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Warrior Spirit
Alex Archer
A priceless artifact could restore a family's honor–or destroy everything in its wake.While vacationing in Tokyo, archaeologist Annja Creed is approached by a man who desperately needs her help. Kennichi Ogawa, the last descendant of an ancient warrior family, is trying to locate a stolen artifact. Legend has it that the vajra was mystically endowed by a warrior's spirit to help the Yumegakure-ryu family forever be a source for good. But the vajra could help the forces of evil if it gets into the wrong hands. And now the bloodthirsty Yakuza and a group of hired ninja are after it. As Annja and Kennichi trek through the fog-enshrouded mountains of the Iga province to find the relic, they must also outsmart the vicious Yakuza and ninja who are dangerously close to uncovering the vajra first…and to destroying their competition.
Rogue Angel
Warrior Spirit
Alex Archer
www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)
Contents
Acknowledgment
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Special thanks and acknowledgment to
Jon Merz for his contribution to this work.
1
The fist shot at her face much faster than she’d expected.
Annja Creed felt certain it would impact somewhere along the bridge of her nose, but at the very last second, her body seemed to take over and jerk her head out of the way. The fist sailed through empty air and as it went past, Annja saw the opening she needed. In the blink of an eye, she fired three punches into the attacker’s midsection, scoring solid hits with all three.
“Matte!” The referee’s voice barked out above the cacophony of the crowd’s cheers. Annja stopped, and sweat poured down her face and into the folds of her karate uniform. The gi was stained with the sweat, dust and exertion of the past three hours.
She turned to the judges and waited. Two white flags went into the air.
Annja beamed but contained her joy over winning the match. Instead she executed a formal bow from her waist to the judges. Then she walked to her opponent, a twenty-something punk rocker with tea-stained reddish-brown hair. He was still bent over, looking for the air Annja had knocked out of his lungs.
As she approached, he looked up and frowned. “How did you do that?”
Annja shrugged. “I thought you had me, Saru. But somehow my reflexes kicked in.”
“Good fight. I may never breathe again, though.” He tried to grin, but grimaced instead. His friends helped him off the traditional tatami mats.
Annja turned and went the other way toward the side where her gear awaited. One more match and she’d be done. But the last fight of the evening was looking to be nothing short of nearly impossible.
She gulped down water and waited for the next opponent to walk onto the mat.
When he did, Annja felt her stomach twist itself into knots. Nezuma Hidetaki was one of the most feared fighters that the Kyokushinkai had ever produced. A hard stylist, Nezuma liked to practice his punches against brick buildings. He’d split his knuckles so often that doctors had finally removed the remaining cartilage and simply sewn the knuckles together. Nezuma had calluses on top of his calluses and though short at only five feet six inches, his thighs were as big around as tree trunks.
He strode across the mat and stood in front of Annja with his arms folded across his barrel chest. “I will not be as easy as Saru was,” he stated.
I didn’t think Saru was easy, Annja thought.
She took another sip of water and then mopped her brow. The material of her gi top stuck to her skin. She flapped it, trying to get some air circulating so she’d be able to move without getting caught up in it.
Nezuma did some deep squats across the ring, warming up his body. As the reigning champion, he only had to fight one match—the last one.
Annja was already as warm as she was going to get. All that remained before her in this tournament being held in the Tokyo Budokan, was Nezuma. If she won this match, she’d be the lightweight champion in the Interdiscipline Budo Championship.
The judges looked at Annja and she nodded, then stepped onto the mat. Nezuma turned and bowed to the judges. Annja did the same.
Nezuma turned to Annja and gave her a curt bow. Annja bowed in the same style. If he’s going to be rude, so be it, she thought. I can play that game, as well.
The referee stepped in between them and held his hand horizontally. He looked at both of them again, but Annja already had her eyes locked on Nezuma’s.
“Hajime!”
Nezuma immediately stalked Annja, coming at her from the side, almost like a crab. Annja pivoted to her southpaw stance, bringing her guard higher than normal, aware that Nezuma preferred to attack with straight punches aimed at the head, trying to score immediate knockouts. He had successfully knocked out three of his previous opponents on his way to becoming the champion he was—the one Annja hoped to become.
