The rest of her statement is muffled as she’s gathered into a strong embrace. Koda’s warmth, scent, and strength surrounds her, filling her with a peace she’s long been lacking.
“You’re all knots,” Koda murmurs into her hair, long fingers pressing gently against the bands of tight muscle along Kirsten’s back and shoulders.
“Nerves,” Kirsten replies, wincing as the gentle pressure sends sparks of pain down her arms.
“Let’s do something about that.” Pulling away, Koda smiles down at her.
“A massage?” Kirsten asks innocently, well remembering where their massages have ended up in the past. “I suppose that will relax me. Eventually.”
Rolling her eyes, Dakota takes a step back. “Let’s try something else first, shall we?” Strong hands still on her shoulders, she gently urges the young woman to sit on the floor. “Here, cross your legs and get comfortable, alright?”
“C’mon, Koda, I’m no good at this meditation stuff. Remember what happened at the sweat hut?” A tremor of anxiety wends its way through her belly as she remembers that time, quite well. Muscles which were starting to relax instantly become tense again.
“Relax, cante skuye. You’ll be fine. Just relax and close your eyes.”
Sighing softly, Kirsten does as requested. Closing her eyes is the easy part. Relaxing is something else altogether.
Dakota’s hands come down on her shoulders again, their heat filling her body with a sweet, welcome warmth. “Relax and concentrate on your breathing.” Koda’s voice sounds very close to her ear and she shivers slightly as the dulcet tones sooth their way through her. “Deep cleansing breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Yes, like that. Good. Now, with each breath, feel some of your tension drift away. Can you feel it?”
Not really, Kirsten thinks, but doesn’t speak aloud, not wanting to disappoint her lover.
As if reading her thoughts, Koda chuckles and squeezes the firm flesh beneath her palms. “Don’t try so hard, my love. If nothing else, think of it as a few minutes without worries, ok?”
“Hm. Well, if you put it that way….”
“I do.”
“Alright, then.”
Wiggling her backside a little to try and gain more comfort on the hard wooden floor, she makes a great effort to relax her muscles and control her breathing. She can feel her lover’s solid presence behind her, and takes in her scent on an indrawn breath, letting it surround her and mingle with the warmth of the strong hands on her shoulders. Without realizing it, she slips into a light meditative state.
Opening her eyes, she finds herself in some sort of field. The land is flat and treeless and empty, stretching on for miles as far as her eyes can see. Tall grasses with feathery tufts have been pressed flat against the ground, laying a rich golden carpet over the earth.
A familiar, piercing cry sounds overhead, and she looks up, smiling as she sees what can only be Wiyo circling overhead on the warm, late-summer breeze. Instinctually, her hand raises as if to wave to her old, trusted friend, then freezes as the slanting sun winks off something on her finger.
A ring.
On the third finger of her left hand.
Her vision blurs as she stares, dumbstruck, at the simple golden band through a film of sudden, joyful tears.
The hawk’s cry sounds again, and this time it is answered by an identical cry to her left. Blinking, she shifts her gaze in that direction, looking on in dazed wonder as Dakota appears as if from nowhere. She is a magnificent sight. Dressed only in a beaded loincloth of red, yellow and black, her skin is dark and shining with sweat and oil. Her feet are bare as are her breasts. Her hair, drawn into two fat, shining braids lying easy over her broad shoulders, sports two eagle feathers, both pointing toward the heavens.
In one hand, she holds a handled drum, and she taps on it with the fingers of her free hand. The rhythm is that of Kirsten’s heartbeat. With each tap, Dakota takes a step, ball of her foot to heel and ball to heel again, approaching her in a slow, sinuous and utterly captivating dance.
Her mouth opens, and she utters, again, the cry of the hawk, which is echoed by Wiyo, and then by human voices.
Many human voices.
A long line of men and women appear behind Dakota. Leading the line is Tacoma, dressed identically to his sister save for the single feather in his hair and the bone whistle cradled securely between his lips.
He looks at her and winks. She can’t help but smile back, filled with a sense of warmth and family far beyond anything she has ever conceived of knowing. She almost laughs aloud as the line dances slowly forward to Koda’s rhythm and she recognizes the men and women following. Andrews, his shockingly red hair free and down past his shoulders, wears a pair of Army camo pants and no shirt, his fair, freckled skin already starting to burn in the blazing light of the sun. Manny is next, looking every bit the full blooded Lakota, his hair finally grown out enough to braid.
Her jaw drops slightly as she recognizes Maggie, breasts proudly bared, her ebony skin shining blue in the sun, her teeth a blinding white as she nods to Kirsten and breaks into a beaming grin.
“My family,” she whispers, her eyes filling with tears once again. “My people.”
The strident scream of an air-raid siren breaks through her vision, jarring her back to full consciousness as her muscles close their steel traps once again.
She feels herself being lifted to her feet and steadied as she sways the tiniest bit, still caught between the present and what can only be her future. Can it? the more cynical part of her mind asks. Can it really? Dreams like that are not for you, Kirsten King. Not for you. Not for you. Not for you….
“We’ll just see about that,” she growls, grabbing Dakota’s hand just as the door bursts inward and Jackson plows through. “The enemy’s been spotted, Ma’ams. They’re coming.”
“In the air?” Dakota asks.
“No, Ma’am. On the ground. It’s….” He shakes himself out of his nervousness. “The Colonel requests your presence in her office. Best possible speed.”
“Let’s go.”
Jackson leads the way back out, but as Kirsten is about to follow, she’s tugged to a gentle stop by Dakota. She looks up into gleaming eyes.
“You were given a vision.”
It’s not a question, and she doesn’t have it within her to demur. Not now. Instead, she nods.
“It will come true.” Again, the tone of complete, unalterable certainty.
Lifting Kirsten’s hand, Koda places a kiss in the palm, then holds it over her own heart. “It will come true,” she states again, her belief bedrock.
“I hope so,” Kirsten whispers. “More than anything in the world.”
*
Hours later, with the last of the plans set into motion, Dakota and Kirsten return to the house for a brief period of privacy, each knowing that such a chance will not come again for a very long, strenuous time.
“I saw Manny earlier,” Kirsten says, looking up from her laptop where binary code continues to march futilely across the screen. “He’s not a happy camper.”
Koda lifts the kettle from the stove with both hands and pauses on her way to the bathroom. “I ran into him, too, when I made a last check on the patients in the clinic. He was walking around in the middle of his own personal cloud, but he didn’t say what was bothering him.”
“I know Maggie isn’t letting him lead the chopper squadron tomorrow. He’s been a glorified baby sitter for the last several weeks; that’s got to smart.” From the bathroom, Kirsten hears the water splash into the tub. They may die tomorrow, maybe tonight. But, by all the gods past and present, they are going to have a hot bath first. “How’s it going?” she asks as Koda returns to fill the pot and set it on the stove where two others are just beginning to steam.