2022-07-17 - Homeward Bound

There were never any physical signs. It's not anything like he's half imagined: that he'd start to feel his power rise, calling him home. It's far more subtle than that, in the end. One morning he wakes up, and he just... he knows.

It's time.

It's as if the Veil know, too, and is encouraging him on his way, with an unexpectedly cheap airfare showing up the moment he looks. SEA to LAX, LAX to AKL. There'll be another flight then, too-- Auckland to Nelson-- but that will have to wait.

"Ma?"

"When do you arrive?"

Tui knows already. Somehow, that's not a surprise either.

First, though: some leave-takings.

It doesn't matter that he knew he'd be back, that leaving Wā Kāinga behind guaranteed it. It still felt...

It will be different, when he comes back. Somehow, he knows that.

It's twenty hours in transit, including the long layover in Los Angeles. It's time to stretch his legs, walking the endless departure lounges of LAX, and trying too hard not to think about what he'd left behind, and what he was going to.

(He could feel it, now, somehow. Like electric shocks beneath his skin. But was that just his mind, playing tricks? It wasn't as if this ritual was shared by other cultures. Or perhaps that was simply the mākutu, playing its part in lighting up his brain.)

Thirteen hours in the air, between Los Angeles and Auckland. The flight departs at 9pm and arrives at 6.45am, which is almost perfect, except that he can't sleep, legs too cramped, mind too full. He stares out the window at the endless black instead, waiting for signs of dawn in the sky (waiting, he supposes, to be able to see the sea below him, and, finally, the land itself).

His seat-mate recognises him, and gives him a side-long glance. "Aren't you that--?"

It's been so long since he was recognised, it's deeply uncomfortable and unnerving.

Yes, that's him.

Yes, he's been away.

Yes, it's good to be coming home.

Yes.

They fly in from the south, and his heart leaps in his throat. There's the Manukau Harbour, the Waitakeres in the distance. There's Mountain Wellington, and-- yes, there's One Tree Hill, and home.

Kia Ora, say the signs as they disembark, and it feels... like home.

They pass through the beautiful carved tomokanga and, just for a moment, he feels as if he is going to well up.

Bleary-eyed, he makes it through customs and immigration, had his suitcase checked for bio-hazards, and finally, finally, passed through the gates and into the arrival lounge.

And there is Tui.

"Nau mai ki te kāinga, e taku tama," she says, simply.

Welcome home, my son.

It's not a long drive from the airport to Tui's house. Tui's quiet, and Mikaere knows why: she's giving him time and space. Time, to look out the window and see all those familiar things in this city that has always been his. The water; the companies advertising on the side of the freeway; the traditional Auckland villas. He knows this drive like the back of his hand, and yet of course there are differences: it's been ten months he's gone. There are always changes, ones perhaps Tui won't notice, but he will.

They drive down Mount Albert Road, and around the roundabout onto Manukau Road. Past the KFC (First KFC in New Zealand!), and past Ollies Burgers and Ice Cream, both childhood staples. And then it's Turama Road, and home, and just for a moment, Mikaere imagines seeing this house for the first time as Jules and Della did, and maybe Tui's thinking the same thing because she says, quietly, "It looks old and tired, maybe, but full of love, I think."

"It's always been that."

"I've always hoped so."

The last time someone slept in this bed it was Jules.

Mikaere's half aware of this as a possibility, and Tui confirms it for him.

It's weird.

He does the math. It's mid-morning in Seattle.

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere: Safely arrived.