Chapter Five
As it turned out, that winter's feast was merely the beginning of Highwing's career as a champion talker.
As winter wore on toward spring, with the days growing noticeably longer and the weather blessedly milder, the good creatures of Redwall began to stir from their cold-season lethargy in response to the world renewing itself around them. Except for the few tasks of routine maintenance, the Abbeyfolk had mostly relaxed their way through the winter, just as they always did, basking in the warm glow of the hearthfires and each other's companionship, content to nibble and sip at Friar Hugh's tasty offerings until the fierce cold outside spent itself and yielded at last to springtime's brighter sun and gentler days.
All was not idleness, however. Brother Trevor kept up his classes for the Abbey children, schooling them in reading, writing and the history of Redwall. Geoff, being one of the oldest students and very adept at both letters and historical knowledge, was appointed Trevor's assistant to help arrange and plan lessons. By winter's end, the apprentice mouse had shown such promise in this position that it became clear Trevor was grooming him to become Redwall's next Recorder and historian, after Trevor himself grew too old to perform those duties. Geoff was delighted beyond words, and went about his scholarly apprenticeship with a new sense of seriousness and solemnity that only opened himself up to even more playful kidding from his more easygoing friends ... particularly Alex and Monty, who would often fall into step behind Geoff when he wasn't looking, imitating his stiffly formal gait and prim expression with stiff-legged, stone-faced impersonations that made onlookers giggle and chuckle in spite of themselves.
For Vanessa it was an even busier time. Often she was excused from classes to spend time with Sister Marisol, learning all the healing wisdom and lore that she could absorb from the old Infirmary keeper. And then there was Highwing to look after. Vanessa and the Sparra chick could not have been separated from one another with a pry bar; the sparrow would tag along after the mousemaid wherever she went, and Vanessa encouraged him fully. Every free minute was spent playfully chasing each other up and down throughout the Abbey. Cavern Hole was hardly enough to contain such youthful enthusiasm; their rambunctious wanderings took them through nearly every room and chamber and tunnel in Redwall, and sometimes even out onto the cold wintry grounds. Highwing revelled in their occasional excursions, although Vanessa was careful to make sure Alex and Monty accompanied them at such times. She well recalled Grym Sparra's deadly vow of revenge, and not even the presence of her stout otter and squirrel friends could stop her from casting nervous glances up toward the roofspaces of Warbeak Loft.
And all the while, Highwing's verbal education continued. When he wasn't chattering on, gleefully trying out new words and phrases he'd picked up, then he was listening, ever listening: to the stories and arguments of the Guosim shrews; to the songs of the otters; to Abbot Arlyn's mealtime blessings; to Brother Trevor's lessons whenever he followed Vanessa to one of the historian's classes, and to Sister Marisol's words of wisdom when Vanessa was training up in the Infirmary; and to just about anything else anybeast had to say. Like a sponge soaking up water, the young sparrow drank in everything he could.
By winter's end Highwing was speaking in complete sentences, and could converse (if only in a limited fashion) in both the formal manner of the mice of the Redwall order and in the more colorful vernacular of the shrews and otters, although he was still learning the exact meaning of many of his favorite words and how to properly use them in conversation. Physically, nearly all his chick's down had fallen out, giving way to the stubby, emerging plumage of an adult Sparra. His crooked wing kept him from flying, but this didn't seem to bother him too much, so fully was his attention focused on his word skills. Surely, he was shaping up to be the most eloquent and well-spoken sparrow that Redwall had ever seen.
00000000000
At last came the days that everybeast had been waiting for, when springtime was clearly in the air and winter was nearly over. Foremole and his mole crew started venturing outdoors on the warmer days, tilling the soil in the gardens in anticipation of an early spring planting, while the Guosim shrews began to gear up for their departure from Redwall. Mossflower Woods beckoned to them with its vast expanses, and the shrews' wandering, adventurous spirit would not allow them to dwell with their Abbey friends much longer.
