Legend of the Pricklepeople A Short Story by Granny Which Witch and Plagiarized Shamelessly by PS Wright
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The Legend of The Prickle People
A Short Story (by Granny Which Witch and plagiarized shamelessly)
by PS Wright
Copyright 2012 PS Wright
There was peace between the trees and the cacti. They were all vegepeople after all. The pines and pinons had still more in common with the cacti, as they were known, collectively, as the prickle people. They honored the territorial boundaries between their people. The trees kept to the pastures, valleys, and low hills. The cacti dug in across the desert, on the rocky sides of mountains, and on the salt plains. But not all prickle people were a part of this comaraderie. As long as they had a common rival, they could put aside their many differences to snub the poorer relations. Though the trees and cacti were not on the friendliest terms, both cacti and trees could agree there was one family they could not abide.
The Agave family had lived three hundred years on the side of the mountain where Bernard Pine's kin had staked a claim. Brevi Agave was much older than Bernard and claimed his clan had been there first.
Digera Agave had migrated many generations before to the wide expanse of Granny's desert park. Here he settled into the Sonorous Valley and began to spread his seeds until his grandchildren were more numerous than the shadows. Lucas Saguaro, elder of the Giganteas Tribe, complained loudly that the Agaves were intruding upon the ancestral lands of the cacti.
As time wore on, the Saguaro family resented the Agaves' use of the limited rainfall. Those Agaves had to go. Lucas sent his youngest daughter, Carnegiea, to meet with the mountain Pine trees in the hopes of forging an alliance in order to force the Agaves out of the desert for good, by war if necessary. Being only 50 years old, she was not even half her adult height, but still she towered over many of the others of her family. Her father trusted she would be able to stand root to root and arm to branch with the Pines, though she had yet to flower one season.
Carnegiea traipsed across the valley and up the track to the high desert. It would be a long trek indeed, so she took her time, pausing to take in the beautiful scenery along the way. Carnegiea had never traveled far from home before, and possessed little knowledge of the dangers of the wider world. She had no fear of the windswept and barren, rocky, mountain ledges on which the scrubby Pines made their homes. She foolishly allowed the days to grow long as she acquainted herself with the indigenous fauna of the mountain. As summer stretched into fall and autumn faded to winter, Carnegiea found herself far from home and alone on a high precipice. The wind began to howl and whistle. Feeling her first little bit of fear, she sought to find some loose soil within a crack in the rock face in order to dig in her roots. The winds bit and tore at the young cactus, threatening to tip her over the ledge and down the mountain.
Nearby, an Agave youth was exploring a new shelf on which he might sew his next generation. Handsome, strong, and wealthy, Joshua was the most popular youngster in his stand. The sound of something large rustling and struggling in the wind caught his attention and he followed it around a corner. There stood a tall cactus, struggling to hang on. Joshua saw her problem at once. Digging his longer roots into the side of the mountain, he sent one long branch to snag the gangly giant before she tumbled down the mountain.
Carnegiea was so relieved that she hugged her young rescuer. "Thank you. I might have been dashed to death. Might I have the name of my benefactor?"
"I am Joshua. These mountains are my home. They are not friendly to those of your type, I'm afraid. You should probably go back home before the freezing sets in."
"If these mountains are your home," She figured. "you must be one of the trees I have come to meet. My father, Lucas Saguaro, sent me to negotiate with the Pine family. We have had much trouble from those pesky Agaves and would like your help to be rid of them once and for all."
Joshua was known to be a bit of a practical joker and saw an opportunity to tease the lady cactus. "Indeed I am known as Joshua Tree. I am the most powerful of the trees in this mountain range. How might I be of service?"
Carnegiea suggested he start by showing her to a safer locale where they could negotiate.
Now Joshua might have shown her down the mountain or escorted her to a small stand of pine located nearby. But he saw an opportunity for fun and was not about to miss it. "Come lady, and I will show you to my village." Joshua showed the lady to a nearby human encampment. The humans here had dark skin and hair to protect them from the burning sun and scouring winds. They were hardy folk who's hook noses and chiseled features resembled the rocky mountains they called home. As soon as they saw Joshua entering their camp, they knew he was about some mischief. The mountain people enjoyed playing tricks on the flatlanders and were eager to join in the game.
"Oh Joshua, you have come home at last!" The elder of the human encampment cried with a wink.
Now Joshua threw his branches all in the air and pretended to be horrified. "What has become of you, mighty trees? Your limbs have shrunken and fallen off, leaving you with only two apiece. And look at your roots, shriveled to such short things you must plant them in moccasins lest they too fall completely away."
Now the villagers knew what game they were to play and gleefully acted their parts, crying out, "Look, look, Joshua! Our leaves have fallen completely away and our skin is as easily pierced as the flesh of the barrel cacti. Oh what will we do?"
Among the many in the crowd, Joshua spied the weaver of tales. He addressed his question to the tale teller. "How has this curse come upon you? Have you angered the ancient ones?"
The weaver of tales was elated with this opportunity to invent a new story. She swelled her chest and set her features into a terrifying scowl. "It was the witch of winter, Mistress When, who did this to us. She overheard the friends of the Agave bragging that the orchids were the most beautiful of all desert blooms. We tried to warn them that the witch is jealous of the reputation of her datura blossoms. But the Agave just would not listen. The witch When sent a curse through the range of the mountains. This is what we have become as a result."
Joshua could barely contain his giggles as he pretended to lament. "Oh great one, is this curse permanent?"
"Oh it may be. But do not pity us. If you think we have been struck hard, you should see what has become of the mighty sequoias." With this, the weaver of tales waved an arm toward a rocky precipice.
Joshua and Carnegiea peered over the edge, careful not to lose their hold on the soil above. Below, in a wash, the youngsters could see a stand of pitifully stunted Pinons, surely the poorest of all trees. Carnegiea was suitably awed. "What can we do to help?" she asked the weaver of tales.
The old woman smiled like a jack-o-lantern. "Listen." said the weaver of tales. She cupped her hand to her ear. "Do you hear the song of the winter witch?"
Carnegiea tried her best but all she heard was the slightly muffled sound of the frustrated wind behind the bluffs. "All I hear is the humming of the wind."
"Yes!" said the weaver of tales. "The humming of the wind. To defeat the Mistress When, we must hum the witch away."
Now Carnegiea had never heard of such a notion. But the sight of the strange trees with only two puny branches and the sad spindly trees in the wash, which she believed had been the mighty sequoias, made her eager to find any solution that offered. "How does one hum the witch away?"
"You must climb to the highest peak and hum into the wind. The wind will carry the hum a thousand
miles right to the witch's doorstep. But only a powerful, tall, tree could hope to hum loud enough and long enough to defeat the curse.
"I could do that!" Carnegiea declared joyfully. Joshua tried hard not to laugh at her naiveté. "What tune should I hum?"
"You must hum the witch's anthem. All you have to do is attract an oriole and ask it for its tune. That is the witch's anthem. Then just hum it as loud as you can. Oh hurry, so we might be saved!"
Carnegiea saw an opportunity to win valuable allies among the mountain Pines by abating this horrid curse. So away she went, plodding up the mountain track. So innocent was she, that she never suspected the Agave youth and his human friends were