-3-

Outa had never regretted anything before in life. Whenever he got onto the subject of regret, whenever the word flickered through his mind, he made himself admit that he regretted nothing. Life's trials were not to be regretted but remembered; regret implied a delusion, a nagging deceit that said you could go back and change things that had happened in the past. Remembrance only meant a knowledge of the past, not a futile wish to change it.

But even Outa had to admit that if either of his siblings were killed, he might regret it. He would fall from his senses and wish against all reason that he could reach into the past and make it different. That is why he couldn't allow Juri to come with them, despite the shame he must have caused her. He would not regret, but it was his very remembrance of the past that allowed him to change the future.

His first wife.

Kumiko. Brown hair, green eyes, lips like rose petals. He let the details flow over him again, just to make sure they were still there. She'd been killed, of course, by bandits. He didn't regret it. He remembered it, and her, as a lesson. She had wanted to come with him that day, had begged him, and he'd relented because he wanted her to be happy.

That day, he learned: no shame is worse than death. No matter what.

He didn't regret. Not really. Because that experience had allowed him to save his sister today. If she met Itachi, he wouldn't be able to save her, just like he wasn't able to save Kumiko. And that is why, this time, he weathered her pleading stare, her shamed expression, because he knew it wasn't worth it to let her come.

He and Sadao backtracked to the scene of the slaughter, the atmosphere beneath the forest pressing in on them. Midday had been an hour or two ago, and the air was stagnant. Insects buzzed in Outa's ears as he scoured the area with his eyes, once again.

"He came in through the trees," Sadao called from above. Outa flicked his glance upward to see the younger man perched on a wrist-thin bough twenty feet above the forest floor, weight and balance no issue. Outa scowled, reminded again of why he didn't like ninjas.

"Which direction?" asked Outa.

"Gimme a minute," Sadao turned and leapt the distance to an adjacent tree, cloak billowing behind him as he flew. The man planted a foot on the trunk, then another foot, standing parallel to the ground. He bent his knees and looked closely, then shook his head. Sadao continued his stroll up the tree, stopping here and there to investigate. Outa snorted and turned his attention back to the ground.

"There's…" said Sadao suddenly, as though a thought had just come to him. "there's chakra residue all over here. This whole area is filled with burned up power."

"Can you track him using that?"

"Maybe. If he's using chakra to move. Body-flicker technique, or whatever else." Sadao was now so high that Outa had to crane his neck to see the man where he was hunched on a thick bough overhead. "I'm getting the impression he headed east from here."

Outa sneered. "Getting the impression? How inconclusive of you."

"Uh-huh," Sadao ignored the jibe. The dark-haired man stood, reached up to pin his hat to his head, and stepped off the branch. He plummeted to the ground and landed, cloak flaring around him; Outa caught a glimpse of tabi-boots, a quiver of arrows, and the katana before the chameleon cloak settled.

"C'mon," said Sadao. "We're only a few hours behind."

They ran on through the stifling heat, and Outa finally began to feel the uncomfortable prick of sweat, streaming down his back, under his arms, getting in his eyes. He also got a distinct and unhappy impression that Sadao could run faster without even winding himself. Sadao called back to him as they ran: "So your village came off badly during the drought, eh? That seems to be some kind of analytic truth. How badly do you need the money?"

Outa winced, cursing Juri for her indiscretion. "It is not your business to pry into -- "

"But it is my business to get paid. How much of a cut are you expecting?"

This was what Outa had been afraid of. "Seventy percent," said Outa. "Anything less and the money will be insufficient." He knew Sadao would argue, perhaps even break off their alliance right then.

"Insufficient?" said Sadao, ahead of him, turning sideways to slip between two saplings. "How bad off are you guys anyway?"

"Bad. Tradesmen are leaving the village in droves to seek better paying work. Our hospital is understaffed, and most of all our peasants are starving because their fields are dry."

"Seventy… might be able to do that. All I want is the money to dine at the finest restaurants and hit the finest strip-clubs."

Outa scoffed, muttering. A man like this did not deserve a reward.

"Then you waste the money," said Outa stiffly. "If you were a righteous man you would donate it to those who have need of it."

Outa saw Sadao turn, holding his straw hat on as he plunged past an overhanging branch full of emerald green leaves, each the size of Outa's hand. "Righteous?" Sadao barked the word. "Nah. I lived my life in cycles so far. Started out righteous, y'see, cuz that's how I was taught. Then life and war toughened me, I swung the other way like a pendulum, lived for nobody but myself. Then I went into another cycle of righteousness, decided to live a nice quiet life. That didn't last too long, and here we are again. You came two years too late to see the righteous me. Just missed him."

