle was a practicing medicine man. Billy soon became fascinated by the superstitions and lore of his people when he encountered it for the first time. He learned the tchindiwere the restless spirits of the newly dead and much feared by most of the Navajo people. They all soon found you did not speak of the dead by name and shunned places where someone died. Liam and Rhys, both carrying Celtic blood with its bent for superstition about the unknown, jumped into the new mythology, too. They’d all shivered, but speculated at length about the tchindi or Navajo ghosts, and the skinwalkers, shape-shifting witches, talking of them like many kids told ghost stories and “bloody bones” tales at their sleepovers and campouts.

Rhys wiggled his shoulders, settling his pile-lined jacket more solidly in place as he slipped the goggles back into its protection, still hanging from the strap around his neck. “Guess we ought to ride on down to the spring and look for tracks before we head back to the truck.”

Liam agreed. “Yeah. It doesn’t look like anything’s stirring, but we can check. Sergeant Gomez’ll expect a detailed report of what we did and if we don’t make a full patrol, he’ll be pissed, the damn hard-assed bastard.”

Rhys snorted again. “Yeah, Gomez has a hard-on about us, or at least it seems like it. I don’t think he likes gringos and he sure doesn’t like Native Americans! He’s always riding Billy’s ass.”

“Maybe it’s just that we’re the new guys on his crew and he hasn’t decided if we’re going to fit in and work out or not. He knows we’re all buds, too, and probably wonders how in hell we got assigned together right out of training. That never happens and if we’d asked for the same duty station, we’d never have gotten it. I’m even surprised we ended up this close to home. We prob’ly should’ve gone to San Diego or Brownsville, even up on the Canadian border or maybe one each way.”

Rhys nodded, though he knew Liam could not see the action. “Right. Luck like that is almost too good to be true, but this mess we’re dumped into makes up for it. This whole thing gives me the creeps. It just doesn’t feel right.”

At a cluck and shake of the reins, the two horses started down, picking their way confidently along the rut of a cattle trail leading to the spring at the bottom. There, an old concrete trough caught water trickling from a rusted pipe that ran back into one rocky hillside, making a critical water hole for both livestock and wildlife. The U. S. Border Patrol officers knew parties of border crossers also used it to refill canteens and plastic bottles to provide water for the next leg of the dry trek northward.