Storm Singer - Softcover

Chadda, Sarwat

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1665962453 ISBN 13: 9781665962452

Verlag: S&S Books for Young Readers, 2026

Inhaltsangabe

Skandar and the Unicorn Thief meets One Thousand and One Nights in this “action-packed, fantastically imaginative” (BCCB) middle grade fantasy from Rick Riordan Presents author Sarwat Chadda about a girl with the magical power to control the elements with her song.

In a land ruled by fierce winged warriors known as eagle garudas, twelve-year-old Nargis is just a poor, lowly human, a Worm who hates the garudas that killed her parents. But even though she can’t fly—and her childhood attempt left her walking with a crutch—she is far from powerless. Nargis is a spirit singer: able to coax small bits of wind, water, fire, and earth to do her bidding through song…well, sometimes.

When Nargis loses control of her power in a high-stakes kite fight, she is exiled. Cast into the desert, she discovers Mistral, an injured boy who turns out to be an eagle garuda, the prince of her enemies! He’s on a mission to take back his throne from a terrible vulture garuda. In spite of their mutual distrust, the two have no choice but to forge an unlikely alliance if they want to escape the desert alive.

And as Nargis and Mistral battle dangerous assassins, befriend crafty sky pirates, and sneak into the mysterious sky castle of Alamut, Nargis discovers she carries a family secret, one that could bring Monsoon’s rains back to the desert, but only if she’s willing to risk her life in the bargain…

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Sarwat Chadda is the New York Times bestselling author of the City of the Plague God duology, the Spiritstone Saga, the Ash Mistry trilogy, the Shadow Magic trilogy, and the Devil’s Kiss duology. He has written for Star Wars and Minecraft as well as the 39 Clues and Spirit Animals series. Sarwat is a first-generation Muslim immigrant of South Asian descent who loves writing over-the-top adventures. His work has received numerous starred reviews and was a Goodreads Choice Best Middle Grade Award Nominee. He has been published in over a dozen languages. Outside of novels, he’s written plays, comic books, and TV shows, including The Legend of Hanuman for Disney+ Hotstar. Sarwat lives in London. Feel free to drop him a line on X at @SarwatChadda and Instagram at @Sarwat_Chadda or visit him at SarwatChadda.com.

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Chapter 1 CHAPTER 1
My kite was something special. Swifter than a falcon, stronger than an eagle, and more beautiful than a kingfisher, it ruled the sky. It was more than a kite; it was a sky-fighter. A patang.

The sun had only just come up, and the desert shimmered with heat. I sat as comfortably as I could manage, in the shade of the rustling leaves of our great old banyan tree, beside my parents’ shrine of piled stones. Sat amongst my paint pots, brushes, and other materials, job finally done. I turned my patang slowly, savoring how the low sunlight shone through the multicolored tissue paper to cast a rainbow blanket over my lap.

The fiery red swirls gave it rage. It wouldn’t back down from its opponent, willing to take on anyone, anytime.

Next I’d painted blocks of gray for the earth, for power. A sky-fighter, a patang, must be strong.

I’d added blue meandering lines. Water was precious, but everyone knew that.

Finally, of course, wind. Soft brushstrokes of white for the wind. It was life itself, breath, laughter, secret whispers.

All it needed was a name, but that wasn’t up to me. I’d give it to—

There was a clatter from the hut. A banging, then a cry.

I put my kite down against the tree trunk. “Baba? What’s going on?”

“I can’t find my pants!”

“Try on top of your head!”

“Oye!” he cried, exasperated. “I’ll have none of your cheek, young lady! I am your grandfather and deserve respect! I need to— Ah. Never mind!”

It wasn’t the first time Baba had woken up, grabbed the nearest strip of cloth, and wound it around his head, thinking it was his turban.

The hut door crashed open, and Baba hopped out, tying up his pants while his turban dangled loosely around his bald head. “Stop dawdling, Nargis! Help me! What are you doing… Oh.” He picked up my kite and cast his expert eye over it. He pushed it in from the sides, testing the flexibility of the bamboo frame, letting it spring back into shape, peering close for any tears in the tissue paper. “Marvelous, a real patang. Got a name for it?”

“You know I only build them, Baba.”

“Of course, of course.” Baba scratched his chin as he gazed north. “The wind’s been blowing down from the Eyries all week. Perfect for kite season. Did you see the storm last night?”

“I saw a shooting star. Fell right out of the clouds.”

