“From the ship.”
“Jail. Ship. It doesn’t matter. You did it, and now…” She took another breath, counting, slowly.
“You’re angry.”
“Aap,” she said. “Because you’re not.”
“We won’t change anything with anger, Kamiila. The people…”
“People? What people?” Kamiila looked down. She scuffed her boots in the dust on the path. “There is no people. They put down the resistance in Nuuk before it really got started. If they can do that there, where everybody lives, how are a handful of people going to make a difference in a settlement? Or a village. A small town. How?”
“By keeping the old ways alive.”
“I don’t believe that.” Kamiila turned her back on Maratse. She walked to where the path dropped down a steep section of split boulder. She started to climb down, only to stop and stare at Maratse. “You don’t believe it either. But that’s not why you’re talking about the old days, our cultural and traditions.”
“It’s not?”
Kamiila brushed at the last of her tears on her cheeks, then lifted her chin. Defiant – dangerous, even. “You won’t talk about resistance, because you’re scared of what will happen if you do.” Kamiila caught Maratse’s eye, and said, “I’m right. Aren’t I?”
Maratse took his hands from his pockets. He pressed his hand to the nearest boulder, brushing his palm over the black lichen, nodding as the crisp surface dug into his skin. He lifted his head, drawing a long breath through his nose, filling his lungs with dry mountain air spiced with tart juniper leaves, chill damp earth hoarded in the shadowed cracks in the rocks. He looked past Kamiila, blinking in the sun sparkling on the deep blue waters of the fjord.
“You’re right,” he said, as he climbed down to join Kamiila on the path at the foot of the boulder. “I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“Losing this,” he said, with a nod to the fjord, the mountains.
“It’s already lost. We have to fight to get it back.”
“People will get hurt.”
“And they will die.” Kamiila stabbed her finger to the west. “Nukappi died. More will die.”
“But for what?”
“For what?” Kamiila laughed. “This.” She grabbed a handful of grit from the path. “This is the land we live on, the land we live with.” Dust blew from her hands, coating her sweater, adding another layer of dirt to Maratse’s jacket, as she brushed the grit from her fingers. “People die in Greenland. We die on the ice, drown in the sea, fall in the mountains. But that’s our choice. These people…” Kamiila spat the words. “These Americans, they think…”
Maratse tucked his hands into his pockets as she paused, listening, waiting for her to continue.
“… they say they are doing us a favour, giving us a better life.” She shook her head, laughing. “I sound like my father.” She looked at Maratse. “I sound like you.”
“Eeqqi,” Maratse said. “Not like me. More passionate than me. You sound like Inniki.”
“Rasmussen?”
“Iiji.”
Kamiila smiled, nodding slowly, before saying, “I like that. I want to be like her. I mean, now I do. Before Nukappi… I don’t know what I wanted. It was confusing.” She looked at Maratse. “You were confusing. And now I’m angry and I want…” Kamiila frowned, staring at Maratse as he dipped his head, gesturing at something behind her. “What?”
“Look,” he said.
Kamiila turned around and looked down the path. She reached for her rifle, only to pause, then pass it to Maratse as she hurried down the path to the woman making her way towards them.
“Innuina,” Kamiila said. She dropped her pack on the ground and ran the last few metres, pulling Innuina into her arms, holding her as they both sank to the path. “She’s hurt,” Kamiila said, calling up to Maratse, glancing at her pack.
Maratse picked up Kamiila’s pack on his way down to them. Innuina caught her breath, brushing dust from her mouth as Kamiila pressed a water bottle into her hands.
“Drink. Don’t talk.”
Innuina nodded. Water dribbled from her lips as she tipped the bottle to her mouth. She choked, caught her breath, then lowered the bottle.
“I’m okay,” she said, the words rasping over her lips. “Kaatsiaaja is here. She’s with Kilaasi.”
“On the mountain?”
“Aap.”
“Why?” Maratse asked.
Innuina looked up and said, “Because they came to Kussannaq. The Americans told us we had to leave, that there was no choice.” She stared at Maratse, and the same fire that had sparked Kamiila’s eyes, now burned in hers. “One of them attacked me. Then another fired his gun at me, at my daughter. They shot at us.”
“Then you’re hurt,” Kamiila said. She tugged at Innuina’s clothes, looking for blood. Innuina brushed her hands away.
“I’m tired, not hurt. Only my feet.”
Innuina’s hair was caked in dust, twisted into long tangles. The dust on her cheeks filled the pores of her skin, with dark spots where the water splashed from her mouth. Maratse crouched beside her and she reached out for his hand.
“They talked about you,” she said. “My English is not so good, but I heard your name.”
Kamiila shot a glance at Maratse, but he focused his attention on Innuina. “Tell us what happened.”
“But Kaatsiaaja and…”
“Are they coming up the mountain?” Kamiila asked.
“Naamik. I left them in the shade of a boulder. Kilaasi is weak. Kaatsiaaja is hungry and tired. I told them to stay there, that I would find you, and that they would be all right. The Americans will not follow us into the mountains.”
“Why not?” Kamiila’s brow pinched with another frown. “Did they say that?”
“Not that,” Innuina said, with another glance at Maratse. “They said something else.”
“They think I will come to them,” Maratse said. “Don’t they?”
Innuina nodded. “Aap.”
Kamiila grabbed Maratse’s arm, pulling him away from Innuina. She gritted her teeth and said, “You can’t go.”
“They forced them from their homes.”
“I know. To get you to react.”
“And if I don’t, if I don’t give myself up, they will take another settlement, and force them to move.”
“And have you thought about why?”
Maratse shrugged and sat down on a boulder. “Does
