It is too dangerous for us to raise our sail in such a storm, so we row out into the bay towards the sinking boat. Grandma is on one oar and I have the other. We pull with all of our might, fighting against the waves and the wind and the rain, which are trying to smash us against the rocks.

At last we get close to the overturned boat. Tan is hovering above it, marking its position. In the glow of her light, I can see the two fishermen and the boy bobbing about in the waves. They are trying desperately to keep their heads above the water. Their faces are pale with worry.

The boy kicks towards us first. Without thinking, I reach out my hand to yank him over the side to safety.

“No!” Grandma screams above the pounding waves. “Not that way! He’s too heavy. He’ll capsize our boat! Over the back! Pull him in over the back!”

Grandma grabs my oar from me and sculls the boat around so the stern is facing the boy. Then she and I take a hand each and drag him into our boat.

The boy splutters and coughs. Water is streaming down his face and clothes. He brushes his hair from his eyes and turns around, looking for the other two fishermen. They are already kicking towards us.

The boy helps us haul them both aboard, one at a time. The older fisherman hugs the other two, then turns to us. “Thank you!” he says. “Thank you for saving my sons! And thank you for saving me! We can help you row!”

The fisherman and his elder son take an oar each. Grandma and I and the young boy sit in the stern while the two men row. Grandma shouts instructions over the storm, and Tan hovers above us, lighting the way.

Finally we reach the jetty. The prow of our boat smashes into it with a shudder.

I leap out and help the others onto the island one by one. I look for Tan. Without her, we would never have found our way around the dangerous rocks.

Tan drifts slowly down towards me. Her light is fading. She falls the last few metres to the ground. I can barely make out her dim shape in the dark. I scoop Tan up and hold her in my hands, but something has happened. The bright light that was inside her has almost gone out.

Chapter 15

15

A DYING LIGHT

Grandma and the fishermen and the boy gather round me as I hold Tan. She is pale and grey, and her feathers are burned to stumps.

“What’s happening to her, Grandma?” I ask. It is like Tan is disappearing before my eyes.

“I don’t know,” Grandma admits. “She must have burned out. In the fairy tale it says that when firebirds get old, or use up their flame, they turn to embers and ash.”