The King's Ring

The King's Ring (298 words)

Kilmore, the royal blacksmith, was working at his forge one night, trying to get the King’s new ring completed. The King had come to him earlier that morning with a fallen star, asking for it to be made into a ring for the Queen’s birthday.

“Blast it!” said Kilmore. He prided himself on his ability to work with magical elements, yet this fallen star was just impossible. No matter how much he bashed it, the ore refused to be shaped. After hours of work, he managed to form the star into a wobbly hexagon. That’s it, I’m pooped.

As dawn broke, the sun poked up behind the eastern mountains, and birds in the trees outside Kilmore’s forge began singing their morning songs. He took the ring outside, and it shimmered silvery-blue in the daylight. Not my best work, but it’ll do.

He held the ring to his ear; it was faintly buzzing. Weird. To see if the inner shank was smooth, he popped the ring on his little finger. Suddenly, his toes became cold, and the coldness spread upward to the top of his bald head. A voice called out, “I know YOU did it!” Then reality went whoosh-splat, and Kilmore fell into another world.

Giant metal bugs on wheels screamed at him, flashing their eyes so brightly it hurt to look at them. He dived out of their way, landed on the most unusual grey-black ground, and covered his ears.

People in strange clothes stamped past him, talking to themselves. Ginormous faces suspended on tall buildings were booming in an alien language. The air smelled like the smoke of his forge. It was enough to send a sane man mad.

Removing the ring, he whoosh-splat returned home.

“Boy,” he said. “The Queen isn’t going to like this.”