A drastic cold snap during the last two days of winter was enough to refreeze the surface of the Abbey pond all the way across. But on the first day of spring, warmer temperatures and bright sun caused it to thaw in a most peculiar manner. The ice in the center of the pond cracked and melted away completely by midday, but that along the banks persisted, reaching out toward the middle of the pond in long, jagged arms. Viewed from the heights of the walltop battlements it was spectacularly beautiful, and everybeast in Redwall took a turn up on the ramparts that day to behold the sight.
Vanessa stood with Geoff and Highwing on the walltop, a short distance away from Abbot Arlyn and some of the other Abbey elders. "By all the seasons!" she murmured. "It looks like a giant snowflake!"
Geoff shook his head. "Never seen a snowflake that was bright blue in the middle. Look at how the sun's lighting up the water - it's almost glowing! The whole thing looks to me more like a giant crystal."
Brother Trevor, who was standing near enough to overhear, came forward and rested his paws on Geoff's shoulders. "I do believe my young assistant here has hit the nail on the head. Crystal blue water, surrounded by crystal white ice. The grandest gemstone nature could have devised, displayed for one brief day right here on our Abbey grounds."
The Abbot joined them. "Your apprentice may have many seasons to go before he replaces you as Abbey Recorder, Trevor, but he's certainly getting off to a fast start, considering that he's just come up with the name for this season."
Young Geoff was as taken aback as anybeast there. "Huh? What do you mean, sir?"
Arlyn swept his paw out to indicate the white-trimmed lake of blue beneath them. "Look upon it well, my friends," he pronounced. "The sight will be gone forever after today, but the wonder of it will live in our memory for seasons to come. Therefore, let this be known as the Spring of the Crystal Pond."
Applause and cheers broke out along the walltop. "Hooray! Hooray! Let's have a Nameday!"
Alexander the squirrel pounded Geoff heartily on the back. "Good goin', Geoffy! Now we don't have to wait to hold the feast!"
Highwing flapped in place in delight. "Three cheers for Pinky! Hip hip - " The sparrow never got to finish his cheer, ducking to dodge a good-natured blow from Geoff in reprisal for the use of his dreaded nickname.
"Hey, now, no horseplay up here, you two," Trevor scolded mildly. "We don't want anybeast falling and getting hurt."
"Wouldn't hurt me," Highwing boasted, spreading wide his not-quite-even wings. "I'd fly down, 'cos I'm a bird!"
The others all smiled politely. Highwing's previous attempts at flying had been mercifully few, and not very encouraging. But that didn't stop the young Sparra from boasting of his flying prowess at every opportunity.
"If it's all the same, my friend," Abbot Arlyn advised Highwing, "I'd suggest you stick with the wall stairs. We wouldn't want any bruised or broken appendages marring our Nameday feast, now would we?"
"And when is this feast to be, Abbot?" Trevor asked.
"I see no need to delay, now that we have a perfectly fine name. We'll hold it as soon as possible ... tomorrow, if Friar Hugh and his kitchen staff can manage it."
"Oh, I'm sure they can," said Trevor, "even if it means working through the night. But we've all had a long and lazy winter. Time to do some real work!"
Everybeast cheered anew. Laboring to prepare a Nameday feast was one chore no Redwaller would shy away from.
00000000000
True to Trevor's prediction, the feast was fully prepared by noon of the following day. If Friar Hugh and his helpers were drained from their overnight marathon effort, they didn't let that keep them from enjoying the fruits of their labors. And they had plenty of company, since nearly half the Abbey had stayed up along with them, lending a paw any way they could.
Much of the morning was spent setting up Great Hall for the feast. But when Abbot Arlyn saw that this second full day of spring was turning out to be wonderfully bright and calm with no sign of clouds or rain, he changed his mind and decreed that the feast should be held out on the lawns under the magnificent sky of blue. The task was a challenging one, but with the Guosim shrews on paw to assist Redwall's strong squirrels and otters - not to mention Maura the badger, who could lift and carry an entire long table all by herself - the lawns were all set for the celebration by the time the sun reached its noontide zenith.
