Thankies for being patient. I have returned from my cross-Canada trip! Whee! It was ever so fun. It took eight days to drive to Ottawa. I went to Manitou Lake, Sask., Brandon, Manitoba, Winnipeg, Manitoba and a whole bunch of little towns in Ontario. I advise you to go to Manitou Lake because it is like the Dead Sea. You must also see the museum in Winnipeg, the RCMP museum in Brandon, the Bruce Peninsula, Ottawa, Quebec City and the Hershey Factory. Do it. Right now. Chop chop. Never drive through Toronto because it will take over four hours. Also, don't take a taxi in Quebec City because they are SCARY! It could easily result in death by heart attack. Cross-Canada trips are fun except for the flight back, which I now refer to affectionately as the "Flight From Hell". Anyway, enough of my jabber and propaganda. On to things actually related to the story.

Vereia Fornnan: Yup! Although, technically, he's over eighteen, so he's not a kid.

Max: Yeah. I just decided to shake things up a little. Hee.

Golden Wind: Shit, shit and double shit! You'll just have to see how Lee takes it when she finds out. (evil grin)

Thunder Demon: You think? Hmm, never done mystery before. All I seem to be good at is action/adventure and gore. Lots and lots of gore. But if you think so, yay!

Shards: Muahaha! I AM THE LORD OF CLIFFHANGERS (yes, I know lord is for guys. But mistress doesn't sound right, kind of kinky)! Uber is a good word.

Kitty Felone: Look below. He wasn't planning on killing anyone, but he knew not to trust those damn dirty bullies, so that's why he brought his weapons. The incident in the bathroom was what got the others to bring weapons since they thought he would try to cut them up, so they decided to gang up a bit more. Did it clear that up?

Pirotess: At last, the lurkers are emerging! I likes the hit counter. I likes it good.

Olgite the Squidgal: Better not have lost your mighty pinky-nail grip!

Pauk: Fuck.

Thwei-Tjau'ke: Bloodstone.

Tjau'ke: Stone.

Guan-Thwei: Night blood.

Pyode Amedha: Soft Meat.

I apologize for any insanity and babbling. It is three AM.

Chapter seven

Matt leaned over and put his cheek by the teenager's mouth. Nothing. Then he pressed his fingers under the boy's jaw. Again, nothing. He sighed and rocked back on his heels, then, in a moment of sudden panic, he leant forwards and peered intently at the dead boy's face. It was too hard edged and too lean to be Tomas's face. What would Celia think if he killed her foster brother? He reached out and closed the boy's staring eyes already going glassy in the moonlight. The grass rustled behind him and a solitary cricket clicked. Matt turned his head far enough to see George limping closer.

"You… You killed Jake! Holy f-fuck man! You psycho! You're a fucking murderer!" he stuttered.

Matt replied softly, "I was a murderer long before tonight." Poor Ni'il-este…

"How many others?" George blurted.

Matt laughed bitterly. "Just one."

"Why the fuck would you do that?" Matt picked up the small revolver gingerly between two fingers.

"Does this answer your question? He would have shot me in the back."

"But… But…" Matt rolled his eyes and reached out, wrapping a calloused hand around the hilt. With a wet squelch, Matt wrenched the blade from the corpse's chest. George recoiled, staggering from his injured leg. The warrior cleaned the blade on Jake's pants. He stood slowly and sheathed it. His menacing gaze traveled around the group. They stood (or sat) frozen in fear and shock.

"I belong to an ancient group of warriors. There are more of us than you will ever know. Breathe a single word of this to anyone and it will reach my ears. I will hunt you down and kill you. I know where each of you live and will not hesitate to track you down to your very bedrooms. If not me, than one of my fellow warriors will kill you to keep your silence." A lie, but they didn't know that. Matt crouched and hefted the body onto his shoulders. He felt a warm, thick liquid begin to trickle down his neck. "Go home and be silent! Hold your tongue or I will remove it before I hack off your head, skin you and hang you from your front porch!" Matt snarled. George ran limping home immediately, leaving his friends to pick themselves up and limp home. Damien was still unconscious and had to be dragged away.

…..

Oh, pauk! This was going to put a crimp in his plans! Now he had a body to take care of as well! The solitary cricket clicked again.

"Thwei-Tjau'ke, you can uncloak now." A burst of electricity revealed the crippled hunter.