"What drove you away from righteousness again?"

"Demons. Time."

"Ah." Outa was beginning to understand that his new partner was unconventional and perhaps a slight bit mad. He said no more, instead concentrating on the rhythm of his run, the balls of his feet hammering the soft ground.

They ran until the sun had vanished behind the horizon and darkness filled the vacuum of its absence. The moonlight was as pale and bright as it had been the past several nights, but Outa saw that the full moon had a tiny bite taken out of it tonight. In another fortnight it would be gone and the nights would be black as pitch. He hoped they would catch up to Itachi before then.

Outa took first watch of a two hour rest, but Sadao seemed uninterested in sleep. The cloaked swordsman sat straight-backed against a tree and looked at Outa with evaluating eyes, and Outa stared back for a while. He was startled when Sadao spoke: "The kid's crazy, I guess."

"I suppose." Outa really wished Sadao would just sleep and leave him in peace, to contemplate things.

"I mean," Sadao said, "I've killed people. A lot of people -- "

"Depending on what cycle you're in?" said Outa dryly.

"Exactly," Outa heard a grin on Sadao's face even if he couldn't see one. "But… friends and family… back in the old days I never would have killed a friend. He's gotta be crazy, right?"

"I don't care."

Sadao was silent for a long while. Outa didn't really like him. The swordsman had initially come off as silent and stoic, but now he seemed almost too chipper for the skills he apparently possessed. Demons. Time. Sadao lacked coherence in his personality. Cryptic and eccentric one moment, open and congenial the next.

Finally Sadao spoke again. "So who are you?"

"Outa," said Outa.

"Right. Poster boy of clan Idaten, I guess. Not that I know anything about clans, but people… you act like an oldest son, or I'll be damned."

Outa was unnerved. Juri must have told Sadao who he was. Unless Sadao was as good at reading people as he seemed to imply.

"So your uncertainty is in that you can't classify Itachi?" Outa ventured. "He was the poster boy, the pride of his clan, the firstborn son, and yet he flies in the face of all reasonable characterization. So you assume that he must be crazy?"

"Something like that," Sadao paused. "What, do I have you all wrong? Is there a latent desire to murder your family in all firstborn sons?"

The side of Outa's mouth twitched. "Sometimes. But usually I try to keep them alive."

Sadao chuckled. "I think you were trying to be funny."

Outa hadn't been funny in a long while. Kumiko had liked him when he was funny, but since then he hadn't ever had a reason to be. Nothing had seemed especially humorous since then. But he didn't regret, no, he just remembered. It made him the man he was.

"And who are you?" Outa asked Sadao.

Sadao paused, then grinned, turning until his teeth shone white in the moonlight. The light caught the side of his face, throwing half of it into inky shadows. "Sadao," he said.

Outa sighed, content to take the game at least a little farther. "Cloaked swordsman with a questionable past. And you are a missing-nin."

Sadao laughed out loud. "Where'd you get that idea?"

"You're a ninja. You wear no head-protector, no emblem of a hidden village. You rely on mercenary work. Therefore, you're a missing-nin. I imagine not one from Konoha, but I suppose it's not out of the question."

Sadao looked down again, and his faced vanished into shadow. "Do I have to be a missing-nin? What if I just got some ninja training on the side?"

"I don't care if you deny it or not. It doesn't matter to me. You made inferences about who I was based on my demeanour. Now I've done the same to you."

"Huh," Sadao nodded. "Well, tell you what. You don't ask me, I won't ask you. We'll just leave that question hanging for now." And he abruptly leaned over and rested his head on the ground. As Outa watched, Sadao took off his hat, then curled his head, arms, and legs underneath the sand-coloured cloak. Outa leaned forward, squinted, but then suddenly there was nothing but a patch of dirt where Sadao had been. Outa had to admit, it was as effective a chameleon cloak as he'd ever seen.

Truthfully, when the hour of his watch was up, Outa had second thoughts about trusting Sadao with the second watch. Not that he seemed incompetent so much as untrustworthy. But Outa could feel his fatigue tugging at his consciousness every time he blinked. He had not slept properly in days. He wondered whether this gave them a speed advantage over Itachi, or whether the young missing-nin was sleeping as little as they were. Maybe he wasn't sleeping at all.

