Not far from Baladin’s village ran the Derya river, which Baladin and Moromir followed down, to the east, traveling at night. In the evening, Baladin walked impatiently in front, while Moromir’s horse followed lazily. Her name was Cayenne, and Baladin decided that he did not like her very much. For by the time the sun rose, when Baladin was dragging his feet behind him, Cayenne still followed behind, but closely, almost stepping on his feet every time.

They reached the Great Southern Road early on the third night. The ancient stone road cut through the terrain in an almost perfectly straight line, through hills and forests, over rivers and lakes, spanning the length of the empire. For the entire distance, spaced half a day’s travel apart, were watchtowers, already ancient by the time of the founding of the empire. Now, all but a few were derelict ruins.

Not a shape could be seen on the cobblestone path stretching into the horizon. Exceptions were Baladin, Moromir, and Cayenne. And a fourth, who let out a hoarse cry.

“Beans! Beans! Come get your beans!”

Baladin noticed that what he had confused for a colorful bush by the roadside, was in fact a woman. But then again, a bush-shaped woman. She sat hunched over in the cold. Her clothes were black rags, caught on her body as if by the wind, and her short brown hair stuck out like dead branches.

“Beans?” asked Baladin.

She looked up, and her eyes were stark yellow, younger by far than her voice.

“Ah, travelers! Have you come to hear the tale of the beans?”

She held out in her palm three large red beans.

Cayenne, who had caught up to Baladin, sniffed them curiously. Moromir smacked his lips. There was no response.

“A long time ago,” said the woman, “a beautiful sorceress called Dea was cursed to have three beans. Any man who asks can have one, and the beans grant infinite riches. The end.”

“A short tale,” said Baladin.

“And yet, no less entertaining!” said Dea.

“Eating those beans gives infinite riches?” asked Moromir.

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"Yes, from the arcane weave itself! That’s why they are invaluable. Wealth, never-ending, impossible to track (and therefore, to tax). Ask, and they're yours.”

“Certainly an interesting proposition. What think you, master Baladin?”

“Don’t call me master,” said the master Baladin. “And as for the beans, I don’t want those either.”

“What?” cried Dea.

“I’m not interested in your magic, witch,” said Baladin.

“Sorceress,” said Dead.

“Not interested in your sorceress, whatever. I don’t like beans. And I’m fine without infinite riches.”

“How could you be fine without infinite riches? It is literally without drawback. Unless… Oh, I get it now.” She put her hands on her hips. “This is all because I'm a mysterious woman sitting by the wayside. Why, you probably think this is some sort of trick?”

“I am sure master Baladin would never–” began Moromir.

“No, I can see it now. Sure, every mysterious woman offering gifts seemingly without drawback has to have ulterior motives. I have to say, really forward thinking of you.” She clapped, exaggeratedly. “You know, I would have expected something like this in 776, but in 786...”

“If it isn’t a trick, why don’t you eat the beans?” asked Baladin.

“Sure, and actually, I’ll eat all of them. And how stupid you’re gonna look, when I get infinite riches times three.”

All four waited expectantly.

“Is she eating them?” whispered Moromir.

“No,” said Baladin.

Cayenne did not say anything, being unable to.

Moromir said, “Witch–”

“Sorceress. Dea.”

“Dea, should we turn around, so you may eat the beans in peace?”

“Why are you so obsessed with me eating the beans?” asked Dea, with a hint of nervousness.

“You’re the one who said it,” said Baladin. “Now, go on.”

Dea looked down on the beans in her palm, brows furrowing.

Then, she exclaimed, “Hah, you know what? I won’t eat the beans. Just to teach you a lesson.”

“And what lesson is that?” asked Moromir.

“Exactly. These questions are gonna haunt you to the end of your days! Chasing you, always that nagging feeling that you can’t quite shake. Holding you awake in the middle of the night, always, that answer just without reach. And when you’re about to go insane, you shall search for me, but you won’t find me, and I’ll laugh."

Dea, who tended to lose track of her surroundings when excited, did not notice that the two men had left until they were far away.