A Magic Fierce and Bright - Softcover

Nayak, Hemant

Softcover

ISBN 10: 166592182X ISBN 13: 9781665921824

Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers, 2025

Synopsis

A young technomancer teams up with a handsome thief to save her sister in this “adrenaline-charged fantasy steeped in Indian mythology with political intrigue, found family, and nonstop action” (Shelf Awareness) perfect for fans of Gearbreakers and Iron Widow.

Adya wants nothing more than to be left alone. Content to be loyal to no one but herself in the isolated jungles of South India, she dreams only of finding her lost sister, Priya, and making enough money to take care of their family. It’s too bad that her rare ability to wake electric machines—using the magic that wiped them out five centuries ago—also makes her a coveted political pawn. Everyone seems to believe that her technomancy can help them win the endless war for control over the magic’s supernatural source.

These senseless power struggles mean little to Adya. But when her enemies dangle news of her sister before her, she’s all too quick to leap at the chance to bring Priya home—even if it means teaming up with a rakish, disreputable thief in order to do it. With the threat of invasion looming ever larger on the horizon, Adya must reconcile the kind of person she is with the kind of person she wants to be and untangle the web of intrigue, conspiracy, and deceit that threatens to take all of India down with it.

About this title

About the Author

Hemant Nayak is a writer of fantasy stories with a bit of heart and joy and a lot of the strange. He lives with his family in the Pacific Northwest. In his free time, he runs around the deep woods with his dogs, strums guitar in a garage band, and even plays Dungeons & Dragons with friends. When he’s not writing, he shifts to his alternate life as an ER doctor. Find out more about him at HemantNayak.com.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

AT FIVE A.M. ON AN August day when the monsoon rain threatened to fill her boots, Adya Sachdev closed her favorite engine repair manual, forced herself through a set of push-ups, and prepared to face her nemesis.

She didn’t rush. The jungle was no place to travel before sunrise if you hoped to stay alive. In the predawn darkness, Adya thrust her head beneath one of the tiny waterfalls tumbling from cracks in the ceiling, letting the cool water pour over her long hair and run down her back. Then, fully awake, she pulled on work pants, threw a shirt over her head, and took up a broom.

As she swept, she hummed a wordless tune that echoed amidst the gloom and shadows, disturbing a family of bats that swirled up from the depths of the tunnel. Sunlight seldom reached this far into the twisted mine shaft Adya called home, but lack of light was never a problem. Over the centuries since magic had emerged, her people’s eyes had grown accustomed to darkness.

Ignoring the bats, she pushed the tangles of electrical wires to one side and every stray bolt and washer to the other, quite aware that she was being watched. From a shelf high above, enormous amber eyes tracked her every movement.

Adya had no patience for this sort of thing. She pointed the broom at a shelf where her sister’s orange cat perched, waiting for his chance to swat a screw down the tunnel. “Look, Useless, I don’t want to lose any more parts, and you don’t want to be turned into soft furry slippers, so don’t even try it.” She and the cat had already gone beyond pleasantries and peaceful negotiation.

The cat hissed in response. He did not appreciate being thwarted. Useless loved nothing more than to watch Adya’s tools roll to the depths below. Her twin sister, Priya, had named him Fluffs, but Adya liked Useless better. This was sentimental resentment. Half a year ago, Priya had abandoned her and vanished into a wall of flame. Adya turned her back on Useless and continued sweeping. She could call the cat whatever she wanted now.

Having removed every sharp object from the floor, Adya wiped a shop towel across her forehead and slumped against the wreck of the autorickshaw she’d failed to repair. She sighed.

Despite her attempts at order, the ancient three-wheeled motor taxi had taken over—rusted machinery and yellow panels lay scattered everywhere. Two mattresses, a towering bookshelf, and three barrels full of liquor she’d gotten in a trade from some thief took up the remaining space. The shaft’s walls were covered with old techno junk, bits of idols scavenged from crumbling temples, and cracked vinyl LPs. For two years, she and her twin sister had fought to shape this place into both home and workshop, but rocks and darkness can only be pushed so far. The lower depths still belonged to the bats.

Most anyone would think an abandoned tunnel in the middle of the jungle a strange place for a girl to live alone. If Adya dwelled on it too long, she might think so too.

