Bullshit. My father was an animal.

“Animals miss their home, too.”

Right. He was in my head. No thinking, then.

“Do you know why others fear you? They call you beastkin, they try to kill you? It is because of this. Of beastly memories you carry in your blood. The Firsts, the pack leaders of your kind, were made in much the same way as you. When primitive man prayed, he prayed for strength. His life was ruled by forces beyond his control: lightning, rain, wind, sun, and things with teeth that sought to eat him in the night. So the primitive man resorted to begging. He prayed to the predators, to those stronger than he, and sometimes, very, very rarely, his prayers were answered and a boon was granted. The Firsts, they are a perfect mix of human and animal. You are not, and thus you do not have the Firsts’ strength or control, but you share in their memories. You see the world through your mother’s eyes and through your father’s.”

“I see it through my own eyes.” Drat. Shouldn’t have said anything. I clamped my mouth shut.

The Jackal chuckled.

The sun had set behind the hills. Dusk claimed the river. Gloom wove its way through the palms. Faint tendrils of steam escaped the river, still warmer than bathwater.

“I want your body,” Anapa said.

“That’s flattering, but no.” I couldn’t help it, it just burst out.

“Not in a sexual way, you foolish child. The body I wear in the world is a part of my bloodline. But he is weak. Its magic reserves are meager. Make no mistake, if Apep is resurrected, the assistance I can offer you will be limited at best. Your body is strong. Your blood is rooted in the same place as mine. We’re both a mix of beast and man. You’re a more suitable host than any of the other shapeshifters I have encountered.”

“I’m a hyena. You’re a jackal.”

“I will make do,” Anapa said.

“And what happens to me?”

“You will merge with me.”

“You’re lying.” I knew it. I felt it in my gut.

The Jackal lapped the river. “Perhaps.”

“Why would I throw my life away?”

“Because I am a god and I asked for it.”

“You are not my god.”

The Jackal sighed. “That is the trouble with this age. There was a time when thousands would slit their own throats for my sake.”

“No. There was never that time.”

The Jackal bared his teeth. “What do you know, whelp?”

“I know human nature. We might sacrifice a few, because we are stupid and hardwired for group survival. But we would never die in the thousands because a god wished it. Those kinds of numbers require material gains, like power, wealth, territory.”

The Jackal stared at me. “Give me your body.”

“No.”

“There may come a time when you will say yes.”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

The Jackal laughed softly. “Look over there.”