Daughter of the Dragon Tree Read online

  Love is the bridge

  that overcomes time and space

  and connects us to everything,

  what was, what is, and what will be.

  UNKNOWN AUTHOR

  Contents

  Cover Image

  Title Page

  Cast of Characters

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Epilogue

  Closing Remarks

  About the Author

  About Inner Traditions • Bear & Company

  Books of Related Interest

  Copyright & Permissions

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  TIME OF THE GUANCHES

  Iriomé: Successor of the high priestess and medicine woman of the Guanches

  Tichiname: High priestess and medicine woman of the Guanches

  Tanausú: Leader of the Guanches of Aceró

  Guayafanta: Student of the medicine woman Tichiname

  Alonso Fernández de Lugo: Conqueror of the Canaries

  Joaquín de Alba y Santa Barbara: Spanish nobleman and follower of de Lugo

  Conde Ernesto de Alba y Santa Barbara: Count of Trujillo, father of Joaquín

  Ibn Said, Ali Ibn Musa bin Said: Moorish doctor/médico in Cádiz

  Aaron Soreon: Jewish treasurer of the Conde de Alba y Santa Barbara

  Inés de Perreira y Castellón: Cousin of Queen Isabella of Castile

  Frai Hieronymus de Torremar: Franciscan monk, serving the Conde de Alba y Santa Barbara

  His Excellency Frai Lorenzo de la Huerta: Grand Inquisitor

  Madre Teresa: Abbess of the monastery of Santa Maria del Valle

  Hermana Guadalupe: Sister in the monastery of Santa Maria del Valle

  Roberto de la Torre: Bailiff of the castle in Trujillo

  PRESENT-DAY

  Romy Conrad: Laboratory doctor at Biotex

  Thea Sinsheim: Romy’s best friend

  Hannes Berger: Romy’s boss, owner of Biotex

  Professor Hattinger: Specialist in the field of mycology and Romy’s former teacher and mentor

  Tom Sattler, also known as Alexander Merten: A man with a mysterious past

  Sam: Hippie on the island of La Palma

  Ricardo: Tour guide on La Palma

  Nic Saratoga: CEO of Forster’s Health

  Antonio Borges: Chief of Security of Forster’s Health

  Gerald Forster: Owner of Forster’s Health

  Jennifer Saratoga: Forster’s daughter and wife of Nic

  Chapter 1

  Romy was traveling solo. Free solo. Without hook, without rope, and without Thea, her climbing partner. Everything within her was eager to finally start climbing, to dive into that world in which the rules laid down by people no longer held any significance; one in which higher laws applied. The law of gravity, the dictatorship of wind and weather, the challenge to retrieve one’s skills and experiences at the right moment—when life depended solely on one’s own fingertips. Perhaps in this way she would manage to not think of Thea’s disease, at least for a while. Out of overwhelming concern about her best friend, Romy had spent another night without sleep and had set off spontaneously at three o’clock in the morning.

  She decided on the lower part of a familiar training track that was clear of snow and ice despite the onset of winter. That meant about ten meters on a near-vertical climbing wall, crossing a ridge to the right, and back to the ground via a shale slope. For somebody with more than ten years’ climbing experience, it was a calculable risk. Even without a partner. She knew each foothold and each handle.

  After a few stretching exercises to warm up her muscles, Romy sat on a big stone sticking out from the fresh snow cover and changed her shoes. This stone could split my skull if I fall, popped into her head, but Romy dismissed that thought immediately.

  She stowed her backpack in a small cave and chalked her hands. An icy wind was biting through her colorful Peruvian wool hat with earflaps. Expectantly Romy turned her face toward the sun, which was pushing like a glowing ball of fire over the craggy summits of the Karwendel Mountains at that exact moment. The pink of the dawn had given way to a fresh blue against which the now partly snow-covered limestone cliffs stood out bright white. She took in the colorful image and was glad about her decision to come here. It was Monday morning, so she would probably have the wall all to herself. And that’s just what she needed.

  The first two limestone flakes were no bigger than a matchbook. Romy spread her fingers like hooks and shifted her weight on the ledges while tensing her upper body. Then she put the tip of her shoe on a slight bulge in the rock, tensed, and pushed herself upward. Next she reached with her other hand above her head and put two fingers in a slack in the wall that was the size of a golf ball, pressed both fingertips in the concavity, and climbed higher. This procedure was repeated step by step, grip by grip. Yet no movement was like any other.

  When she was about eight meters above the forest floor, a flock of jackdaws began screeching above her, interrupting her flow. The icy wind was tugging at her jacket harder than before. Romy suddenly felt her heartbeat and glanced down.

  A feeling that she had not experienced for a long time flooded her body like a wave. An inner voice that she also had not heard for a long time whispered: Something is going to happen! She felt hot and cold at the same time. Her head was pounding. An invisible noose tightened around her neck. Her breathing came only intermittently; rapidly, every single muscle in her body tensed. Although her hands lay tightly around two secure handles, she was standing in exposed terrain with the wind hissing in her ears. She loved this toe dance over the abyss. It was her personal drug, her own special medicine to treat the panic attacks that had agonized her in her youth. It was the perfect balance to her life as a doctor, now functioning interminably in the monotonous routine of the lab.