Instead, she counted her money.

Adya slid aside a loose rock in the wall and pulled out a small bag. She went through the coins twice, running her calculations for the hundredth time. Unfortunately, she needed a great deal more if she was never to worry about the crime lord Huda’s vicious debt collectors ever again.

To make enough to pay Huda off, she would have to sell a fully functional rickshaw. And only one person held the key to her success. Adya pulled on her red leather jacket and picked up an old transistor radio she had to deliver on the way. She balanced her spear on her shoulder, inhaled the glorious smell of monsoon air and engine grease, and steeled herself to face her aunt.

Adya marched the thirty yards up to the shaft’s opening, grabbing the handrail in the wall to pull herself up along the steepest bit, and found that Ganesha, the god of beginnings, was not entirely against her. Silver cables of light slid through the canopy, reflecting off piles of wet steel and rust. The clouds had soaked everything and moved on.

Before setting out, Adya dragged a sheet of metal covered in vines and branches across the mine shaft’s entrance. You could never be too careful. She turned to find she was not alone. A black drongo, its long tail feathers shining in the morning light, stared down at her from the branch of an old mango tree. The bird tapped the trunk with its beak three times and studied her with eyes that sparkled with intelligence.

Adya took a piece of puri from her pocket and laid it on the ground. She whistled twice high, once low, mimicking the call of the black drongo. The small bird cocked its head and gave a single whistle of alarm back, though it refused to fly down to accept the offering. Her mother had always claimed that the black drongo was the most magical bird in India. That it never forgot a debt and would always watch over a friend. Adya hoped to tame this one, but the bird wasn’t having it. On a hunch, Adya spun to find her sister’s cat lurking behind her, swishing his tail. The sneaky animal was worse than useless. She slid the puri into her pocket, and the drongo took off, circling overhead.

Adya kicked through mounds of leaves and threaded the piles of machinery that made up the chaos of her front yard, clomping across the iron bridge over the river that rushed past the mine shaft.

She whispered while she ran a hand over the rail, “Guru Brahma, Guru Vishnu, Guru Deva.” In response, the string of lights coiled about the iron shone bright, lighting the bridge like it was a holiday, fading back into darkness as she passed. In Adya’s head, the voices of the lights were like a chorus of children urging her not to go, begging her to stay and play. In this age of sorcery, electricity was supposed to stay dead, but the business of fixing machines and awakening their souls was the magic that kept Adya fed.

She wound her way through the aerial roots of a giant banyan until she found the narrow path that led to her aunt’s house.

The day began like all days, with the riotous squawks of birds and the cries of troops of monkeys rushing through branches. The colors of the jungle were rain-drenched greens that blended into the ink of deep shadows where unpleasant things with teeth hid. Adya thumped the butt of her spear into the mud and swung herself over knee-deep puddles. She caught sight of the drongo overhead as it followed, likely still thinking of the food in Adya’s pocket.

Leaves trembled high above, sending an agitated message ahead to announce her coming. Adya ran a hand along the trunk of one of the tallest sepals to reassure the old giant of who she was. She waited until she felt it recognize her. Her people, the Atavi, belonged here in the jungle, and the trees knew it. Adya thumped the butt of her spear again and moved on.

In the centuries since magic had taken hold, the forest had grown twisted, tall, and suspiciously aware of anyone walking beneath its branches. Magic had transformed the animals as well—some could vanish in an instant before reappearing at your shoulder. Others could see into your mind. A few, like the tigers, had grown enormous and far too intelligent.

And then there were the yaksha.

Adya checked the tip of her spear. It glowed with the faint white of bone—the forest spirits had retreated with the night. Unfortunately, the weapon would be of no help with her aunt, who Adya suspected might be half furious spirit herself. She hated the thought of having to ask the woman for anything, but if she was going to repair the rickshaw, she would need her little brother’s help—and at fifteen, his life was under Aunt Sanjana’s control.

Pausing at a spot where a tree had fallen across the path, Adya checked both sides of the trail before ducking left and slipping into the underbrush. Ten paces ahead, she stopped at a sawed-off stump few would have noticed, took off her pack, and knelt.

