Chapter Nine
The longest day of the year came and went. Nameday was a tremendous success, held out on the lawns under a sky of robin's-egg blue and abundant sunshine. The only Sparra in evidence at the festivities was the one having the season named in his honor, and so the feast was an occasion for making many good memories. The food and drink were all up to the usual Redwall standards and them some, while the singing and performing were the best that the Abbey had seen in seasons. Highwing and the otters took turns singing old songs and new, as did Jovey and the hedgehogs. This was followed by the jousting and archery contests, and anybeast who declined to actually participate in these events still stayed nearby in order to watch them. Any foe, bird or beast, who might have tried to intrude upon the festivities of that bright and joyful day would have sorely regretted its transgression, at the points of javelins and arrows.
No sooner had Nameday passed than the full sweltering brunt of summer settled in over Mossflower country like a sultry mantle. The otters were joined for their customary swims in the Abbey pond by nearly every other Redwaller during those stifling early days of that season - even the squirrels, who normally hated getting their big bushy tails wet, and one or two of the more daring moles, who waded in as far as their waists. As for the children, it made no difference what species they were; every one insisted on a daily paddle or leapfrog in the shallows. The Summer of the Flying Sparrow would go down in the annals of Redwall as one of the hottest ever.
The Abbot's edict regarding the Sparra threat remained in effect, but this new danger did little to alter the daily routines of the Abbeybeasts. The otters, who were normally out and about during the warmer seasons as a matter of course, were so boisterous and good-natured that their armed patrols seemed less like a response to some crisis and more like a new social nicety; everybeast enjoyed walking and talking with the otters. For that matter, the good creatures of Redwall were all so fond of each other that the necessity of going about in groups was no hardship at all. Every outdoor chore and errand became a cause for chatting and singing, chasing away the shadow of menace with the brightness of their cheerful comradeship. Only the squirrel archers of Redwall, who went about their walltop sentry duties with more stolid determination than their otter compatriots, gave any outward sign that anything other than full peace reigned over the Abbey.
And as for the Sparra at the center of it all, well, now that Highwing had proven he could fly, he wasted no opportunity to show off his skills and improve them. While Vanessa and the Abbot worried about his occasional brashness and bravado over his newfound ability and urged him to take it easy, they knew there was no way to deny a winged creature its natural desire to escape the bounds of earth and gravity. As a compromise, Highwing agreed to limit his flights mostly to times when Montybank and Alexander were present to watch out for him, and never when the other sparrows were out in force.
One of Highwing's favorite tricks came to be launching himself from the higher parts of the outer wall and either gliding down to a soft landing or soaring upward as high as he could and circling above the Abbey. As his skills improved, he would aim for a specific tree or branch to alight upon. Sometimes he would make it, but as often as not the young sparrow would end his flight in an ignominious heap of feathers beneath his intended target. Once he even flew up to the very highest peak of the Abbey's roof and perched momentarily, in triumph, near the weathervane before the other Sparra rallied and chased him back down to the ground. By now Highwing had become well enough acquainted with his off-kilter flying patterns to elude his pursuers by design, and not just accidentally. The Abbot admonished him sharply after that incident for taking foolish chances, but it was impossible to make the chastisement stick; Highwing's close friendship with Monty had caused some of the otter's carefree attitude to rub off on the young sparrow, and Highwing could not be made to see he'd done anything amiss. In the end, Arlyn was left no choice but to throw up his paws and shake his head, muttering, "Birds! Seasons save us from them all, be they friend or foe!"
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Ten days into the unrelenting heat wave, Vanessa was taking an afternoon stroll beneath the cool shade of the orchard. She'd taken to heart Abbot Arlyn's advice that she needed to get out of the Infirmary more, and not just because he was right about that. Indeed, ever since the attack, Vanessa had made a point of taking at least one long outdoor walk every day, as an open act of defiance against the enemy birds and a gesture that she, like the rest of Redwall, would not be cowed by their aggressive and warlike ways.
A jostling, fluttering commotion in the branches of a damson tree just ahead caused Vanessa to stop and look up ... just in time to witness Highwing tumbling down to the soft ground in a flurry of feathers, flailing talons and flapping wings.
"You know," she remarked as her Sparra friend righted himself, "one of these days you're really going to hurt yourself doing that."
"Nonsense!" Highwing scoffed in a grandiose manner, ruffling his plumage back into alignment. "I'm a natural-born flyer, well-versed in the ways of air and wind."
"It's the ways of earth and tree branches you should be more concerned with, considering how often you fly into them!"
"Oh, now you sound like Monty," said Highwing.
"Well, even that knucklehead of an otter can come out with some good sense once in awhile."
"I'm afraid you're both right," Highwing conceded with a sigh. "The one weak link in the chain of my flying career is my landings - the chink in my armor, the spanner in my gears, the rain on my parade - "
"Yes, yes, yes," Vanessa interrupted, "I get your point already! But it seems to me the landings are rather a crucial part of flying. Isn't that somewhat like saying you can swim like a fish, except for figuring out the part about holding your breath?"