Nezuma shot out a feint with his right leg, a flashing roundhouse kick aimed at her upper thigh. Annja stepped back out of range, letting the kick sail past her. Nezuma’s follow-up was a straight blast aimed at her head.
Annja ducked and deflected the blow away to the inside and punched at Nezuma’s exposed right chest. He brought his left hand in sharply and punched Annja’s arm out of the way. Annja dropped back and away, clutching her arm.
Well, that hurt, she thought. She took a breath and gritted her teeth. Let’s see how he likes this.
Against all her normal strategic thinking, Annja jumped and let a bloodcurdling shout erupt from her lungs as she folded her legs up and under her, aiming her left foot at Nezuma’s head.
The jumping side kick caught her stocky opponent by surprise, and he barely missed losing his head to Annja’s kick. Annja landed, aware that Nezuma was already punching at exactly the spot where she’d be landing. Instead of standing, Annja let the momentum drop her to the ground and then pivoted and swept Nezuma’s legs out from under him. He went down hard and the judges scored it one point for Annja.
Just two more to go, she thought as Nezuma hauled himself to a standing position again.
He glared at Annja.
No way is he going to fall for that again, Annja thought with a smile. Still, it was worth it seeing the look of surprise on his face. Especially since she knew that Nezuma was a notorious misogynist who thought women belonged either in bed or in the kitchen, preferably both.
The referee barked at them to begin again, and Annja and Nezuma squared off.
This time, Nezuma didn’t waste time by trying to find Annja’s weak points. He simply flew at her with punch after punch. Annja backed up again and again, blocking them as they came shooting at her.
Nezuma attacked with a ferocity Annja hadn’t experienced from her previous opponents. His punches came at her from different angles and levels. He punched high and low and right in the middle. Annja kept backing up, aware that the edge of the mat loomed closer.
Finally, Nezuma slipped one single punch past her and an instant later Annja felt it thunder into her lower abdomen and drive every last bit of breath from her lungs. Annja fell backward and landed hard on the edge of the mat.
She tried to flush her lungs but her diaphragm seemed to be spasming. Nezuma’s face came into view, hovering over her.
“That makes us even again at one point each, Miss Creed.” He smiled. “Now it really is anyone’s match.”
He helped her to her feet. “Just don’t mistake this for anything but what it is, a long overdue lesson for all women that they need to stay away from budo .”
“What a perfectly antiquated statement,” Annja said. She smiled at Nezuma. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure this doesn’t sting too much when I lay you out on your butt.”
Nezuma chuckled and walked back to his edge of the mat. The audience had hushed, aware that both fighters were even in points. One more score would decide the match. Annja could feel their eyes as they leaned in to watch.
She could hear the creaks of the old wooden folding chairs. The scent of sweat tinged the air, and Annja’s thoughts went to what had brought her there in the first place.
After her last adventure, she’d needed a vacation. More than that, she’d wanted to test herself. And the martial-arts newsgroup she sometimes frequented had posted news about the upcoming tournament. It seemed a perfect time to do something for herself, so she made her travel arrangements from her loft in Brooklyn. Within twelve hours, she was hopping a flight bound for Tokyo.
Fourteen hours later, she arrived and went straight to her hotel and fell asleep, trying to get her system in tune with the time-zone change.
And now, here she stood, awaiting Nezuma’s final attack.
Her nerves seemed poised at the edge of a very steep cliff, ready to jump at a moment’s notice. Even the sweat seemed to be still wherever it was on her body.
Nezuma’s eyes glistened like those of a ravenous tiger about to consume an antelope he’d pursued and had cornered. Annja’s stomach still ached, but her breathing had returned to normal.
For the last time the referee stepped between them. Once more, he looked at them both.
Annja nodded.
Nezuma grinned.
“Hajime!”
The crowd roared and hopped to its feet. Shouts and cheers echoed across the cavernous room as Annja circled Nezuma. The Kyokushinkai fighter smiled and then roared as he launched a high roundhouse kick toward Annja’s left temple. Annja stepped inside and started to drop to punch into Nezuma’s groin.
This’ll teach him, she thought.
