Silver flashed, and two gleaming swords landed on the green grass.
Aoki leapt for the closest. Mai ignored the weapons and again hit the warrior hard. Two blows made him groan — a chest blow and another neck punch. Aoki would already be bruised there. Mai then dived headlong as Aoki swung his entire body, sword extended. The blade barely whistled over her ducking head and even from here she heard Hibiki’s sharp intake of breath. Mai allowed her momentum to become a roll and then revolved to her feet. Aoki came fast, swinging the sword fast like a blade in a Rotavator, scything the air with each deadly stroke.
Mai saw her death approaching. The avenue of evasion was just too narrow. Last ditch efforts came to mind and Mai took up the fastest. Against all of her — and Aoki’s — instincts, she fell to the floor, kicked out and rolled. Her heels slammed into his knees, her momentum took her under the sudden downswing of the blade. Still rolling she knew she just wasn’t fast enough to gain her feet.
The blade was already slashing toward her — the killing stroke. Mai twisted in mid-roll, brought her arm up and caught the blow of Aoki’s sword on the blade of her own. She’d barely had time to snatch it up and the angle wasn’t right — so his blade slid down hers, its progress only halted by the wide hilt. The slip made him lose his balance, his face coming down until it was an inch away. Eyes of hard unfeeling granite met her own. Impossible strength pushed the blade of his sword closer and closer to her face. Her sword was trapped between them. Mai kicked her legs and jack-knifed her body but to no avail. The man was immovable, a boulder, ensnaring both her hands between their bodies and pushing down with every straining sinew.
A collective gasp of victory went up from the assembled Yakuza. But she wasn’t done yet. Mai twisted her shoulders, flung her head back. Aoki rotated with it, and every second brought the edge of his sword closer to her face.
Mai felt the cold touch a moment later. Her body was held immobile, preparing for the inevitable. The razor-edge was cold as it pressed against her, first a mere presence and then a major concern. The first trickle of blood slipped down her face, spilling down her chin and across her throat to soak into the cold grass. From here, Aoki could only get stronger. His muscles bulged. The blade sank a millimeter further. Mai gasped in pain. Blood poured, the gash now over two inches long, the skin parting. If she stopped pushing back he would slice her face clean off. This knowledge as much as anything made her fight harder, channel more strength than she knew she possessed into her arms. If only… if only she could twist or curl one more time.
But Aoki was a hardened warrior and knew all her tricks. The only emotion he showed was when he thrust his face even closer, intimidating even her final moments. The blade sank further into her face, more than a gash now, an open, flowing wound, a grievous injury. Blood turned the grass into a deep, crimson mud. Not a sound could be heard. Mai saw the sunset waning to nothing in the skies above and a darkness starting to appear.
The day was over. All the light in the world had diminished, faded forever.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Mai suddenly flashed on the best part of her life. It wasn’t now, it wasn’t recently, but it was a great portion of the last few years. It was the dumb Yorkshireman and all his eccentricities, his intelligible language and odd foibles. His successes.
His quirks.
And so the only idea wedged inside her head at that moment suddenly offered a slight chance of a way out. He often referred to it as a Yorkshire Kiss. Something about—it’s been donkey’s years since I last saw a good Yorkshire Kiss.
Mai gathered herself, expecting the pain for her action would force the blade even deeper. But it would be fast and it would be hard. It would be the best Yorkshire Kiss of her entire life. Pushing her skull as far back as the soft soil would allow she met Aoki’s eyes, saw him come another inch forward and then let it all loose. Striking incredibly hard she smashed her forehead into Aoki’s face, aiming directly for the bridge of the nose. The impact was huge. Blood spurted from Mai’s already deep wound but Aoki, experienced warrior or not, reacted as anyone would — his hands flew to his face, blood erupted from the broken nose, and he screamed.
Mai slithered free, but she didn’t escape his clutches, had no intentions of doing so. With blood streaming and flying from her deep laceration she jabbed again and again at Aoki’s eyes and neck and cheekbones. Another bone broke. An eye almost dislodged. More screams came from the warrior.
This was pure down-in-the-dirt survival combat now, no fancy moves, and Mai was as comfortable with it as she was with breathing. Both hands struck directly and hard, fingers and palms. As Aoki rolled Mai went with him, now targeting an eardrum and popping it, now mashing lips and dislocating the jaw. Aoki began to forget his training such was the mounting pain. Mai bled and never gave up. Her blood coated his face, his hair. Two knuckles broke against his cheekbone as they shattered it. Aoki’s elbow flew backward, connecting with her left eye, instantly blackening it and causing an unexpected lance of pain that caused her to scream. She staggered onto hands and knees, momentarily blinded by the agony. She collapsed onto her elbows. Her breath came in shallow bursts as she fought for more. Aoki’s face swam into focus, distorted and broken and bloodied, no doubt a mirror of her own. One huge arm scrabbled for a sword.
Mai went flat as the sword came down, swung almost blindly. The blade passed over her horizontal back, digging into the grass. Mai rolled quickly on top of the flailing warrior.
“No quarter,” she heard from the Yakuza head. “This is our judgment.”
Mai knelt with her knee across Aoki’s throat, pressing down. The sword rose behind her. Its length made impaling impossible but its cutting edge could be brought to bear. Mai bore down with every ounce of strength she had left, watching the fight die from Aoki’s eyes. The sword came closer and then the blade was again at her skin, cutting through her clothes to her shoulder blade. Aoki sawed as if he was carving a turkey joint, strength waning. Mai ignored it all, using every ounce of her old training and focus techniques to compartmentalize both the peril and the pain. Everything would pass and when the end came she would be where she was supposed to be.
Then came the hammer blow. Aoki had been distracting her with the sword, gathering his strength for one final effort. His right fist struck the side of her head like a hammer striking an anvil. Stars exploded and they would for an eternity. Where did he find such staying power, such incredible will and admirable potency? The unbeaten devil had tricked her at the final moment.
Mai toppled off Aoki, barely conscious. Her body toppled to the ground, arms flopping. Her eyes closed. Did she breathe? I no longer care.
Blood pooled all around her. Muscles had seized and an incredible blackness floated into her brain, overwhelming all. Without conscious thought or even the benefit of vision she sent her fingers searching through the grass.
Aoki struggled to his knees at her side. Through experience she knew he was evaluating her. The decision would be quick. Blindly, painfully, optimistically, she clasped the hilt of the discarded sword and brought it around in the instant that she believed Aoki would strike.