Every participant in that day's feast would swear afterwards that the beautiful weather made everything taste better - the creams creamier, the ale smoother, the shrimp stew hotter, the pastries sweeter, and the cheeses fuller. The Nameday feast for the Spring of the Crystal Pond would last until sundown, although most of the revellers had eaten and drunk their fill long before either the food or the daylight gave out. Many who'd labored through the night to prepare the feast rewarded themselves by stretching out on the lawns and napping in the warm sunshine.
Toward late afternoon some of the otters - whose energy was just about boundless - congregated by the banks of the now completely unfrozen pond. Since the water was still a bit too cold for comfortable swimming, they contented themselves with some friendly jousts of sparring with the double-pointed steel javelins favored by the otter folk. And since those matches could be as entertaining to watch as they were for the otters who actually participated, in no time at all a small crowd of Redwallers had gathered about them. Not too close, of course, since the brawny, agile waterbeasts liked plenty of room to maneuver.
Since young Montybank was among the jousters, his friends Alexander, Geoff, Vanessa and Highwing made sure to come over and watch. After several rigorous bouts with older and more experienced otters in which he held his own admirably, Monty withdrew from the contests to join his young companions as a spectator until he got his wind back.
Highwing skipped over to him. "Hey, Monty, can I see that spear?"
"Wotcha callin' a spear, beakface? This 'ere's a proper otter javelin, all fine tempered steel an' pointed at both ends, an' as rare as any ol' ordinary spear is common."
"Oh, sorry. Then can I see your JAVELIN, please?"
"Why'd a pillow-stuffer like you wanna see this?" Monty twirled the steel shaft.
"It looked like fun, what you were doing, and I'd like to try it," Highwing said.
"You ... wanna try ... " Monty burst out laughing. "Oh, that's a good 'un, right 'nuff. Here y'go, matey - have at it!"
Balancing on one leg, Highwing reached out with his other talon to take the weapon from Monty. Once he had a good grip on the slender shank, the young Sparra brandished it out in front of him in a proud fighter's stance ... and promptly toppled forward onto his beak, pulled off his one-legged stand by the weight of the heavy implement.
Monty stood over the fallen sparrow, paws on knees, looking down at Highwing. "Ahoy, there, messmate, wot's th' matter? Too much ballast for'ard? Harr Harr!"
Vanessa helped Highwing up onto his claws once more. "Are you all right?" she asked, stifling a giggle.
"Got dirt in my beak ... Phtoo!" The bird studied the javelin lying on the ground; the others could see the mental gears working from the look of intense concentration on his face. "Lemme try again," he said at last, scooping up the shaft in one talon.
This time, however, Highwing did not wait to be pulled over onto his face again. Knowing how the javelin's weight would throw him off balance, he spread his wings and leaned slightly backward to compensate, hopping uncertainly on his one remaining leg while he sought equilibrium. Flapping and bouncing, he wielded the javelin wildly before him, trying to imitate the moves he'd seen the otters making.
Geoff dove for cover. "Watch out, you crazy birdbag! You're liable to skewer somebeast!"
"Hey, that ain't too bad," Monty admitted, sizing up Highwing's parries and thrusts. He borrowed another javelin from one of his fellow otters and stepped forward. "En guard, you feathered rogue! Yaha!"
The metallic ringing of their clashing steel rods echoed across the Abbey grounds. For such an ungainly battle stance, Highwing held his own quite well against Monty ... although, to be fair, the otter was going very easy on him. It was all just a game, and both knew it.
Abbot Arlyn ambled over, pawing at his eyes. "Been snoozing the day away, Father?" Alexander teased him.
"Trying to, Alex, but it's hard to get any blissful slumber with all this racket going on over here. I say, what's Highwing doing in with all those jousting otters?"
"Making a bid to become our next Abbey champion, by the look of things," the young squirrel said.
"Well, he's certainly caught on to that rather quickly," the Abbot observed. "Why, just look at him go, flapping about on one leg ... looks like he's dancing and duelling at the same time." Arlyn set a paw on Vanessa's shoulder. "Hard to believe that's the same downy chick who fell off our roof at the start of winter. Between his physical development and his skill with words, I'd say Redwall is treating him well. You must be very proud of him, Vanessa."
"Oh, I am, Abbot. I am. And I have a feeling our Highwing will someday give us all reason to be proud of him."