Adya eased off the top of the stump like the lid of a secret treasure chest before poking the hollow cavity with her spear. Always best to check for snakes. At the bottom, she found a canvas bag filled with coins that clinked satisfyingly. She counted them twice, then placed the small radio from her pack inside. Three attempts to awaken its soul had exhausted her, but the money made it all worthwhile. Before she could dwell on her success, a long shadow passed over her shoulder. A gangly scarecrow of a man with eyes set too deep in his skull stepped out from behind a tree.

Bulla Sholay leaned on his spear and studied Adya in a way that made her every muscle tense. He cleared his throat like an old motor and spat. “Didn’t think you’d come, Mongoose,” he wheezed. “Didn’t want my money going stale.”

Adya snatched up her weapon, trying her best to seem nonchalant. Bulla Sholay was old sinew, old bone, and old muscle, knit together with bad temper. There was nothing about him she could trust, and he was deadly with his spear. She didn’t like her odds.

She kept her eyes on the man’s hands, wondering how many years it had taken for him to achieve a permanent scowl. “Come on, Bulla. Why does this have to be difficult? The whole point is not to hang out together. Ever.” Adya was shy to start with, but minimizing social interactions with people as unpleasant as Bulla was always a high priority. She eased back, maximizing the distance between them.

Bulla shuffled forward, joints cracking, and lifted the radio out of the stump. “Didn’t think you’d deliver, Mongoose. Didn’t think you’d still be in business.” He ran his fingers over the small machine and grunted before dropping it into a bag. “Word is Huda’s tired of you owing him. Tired of late payments. Things go bad when Huda tires of you.”

Adya fought to keep her voice calm while her heart raced. “You can’t believe every rumor you hear, Bulla. It’s been great seeing you—I mean, it hasn’t really, so I’m going to get going.”

Bulla leaned toward her, and Adya got a whiff of that awful breath. “Word is the British are offering a high price for the last witch in the jungle. Would be a shame if you got snatched before you could spend my money.”

“That would be tragic.” This was rapidly going to hell. “But Huda doesn’t need me. He’s already got technomancers dumb enough to work for him. There’s no way I’m the last. A few other freelancers are still fighting for parts.”

Bulla shook his head and made a sad face. “You’re uninformed. Huda burned two out last week. The British have the others.”

Adya’s hands started to sweat. It wasn’t possible. She knew of three technomancers working on their own. Huda had four on his payroll just last month. Bulla Sholay was a born liar, trying to make her panic. She couldn’t be the last, could she?

“Look, Bulla, you’ve got a first-class radio now. You’ll be able to listen to whatever lousy tunes you like. You won’t be half the grouch you usually are. Why don’t we call it a win-win?”

“Music goes better with cash.” Bulla grinned, displaying disastrous teeth. “Didn’t realize how much more I liked your sister than you. You’re ruder than she was, disrespectful to your elders.”

At the mention of her sister, Adya decided she’d had enough. She dropped the tip of her spear level with the man’s chest. Her face burned. “That’s ‘is,’ Bulla, not ‘was,’?” she said slowly. “My sister is nicer than me. Don’t ever mention Priya in past tense.”

He lunged for her.

She backpedaled while pointing a finger at Bulla’s pack. “Sarasvati namastubhyam.” The radio crackled with static at her words.

With a loud click of his knees Bulla froze.

“That machine has a temper,” she warned. “Touch me, and it will remember down to the transistors. You’ll be haunted by static day and night until you go mad.”

The radio’s voice buzzed in Adya’s head, wondering what she meant; it was a thoughtful soul, used to playing the news from another age, hardly a device full of violence and rage.

She tried reassuring it. Just something a little louder… No, you will not get in trouble for turning up your volume…. Yes, you can play classical later to calm down.

Bulla’s brow furrowed, watching Adya. Her lips were probably moving. She hated that.

The music switched to rock, and the volume soared. Birds rocketed out of the trees in alarm, and the old crook stumbled back. Bulla tripped over the stump, dropped his weapon, and ended up on his back while the radio screamed.

Adya planted one foot on Bulla’s spear while pointing hers at his neck. She raised her voice over the blaring music. “I tried the nice way, Bulla.”

“You misunderstand me, Mongoose.” Bulla’s face broke out in sweat as he worked his way backward on his elbows. “Didn’t mean anything by it. Didn’t. Keep the money. Spend it while you can.” He scrambled to his feet and ran, the sound of the music fading as he disappeared into the trees.

