Perfect Assassin

Pris moaned, reliving the horror of knowing she was going to die.

Was she dead?

Was she in some limbo between heaven and hell?

“Open your eyes, sisttsi nan. You fell from the sky, but you’re alive. Open your eyes so you can see I speak the truth.”

Prisca heard the words and responded, opened her eyes to see an old woman bent over her. There was a fire crackling close by, and it lit up the woman’s wrinkled brown face framed in pink wool.

“There you are, sisttsi nan. Such beautiful eyes.”

“Where am I?”

“On Sinopah.”

That explained nothing. Pris took a deep breath and moaned regretfully as a fiery pain shot throughout her body.

“I’m hurt.”

“Yes. But I have stopped the bleeding. You will survive.”

“Who are you?”

“Koko Blackkettle. And you, sisttsi nan, what is your name?”

“I’m…” Prisca hesitated. She didn’t dare tell anyone who she was. “I…don’t know,” she lied. “I can’t remember.”

The old woman nodded, then reached out and touched Prisca’s forehead. “Maybe a concussion. Don’t worry, or think too hard. You will know what to remember when it is important enough to make a difference. The journey has begun.”

“What journey?”

“Yours, of course. The vision tells me you’re on a quest.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re alive, and you must trust that, and only that for a time. Your purpose must be strong to survive a disaster that could have so easily killed you.”

“My purpose?”

“It’s promised in the vision.”

“What vision?”

“The vision that brought me to you.”

Pris looked around, and that’s when she saw the airplane. Or what was left of it—twisted metal scattered in all directions.

“The pilot—”

“His journey has taken him further. Do not think of him now.” The old woman laid her hand on Prisca’s chest. “Rest now.”

Marty was dead. Pris closed her eyes and tried not to think about him. The old woman began to chant again, and in an odd way it was comforting. When she blinked her eyes open again, Koko was back at the fire, stirring something in a small kettle.

Pris tried to sit up and that’s when she realized that her injuries were far more serious than she thought. She moved her hands over her body, and realized that she was wearing only her panties and nothing more beneath a layer of blankets.

“Where are my clothes? My phone?”

“I found no phone. Your clothes… I cut them off you with my knife.” The old woman produced a knife from beneath her coat. “A gift from my grandson. There was much blood and I needed to know where it was coming from. Don’t move or the bleeding will start again. Many cuts.” Koko motioned to her legs. “Some of them are deep. You must stay quiet. Your ankle is swollen, too. No broken bones.”

“How did you find me?”

“I saw you in the sky.”

“How?”

“All that matters is that I came to you in time.”

“Where is my luggage?”

“Did you have luggage?”

“Ah…I must have.”

“The airplane still burns. If you brought bags with you, they are not here. You were lucky. You were thrown out of the plane.”

“I hurt all over.”

“I have brought something with me to ease the pain.” The old woman brought Pris a brown bottle. “Drink. Two swallows.”

Pris tipped back the bottle and drank the bitter liquid, and within ten minutes she started to see double. The woman had drugged her, she realized, as she slipped into a heavy sleep.

The next time Pris opened her eyes she didn’t know where she was until she saw the old woman seated beside her. It was daylight and she stared at the surrounding wilderness with both awe and fear. There was no way that they would be rescued, she thought. No one would ever find them. Maybe no one even knew they were there.

She tried to move, and moaned with the effort.

“Be still, sisttsi nan.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means pretty bird.”

“And what language is it.”

“My language. I am a Blackfeet Indian.”

“Blackfoot?”

“No, Blackfeet. I have two.” The old woman smiled, then stood. “I can see much pain in your eyes. I will bring you medicine.”