“No, it might not,” agreed Sot.
The Darkling’s eyes flared bright red in the dark, blinked once, and fixed on them.
“The High Lord might forgive us if we return the bottle,” said Fillip.
“The High Lord might be grateful,” said Sot.
“We could explain that we did not understand what we were doing,” said Fillip.
“We could tell him how sorry we were,” said Sot.
They were both sniffling a bit, wiping at their eyes and noses. The Darkling pointed once at the moths and turned them to bits of blue fire that flared and were gone.
“I do not want the High Lord to hate us,” said Fillip softly.
“Nor I,” said Sot.
“He is our friend,” said Fillip.
“Our friend,” echoed Sot.
The Darkling spun suddenly about the lip of the bottle, throwing bits of colored light all about the darkness, the light sparking and exploding in brilliant streamers. Strange images formed and faded and formed again. The G’home Gnomes watched, intrigued anew. The demon laughed and danced, and there were jewels raining down about them as flying moths crystallized and tumbled from flight. “The bottle is so pretty,” said Fillip in awe. “The magic is so wondrous,” sighed Sot. “Perhaps we could keep the bottle just a bit longer,” ventured Fillip.
“Perhaps for just a day or two,” agreed Sot.
“What could it hurt?”
“What harm could there be?”
“Perhaps…”
“Maybe…”
They began and stopped talking at the same moment, turning suddenly to each other, seeing the red glare of the demon’s bright eyes reflected in their own and recoiling from it. They tightened their clasped hands and blinked with dazed incomprehension.
“I’m frightened,” said Sot, tears in his eyes.
Fillip’s voice was a wary hiss. “I don’t like the bottle anymore,” he said. “I don’t like how it makes me feel!”
Sot nodded voicelessly. The Darkling was watching them, the lights and colors and images gone back into the night. The demon hunched down on the lip of the bottle and its red eyes were slits.
“Let’s put it back in the bottle,” suggested Fillip quietly.
“Let’s,” agreed Sot.
The demon curled down into a ball and spit suddenly.
“Go away!” said Fillip bravely, making shooing motions with one hand.
“Yes, go away!” echoed Sot.
The demon hissed sharply. “Where would you have me go, masters?” it asked, a bit of a whine in its voice.
“Back into the bottle!” answered Fillip.
“Yes, into the bottle!” agreed Sot.
The demon studied them a moment longer, and then the strange spider like body skittered back into the bottle and was gone. Fillip and Sot reached up as one, grabbed the bottle almost frantically, and jammed the stopper back into place.
Their hands were shaking.
After a moment, they set the bottle back down again, just in front of them, hidden in leaves and twigs at the forefront of their little den. They watched it silently for a time, and then their eyes began to droop, and sleep began to steal through them.
“Tomorrow we will return the bottle to the High Lord,” murmured Fillip.
“Give it back to the High Lord,” yawned Sot.
They were asleep in moments, reassured that all would be well. Soon, their snores grew steady and their breathing deep.
Immediately, a dull red glare began to emanate from the bottle.
Sot dreamed of brightly shining jewels. He dreamed that they were falling all about him like raindrops, shimmering as they tumbled down from clouds of rainbow-lined fleece and skies of depthless blue. He sat upon a hill of fragrant grasses and wildflowers and watched them gather all about him in mounds. Sunshine shone from somewhere, warmed him, and there was a sense of endless peace.
Beside him sat the bottle—his precious, wondrous bottle. It was the bottle and the Darkling locked within that made the jewels fall.
“Set me free, little master!” the Darkling pleaded suddenly, a small, frightened voice. “Please, master!”
Sot stirred within his dream, and he knew somehow that if he did as the demon had asked that the jewels that fell about him would increase in number and beauty beyond anything he could imagine. He knew that if he obeyed, the demon would give him precious things beyond all comprehension.