  But suddenly, something changed, and the panic she thought to have long since overcome was returning, despite trying to fight against it. Thoughts pounded her rhythmically like a percussion drill: Now you’re going to fall down! Now it will catch up with you! Now you have gone too far!

  Her fingers became stiff; she could hardly hold on any longer. Soon she would have to let go. Relinquish all. She closed her eyes, pressed her face against the cold rock, and forced herself to breathe evenly. Usually, she loved to feel the rough rock on her cheek. But now the touch of it pushed the panic even deeper. What had induced her to engage in this venture? Was she tired of life? Was there something in her that no longer wanted to carry on? Was it because Thea had been lying in the hospital for weeks and perhaps would die of cancer? That she couldn’t imagine a life without her friend?

  Fear clenched her stomach like a ball of lead. Romy was trembling all over, no longer able to control her arms and legs. Like the dark maw of a predator beneath her, the de
pth was waiting to devour its victim. She pressed her belly against the rock to find a grip and tried not to trigger any jolting that would endanger her already unstable balance. But her fingers slid over the rough rock, finding no purchase, and she lost her footing.

  Romy heard her own shriek echoing from the cliff walls and flailed her arms about as she plunged into the depth. Her last thought was: Don’t fall on the big stone!

  Chapter 2

  Waves of mist were drifting like white veils over the giant volcanic crater honeycombed with cavities. Their openings looked like the open mouths of dead people loved ones had forgotten to close. In the largest cave, the leaders of all twelve tribes of the small island of Benahoare had come together.

  Iriomé, who had seen her seventeenth winter, let her eyes wander over the bearded crowd that had settled on the bamboo mats. The men had fixed themselves up for the occasion by braiding their long hair. The beards, usually wild and disheveled, were hanging down to their suntanned chests in good order. Some wore sandy leather garments embroidered with colorful seedpods; others had stitched-together goatskins tied around their loins.

  It was the shortest day of the year, the day on which Tichiname, the supreme medicine woman, would transcend the limits of time to learn what the gods had predetermined for her people. She was sitting motionless, eyes closed, in front of a mighty fire in the midst of the cave. Her face, wrinkled by wind and weather, framed by curly white hair, was painted with blue spirals, the sign of infinity and the eternal recurrence of being. Around her neck she wore a string of dried lizards, and in her hand she held a roughly carved staff, at the top of which was mounted a goat skull with two pointed horns.

  The tribal leaders hoped to learn from Tichiname what the coming year would bring. Whether their herds of goats would grow and whether the women would find enough roots, fruits, and edible leaves to build up stocks for times of privation. They were anxious to know whether enough children would be born. And whether Guayote, the hellhound, living deep inside the fire-spewing volcano, would remain peaceful and not desire one of them.

  Without notice the wise woman made a shrill whistling sound that died away on hitting the stone walls of the cave. Iriomé took a deep breath. The time had come! For the first time she was allowed to be witness when Tichiname drank the sacred potion amakuna. She had cooked the brew as instructed by the medicine woman until the shadow of the rod of time had moved from one stone to the next. And even though Iriomé did not quite understand what the potion actually should bring about, she fervently hoped to travel someday in those mysterious worlds of which Tichiname told her over and over again. But so far she was only the youngest of seven disciples among whom the medicine woman eventually would choose her successor.

  A low hum filled the air. The seven young women were standing side by side at the walls of the cave raising their arms. Their long cloaks made of bleached vegetable fibers spread out like the wings of seagulls. Their lips were painted blue. Each of them wore around her neck a small leather bag containing dried herbs.

  Iriomé closed her eyes while the hum turned to a kind of song in which she and the other six disciples repeated a single word, always in the same rhythm. “Amakuna, amakuna, amakuna . . .”

  Despite the barely tolerable volume, Iriomé perceived the sound of small bells that hung on Tichiname’s leather garment. Apparently, the medicine woman had stood up. Three knocks on the rock floor of the cave from Tichiname’s heavy wooden stick silenced the singing.

  Iriomé opened her eyes, brushed her long reddish-blonde hair out of her face, and stepped forward to fulfill her assigned tasks. Proud and upright, she strode to the rock shelter in which a dish with the mysterious concoction was standing. It was not hidden to her that the dark eyes of one of the students were pursuing her with a look that promised nothing good. She knew that Guayafanta was eaten up with envy because she believed herself entitled to Iriomé’s privileged position.

  Two tallow candles illuminated the rock wall in which triangles, squares, and concentric circles were incised: symbols by which the initiates could connect with the spirits.

  Iriomé took the lid from the bowl and stirred the oily yellow film on the surface with a wooden spoon. Then she took the vessel in both hands, knelt in front of the supreme medicine woman, and held the bowl up in offering. Eagerly she watched as her teacher brought the bowl to cracked lips.

  Iriomé thought she could smell the slightly putrid, earthy flavor of the syrup as if it was running down her own throat. After a few breaths Tichiname’s pupils rolled upward. Only the whites of her eyes were still to be seen. She must have arrived in the other world.

