Book 1: To Engineer Is Human

"A good judgment is usually the result of experience. And experience is frequently the result of bad judgment. But to learn from the experience of others requires those who have the experience to share the knowledge with those who follow."

-Henry Petroski

Chapter 1: Eternal Kindness

The people in the mountains tended to live in peaceful fear. It was far from their minds that the walls had stood for forever, and that titans never got into the cities. They knew citizens weren't ever required to leave the walls and face the danger, but the mountains were safer regardless. A skilled mountaineer knew which paths led to jumps that could evade titans, should they ever arrive, and which trees connected to one another and helped you climb a cliff, in essence. The walls met the mountains, and in theory, a titan could travel the whole wall, brave the snow and ravines, and find the trappers who lived on the highest peaks. All in theory, for no titan had ever come.

The mountains were always covered in snow, and while much of the meat from rabbits, deer, and elk went to the lowlands, the fur stayed in the mountains. Even children traveling to school needed bundles. Too often, cadets got lost in the snow, so remote mountaineers kept blankets warmed and stocked. The trainers made sure to send their cadets during the worst seasons (even thought the worst of the lowlands got light rain), and most trainees weren't prepared for the weather.

So, in the evenings, Karmen Denst would chop wood and scan the hills for lonely cadets, separated from their packs. They were difficult to see in the shadowed snow, wearing dungy green coats shoulder to ankle. They typically stumbled around and fell down the hill, where the Denst home was built on a flat section. Karmen Denst chopped wood for two hours each evening, supplying him and his wife, a young couple two miles south, and the widow of a scout making ends meet with her two young children. She had good reason to live here—all they recovered of her husband was a right arm and a wedding band.

"Traders came into town this morning," Lana Denst said from their porch. She wiped a rectangular pan and gazed at the horizon. "They'll be leaving a little later. Do you think we might get a pot of honey before they go? I don't want to spend savings that Kelli might need."

"Kelli's a resourceful girl," Karmen told his wife. "She'll be alright for the summer."

"But if she—"

"No, you've been drinking tea with that awful leaf sweetener for nearly three months. We can splurge on a little honey."

Lana nodded, her lips pursed, and stared at the hills. She absentmindedly kept wiping, drying, not noticing her husband's gaze. A wind picked up, brushing her apron and skirt against her legs.

Thirty years, Karmen mused, and still together. They'd watched friends get married, move to the lowlands, have children, split up, have grandchildren, get back together, and die. He'd been to more funerals, weddings, baby showers, and birthday parties than he ever thought possible. That was what they really should've taught in school: the more friends you have, the more parties you go to, the more money you have to spend.

But when people asked the secret to a long-lasting marriage, Karmen drew a blank. He's just met a girl, fell in love, and asked her to marry him. She'd really done the rest: saying yes, going through with it, and setting up a home. They knew beforehand that neither wanted children (both had younger siblings mauled), so there were no discussions of how much money to save, where to live, what schools were best, or parenting strategies. He'd married her, and they lived together. Mostly happily, with a few bouts of sickness. He didn't know what made the whole thing tick.

"Karmen," his wife called, a hint of urgency in her voice. "I think something's wrong."

"Is the pain in your hip back again?" He brought the ax down on a block of wood. "We're still getting the honey, whether you need more medicine or not."

She pointed, gaze steady. Her finger led his eyes to the top of the hill, where a figure stumbled down the slope. The two paused, waiting. If it was a bear, they needed to get a gun. If it was a person, they needed to get blankets. It was best not to waste time wondering. But as Karmen looked longer, he realized the figure was much too small to be a bear, unless it was a baby one. The mother could be nearby.

"Karmen," Lana repeated. "What if it's a child?"

"A bit too strong to be a child," he replied. "Look how its carrying itself over the hill. And its wearing some kind of fur. Probably just a trapper that got lost. He might not even need our help."

"She," his wife clarified. "I see whisps of hair behind her, too even for any man."

"I've got even hair," Karmen argued.

"Keep telling yourself that." Lana disappeared inside and came back with bundles of blankets, a jug of water, and bread. "If you're really so inclined, wait with the pistol on the porch. But I'm convinced."

Karmen shook his head and followed his wife. It was too small to be a bear, and mother bears were usually in sight. And they hadn't found a lost person in a few years. The town would be abuzz for months, talking about who they were, where they came from, and what signage to add so it didn't happen again.

