La Palma in the year 1492: During a mystical ritual Tichiname, high priestess of
the Guanches, sees a bleak future and departs this life in the face of death and
destruction. With her last breath, she appoints the young and inexperienced
Iriomé as her successor and assigns her to guard with her life the secret of
amakuna, a mystical mushroom with healing powers. The next day, the
island is ravaged by Spanish conquistadors who forcefully subjugate
the peaceful Guanche people. Betrayed by a young Spaniard, who
becomes the love of her life, Iriomé is forced into slavery and
abducted to Cádiz. Together with a Moorish physician, she
escapes adventurously through medieval Andalusia. But
the bloodhounds of the Inquisition are close on her heels
to snatch away amakuna from her.

Augsburg, Germany, beginning of the 21st century: After a
climbing accident, biochemist Romy is plagued by
strange visions. It almost seems to her as if a mysterious
priestess from the past is trying to contact her with a message.
Romy cannot escape the call, and spontaneously flies to the Ca-
nary Island of La Palma. There she embarks on the trail of the
Guanches and discovers a strange mushroom: amakuna. In order
to provide the whole of humanity with it as a universal remedy, she
travels back to Augsburg and starts a series of experiments. Her con-
sumption of amakuna leads to repeated flashbacks into Iriomé’s life.
Little does she know that the pharmaceutical mega-corporations are
already in hot pursuit of her and will stop at nothing - not even murder -
to take possession of the amakuna.
Then she meets Nic Saratoga, the charismatic boss of an international
pharmaceutical company who offers her protection and a contract. But
can she trust him? He invites her to his home in Spain, where the two fall
in love. Fearing betrayal like happened to Iriomé, she flees back to the is-
land, putting herself and her confidents in the utmost danger.

THE AMAKUNA SAGA For centuries, the medicine women of the Canary
Island La Palma have used a psychotropic mushroom that lets them look
into the past and the future. But Amakuna also holds other secrets: It cures
all diseases or injuries, and links the fate of those who eat the mushroom to
all eternity.
In the past and in the present this novel unfolds the dramatic fate of two
women whose souls are connected by amakuna. Both are persecuted by
the mighty of their time and need to protect their secret against the man
who is the love of their life. more ...

"Mysticism, spirituality and masterly storytelling
make The Daughter of the Dragon Tree
an immensely exciting book.
Every page is a surprise!"
Sabrina Fox

EXTRACTS

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 for 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 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.
more ...

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, 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.
more ...

3.

"Violence is the little brother of death," Iriomé repeated, words from their common teacher.
Guayafanta gave her a disparaging look and ran past her down to a crag from where one could overlook a part of the tribal territory called Tazo. A long black pebble beach was one of the few beaches the island offered, otherwise surrounded almost entirely by cliffs. She let out a little scream.

In the calm waters of the bay three ships were bobbing up and down, like black monsters lurking over prey. Iriomé had followed, and the two girls looked at each other, startled. The ships were made of dark wood and many times bigger than the dragon tree boats the islanders used to fish. From each of the ships three logs loomed in the sky, and from the highest a colorful cloth was blowing. Some men had already reached the beach in small rowboats and built a camp. Snippets of a foreign language and the smell of fried fish drifted up to the girls.

Iriomé grabbed Guayafanta’s hand. Tichiname’s prophecy had become reality. A reality one could see, hear, and smell in this world. Something had enraged Guayote, the hellhound, who sat in the lowest abyss of the fire-breathing mountain waiting for those who had done evil in their lives.

They lost no time and climbed as fast as they could from their vantage point back to the path that led to the holy well. Soon they heard the familiar ripple that, however, had no reassuring effect on Iriomé at all. On the contrary, she felt fear rise inside her. It was the fear of failure. As a budding harimaguada she had learned to ask the spirits of the ancestors for help and to use their forces, but so far only in the presence of her teacher. Never before had she been on her own. She looked over at Guayafanta, whose eyes had narrowed to slits from inner tension. No help could be expected from her. All her senses were focused on combat and defense. A light breeze gently touched Iriomé’s cheek; her fear disappeared, and she knew the spirit of Tichiname would always help her, and not only that, but earth, water, plants, animals, and even the wind were joined with her and would share their wisdom.

4.

At that moment a shot was fired. She winced. Some pigeons flew up, frightened. A male body, dressed in a green military jacket, fell from the fire escape onto the concrete floor of the courtyard. One of the bodyguards jumped after him with a weapon in his hand.

Romy felt paralyzed. But then without having to think about it, her flight instinct awoke. She opened the door of the changing room, stormed through the store, past the startled salesgirl and Jennifer, who tried to hold her by her arm.

Romy broke away with all her strength and ran out onto the street where she ended up in the arms of the second bodyguard. As vigorously as she could, she kicked him in the nuts, used the painful moment of surprise, and freed herself from his grip. She ran down the pedestrian zone, almost knocked over a stroller, turned right into a narrow alley, and then at the next intersection went to the left. Like a rabbit on the run from a fox, she darted sideways through the old town. She did not dare to turn around but knew nevertheless that at least one of the two bodyguards was on her heels. And they were surely good runners.

Romy ran for her life. When she came to a square with a small fountain in the middle and a few trees under which blue-tiled benches stood, she paused to breathe. From the alley behind her, she heard running footsteps. Frantically she looked around and saw an open doorway. She rushed in, quickly closed the door and sat breathing heavily on the cool landing. Her heart was thumping like mad. Someone rattled at the door. Romy raced up the stairs to perhaps find an escape over the roof.

SUSANNE AERNECKE

CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER,
WORLD TRAVELLER,
AND STORY COLLECTOR

Susanne Aernecke was born in Bavaria, Germany and lives on the Canary Island of La Palma. She studied directing at the Munich Film Academy and became an acclaimed documentary filmmaker, shooting documentaries with shamans in Brazil, Buddhist monks in India, nomads in Mongolia, and boat builders in the South Pacific, among many other ethnological and spiritual subjects.
As a producer and narrator of audio books and German film versions she was responsible for adapting the works of international writers like Louise Hay, Wayne Dyer, James Redfield, Deepak Copra, Esther Hicks, and William Paul Young.
Besides her native language, she speaks English, Spanish, French, and Italian. After various memoirs and nonfiction books, she published her first novel entitled Daughter of the Dragon Tree, volume one of the Amakuna Triology. The second volume The Panama Heritage was released in Germany in fall 2017.

Susanne Aernecke tracks the heritage of the Guanches on La Palma

CONTACT

Write a personal email to the author:
afpmunich@gmail.com

If you want to explore the beauty and magic of the island, I recommaend the accommodation at www.pardies-lapalma.de.

... or publish a post in my AMAKUNA Blog

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