Daughter of the Dragon Tree Read online

  She needed to talk to Thea about it. Certainly Thea would have a plausible explanation for the entire episode. Her best friend had worked as a neurologist in the same hospital as she.

  At the thought of Thea, Romy suddenly saw the cup with the toxic brew in her mind’s eye. Had she perhaps invented the girl who gave the death potion to the wise woman out of hidden guilt? Fear for her friend might have played a role. Thea had also been administered a kind of death potion after all. And it had been Romy herself who had ultimately persuaded Thea to undergo chemotherapy. But why the Stone Age ambience, the strange vegetation? Romy had never before seen such an archaic tree as the one under which the medicine woman died.

  Romy felt completely unable to organize any thoughts or to distinguish what was imagination and what was reality. Something that normally was not difficult for her at all. Both in her private and in her professional environment, she was a woman who had both feet planted firmly on the ground. But at the moment her brain was playing games with her—the rules of which she was not familiar with.

  Whatever had happened here, she had to get away. Preferably as fast as possible, because soon it would be dark.

  She searched in the pocket of her anorak for her cell phone. It was broken in several pieces. That at least proved that she actually had fallen. How can I get help now?

  Romy stood at the cave entrance. The rain had somewhat subsided. Carefully, she took a few steps. Her knees were a bit weak, but she would make it to the car. Perhaps it was better this way. What could she have told her friends from the mountain rescue service? That she started to climb the cliff without securing herself, was having a panic attack, and fell off the wall like a dead beetle? That someone caught her and laid her down in a cave, where she then set off on a little trip into the Stone Age? They would probably institutionalize her right away, and not even Thea could get her out of that easily.

  Sighing, Romy took her winter boots out of the backpack and slipped them on. This also did not cause her any trouble. She stowed her climbing shoes in the backpack, threw it over her shoulder, and cautiously felt her way along the cliff to the place where she must have fallen. The snow there was trampled down and melted away by the rain in a number of places. Nevertheless she thought she recognized footprints of foreign shoes in addition to her own tracks. Somebody had been here.

  Romy knew only too well the feeling of being boxed in and the creaking noises as the CT cut her body visually into slices. She was not lying in “the tube” for the first time, and this was not even her first climbing accident.

  She had not slept a wink all night. She just could not get this girl with the mysterious characters on her cheeks and the blue painted lips out of her mind. She had googled “amakuna,” entered all possible spellings, with k, with c, double-m, with h, and yet had not received a single matching result. The Stone Age ritual was going round and round in her mind like a merry-go-round.

  At two o’clock she was ready to believe that she had been this Iriomé in a previous life and had taken part in the ceremony herself. At three o’clock she even suspected that the girl from the island or someone else from that period had rescued her. At four, she decided to drive to the hospital to have a computerized tomography made. Perhaps something was wrong with her head after all.

  Romy was lucky. Angie, her only friend in Augsburg Hospital, was on morning shift and instantly agreed to put her under the tube without filling out a heap of forms, even though she was shaking her head.

  A long buzz signaled the end of the scan. Angie freed her from the claustrophobic apparatus smiling. “I’m going to send the pictures directly to the evaluation room for you. You can have a look at them there, taking your time,” Angie said in her thoughtful way.

  “I’ll be right there.” Romy stepped into the dressing room and took a look in the mirror at her thin face, free of makeup. Searching, she ran her tongue over upper and lower lips, where she still perceived a putrid, earthy taste. She quickly pulled her jeans and sweater on, tied her long strawberry-blonde hair into a ponytail, then headed out.

  In the evaluation room Angie was grinning at her broadly. “You’re lucky again. At first glance I couldn’t find anything. Skull, shoulders, spine, pelvis, all’s okay so far.”

  Actually Romy had expected nothing else. Nevertheless, she was happy about Angie’s first assessment.