Adya tried to slow her breathing as she made her way back to the path, but her anger only spiraled higher. Damn Bulla and Huda both to hell. She’d gotten lucky to escape so easily.

Her threat had been all bluff, but most people had no idea what she was capable of. No other group of people had ever manifested the talent—even amongst the Atavi, technomancers were scarce. Some suspected it was their ability to connect with spirits that gave a rare few Atavi the power to touch the souls of old machines, but no one knew for sure.

Bulla couldn’t have been right. Huda had pushed technomancers too hard before, burning them out. But the British couldn’t have snatched them all, could they? Adya had been out of touch with the others for a long while, but surely, she wasn’t the last.

But Bulla’s warning nagged at her. She should never have gotten entangled with Huda. Against her aunt’s will, Adya had followed in the path of her parents, borrowing from Huda, the criminal overlord who held power over the jungle. Her parents had burdened themselves with loans to buy parts for her father’s endless ambitions. She and Priya had vowed to stay out of the trap, but once her sister abandoned her, Adya found herself accepting Huda’s money. The Atavi queen had once been the ruler of their people, but since Huda had begun working for the British, doing their bidding, everything had changed. The British had bolstered Huda tremendously, and the queen had faded into little more than a figurehead. Now Huda ran everything, and it was impossible to stay out of his web. And Adya’s payments to the gangster were dangerously late.

The scent of chimney smoke brought her to a halt a quarter mile before the end of the trail. Ahead she would find the village where she grew up, two dozen red-domed huts stretched out along the banks of a fast-moving stream.

She started walking again, but it failed to loosen the knot in her throat. She and Priya had spent as much time with their feet in the rapid water as out of it. They had climbed the trees with their little brother, daring one another to bring down the highest guavas and mangoes they could find.

Then their parents had died, and Adya’s world had gone up in flames. They’d been working on her father’s great project—trying to awaken a machine more impressive than any technomancer had ever done before, something powerful enough to get the maharaja’s attention and help drive out the British. Priya always suspected sabotage, but Adya wasn’t sure. Technomancy could be lethal all by itself, and dangerous dreams got you killed.

Aunt Sanjana had arrived like a thunderstorm in the wake of the fatal explosion. She knew only two moods: annoyed and deeply annoyed. She ruled over the three orphans and tried to make sure they became good members of their community, dragging them to every celebration and meal when all Adya wanted was to be left alone. Adya had suffered under her glare for two terrible years.

Stop thinking only of yourself. Her aunt’s usual tirade was already blaring in her mind. So tall and gangly with your leather jacket and grease stains. If you stop lifting machinery, your arms will look more like a girl’s. I’ll never find a match for you.

If pressed, under extreme interrogation, Adya might admit that her aunt loved her in her own grouchy way, that she had fought like a tiger to protect three unruly children, but even still, Adya preferred living in a mine shaft. She’d explained to her aunt a dozen times she didn’t give a damn about helping her “community.” She wasn’t Priya, who dreamed about saving India. And she sure wasn’t interested in marrying anyone.

Adya marched out of the trees, ready with fresh arguments.

Then the wind shifted, and the smell of ash struck her. She remembered what Bulla had said and thought of her brother. Mohan was a wizard at fixing things and coming up with great ideas, but he’d never been a strong enough technomancer to fire up more than a light bulb without collapsing. But Huda might still want him. She started to run.

And stumbled at the sight ahead.

The village lay abandoned. Smoke poured from the hut that had been her childhood home. The only sound was the crackle of fire. Before Adya could move, the roof crumbled as flames tore through the walls. Clouds of soot billowed toward her.

The black drongo circled above, its cry high and mournful.

Adya dropped into the underbrush as a stranger stepped out from behind the hut and tossed a smoldering branch into the flames. The sinuous tattoo on the man’s forearm—in the shape of a naga—marked him as one of Huda’s thugs. He shouted, and three more people joined him. Together, they knocked in a wall of her aunt Sanjana’s hut. The flames roared higher. Heat seared Adya’s cheeks, and her breath caught in her throat. Nothing could survive that.

She felt a keen stab in her chest, as if something inside had broken.