  Suddenly there was a dull bang. The shell fell to the ground, shattering into several pieces.

  Iriomé winced and looked in horror as Tichiname’s body began to tremble, rearing up and twisting as if possessed by a demon. Her face distorted into an ugly grimace. Foam was seeping out of her mouth. She gasped as if fighting someone. Then she stumbled backward.

  Iriomé jumped up to catch her. But the body, shaken by convulsions, slipped from Iriomé’s hands and crashed into a cliff edge. Tichiname howled with pain and rolled across the floor out of the cave. Blood was oozing from a head injury, dying the medicine woman’s white hair red. Outside she pressed herself against rough bark, seeking help against the gnarled trunk of a huge tree, which with its mighty crown towered into the pale moonlight.

  From the frightened eyes of the leaders Iriomé concluded this could not be the normal running of the ceremony. The girls had turned away in horror; only Guayafanta’s broad face with its dark, impenetrable eyes showed no emotion.

  Iriomé was not able to imagine what the medicine woman had seen in the other world that would cause such an outburst. No one dared to approach her. Finally Iriomé could not stand it any longer. She ran to Tichiname, clung to the still trembling body, and tried to unclasp her arms wrapped around the trunk like strong ropes, but to no avail. Only after some time the old woman finally let go. Her mouth was close to Iriomé’s ear so she could hear what her teacher whispered with her remaining strength, “Men with ships will come, men who only care for power and wealth. These men know no love. They will destroy everything that is sacred to us. But one thing must never fall into their hands: the secret heart of the island that beats in the cave of the highest mountain! Only when people are free from the greed for power and wealth will its secret be safe to reveal.” Her voice became weaker. “It is your task as my successor to preserve amakuna until that time has come.” Exhausted by the effort of speaking, her head lolled, forcing Iriomé to support it.

  “Tichiname!” she screamed with fear.

  “Swear,” the dying woman panted with the last of her strength.

  Iriomé took Tichinamé’s wrinkled hand and laid it on her heart; “I swear.”

  A deep breath filled the chest of the old woman. “Vacaguaré,” she breathed in the language of her people. “I want to die.” And then again, “Vacaguaré!”

  “No,” Iriomé whispered, desperate. “No, don’t go.”

  Tears were running down her high cheekbones. The blue color on her lips was smeared, her hair disheveled. She pressed her back against the trunk of the tree as if it could give new power for life, looking for help in the faces of the others who had formed a circle around them.

  But the breath of the old medicine woman became shallower, until it completely ceased and her old body slid to the ground.

  Iriomé collapsed over her, sobbing. It was as if something inside the young girl had died as well.

  Chapter 3

  Hesitantly, Romy opened her eyes. Overhead was nothing but rock. The rushing of water. It took her long minutes to finally orient herself. Where am I? What happened?

  Slowly the memories welled up inside. The panic. The fall. The thick stone. This noise must be the rain beating down outside the cave entrance. “Strong rainfalls later in the afternoon,” Romy recalled—the weather forecast she heard in the car on her jour
ney from her apartment in Augsburg, Germany that morning. She had intended to have been back for a while by this time.

  Cautiously, Romy moved her head and noticed a weird feeling and an earthy flavor in her mouth. She spat, but the taste on her tongue persisted. Her eyes fell on the small backpack with her winter boots, both of which she left here in the cave next to the climbing entry. But how on earth did I get here? Did I have a total blackout? Romy searched her mind for a clue. But there was nothing. Nothing but the fall . . .

  Cautiously she tried to move her limbs. First her fingers, then her hands, arms, and legs. Amazingly, she was even able to get up—without feeling any pain. Obviously, the production of the body’s narcotics was in full swing to dampen the pain. Was this the golden half hour Mother Nature gave to all injured that should enable them to take lifesaving measures despite injuries? Impossible. It was already getting dark. A glance at her watch told Romy she had been lying there for at least seven hours.

  Even without having studied medicine, it would have been clear to her that one did not just get up and walk away after having fallen on firmly frozen forest soil from a height of twenty-five feet. Limbs should be broken, ligaments torn, muscles bruised, not to mention suffering from internal injuries. She should be a paraplegic, if not dead. In no case, however, could she have been able to trudge into this cave. And by no means should she be able to stand. Yet she was on her own two feet, albeit slightly bent in order not to bang her head on the cave ceiling. Someone must have caught her! But how? And who? This was impossible. And why then had the person left her alone here? It made no sense at all. In addition, Romy did not feel a bit cold. After the many hours on the floor of the cave, she should be stiff as a frozen pizza.

  Did I dream the fall just like I dreamed the experiences in a strange Stone Age world? But dreams felt different. Both the fall and what she saw through the eyes of a young girl with a strange-sounding name appeared utterly real, even though Romy had not the slightest idea in what part of the world or in what period of time that creepy ritual she had witnessed could have taken place. The language had been completely alien to her, yet she had understood every word. And also the people, especially the old medicine woman, had been somehow familiar.