Rusk underestimated his sea legs, not that he’d ever had any, and wound up tripping, stumbling and seasick within the first half hour of his voyage. A very heroic way to begin. Luckily he wasn’t the only one hanging over the side of the vessel puking their guts up. An androgynous tween with the jawline of a girl and the fashion sense of a male pirate wiped her mouth on her sleeve and panted for a few minutes before addressing him. By the time she spoke up, Rusk was emptying his bile into the water below. The waves weren’t even all that turbulent, which made the whole thing more embarrassing.

“So you’re new,” said the androgynous girl around a burp that she was chewing between every word.

“More or less,” said Rusk. “Aren’t you?”

“Oh that? Sensitive stomach but I’m not seasick like you. I’m good now. I’m a regular.”

“Uh huh.”

She still looked green. Rusk wasn’t buying it. Had to have been saving face, though there didn’t seem much reason for that. Barely anyone else was in their little corner of the top of the ship.

“Mind showing a newcomer around?” asked Rusk.

“What do I get out of it?”

Ah. One of those. “I won’t toss you overboard.”

“Wow, rude!”

“Kidding. I guess you could have some of my rations later.”

The girl’s eyes widened and sparkled a brighter shade of twinkling green and Rusk knew he’d offered the exact right thing.

“More if you promise to keep vigil for me at night.”

“Why would you need a vigil at night?”

Rusk supposed the hesitation on her part was smart. It would make her a better lookout in the long run. And anyway he could always just tell her he was paranoid. She seemed at first glance like the type that would sympathize. She had a twitchy air about her, like she wasn’t supposed to be here but was doing her best to hide it.

“I guess it doesn’t matter if I’m being paid in food.” She stuck out her hand with a grin that showed slightly pointed canines. Not enough to indicate a monster, but striking for a human set of teeth. Then again Rusk had always read that seafarers tended to have crooked dentures. “I’m Elena Whitestoker.”

“Rusk.”

“You’re not gonna give me a last name?”

“Veega.”

“Rusk Veega.” Elena rolled the name around on her tongue like tasting marbles. “Weird, but I can appreciate weird.”

Rusk had never thought his name was weird. He surprised himself by being offended, and would’ve spent the next few minutes retorting if not for the seasickness debilitating him. He groaned and wiped his mouth, feeling sweaty and awful.

“You should look at the horizon. Supposedly that helps,” said Elena. “And try not to upchuck while I’m showing you around.”

Rusk made a vague gesture of half agreement. He didn’t’ intend to puke on anyone anyway. But when he tried her trick of gazing at the horizon it actually did help. He didn’t know why that shocked him but it did.

“This way first,” said Elena, and then Rusk found himself being dragged by the arm to the lower decks and then right down to the kitchens.

“Nice to know you’ve got your priorities straight,” said Rusk with a smirk. It was a tired one but genuine.

“Sometimes they leave potatoes.”

“That so?”

“Yeah and even without butter they’re really tasty. Oh! But between you and me, never steal any produce. They say you get your hand chopped for that.”

Rusk scoffed. He wasn’t going to steal anything. Obviously. In the back of his dizzy mind he wondered if he’d fallen in with the wrong person. He wasn’t a thief. Well, that wasn’t true, was it? He had stolen from the Rose Manor, but he told himself that didn’t count because of all Mayor Rose’s crimes against his daughter and Felix and whoever else.

He wondered how Etoile was doing.

Elena snapped her fingers in front of his face. He refocused. She looked even younger this close, and he wondered if she were related to anyone on board. But he couldn’t place her angular face shape or green eyes or choppy straight blonde hair with anyone he’d seen on the ship so far. Her last name sounded familiar for some reason too but he couldn’t place it. He told himself he was headed toward Sanctuary and familiar names were to be expected on account of all the research he’d done on the destination. Maybe she was the daughter of a famous Hero or the captain or something.

“Mind if I call you Stoker?”

“Call me whatever you want as long as you’re feeding me, but why?”

“Your first name starts with an E and reminds me of someone I used to know who I’ll probably never see again.” Rusk thought a moment. “Though being truthful you’re nothing like her from what I can tell.”

“If you say so. Oh! Duck!” Elena yanked him rather harshly behind an unmarked barrel of probably gunpowder.

“Why are we hiding?” whispered Rusk.

He got shushed. Elena was staring conspicuously over the barrel’s top and had her eyes fixed on… well, nothing. The space where she was staring was empty.

Rusk squinted.

Still nothing.

Was she crazy? Her eyes were wide and clearly focused on a specific point in front of them. Perhaps she could simply see farther than Rusk. The lower deck was pretty dark. Maybe she had better night vision. Where she was staring, even the candlelight didn’t reach. It was a hulking shadow that somehow felt more alive the longer Rusk looked at it. But there was also nothing actually there. Eerie. Plus, Elena’s expression reminded Rusk so much of a cat in the dark it was spooky in and of itself. But the other thing was there was a presence. Invisible but nonetheless there. It extended long toward the both of them in claws made of shivers. But even more unsettling was when Rusk reached for the Elva, he realized this far from the shore it wouldn’t answer him.

The air thickened with not moisture but a slimy rotted texture that coated the top of Rusk’s tongue whenever he inhaled and slid to the back of his throat where it stayed stuck there no matter how much he strained his neck and coughed. The full sensation in his lungs wouldn’t oust.

Was this how drowning felt?

Drowning in rancid air?

It reminded him of the flies.

Greil’s flies, and all the other associations with monsters.

“What is it?” asked Rusk, all business now. “What’s there? Can you see something I can’t?”

“It followed me,” said Elena in a shaky, barely audible breath. “It followed me all the way out here.”

“What followed you?”

“The dead portal.”