Lucy in Australia

The prompts were: Regent, Metallic, Rhombus.

Lucy departed from the railway station, confident that she had packed everything necessary in and on the trailer hitched to her electric bicycle. She carried water, food, additional water, two spades, a small pick, a metal detector, and, naturally, all her camping gear. According to her information, a rich vein of gold lay just a few feet underground, accessible to someone with the right skills and equipment.

The journey to the site involved navigating a bumpy road, occasionally pausing to let a road train speed by. It took three days to arrive at the old gold mining village that had been bequeathed to her by a distant uncle.

Uncle Patrick never met him and knew little about him apart from he left England for Australia, forty-five years ago, to find his fortune. He bought the land on a one-dollar one-acre deal the Australian Government had back in the day, and he’s been here ever since; he’s even buried on the plot.   

The Garmin GPS mounted on the handlebars beeped, guiding her to the location. Lucy chose to camp near the plot instead of staying in his house.

“Right,” she said, setting the side stand, then jumping off her bike. “Set up camp, light a fire and have an early night.”

The next morning, under the intense Australian sun, Lucy was convinced that gold lay just beneath the surface. She consulted her uncle’s book and verified the coordinates before beginning her search.

A few hours in the air was hot under the vast Australian sky as she reviewed her uncle’s notes and double-checked the GPS coordinates. With her metal detector in hand, she methodically swept the ground, in the sand and stone she had dug up so far, listening for any sign of buried metal.

The hours passed slowly, punctuated only by the steady hum of the detector and the distant calls of native birds. Lucy’s determination never wavered, even as the sun climbed higher and the heat intensified. She paused occasionally to watch Kangaroo playing and using the water trough at the homestead Uncle Partick had built.

Suddenly, the detector emitted a sharp, insistent tone. Lucy’s heart raced as she marked the spot and began to dig, her spade biting into the dry, compacted earth. Inch by inch, she removed the soil, her anticipation growing with every shovelful. After several minutes, her spade struck something solid. She knelt, brushing away the dirt with her hands, and uncovered an old tin which looked like an old cigarette tin. Reaching down and picking it up, “What the hell is this?” Lucy shook it; something inside rattled, “All this way for some junk” She threw it on top of the rubbish pile and carried on picking away at the ground.

Feeling disheartened, Lucy called it a day, had something to eat and was sitting under a million stars in the Australian outback. She was having doubts, thinking it was time to call it a day and go home with her tail between her legs. With the light of the fire, she opened Uncle Patrick’s journal and started to read. It was something she had read hundreds of times, but each time she thought she found something new.

As she opened the book, something unexpected occurred; she could see writing beneath the paper that she had never noticed before. As she turned the pages with the fire in the background, more words appeared, as if they had been written not with ink, but with some other mysterious substance.

"What is this?" she wondered aloud, turning the page. Though it was in a language she had never encountered before, she could understand it.

After a while, Lucy became aware of movement at the edge of her camp. Two figures appeared from the darkness, their approach calm and assured. Lucy stood, heart pounding, but the older woman leading the way radiated a quiet authority.

The woman stopped a few paces from the fire and inclined her head. “Good evening. I am Miriam, Regent of the Warlu people. This is my nephew, Jarran. We’ve been watching you for a while now from our community down the track.”

Lucy introduced herself, explaining her connection to the land and her uncle’s legacy. Miriam listened with patience.

“This country holds many stories,” Miriam said, her voice gentle but firm. “Long before your uncle, our ancestors walked here. We are the caretakers of this land. We make sure it is respected.”

Lucy felt a wave of uncertainty. “I hope I haven’t disturbed anything sacred. I’m just following my uncle’s notes.”

Miriam’s eyes softened. “Respect is the first step. The land remembers. Sometimes it welcomes, sometimes it warns. Did you find anything unusual?”

Lucy hesitated, then showed Miriam the journal and described the hidden writing and the phrase: “It says here about a Metallic Diamond that fell from the sky many years ago. I have no Idea what that is. I haven't found anything”

Miriam became pensive. “That’s a Dreaming story. The elders say a star fell here long ago. They tell of a stone that glows with the spirit of the land; as it travelled through the sky, its edges became smooth, and it took on a metallic look. It now lies hidden deep under the earth, where it should stay. It is something that is woven into our life, our beliefs, our purpose and our connection to the earth.”

Jarran added, “Your uncle Patrick respected our ways. He knew some treasures are meant to stay, not to be taken.”

Lucy listened, captivated. “What should I do? If I find such a thing?”

Miriam knelt by the fire, drawing a symbol in the dust. It was the shape of a Rhombus. “If you find something, bring it to us. We will help you understand its meaning. This land gives gifts, Gold, you can have, but this must be respected.”

Miriam began chanting an old, forgotten song. Jarran played a didgeridoo, producing a deep, droning rhythm. The hypnotic sound combined with the flickering firelight made Lucy drowsy, and she quickly fell asleep.

Upon waking in the morning, she pondered whether it had truly happened. Had she been visited by Aboriginal Royalty? Was there more than just gold hidden in this land? Lucy nodded, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. As dawn neared, she noticed the outline of a diamond in the sand and realised her journey was no longer solely about gold; it was about understanding, listening, and the people.

Then she remembered the old cigarette tin.