Featherlight by Peter Bunzl (debian ebook reader TXT) 📕

14

A RESCUE

The rain outside is falling like a waterfall. It hisses against Tan’s bright flaming feathers as she hangs in the air, riding the air currents and lighting up the land. The raindrops batter down on my head and Grandma’s, and onto our raincoats, which we struggled into as we left the house. But we can’t stop. We have to get to the sinking boat and save the two fishermen and the boy.

Tan circles above us, lighting our way as we cross the island.

At the jetty, Grandma’s boat is bouncing on the wild sea, thrown this way and that by the storm.

We climb down into the boat as high waves break over the side. I pull out the telescope and once again search for the fishermen. Tan soars up high, throwing her light out to sea. It joins the weaker beam of light from the feather in the lighthouse tower.

Finally, I see the remains of the boat. The two fishermen and the boy are clinging to its broken hull as angry waves smash against them.

“Fly ahead, Tan!” I cry, while Grandma releases our boat from its mooring. “We’re counting on you to light the way!”

Tan swoops up into the sky, cutting a path through the rain and gusts of wind.

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.

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.”

“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