Against his better judgement, Outa woke Sadao for the watch. The younger man was alert upon waking, enough so that Outa was set at ease. Stifling a yawn, he wrapped his sleeping bag around himself and was asleep almost instantly. He dreamed of the day Kumiko died, as he often did. This time was no different than all the other times; he would tell her in his dreams, 'no, you can't come with me,' and she would be saved. Or he would be faster to throw his kunai than the other man, he would knock the dagger that killed his wife from the air before it reached her. It was always like that. He never had nightmares about it -- the nightmare was waking up to find that he hadn't done it, he hadn't saved her.

He awoke. Sadao stood above him, prodding him with the muddy toe of his tabi-boot. "Hey," said Sadao. "Wake time, man. We're getting close." Sadao's cloak was filthy all down the left side, drenched in muddy water. "We had a rain while you slept, for about ten minutes."

Suddenly Outa felt a burn of shame on his face, remembering his dream. He didn't regret. He didn't. It was foolish to wish to change the past, so he did not regret. He only remembered. He was not so weak of spirit that he had to wish for impossible things. He strove forward, remembering the lesson learned.

Outa's sleeping bag was covered in mud, so he shook it off before rolling it tightly in his pack again. The night had clouded over during the hour he was asleep, a slate grey sheet wiping the sky clean of stars. The moon was a hazy white glow, shining even through the cloud cover. Without moonlight they traveled through a deeper darkness. Outa felt the first bite of weariness in his legs a few minutes after they set off again. With every running step, it seemed, his feet made slurping sounds in the mud that was formed by the short rain.

They said nothing as they ran. Outa focused on the running, and brought forth his bloodline limit for the first time in the presence of Sadao. He'd been hoping to conceal its existence, but now as they drew closer to Itachi he knew they'd need every edge.

Sadao, running before him, became a figure of withering orange and yellow. His hands, thrown back as he ran, were a darker shade of red, almost a purple, and his head was almost white in places. The forest was cool from the new rain, black and navy blue surrounding him. If Itachi was anywhere nearby, he would appear a blazing figure just like Sadao.

"What the hell was that?" Sadao asked without looking back. Outa noted with satisfaction that Sadao was breathing hard. "What did you do?"

Sadao must have felt the chakra shift when Outa used his bloodline limit. Outa opened his mouth to say something but Sadao was, annoyingly, already looking back. Outa saw the heat behind his eyes, flaring white.

"A dojutsu," said Sadao. "Intriguing. What does it do?"

Outa snorted, then decided it was best to tell his partner. "A clan Idaten bloodline technique. I can see into the infrared spectrum."

"Really? Right now? That's good, you'll be able to tell if someone's near."

They ran on in silence for a while. The sky eventually grew brighter, a silver color, and then gradually the clouds began to move off. Outa saw patches of blue shining through the cloud-cover, and soon he could see the moon again, though it was nearly invisible against the gradually lightening sky.

The sun came out, sailing majestically out from behind the clouds as they cluttered into the east. Outa kept his gaze down, afraid that looking too closely at the sun would damage his eyes in their current state of enhancement. He scanned the forest right and left, still seeing no sign of anyone other than he and Sadao.

"We may be on the wrong track," called Outa.

"No," said Sadao. "We're very close, I can feel his chakra."

Outa lapsed into silence. Then, suddenly, he saw something up ahead. Blurry forms of heat, nestled at the ground. They were warm but not hot, a dull rusty color, fading to blue in places.

"I see something," he said harshly.

Sadao threw back his cloak as he ran, pulled the longbow from his shoulder, and fitted an arrow onto the bowstring. A moment later they were there. Sadao stopped without transition, a jerky halt, and suddenly the tall man was simply standing, bow at the ready, looking down.

It was a body, Outa saw now. He could see it lying beside the tree, head lolling against its chest. He disengaged his bloodline limit and came face to face with a member of the elite ANBU.

A dead one.

Sadao was already looking around the small clearing, and Outa followed his gaze. The trees were sparser here, the grass and bushes growing tall, to waist height in most places. The sun shone down through the gap in the canopy, illuminating the grass a golden yellow.

The dead ANBU operative wore one of the masks that made ANBU so famous and conspicuous at once, this one a garish, carved likeness of a wolf. Blood seeped from beneath it, trickled down the operative's pale neck and stained his dark cloak an oily, glistening black. ANBU was the elite of the elite, the most powerful ninjas in existence -- or so they claimed. Sadao turned and walked into the clearing, brushing aside bloodstained leaves. The swordsman took a slow look around, then looked at Outa, his expression grim.

