The Mountain’s Will
“I still think making tinfoil hats would be a good idea.”
Goldthorn
“Marty? Marty, wake up.”
Bella was trying to wake me with a gentle touch on my shoulder. Her fingers were delicate but strong, growing more forceful the longer I remained still. But her voice was strange. She sounded younger, and her Mediterranean accent sounded . . . Irish?
I opened my eyes. It was dark, but I could see pinpoints of stars shining through the window. And then I remembered. Neithernor.
It took a moment for my eyes to focus. When they did, I saw her. Young and pale in the starlight, her hair a frightful mess, but I instantly recognized her. Even without the magical armor.
“Deirdre?”
“Hi, Marty.”
“You’re alive.” I sat bolt upright and said, “The Storm. The Mountaineers. s**t, wher