  “I don’t get it, why you’re always exposing yourself to such a risk,” she said, shaking her head, while Romy viewed the photos on different monitors, particularly those of her head, with a trained eye. Nothing remarkable.

  “There are plenty of sports that aren’t as dangerous as climbing. If you keep this up, you’ll be sitting in a wheelchair—or worse.”

  Real concern could be heard from Angie’s words. She was a kind soul. Most of their colleagues were so overworked that only on rare occasions was a private word spoken.

  “I can only explain it to you this way,” Romy replied seriously. “Up there at the crag, I’ve a better grasp of myself. I feel strong because I know who I am and what I’m capable of.”

  Angie looked her over in amazement. “You are strong. I only know a few people as brave as you.”

  “Not everything’s as it seems.” Romy played it down with a movement of her hand.

  “You risked your job because it was important to you to speak the truth about the working conditions in this dump.”

  “I still feel little and helpless sometimes,” said Romy. “It’s not easy to understand, but it’s true.”

  Angie hugged her spontaneously. “Yes, I understand that. And I believe we all feel like that now and then.”

  “Perhaps, but it really hurts me.” She disentangled from Angie’s embrace. “Thanks anyway. Thank you for everything.”

  “Any time. You know where to find me.”

  By now, it was six o’clock in the morning. Wake-up time in the hospital. She could visit Thea. Perhaps her friend had a sympathetic ear for her—and maybe even an explanation for this trip to the Stone Age.

  The corridor of the oncology department smelled of fruit tea, which was kept warm in thermos jugs on a food cart. Next to them, covered plastic plates piled up, each with three slices of pink sausage, a packet of jam, three slices of grayish bread, and a small packet of butter. This had not changed over the years. Already, at this ungodly hour, breakfast was served on all wards, something that Romy had never understood. For her, there was nothing more relaxing than to sleep in. But here this leisure was not granted to anybody—neither the patients nor the staff—like so many other things. Angie was right. It had been brave to draw attention to staff grievances and to propose certain changes, even if it had proved futile in the end. She was no match for the power of the hospital administration and finally had no other choice but to go. Since this defeat she worked as a lab doctor at Biotex, a mediumsized company performing drug research. Avistan had been developed there, a new treatment for a particularly aggressive form of breast cancer. Currently, the last of seven clinical trials was running. This meant the drug was nearing authorization. That’s why Romy recommended Thea participate in the study.

  Even before she could open the door to Thea’s room, Anton Feistner, who led the study, was coming toward her. Under the fluorescent lighting the doctor looked pale, as if he himself was on chemo. He was a head shorter than Romy, wore a crew cut, and always took a bolt upright posture when he faced her.

  “Good to see you. Did you already hear? Acute renal failure. It happened last night. She died during dialysis,” he said with the neutral voice of a doctor who uttered such phrases often.

  Romy gasped. Her stomach tightened painfully. Her eyes filled with tears. The floor threatened to give way beneath her feet. Feistner just managed to grab her. “Relax. No! No, not Thea. Her roommate!” He said quickly when he realized what had been implied.

  Slowly Romy regained her poise. She would have liked to slap his face.

  “She was a high blood pressure patient, and the kidneys were already heavily affected. Definitely has nothing to do with Avistan.”

  Romy wiped a tear away that had got caught in the right corner of her mouth.

  “Everything okay with you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Thea is thinking that she’ll be next. Try to reassure her somehow!” He looked embarrassed and turned on his heels. “See you later then.”

  Still unsettled, Romy opened the door to Thea’s room. It was empty. The window was tilted, letting in cold air. Probably Thea could not bear to stare at the empty bed where until recently a fellow sufferer had lain.

  Romy took the elevator down to the cafeteria and discovered her friend hidden behind an overhanging rubber tree, sitting at one of the blue plastic tables. She was wearing an expensive jogging suit, which could not hide how thin she had become. Her face, on the other hand, was slightly bloated from the medication, causing her to look older. Her once full auburn hair had become thin.

