The desert winds were calling to him once more, she could tell. His eyes glazed over and lost their luster as the air spoke, enticing him with its seductive voice.

She was not privy to these conversations. Indeed, her chief employment lay in beseeching him to stay; To not trek across the hot desert sands in search of the Diablos Saguaros beckoning to him.

Failing to keep him here with her, would be his certain death. Hers also, from grief. He was her world.

Glancing up at the sky, she gauged the time. Nightfall would be here in a few hours and she, along with the other women, had much to do.

So far he was holding strong, yet this was only the beginning of his fight. The pull of the illusion would grow, she knew, until he must slake his need to be in its evil embrace.

Adriana crushed Valerian leaves, dropping them into the teapot to steep. She would give Javier a good dose of the tea tonight, and wait for the winds carrying the evil, to be gone by morning. She thought about tying him to the bed, but it felt too much like betrayal; Which was quickly followed by another thought of, better betrayal, than a horrible death.

The tribes had been fighting the Diablo Saguaros for centuries. It was as if the desert demanded sacrifice for the villages use of it for survival. They thought of leaving these rugged lands many times, but their ancestors bones and spirits were here.

Disturbing those bones and disrespecting the burial sites, would be inviting more chaos and malevolence into the villagers lives.

So the people endured the Diablos Saguaros' claiming one or two men to feed themselves with, during the years where the desert was particularly parched by drought.

The years the rains fell, the Sonoran Desert bloomed, and men were not seduced away from the village.

Over many years the villagers, hoping the Diablos would be satisfied with livestock in place of humans, experimented by leaving lambs, sheep, cows, and burros out for it. All to no avail.

They next day they would awaken to the devastating cries o someone's husband, brother, father, or son, being gone.

The weather each year was now becoming more arid, and the winds hotter. The people, feeling desperate, needed to create a plan for keeping their men alive.

This will be the first time the village stands against the calling of the Diablo Saguaros' and everyone felt anxious. If they succeeded, would it bring some form of retaliation upon their home? No one knew.

Adriana, passing Javier his tea smiled at him softly, saying, "Drink this Javi' it will make you feel better. I also put out the mescal if you need it. How are you doing? Is it bearable?" She asked, concern lacing her voice, as she attempted to gauge how much resistance he had left.

"I won't lie to you, Adriana. It's a struggle." Javier's speaks quietly, "but I place a memory of you in my head and heart, and i tell the Diablo, it will never have me." Javier says, voice stronger, and punching the table for emphasis, "that I belong only to you, and only with you." Javier stopping to sip his tea and pouring a shot of mescal into his cup, took another sip and with all his love for her in his voice, he continued.

"Did I ever tell you Adriana of my first memory of loving you, and understanding I loved, you came when I was 16? I remember you were 14 and feeling so proud of having your hair in braids. And I made the great mistake of tugging on them! You were so angry with me, but I couldn't stop laughing. How could I resist such a fireball in pigtails."

Gasping with indignance, Adriana snapped her wash rag at him. Javier chuckled, and grabbing her about the waist, pulled her onto his lap.

"That was the day I decided you and I were going to be married, and I would not accept anything otherwise." Leaning down he kissed his wife, letting her go when she began kicking at his ankles.

Javier could not stop laughing, so he hugged her tighter, and soon Adriana chimed in.

*******

Everyone agreed, during drought years, every man was to stay home, or within the village's innermost boundaries.

Having dug a trench around the settlement, and filled it with oil, the womenfolk set it alight, trying to spot any movement on their outskirts. Every home was burning sage and pine to dispel evil, with their men inside comfortably sleeping, drugged by the women.

Blowdarts heavily laced with poppy oil, along with blowtubes, were tucked inside the women's vests, and no one was without their lasso.

Simple snares were set in front of everyone's home for catching the men. Step out of their homes and they would find themselves upside down and swinging.

Hopefully all of this would keep them safe from walking into the desert, and following the haunting melody written only for their ears... by a Diablo Saguaro who only craved their blood.

Closing the gates to their settlement, and with every fiber of their beings alert, the women waited through the night.

*******

Stories, passed down through centuries, tell of an evil Shaman, who in visiting our unsuspecting village, lusted after the chief's daughter, Morena. Using his magic to kill her husband so she would be without protection. Sneaking his way into Morena's hut, the Shaman fell upon her.

His hand covering her mouth to prevent her screams, Morena, tried pushing his weight away. She struggled mightily, pounding her fists on his back, and biting the hand covering her mouth, but still he managed to lift her skirts. Suddenly she quit fighting, and at the Shaman's lifting his head in confusion, she struck. Her curved blade sliding between his ribs to slice liver,spleen and intestine, making sure he would die!

Spitting up blood, and using it to fashion a powerful spell, the shaman cursed her with his last breaths. If the Shaman could not possess her, than no man could. The shaman, unleashing his curse, turned her into ... Diablo Saguaro.

Any man daring to answer her enchanting song, would find himself wrapped in spiny arms, and pierced through in hundreds of places. Pore-like openings would appear where the spines began, sucking on the victim's innards, as well as his lifes blood. Within a few mornings passing, they'd find the husk of the body lying on Table rock. How it found its way there no one knew, and some things shouldn't be poked at.

Their tribe's medicine woman, finding it impossible to lift the curse- said it's strength, being rooted in hatred, made it too strong.

********

Coming together together for their men, the women linked arms and began to sing to the Diablos. Songs of love and joy, and speaking stories of their men's courage. They sang of love's strength, and how love was the strongest of all magics, and all blood magic should tremble when it was near.

The women's voices did not falter, staying strong throughout the night.

Awakening in their beds, with the dawn breaking across the sky, they began stoking fires, and filling kettles. They made tea, warming some flat bread on a stone, just as their wives and mothers would. Attempting to show their wives how much they were loved and appreciated, knowing they could never repay them for the gift of their lives.

The wives, returning to their homes utterly exhausted, found themselves being carried and tucked into their beds by their husbands and sons. Love and joy were overflowing, at the celebration of the village being safe.

But in the back of everyone's mind came the haunting thought...

Until the next drought year...