“You make a wish?” he asked as he struggled with his turban. “What’s wrong with this cloth?”

“Nothing. It’s your head that’s all out of shape.”

Baba grinned, exposing his few remaining teeth. “It’s my brain. Still expanding with all my deep thoughts! Anyway, did you? Make a wish?”

“Of course.”

“For what?” he asked.

“The usual. Rain.”

Baba snorted. “Rain? Here? Carry on wishing, girl.”

I squinted to get a better look at him. He had his medicine bag dangling from his bony shoulder. “You off somewhere?”

“Lalpani,” he said, rewrapping his turban around his head. “Pandit’s peach tree’s sick.”

“Our peach tree. He stole it from us. From Dad.”

“Nargis…”

“Look around you, Baba. Look where we live.”

“It’s easier for everyone if we live outside of Lalpani. We’ve got all we need here, haven’t we?”

I gazed around our small farm sullenly. The mud-brick hut was so old, it sagged, and the palm fronds covering the roof needed replacing. I was constantly sweeping sand from the herb garden. The low stone wall did nothing to prevent the wind from blowing sand in from the desert that surrounded us. Before dawn I’d filled the gullies that fed our small vegetable patch, lifting bucket after bucket from the well, but the morning sun had already dried them out. The tomatoes were tiny, and the yellow patch of mustard was weed infested. “We deserve much more.”

He sighed. “One day you’ll have everything, I promise. No more patchwork shalwar kameezes. It’ll be saris of gold silk, and you’ll wear ruby earrings instead of those tin ones.”

“I like the noise these make.” I shook my head and let the earrings jangle.

Anyway, I didn’t want rubies. I wanted diamonds.

Diamonds that fell from the sky.

Rain.

I closed my eyes and turned my face upward, imagining the raindrops pummeling my skin, soaking me down to my bones.

Baba shook the dust off his sandals. “Why don’t you give your hair a quick brush? You always look as if… Hold on.” He narrowed his gaze suspiciously. “What’s that you’ve got wrapped round your head?”

“This? This is just for keeping my hair out of my eyes.”

“You must think I’ve got fungus for brains.” Baba grabbed the loose end and tugged it off. Hard.

“Ow, Baba!”

He waved the long twine object in front of my face. “A sling? How many times must we do this? I’m trying to make a respectable young lady out of you, Nargis!”

“Respectable, Baba? We’ll never be respectable!” I snatched the sling off him and wrapped it back in place, giving it an extra knot. “You wouldn’t recognize respectable even if it grew out of your big hairy ears! Which reminds me, they need trimming! Shall I get the clippers?”

“I like them hairy. And what do you need a sling for? It’d better not be for the birds! You know the law about harming birds! The Patels got fined a sack of rice when their cat killed a sparrow! A sparrow!”

“I use it to scare the birds off our garden, that’s all. Otherwise they’d eat all the seeds. I promise I miss. Or you could stand out there all day. That might work.”

“Why would I… Oh. A scarecrow. I see. That’s what you think of your venerable grandfather, is it?” His lower lip trembled as he wiped away nonexistent tears. “Oye, what did I do to deserve such a grandchild?”

“I’m just following your example, Baba.”

“So it’s my fault?” He smoothed out his bushy eyebrows. “I thought I heard singing earlier.”

“?‘Mom’s Song,’ while I was watering the plants.” I gazed at the empty sky. Not a wisp of cloud. “One day it’ll work.”

He smiled at the memory. “Your mother had a voice sweeter than any nightingale! Can’t say the same about your father. Sounded as if he had a frog dying in his throat.”

“Then it’s good I inherited my voice from… Ribbit. Ribbit.” I coughed dramatically. “Sorry. It’s that frog again.”

Normally Baba would have laughed. Instead he chewed his mustache. He only did that when he was worried. He’d been doing it a lot lately.

“I’ll come along,” I continued. “Someone wants this patang.” I rolled to my side and picked up my crutch.

What’s it for, Daddy?

For you to find your way, Nargis.

It had been six years since the accident. I could barely remember it, but my right leg reminded me every day, from when I woke till when I settled into bed. Dad had known I’d need the crutch forever and had designed it cleverly, with a sleeve over the main wooden...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: S&S Books for Young Readers
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2026
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1665962453
• ISBN 13: 9781665962452
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 384
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Simon and Schuster Netherlands BV; info@simonandschuster.nl; ; Herculesplein 96; Utrecht; 3584 AA; Niederlande