The other six ANBU operatives were sprawled around the clearing, all dead. Several sported huge, gaping wounds through which sagged their innards. Most were missing limbs or had their throats slashed. One had no wounds at all. Outa turned him over, trying to determine what had killed him, but there was no mark. Finally, he pried off the man's face mask, but that too belied nothing. His eyes were open, clear, his jaw slack.

Sadao was beside Outa as he laid the dead ANBU man back down. "This is more serious than I thought,' said Sadao calmly. "You should head back."

Outa was incensed, but he kept his anger in check. "Be careful who you underestimate. My resolve is not diminished."

"For money, "said Sadao flatly. "You sure you wont regret this?"

"I regret nothing," said Outa automatically. "That is my way. Are you sure you wont regret this? You would risk this much for restaurants and brothels?"

Sadao's expression was dark, unmoving. "I… look, it's not really about that…" he shook his head slowly. "It doesn't have to make sense to you, but its something personal."

Outa frowned. "You know Itachi?"

"No, never met him. Its different. You wouldn't understand." Sadao looked away, removed his hat, scratched fiercely at his scalp. Then, all at once, both of them turned to look at something up and to the right.

A dark figure stood on a tree branch, across the clearing.

Outa felt a stab of elation, a surge of excitement that almost set his hands shaking. It was him. Surely it was him. Uchiha Itachi was right there, finally. Outa dropped a hand slowly to the pouch at his waist and retrieved two throwing knives, slim and less cumbersome than the ninja kunais.

Sadao, on the other hand, did not move. He seemed frozen. Outa flicked his gaze over to the taller man, hoping he hadn't suddenly lost his nerve. But then Sadao reached his arm out and dropped his hat on the ground. "Uchiha Itachi?" he called. "Is that you?"

The figure was silent. Outa watched, morbidly fascinated. He couldn't make out what the figure looked like. And then, all of a sudden, it disappeared. The air around it blurred with motion, and then it vanished into thin air.

"I'll take that as a yes," said Sadao grimly. Outa looked over, but Sadao was no longer looking in the direction of the figure -- he was facing, in fact, in the opposite direction. Outa frowned, then jerked in shock as he saw the young man standing behind them. He had moved that far in that amount of time?

Uchiha Itachi stood only as tall as Outa's nose. The young man's face was smeared with dirt and sweat, his black hair dangling in matted shoulder-length locks. He still wore his Konoha head-protector, Outa saw, the leaf shining in the morning sunlight.

"Yes," he said, his voice deep and smooth. "I am Uchiha Itachi." The sharingan burned in Itachi's eyes, the bloodred pinwheel that spun and focused, locking onto them.

"We're here to kill you," Sadao informed him politely, and Outa wanted to punch his partner in the face. What the hell was wrong with him?

"I know. So were they."

There was something different about Sadao now. Outa couldn't tell exactly what it was, but the man's shoulders seemed hunched, his expression strained, as though every cell in his body longed to burst into motion. Outa looked at Itachi, the bland expression on his face, his relaxed posture. The young murderer still wore his jounin uniform, though it was filthy and torn in places.

"Itachi," said Sadao quietly. "I want to know why, before I kill you. Is it because you're crazy, is that it? What's your reason?"

Itachi ignored him, didn't move, didn't seem to breathe. He just stared back at Sadao. Those were the eyes of death, Outa saw. Those were the eyes that drove a man insane with fear, or pain. He was glad Itachi wasn't staring at him.

And then, Itachi moved.

He must have moved. Outa didn't really see it, because suddenly Itachi was completely and utterly not there. He thought he heard a little pop, and a rush of air blowing against his ears. What was going on?

He turned swiftly and saw Sadao and Itachi. Both of them had swords out, and both of the swords had hit each other. Itachi's sword was thin and straight, shorter by a hand-span than Sadao's. They had moved perhaps twenty feet from where they were standing before.

All at once, Outa sprang into motion. He flung the knife in his hand at Itachi, watched it whirl through the air with incredible speed, and watched Itachi twitch -- he twitched with movement, and then he'd caught the dagger between two fingers of his left hand, the other still holding his sword fast against Sadao's.

Another twitch and both the combatants had moved again, and this time Outa heard the ring of metal-on-metal, a peal of sound that clanged over the forest. And then again, and again. The swords flew at each other with such speed that Outa could only ever catch a glimpse of the steel when the blades met each other.

Another flicker. Itachi disappeared. He reappeared standing on a tree trunk above Sadao, and then fire exploded outwards, a screaming ball of flame that roiled out from Itachi and over Sadao. Outa recoiled against the heat, and he watched the grasses and ferns wither and turn black, then grey as ash.