He shook his head and rumbled, "M'aat-hew. Look what you've done!" He gave a short, trilling laugh.

"It's not funny! Help me get rid of it!"

Thwei-Tjau'ke put his head to the side and said, "Why don't you skin it, take its skull and then hang it from a tree? You killed it fairly and no ooman will think that another ooman did it."

"Yeah, I don't think so. I'm covered in enough ooman gore for now." Matt started walking off into the forest. Thwei-Tjau'ke's limping footsteps quickly started behind him. They walked in silence for several minutes before Thwei-Tjau'ke spoke up again.

"I saw the fight."

"I know." snapped Matt.

"You shouldn't have let those dishonorable Pyode Amedha walk away. They should have been killed. They will not keep their silence. You-"

"Just let me deal with one body for now." Matt growled. The Yautja clicked, disliking being cut off. "I'll deal with them later if they say anything."

"They will." Thwei-Tjau'ke said simply. "And if you do not kill them, the Arbitrators will kill you." A shiver ran down Matt's spine. The Arbitrators would not get him; Guan-Thwei would. He vividly remembered Guan-Thwei's little speech on what he would do if he ever lost his honor.

"You will not have to worry about that."

…..

Matt grunted and heaved the body off his shoulders. It landed with a crunch in the thick bed of leaves. Matt bent down and searched the body's pockets for I.D. He found a bank card, driver's license and a few crumpled notes from friends besides change. He left the change and took the rest.

"Do you have any rope on you?" he asked the watching Yautja.

"You should be better prepared, M'aat-hew." reprimanded Thwei-Tjau'ke, but he drew a coil of the slender, ultra strong and acid resistant rope the hunters always carried with them out of a belt pouch. He tossed it to Matt. He snatched it out of the air and ambled down to the river bank to begin searching through the accumulated piles of stone for long ones, particularly rough rocks. After a few trips, he had about a half dozen rocks. Then Matt began tying and looping the cord around the first stone, then cut it with the serrated side of the large knife that was in his ankle sheath, leaving about three feet loose. He proceeded to do the same with the rest of the rocks. Thwei-Tjau'ke watched with interest. "Are you making a kind of bola? Those tjau'ke are too big to be used."

"I'm not. These are weights. The ooman is going in the river."

"I see." said the Yautja, barely hiding his amusement. Clearly, this was a new idea; hiding the body instead of displaying it for all to see.

Finally, the stones were in place, bound tightly to either side of the corpse. Matt made to stand, but then, on a whim, he stabbed the corpse's belly deeply and dragged the blade through its abdomen, cutting to form an 'X'. Now the putrid gases of decomposition would not accumulate (he hoped) and lead to the unfortunate habit of bodies floating to the surface. With that, he cleaned the knife blade, sheathed it and began to heave the body up again. With the added weight of the rocks, it was almost too much to manage. Matt staggered into the water, sloshing deeper and deeper while the current tugged at his clothes and swirled around his legs. At a little bit past waist height, he decided it was deep enough and threw the corpse off his shoulders. The black water closed in on the pale face and dark hair of the body. He watched it sink, then turned around and waded back. He started to shiver violently as a light breeze decided to blow and chilled his sodden body. Going wading in a cold river in late October was not a good idea, especially when you are used to tropical heat.

"I need to get back to the ship. Now." he said through chattering teeth, clutching his body.

…..

Matt groaned and plunged his body into the steaming hot bath. It chased the iciness from his core. The baths on Thwei-Tjau'ke's ship were not the extensive ones on the clan ship, but they sufficed nicely. He winced as the water hit the gash on his muscled stomach. He leant back on the polished stone side of the bath and relaxed, letting the hot water soothe his bruises and sore muscles, his mind blissfully blank. Matt lost track of time, but when the heat started to make him feel pleasantly sleepy, he decided to scrub off any crusted blood that remained. Reaching up to undo the leather thong that held his long hair back, Matt encountered a thick, matted crust of blood. He grimaced and ducked under. He came up spluttering and grabbed for the cake of strong soap. He freed his hair of the gore, scrubbed any remaining stains from himself, then climbed out and reached for the thick coarse woven towels. Matt dried himself, tied the towel around his waist and quickly finger-combed his hair. Now for the unpleasant part: treating his gashes, bruises and splits. He made sure to use plenty of the liquid that would reduce the swelling and discoloration of injuries on his face. No sense in worrying Lee.