The Piebald Hippogriff
By KAREN ANDERSON
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Fantastic Stories ofImagination May 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidencethat the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Because this is a masculine world, the author of this fairytale isusually identified as the wife of Poul Anderson. But a few moreincisive cameos of fantasy such as this, and Mr. Anderson may cometo be identified as Karen's husband.
The edge of the world is fenced off stoutly enough, but the fence isn'tmade that will stop a boy. Johnny tossed his pack and coil of rope overit and started climbing. The top three strands were barbed wire. Hecaught his shirt as he went over, and had to stop for a moment to easehimself off. Then he dropped lightly to the grass on the other side.
The pack had landed in a clump of white clover. A cloud of disturbedbees hung above, and he snatched it away quickly lest they should noticethe honeycomb inside.
For a minute he stood still, looking out over the edge. This wasdifferent from looking through the fence, and when he moved it wasslowly. He eased himself to the ground where a corner of rock rose clearof the thick larkspur and lay on his belly, the stone hard and coolunder his chin, and looked down.
The granite cliff curved away out of sight, and he couldn't see if ithad a foot. He saw only endless blue, beyond, below, and on both sides.Clouds passed slowly.
Directly beneath him there was a ledge covered with long grass whereclusters of stars bloomed on tall, slender stalks.
He uncoiled his rope and found a stout beech tree not too close to theedge. Doubling the rope around the bole, he tied one end around hiswaist, slung the pack on his back, and belayed himself down the cliff.Pebbles clattered, saxifrage brushed his arms and tickled his ears; oncehe groped for a hold with his face in a patch of rustling ferns.
The climb was hard, but not too much. Less than half an hour later hewas stretched out on the grass with stars nodding about him. They had asharp, gingery smell. He lay in the cool shadow of the world's edge fora while, eating apples and honeycomb from his pack. When he was finishedhe licked the honey off his fingers and threw the apple cores over,watching them fall into the blue.
Little islands floated along, rocking gently in air eddies. Sunlightflashed on glossy leaves of bushes growing there. When an island driftedinto the shadow of the cliff, the blossoming stars shone out. Beyond theshadows, deep in the light-filled gulf, he saw the hippogriffs at play.
There were dozens of them, frisking and cavorting in the air. He gazedat them full of wonder. They pretended to fight, stooped at one another,soared off in long spirals to stoop and soar and stoop again. Oneflashed by him, a golden palomino that shone like polished wood. Thewind whistled in its wings.
Away to the left, the cliff fell back in a wide crescent, and nearlyopposite him a river tumbled over the edge. A pool on a ledge beneathcaught most of the water, and there were hippogriffs drinking. One sideof the broad pool was notched. The overflow fell sheer in a white plumeblown sideways by the wind.
As the sun grew hotter, the hippogriffs began to settle and browse onthe islands that floated past. Not far below, he noticed, a dozen or sostood drowsily on an island that was floating through the cliff's shadowtoward his ledge. It would pass directly belo