Highwing cocked his head. "Why would a fish need to hold its breath?"
Vanessa swung a playful paw at him. "You scamp, you know what I mean!"
"I'm sure I don't, ma'am, since I've never done much swimming myself, and the only conversation I've ever had with fish has been with the ones on my plate during our Nameday feasts. However, your point is well taken. My landings will improve with practice. They must, since they can't get any worse!"
Vanessa smirked. "Uh-hmm. So long as you don't kill yourself in the process!" Loosening her waist cord, she billowed out the front of her habit to cool herself a little. "I swear, I don't remember when there was ever a stretch of weather like this! I hope it breaks soon; this heat is atrocious, even in the shade."
"Well, then, allow me to help you in this regard," Highwing offered. "Lend me your habit for a moment, please, if you'd be so kind."
Vanessa eyed her birdfriend a tad suspiciously. "And what would you want with a mouse's habit?"
"Just give it to me, and you'll see ... "
Vanessa mulled it over for a moment, then pulled off her garment. It was some relief to free her perspiration-matted body fur from her robes. "I'm only doing this because it's so hot. There you go; now that I've indulged you, this had better be good!"
"Just something I want to try." Taking the habit from her, Highwing grappled awkwardly with it with beak, talons and wings; it almost looked as if he were wrestling with the article of clothing. Other Redwallers who were out enjoying the comparative cool of the orchard watched from a distance, intrigued first by seeing their young Infirmary keeper stripping off her habit and now by the even more unusual sight of their resident Sparra engaged in this odd activity. Two of the burly otter patrols lounging against the trunk of a spreading pear tree nudged each other and snickered.
"Highwing, what are you doing?" Vanessa demanded, suddenly self-conscious about standing unclothed out in the middle of the orchard. "Everybeast's staring at us! What, are you trying to put on my habit? Don't be ridiculous! It'll never fit you!"
The bird ignored her, thrashing and floundering this way and that as he struggled with the garment. Highwing was trying to stick his wings through the habit sleeves, and failing miserably; as voluminous as the sleeves were, they were still nowhere near spacious enough to accommodate the sparrow's wide, feathered limb. At last he collapsed onto his back, hood covering his eyes and all four limbs thoroughly entangled in the fabric.
One of the otters sauntered over to them. Regarding Vanessa, he inquired, "'scuse me, marm, but is this bird botherin' you?" He was barely surpressing his laughter.
Vanessa had to fight off her own fit of giggles at the absurdity of the situation. At least the otter had doffed his own vest, so she was in like company; she didn't know what she'd have done if the Abbot happened by and saw her like this.
"Why, no, Stroker, he's not bothering me at all. My habit, on the other paw, seems to be giving him no end of trouble!"
"So I sees." Stroker gave the shapeless pile of fabric and feathers a light tap with his javenlin, just above where the sparrow's beak protruded. "Ahoy! You all right in there, matey?"
"I'll be fine, if some rudebeast stops knocking my noggin!" Highwing tossed his head several times, until at last the cowl was thrown back from his eyes. Blinking at mouse and otter, he sighed and said, "Well, that didn't go exactly as planned."
"Whatever were you thinking?" Vanessa asked as she bent down to help Highwing extricate himself from the mess he'd created.
"Well, I was just talking with Abbot Arlyn before flying out here to find you," Highwing explained. "I told him I'd like to become a full brother of the Redwall order, and he said he'd be more than happy to make it official."
Stroker shook his head. "Hold a sec," the otter said in confusion, "I thought only mousefolk could belong to th' order."
"Oh no," Highwing corrected. "Any creature can be accepted into the order, as long as it takes the vow to live by Redwall's ways and stays true to that oath. In fact, the Abbot told me there have even been Abbots and Abbessess in the past who've been squirrels and hedgehogs and even moles ... "
Stroker snorted a laugh. "A mole Abbot, y'say? 'ow'd 'ee ever get anybeast t'unnerstand 'im? Hey, d'you think there's ever been an otter Abbot or Abbess?"
"The subject didn't come up." Highwing started to shrug and peck his way out of the habit tangled about him; it would have been a lost cause without Vanessa and Stroker there to lend a paw. "Anyway, I just wanted to see how one of your habits would fit me. If I'm to be a member of the Redwall order, I'll need one, won't I? Maybe one with wider sleeves, from one of our more, um, well-built brothers or sisters."
"There's no sleeve on any habit in all of Redwall that won't get your wing feathers all scrunched up," Vanessa said. "But I've got an idea. Here - " She draped her robe loosely over Highwing, leaving the hood back and the sleeves hanging empty at his sides. "There. What you'll need is something like that. An open, sleeveless cloak that'll leave your wings free for flying, and still mark you as a brother of the order. This is all rumpled now because there's too much extra fabric, but with the right cut, that would be a downright dashing bit of birdwear."
"An excellent idea!" Highwing enthused. "Sister Grace can measure me and make up a proper cloak custom fit for my size and shape."
Vanessa knotted her habit cord around her waist. "Then let's go pay a visit to our good seamstress right now!"