The two walked the trail, slowing at the incline. "We're not as young as we used to be," Karmen huffed. "Maybe we can let that little young feller come to us."

"Hey! You!" Lana waved her free hand. "Do you need help? Are you lost?"

"Girl!" Karmen waved, too. He could see a frostbitten little face poking between the scarves. "Come on over! We've got food and water and a hot house."

"Hot house," Lana chided. "You've got to phrase that differently."

"Oh, she's too frozen to care. C'mon!"

The girl turned, waved, and stumbled down the hill. As she got closer, Karmen could see her limbs were stiff with cold, and her face a frosty white. All her clothes were covered in white powder and mud, and the tips of her hair sprouted icicles. She'd been in the woods for a while. She slid off the slope and onto the covered path, waving again at the couple. "Thank God," she said, "I thought there wasn't anyone here."

"Oh, you poor dear, you're practically a part of the mountain. Here." Lana handed her the loaf, which was gone in moments. "How long have you been lost?"

"Five nights," the girl replied. "But I had enough provisions for four of them. It probably wasn't the wisest idea, but I've been using snow and ice for water."

"It's the best idea, under your circumstances." Karmen placed the fur over her clothes. "Let's get you inside. There's a fire and hot tea, though we don't have honey."

"Thank you." The girl's teeth clattered. "You're too kind."

The three went down the hill, leaving flattened snow behind in asymmetrical shapes. Inside, the girl sat beside the fire, Lana filled the kettle, and Karmen found some old clothes that might fit her. At a closer look, she certainly was small, but not a child. She looked like a young adult but had scars on her face and hands, and her long hair was split in many places and coarse. She was thin, but her movements were sure, muscles strong. She stared into the flames intently.

Lana handed her a hot cup. "There's this awful sweetener the traders scammed us with, but it might be better without."

"Thank you." The girl took it with both hands. "I'll have it unsweetened."

"Karmen." Lana waved her hand, and her husband jerked up. "Good, you got some clothes. Go make yourself busy outdoors for a few minutes while our guest gets comfortable."

"Sure, sure." He went back to his chopping block and picked up from there. The snow was falling harder now, covering up their jagged path. The woodpile was tall enough for them, their neighbors, and the extra back bedroom, reserved for travelers. He was glad he had little else to do than check traps and chop wood. There was no scarcity, and would be none, if he could help it.

Lana never called him back, so an hour later, he hefted ten logs on his shoulders and headed inside. He set a few on the living room fire and some more in the bathroom furnace, which heated the water and their bedrooms. He found his wife in the master bedroom, in her nightclothes, brushing her hair.

"The girl settled?"

"Mm hmm. Poor thing didn't do much more than eat and sleep. I offered her some brandy to warm her bones, but she refused."

"Awfully curious for someone to brave the mountains and refuse a good drink. Oh, well." Karmen stepped behind his wife and wrapped his hands around her waist. "She's fast asleep?"

"Oh, dead as a mouse. We may not see her up and out for a few days."

"That's alright." He kissed her cheek. "We've got plenty of bread and potatoes to last. We might even get the honey in time to make our guest feel really at home."

"Karmen, stop." She pushed his hands off and turned. "Not tonight. She's sleeping just a wall away, and your father didn't build this house to be soundproof."

"Alright, alright. After our guest leaves, then."

"Fine." Lana gave him a kiss and got settled in bed.

"So, what'd you find out about our mystery guest? She from the lowlands?"

"Oh, you were outside." She closed her eyes for a moment. "She doesn't even remember. Not where she came from, what region she lives in, family name, brothers, sisters, parents, nothing. She might've hit her head on a boulder and lost memory."

"The cold will do it, too," Karmen said. "After days of all the same, you forget who you are. Do you remember that one young man who couldn't tell his left from his right?"

"Yes, and his wife had to teach him how to peel potatoes again. Although I'm convinced he fully remembered his name and place of birth. He just wanted to get away from that controlling witch."

"Only with a b?"

"Only with a b," Lana laughed. It was her favorite joke to tell. "But she's such a sweet girl, with lovely manners. She can't be older than thirty, maybe twenty-five, twenty-six. Strong as an ox. Her muscles were better than any trapper I've seen."

"Maybe she worked on a farm," he suggested.

"Maybe. The only thing she remembered was her name."

"Which is?"

Lana stared at their bedside candle. "Edie."