He looked up. “There is no corresponding word in the English language for that which sleeps below the surface of the waters, although it’s represented here by just one glyph. It doesn’t mean a fish, or a prehistoric monster, or anything like that. If you translated every nuance of this character, it actually means ‘the great and feared god of ancient times who was banished below the waves and has been dreaming ever since of his return to the shores of earth.’”

Singing Rock’s face was strained. He said, “Is there any more?”

Professor Thoren frowned. “You really take this seriously, don’t you? You’re not kidding around.”

“Professor,” insisted Singing Rock, “can you please tell me if there’s any more?”

“There’s one more line,” said the professor. “It says something like: ‘That which sleeps below the surface of the waters shall rise on that day on the bidding of Ossadagowah, and the massacre of the thousands shall begin.’ The word they’ve used here for ‘massacre’ could mean ‘butchery’ or ‘dismemberment.’ It’s a very ancient glyph which was often used to describe sacrificial rituals.”

Singing Rock was silent for a while. He seemed to be searching deep down inside of himself for something he had heard years and years before, from the lips of the medicine men who had taught him when he was young. Professor Thoren glanced at Harry inquiringly, but all Harry could do was shrug.

At last, Singing Rock said, “Professor, I think we have to leave now. I’m very glad we found you here, and I want to apologize for sounding so abrupt and demanding. You’ve been most helpful.”

“Hold up,” said Professor Thoren. “You can’t just waltz in here and take a whole year’s work and then waltz out again without offering something in return.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Singing Rock, and he reached into his coat pocket. “Would an ounce of chewing tobacco do?”

“Mister,” said Professor Thoren impatiently, “what I’m talking about is a little cultural cross-pollination. I know what these hieroglyphs say but I don’t know what they mean. I’ve never heard of anything like this. You can’t simply walk out without telling me what you know about it.”

“Professor,” responded Singing Rock seriously, “the reason you don’t know what they mean is because of all Red Indian legends this is the most feared and the most secret. It is the legend of the greatest of the elder gods and it has been kept from the white man for centuries, because of what the white man might unwittingly raise up if he spoke the sacred spells.”

“You believe this?” asked Professor Thoren. “You actually believe that if the spells were cast, you’d raise up some kind of ancient god?”