  “So much for your miracle cure,” Thea said in a low voice, raising her head briefly.

  Romy pulled up a chair and sat down. She still did not want to accept that her best friend, who, though smaller, had always been the stronger of them, actually could die. Up to now Thea had managed to come to grips with the situation with a sense of humor. Only in very rare moments had the deep despair shown through. Now seemed to be such a moment; Thea’s face showed a seriousness Romy seldom observed.

  “They have a bad thing going on,” she whispered and moved closer to Romy. She looked around carefully, to see if anyone was nearby to overhear. But except for an old lady in a flowered bathrobe with an oxygen bottle suspended on a rack beside her, no one was in the cafeteria yet.

  “I overheard a phone conversation Feistner had last night with your boss,” she conti
nued in a low voice. “They still want to bring Avistan on the market and even manipulate the study, if necessary. They’ve put too much money into its development. If the drug is not authorized, your frigging laboratory will finally be absorbed by some U.S. company.”

  Romy took a deep breath. “Are you sure? Perhaps you’ve got something wrong?”

  Thea shook her head. “Definitely not. I can still hear his words clearly.” She leaned back in her chair. “To die this way—as a guinea pig—is not exactly what I imagined for the end of my life,” she said.

  Romy suddenly thought of Iriomé, who had handed her teacher that death potion. She shivered.

  “I’m backing out of the study in any case. And I’m not going to stay another day in this guinea pig farm.”

  Romy understood her friend all too well. They had often discussed corrupt doctors and drug trials funded by the pharmaceutical industry and thus pressured to show the desired result. And now Thea might become a victim of this corruption herself. They could not let that happen.

  “Okay,” Romy said without further thought. “Let’s go to your room and get your things packed. For starters, you’ll come to my place.”

  Chapter 4

  The morning rain passed into snow as the friends headed for the city in Romy’s Golf. The car was a bit dated, but at least the CD player was intact and belting out What a Wonderful World by Louis Armstrong. Romy was about to press the forward button, but Thea blocked her access. “Don’t bother. The world is beautiful. In spite of everything.”

  Romy looked at her friend. Without a word of accusation Thea had packed her belongings and informed Feistner in no uncertain terms that she was no longer available for the dodgy dealings of the pharmaceutical industry. Romy wondered where Thea found this strength and peace of mind. And all this without real support. Her boyfriend quickly disappeared after the cancer diagnosis. Thea had broken away from her family, which counted among the richest in Augsburg, years ago. They owned nearly a quarter of the city, but when Thea decided to be a doctor instead of joining their real estate empire, they turned their backs on her.

  Thea and Romy met while studying in Munich and had replaced each other as family. Romy’s parents were killed in a car accident when she was a child, so she grew up with her grandmother in southern Spain. Without Thea, Romy never would have survived those first years in Germany. The friends were each other’s one and only.

  At that moment Romy saw the tree!

  She stepped on the brakes with all her might. The driver behind them honked indignantly.

  “What?” shouted Thea, trying to loosen the seatbelt, which pressed her firmly into the seat.

  Instead of answering, Romy turned into the next driveway. Was she being plagued by hallucinations again? “I’ll be right back,” she said quickly, got out, and trudged through freshly fallen snow on the sidewalk a few meters back to the display window of a travel agency with the poster that almost caused a crash. No, it had not been a hallucination. Despite all the emotions, she still could rely on her five senses. The tree on the poster in the window looked exactly like the one under which the old medicine woman died.

  Without hesitation, she entered the store. A woman the same age as her with poorly dyed red hair sat behind a messy desk and smiled in a businesslike manner.

  “Hello, what can I do for you?”

  “That tree, out there on the poster . . .”

  “. . . is a Canarian dragon tree,” the red-headed woman informed her. “You want to book a trip to the Canaries?”

  “Uh?”

