“How?” she asks, confused.
“Trust me.”
Grandma grumbles, but she lets me take her hand and we rush down to the cellar.
There is Tan, sitting on the edge of the empty oil tank. She’s shining as bright as day, just like in my dream. My mouth drops open. The dream was true.
“Tan,” I say. “You really are a firebird!”
Grandma looks at Tan and then at me, utterly shocked. “How on earth?” she says.
“Remember the story, Grandma?” I say. “About the firebirds who would drink the oil and light up the route for lost sailors?”
“That’s just a fairy tale, Deryn,” Grandma says. “It can’t possibly be true!”
“It is!” I say.
I hold out my hands for Tan, and she flaps over to them.
I cup her in my palms. Tan is not hot, but her light is so powerful it pours over my fingers like water, making the skin of my hands glow bright orange.
“Look!” I say. “Look how brightly Tan is shining! Maybe she can light up the lighthouse lantern?”
Grandma looks amazed, but she is quick to regain her composure. “Do you really think Tan will be strong enough to light the way?” she asks hesitantly.
“There’s nothing else to try,” I reply. “There’s no more oil in the house, and we have to help those people in that boat!”
Grandma still looks unsure, but she knows that this is our only chance.
“All right,” she agrees, finally. “I can’t believe this is happening, but I hope it works!”
Light spills from Tan and out of my hands as Grandma and I run from the cellar up the winding spiral stairs.
On each floor we pass, I see the fishing boat out of the window, struggling in the wild storm. It is being dragged closer and closer to the rocks.
“We must hurry!” Grandma says. “We need to warn them off before their boat gets broken apart!”
13
A BRIGHT HOPE
By the time we get to the top of the tower, the fire in Tan’s feathers has died away somewhat. She almost looks like a normal small bird again. But she is still glowing softly, so that we can see the room.
Rain clatters on the tin roof of the lighthouse as Grandma and I open the glass door to the lantern and place Tan inside. I peer at Tan in the half-light. She stands on the metal surround of the lamp wick like it is a perch and blinks at us as if she’s waiting for something.
“Please,” I say to Tan. “Light up! Light up bright enough to flood the sky. We have to save the people on that boat!”
But Tan does nothing.
I feel sick.
“It’s not working, Grandma,” I say.
“I did warn you, Deryn,” Grandma says. “The things you read in story books aren’t always true.”
But I’m not ready to give up just yet. I look at Tan. “Please, Tan,” I beg. “There are people out there who are going to die unless we help them. Please light up and save their lives.”
And it is as if Tan has understood me, for the light of her feathers grows stronger with each word. By the time I finish speaking, Tan is all afire, burning with the brightest blaze I have ever seen.
I cover my eyes as the glass lenses beam Tan’s bright light out across the sea towards the distant boat. Grandma squints and shuts the glass door of the lantern. She turns the wheel beneath it to wind the clockwork, and soon the lenses begin to spin.
We run onto the metal walkway outside the lantern room. Grandma takes the spyglass from her pocket and snaps it out into a long telescope. She peers into the eyepiece, sweeping the spyglass across the ocean, searching for the boat.
“There they are,” Grandma calls out above the noise of the storm. “I can see them … And it looks as if they can see the light! Thank goodness! The boat is moving away from the rocks. I think they’re going to be all right.”
“Let me see!” I cry.
Grandma hands me the spyglass, and I focus in on the tiny fishing boat. There are three people aboard it: two fishermen and a boy. They’re all trying to hold the tiller and control the sail, but the wind is pulling them in the wrong direction. With an almighty CRASH! they smash against the rocks.
“It’s no use,” I say. “They’re going to drown.”
“Then we must row out and save them,” Grandma tells me as we climb back inside.
“We don’t have a lantern to guide us,” I say.
“We’ll take your firebird,” Grandma replies.
I shake my head. “What about the lighthouse?” I ask. “If we take Tan, then the light will go dark again. Other boats might need it!”
“My goodness!” Grandma wrings her hands together. “I didn’t think of that, but we must take Tan anyway. She’s the best thing to keep us safe.”
“Wait,” I say. “I have an idea.”
I shield my eyes from the light and open the door to the lantern. “Tan, you must come with us. There’s a boat in trouble. But I need to ask a favour of you. I need to take a feather. Will that be all right?”
Tan nods as if to say yes. She turns and plucks a feather from her tail carefully and gives it to me.
I take the feather by its stem. It is aflame but not hot. I place it in the centre of the lantern.
Tan flaps from her perch and circles my head, her feathers all ablaze. She gives a loud cry that sounds like an alarm call and swoops down the spiral staircase. We follow her, leaving the single burning feather behind in
