“Does that mean she’s dying?” I ask. Tears fall from my eyes along with the raindrops as I peer down at Tan’s tiny fading form.

“I’m afraid so,” Grandma says. “But maybe not for good. At the end of the story, the book says that a firebird can rise from the ashes like a phoenix. They can become like new, and in that way they are rumoured to live for ever.”

“Will Tan be reborn like that?” I ask.

“I hope so,” Grandma replies.

I cup Tan’s remains in my hand. All that’s left of her now is a pile of ash. As soft as crumbled charcoal. But I don’t want to let it go. I don’t want to let Tan go. Carefully, I transfer the ash into my dad’s empty flask, which is still in my pocket.

*

We take the two fishermen and the boy up to the lighthouse cottage so they can wait out the storm. We get them settled in the kitchen, beside the warm stove. I find them fresh clothes to wear, and Grandma makes them tea and toast. “When the storm’s over,” she tells them. “I’ll row you back to the mainland.”

“Thank you,” they reply, almost as one.

Soon all three of them and Grandma are laughing together like they’ve known each other for years. I think the fishermen are just relieved to have survived the storm, and to find themselves alive and warm in a safe place.

I am so busy rushing around I don’t hear half of what they’re saying. It is only when the young boy smiles and asks me about my bird that I realise how wet and sad and silent I am.

Grandma and the boy and the two fishermen listen as I tell the tale of how I found Tan. When I finish speaking, I open the flask that holds Tan’s ashes and peer inside.

I expect to see a glint in the dark interior of the flask. Some sign that Tan is springing back to life. But there is nothing.

“Perhaps if we put her somewhere warm?” the elder fisherman suggests.

We put the flask by the range, close to the fire.

By now the young boy is almost asleep in his seat. Grandma carries him to my parents’ bedroom and tucks him into bed there. By the time she returns, the embers in the grate are getting low and threatening to go out. Grandma stokes the fire as best she can and makes another pot of tea for the two fishermen. Then she heads off to the lighthouse to check on the lantern once more. The two fishermen make themselves cosy in their chairs to wait out the rest of the storm. I leave them there and go to bed myself. I am so tired and shocked I can barely stay awake any longer.