  “Those trees don’t grow anywhere else. You find most of them on La Palma, the most beautiful and greenest of the islands. A little paradise.” She handed Romy a brochure in which the natural beauties of the island were displayed in vivid colors: exotic flowers, black beaches, bizarre volcanic landscapes with craters and caves.

  One of the pictures caught Romy’s eye immediately. She felt dizzy. Closing her eyes she tried to resurrect the images from her vision. There was no doubt. The ritual must have taken place right there in one of the caves.

  “Where’s that?” she asked excitedly, pointing at the photo.

  “This is the Caldera de Taburiente, the large volcanic crater in the center of the island. A gorgeous region to go trekking. Especially at this time of year. Still pleasant temperatures. Not as hot as in the summer. Do you already know when you want to fly out?”

  Romy looked confused. “No, no, not at all.”

  “I could offer you a pretty finca with an overwhelming view of the sea and two dragon trees on the plot,” the travel agent went on, undeterred. “If you decide quickly, I’d even have two cheap flights for you tomorrow. Just yesterday, a young couple canceled so you can have a deep discount on the price.”

  That’s perfect! Romy thought. It seemed as if some alien force wanted her to fly to this island.

  “And? What do you think?” The woman already was punching up forms on her computer.

  “Thank you, I’ll think about it,” Romy said, somewhat taken by surprise, and made a step back.

  “Be quick. La Palma is very popular in the winter. I can reserve the flights until lunchtime . . .”

  A loud honking on the street interrupted the tempting offer. Romy looked outside through the large glass window. A large truck wanted to turn into the driveway blocked by her Golf. Romy rushed out of the travel agency, ran to the car, and jumped in. Her attempt to maneuver past the truck sparked even more lengthy honking.

  “Did you book us a climbing tour through the Andes, or what have you done in there?” asked Thea while Romy tried to pull out into traffic. She didn’t answer.

  “What’s going on? You look strange.”

  “Something funny happened to me,” she replied. “Let’s go home; I’ll tell you everything over breakfast.”

  The forty-year hulk of a man with blue eyes, a scar on his forehead, and a blonde beard was looking thoughtfully out the window on the twenty-fifth floor of the Holiday Inn over the rooftops of Augsburg. His muscular, tanned body was dressed in a military jacket, which he had kept since he had begun his fight against the powerful as a young man, a fight against those who were insatiable and got rich at the expense of the powerless.

  Now, at last, he saw a light at the end of the tunnel, because from now on he would no longer be on his own. He had set the course. A new era had begun. A new chance. He, the warrior, and she, the healer. Soon they would see whether the great plan would come true. Whether the time was ripe. Whether love would triumph or people would continue to be driven by the greed for power and wealth.

  Germany was a dangerous place for him to be, but he had no choice. He had been forced to come here in order to initiate everything that was going to happen. So it was predestined hundreds of years earlier. His role in this great plan was to protect her life. To ensure nothing intervened that prevented her from fulfilling her task. But he was not allowed to influence her directly in any way. She had to find her own way, make her own decisions.

  He turned away from the window, went to the phone on the bedside table, and pressed the 0 button. “Is this reception?” he asked in a throaty voice. “Will you book me a flight, please?”

  Romy told Thea everything she had experienced the previous day without leaving out a detail. They were sitting at the old oak table in the kitchen of Romy’s cozy prewar apartment, eating whatever was in the sparsely stocked fridge. Fruit, yogurt, honey, and a heel of Pfister sunflower bread. Both of them were wearing thick sweaters and socks, although the old stove did its best. Romy had wanted this apartment in the old Welser Kontor pretty badly and thus put up with the disadvantages uncomplaining.

  When she finished, Thea looked at her thoughtfully. She had not interrupted Romy a single time, but Romy knew her well enough to know that she had already formed an opinion. And so it was.

  “I think your falling was a hallucination,” she said in the typical, friendly-compassionate tone of the neurologist that she was.