The Gaiian Series Bundle E-Books

The Gaiian Series:
The Gaiians are people of mystery and legend, children of the African Queen of the sea, lost to history and time. Their story begins when they are found…
Read the exciting book one of the Gaiian novels, Daughter of the Missing.
Astronaut Sarai Mathews knows the end is near when a giant wave rolls in and pulls her from the beach weeks before her space launch. But something strange happens: she doesn’t die. Instead, she grows gills and breathes...underwater. She soon learns that she is a descendant of the missing children of Yemalla, the African queen of the sea. They are equal parts human and earth spirits. She must solve the mystery of her heritage because someone is after her and is determined to stop her from reaching orbit!

The seawater was turbulent, frothy, and cold. Blood pounded in her head as she struggled to rise above the foam. Bile rose as the strong salty water flooded her mouth and threatened to drive its way down to her lungs. This is hell, Sarai thought; then she felt the viselike grip around her wrist tighten. She found salvation in that strong grip until she breached the surface and saw the shoreline receding. An unknown hand pulled her farther out to sea. The waves lapped at her face briefly before they folded over her head as she was pulled beneath the water.
Fear gripped her and closed her throat, halting the scream that tried to break free from her lips. Sarai struggled. Her survival instincts kicked in, and her free hand clawed at the phantom that pulled her deeper into the depths. Her body screamed for air.
"Stop fighting me," said the male voice in her head.
"I’m going to die. LET ME GO!" She shrieked in the vaults of her mind, terrified he would pull her deeper, yet terrified he would let her go and leave her alone in all this water.
"You’re safe with me." The voice was gentle, soothing.
"No, I’m not safe," was Sarai’s weak thought. Her eyes glazed over as her mind fractured and shut down. Water flowed over her dark brown skin; it flowed through her body. Her hair, forced straight by the heat of a flat iron, soaked up the water and curled into tight knots around her heart-shaped face. Flashes of light sparked at the edges of her vision, which was quickly dimming. Old memories surfaced as the light faded from grey to black. She floated, drifted.
Sarai had been seven years old when she’d attended a church picnic by a river. Her father and mother had organized the event. They were very active in the Baptist church. Her father was a deacon who substitute preached every few months, and her mother, as the minister for the children’s choir, insisted they learn what seemed like all of the Negro spirituals ever written. The sun was shining, and her mother was unpacking her famous pound cake and potato salad. Her father was preparing for some serious grilling. She was doing what all little hardheaded kids do, playing on a pier when she had been told not to. She was dressed in play clothes, jeans and a bright yellow t-shirt. Her hair sported the standard riot of plaits all over her head, each one lovingly terminated with a bright yellow plastic bow. How her mother found so many in the same color was always a mystery. Along with playing in an area they were told not to play, they had to use a ball as the toy of choice. Said ball was thrown too hard and too far, and in her desire to show off in front of the older kids, she made a frantic attempt to grab it. The next thing she knew, she’d fallen into the river. As a little African-American girl from the city, Sarai never learned how to swim. Quite naturally, she panicked as she went under. She opened her mouth to scream and water poured in. She managed to rise to the surface once, spitting and sputtering water. Then she sank like a stone.
Sarai nearly drowned that day. But amidst all of the turmoil, she felt she was not alone in that water. She heard a female voice crooning to her. It was all around her, telling her to stay calm. To be strong. The next thing she knew, hands pushed her up and out of the water. They came from below, gently cradling her until she reached her father’s arms at the surface.
There was the inevitable retching and vomiting after they pulled her out. She was sick for days. She never forgot the voice, and she never told anyone about it. For some reason, she kept it to herself, safe in the vaults of her memory only to take it out when she was extremely tired.
Her fear of drowning was born that day. It remained with her all her life and came roaring back the moment the water hit her and that phantom hand pulled her out to sea.
Other things flashed by her mind’s eye, fleeting memories of her life, random thoughts that crowded her failing consciousness. There was the profound sense of loss with the death of her father at the hands of a drunk driver. She had always leaned on his gentle strength. He was the anchor that kept her grounded when her temper and emotions threatened to take her over the edge. He taught her right from wrong and gave her a strong sense of pride in her race.
Then there was her mother, who was not speaking to her. They used to be close, but their relationship became strained in this last year. Sarai was no longer sure why her mother was so angry, but she always wanted to make up. She told herself every week that she would pick up the phone and call, but every week something came up. Weeks turned into months, and now a year had passed, and it was too late. This was what she grieved the most. Her parents were all she had. There were no siblings, aunts, uncles, or cousins. No one. And now time was up, and it was too late to make apologies or amends.
More thoughts came floating by; she guessed that what they said about life passing before one’s eyes when death was imminent was true. She feebly tried to claw at the hand again, but the best she could do was pat it, she was just too weak. So she drifted some more. She had always been an excellent student in math and science. She received a full engineering scholarship to Texas A and M, located just up the road from their town. Then she was accepted at MIT and received a master’s in geophysics. She was pretty much the only African-American female in all her classes. This did not bother her because she had a dream and a vision to do something extraordinary in her life. She became a climatologist and a leading expert in global warming. When the opportunity to be an astronaut presented itself, she took it. It was a dream come true.
This was what was going to hurt. She would die before realizing her dream of walking in space. Why now? Why two weeks before the launch? It can’t end this way. It just can’t. Time could not possibly be up.
She gave the phantom hand one last feeble smack. Life was not fair. Why oh why did I come to the beach today? To be with the other astronauts at the astronauts’ beach house, of course....