Sadao was beside Outa again, somehow.

"He's pretty good," said Sadao, as if talking of the weather.

Outa understood: this was too much. They should never have gotten involved in hunting down this ninja. What he had just witnessed was far, far beyond what he thought it was ninjas were capable of. He'd heard of body-flicker, of course, and fire-jutsus. But to actually see it… Outa was humbled, but he did not regret. It was a learning experience. He learned: do not screw with ninjas.

Itachi appeared swirling from the tornado of fire, throwing stars peppering the clearing before his outstretched arm. They came in a cloud. He must have put ten in one hand, at least. Outa thought on that as he rolled to one side, dodging, feeling mud coat the back of his neck. How was that possible? The young ninja must have put two or even three shuriken between each of his fingers in order to throw that many.

He looked up. Sadao hadn't moved, but he hadn't been hit either. Now how did that figure? Itachi appeared, exchanged two swift blows with Sadao, and disappeared again. Outa thought: I can't even follow this fight with my eyes. It's a good thing I didn't let Juri come.

Outa felt a sudden mind-numbing cold blast its way up his back and scratch icy fingers on him. The pain came a second later, a sharp flare, but foremost was the sheer cold. He shivered uncontrollably, at this cold that seemed to spring from inside his chest.

He looked down just as Itachi was sliding his sword back out. It left quickly, through his left lung; he watched it go, wanted to turn and look at Itachi, but he seemed to have no strength. He felt a sharp metallic taste at the back of his throat, a salty liquid that choked him. He coughed once, tried to draw breath, and instead felt pain grip his chest again. He wheezed in agony, and then he felt himself falling, his legs turned to jelly. The ground hit his back hard.

He heard footsteps crushing the grass near where his head lay, and then felt another whoosh of air. There came more clanging of swords, again and again, dancing all around. He wished he could lift his head and watch, but it seemed such a far away thing. Everything gradually faded, and then he was left with only a dream.

This time, he told Kumiko she couldn't come because he couldn't protect her. Couldn't protect even himself. Was too weak. He told his dead wife: "Kumiko, there are people so dangerous in this world that not even I can protect you from them," But she just smiled her smile, and kissed him. "You can't come," he told her. "You'll die."

Kumiko nodded, her face disappointed, but Outa knew he'd saved her. He'd finally done it, and things would be different now. Because he'd fixed it all, made things better. And she would be alive when he woke up. When he woke up, he could go home and find her there.

Outa woke up.

There was a man standing over him. He looked familiar, with his beige cloak and dark hair. Sadao. It was Sadao. Outa frowned: what are you doing here? Where's Kumiko?

He tried to ask Sadao, but no sound would come out of his mouth. He forced with all his might, but all he got was agony and a hoarse whisper. Sadao leaned closer, his face slack and dead.

"You know," said Sadao. "I wasn't entirely truthful before, when I said I would have never killed a friend in the old days. I asked if you thought he was crazy, eh?"

Outa tried to nod. He didn't know if he succeeded.

"There was a time," Sadao sighed, "when… I dunno. I did everything -- everything for myself. I killed a lot of people. I think… I think I was a lot like Itachi, back then. I dunno. Was I ever crazy? Maybe. Can you be crazy for only a little while?"

Outa didn't have anything to say, and he doubted he could if he wanted to.

"It's been a long road,' said Sadao. "And it's littered with corpses. Why was I like that? Why am I still? Is Itachi crazy? Am I crazy? Are we two sides of the same coin, or… I don't know…" he trailed off.

Outa reached up, his hand seemingly made of lead. Sadao stooped, grabbed Outa's hand in his own. Outa pulled him close, whispered in his ear.

"I lied too."

"Uh-huh?"

"Every day…" gasped Outa against the fire in his chest. "Every day, I regret."

Sadao said nothing.

"I'm going to die," whispered Outa.

"Yeah."

"I'm going to see her again."

Sadao's voice was strained. "Yeah."

"Tell Juri…"

Tell her what? Outa couldn't find the words. What to tell her? I love you little sister, I always have. I'm sorry I didn't let you come, but I'm glad you didn't. Take care of your brother. Tell our father I tried, but I'm no ninja. Tell him…

Outa couldn't think of anything else. But when he looked back to his friend Sadao there was nothing. Nothing, and he was slipping back into a warm lake, feeling the depths below him, and the sunlight was shining through the clearing in golden shafts.