Adya squeezed her spear until her fingers went numb. If her aunt was in there, if they’d hurt her brother, she was going to drag those men into the fire herself.

“Om Kali numaha,” she whispered. She tensed for a sprint.

She was going to kill those men.

Across the clearing, the drongo dove into the forest, drawing Adya’s attention to the flash of a hand between the trees and a huge mess of black hair that could belong only to one boy. She forced herself deeper into the underbrush. Mohan had escaped. Her aunt would be with him.

Adya took a slow breath and watched as Huda’s thugs knocked over the last wall. A house was just wood, timber, and straw. It didn’t matter how long they’d lived there or how many of her best memories were rooted in that home. She told herself it didn’t matter. It could all be rebuilt. After the destruction was complete, Huda’s men strolled off, following the stream.

Once they were gone, Mohan stepped out of the cover of the jungle, and Adya ran to him. Her brother’s head was a thundercloud of curly hair strewn with leaves and twigs. He must have thrown himself into the brush to hide. He was wearing the blue dinosaur T-shirt he seldom took off. Adya crushed Mohan in her arms and felt him trembling. She searched the trees behind him, waiting for her aunt to appear, stone-faced and grim. For once, Adya looked forward to being yelled at.

But they didn’t move, and the tears pouring down Mohan’s face told her all she needed to know.

She ran, knocking aside the burning timbers with her spear, trying to see through the flames, hoping against hope that there was some pocket the fire hadn’t reached. The inferno blasted back at her, scorching her arms as she beat at the cinders. Her aunt had cared for them for years. Had always made sure they were safe. Embers singed her legs as she tried to push through.

Mohan seized the back of her shirt and pulled her away. “It’s too late, Adya.”

Adya stared at their destroyed home.

“Everyone ran into the jungle when they came,” Mohan whispered. “Auntie stayed and tried to hold them off, to give me time. She made me promise to keep you safe.” Mohan rubbed the back of his forearm across his eyes. “I heard them, Adya. They were looking for you. One of them spat at her feet, and you know how she is. She slapped him, and then everything went bad.” Mohan’s voice broke. “They pushed her into the house and wouldn’t let her out. They wouldn’t…”

Adya closed her eyes.

They sat, leaning against each other, and watched their home burn like a funeral pyre. Adya peered into the flames and rocked back and forth. If only she’d listened, if only she’d never dealt with Huda. If only Priya were here. Her sister was the one who knew what to do when everything went to hell.

They waited by the stream as the sun rose high in the sky. Soon, the rest of the small village would drift back. Someone would offer to take them in. Their neighbors would put themselves at risk trying to help, just as Aunt Sanjana had done.

“No.” The word escaped Adya’s lips unbidden.

“No, what?” Mohan asked.

“You’re coming back with me,” she whispered. “We’ll be safe in the mine.”

She got to her feet and handed Mohan a stale piece of her puri. He took a bite and let the rest fall to the ground.

A double whistle, one high, one low, made her look up. The black drongo twisted in the air and hurtled down between them, spreading its wings at the last moment to alight next to the discarded bread. It pecked hungrily at the puri while Mohan watched.

Adya imagined her aunt looking down on them. She could almost hear her scolding before her ghost drifted away. You never understand, Adya. I lay out everything right in front of you, and you never even try to understand.

The drongo ate as if it hadn’t seen food in days.

Mohan shook his head. “It’s like we’re all alone again.” His voice was a hoarse wreck. “Just us and this dumb bird that pecks away like nothing even happened.”

Blood rushed through Adya’s ears. She planted her spear in the ground and held on to stay upright. Mohan’s pained voice sounded far away. She felt lighter than air, like she could be blown away with a puff of breath. Like she might drift away forever.

The little bird hopped onto Adya’s boots, and her vision snapped into focus. The drongo pecked at the last of the crumbs. She considered the hungry creature, oblivious to the surrounding tragedy. It wasn’t dumb, like Mohan said. The bird knew what was important. It stayed safe and free, far up in the sky, and when it got the chance, it grabbed everything for itself.

Adya finally let out the breath she’d been holding in for so long. “At this point, Mohan, we’ll take all the friends we can get.”

Edition details

• Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers
• Publication date: 2025
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 166592182X
• ISBN 13: 9781665921824
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 384