TITLE: GIFT OF ISIS
GENRE: Historical fantasy
"My Lord." The man prostrated himself on the floor before the altar. Despite the heat of the day, the grey stone beneath his body was cool. He pressed his face into the floor and prayed He would be pleased. "It is done."
His heart thudded as he waited, lying on the temple floor, trembling with fear that his Lord was displeased and would not come. Thud, thud, thud. Each heartbeat marked another moment that he waited. The candles on the altar flickered, sending ghostly images along the floor. Thud, thud. Then He appeared out of nowhere, as was His way. There was no sound or warning. One moment He was not there. And then He was.
"Are you sure?" He asked.
Pressure around the man's throat blocked his breath. His heart beat faster as he fought to stay calm. It was just a test. His Lord was on the other side of the altar, too far away to touch. The solid stone walls of the temple extended the length of three men between them. Yet the feeling was real and He could kill without touch; the man had seen it himself. "Are you very sure?"
"Yes, my Lord," he choked. His body screamed out for oxygen. Sweat trickled down his back as he pressed his face further into the cool stone, smooth beneath his fingers. He tried to have faith that He would not kill him. "I did it myself."