The Seascape Tattoo by Larry Niven

called. “I should have told you! Those tattoos: I had the woman work them over old scars! They’re taking the scars with them!”
    â€œGood. I knew,” Neoloth said.
    The tattoos and the scars beneath were crawling onto the bulge in the snake’s belly. They sorted themselves, crescents and sea creatures and weird text, lumps and puckers and the long sword slash, crawling headward and tailward. Now they were lost in the patterning of Agathodaemon’s markings.
    Aros gaped, then turned to Neoloth. “What did your snake swallow?” The bulge was half the size of Fandy.
    â€œYou don’t want to know,” Neoloth said. “Really. Wait…” The tattoos on the withered corpse began to crawl. “Touch him. Quickly.”
    Aros set his hand on the corpse’s chest. Markings flowed up Aros’s arm and onto his body and then settled in appropriate locations. Chest: a sunburst in gold. Shoulder: a black star, like a flag Aros had seen once. Streaming up his arm, distorted into river lines, then crawling down his back: a young girl’s face.
    The wind died down. And then there was stillness. Aros looked down at himself, blowing like a bellows.
    â€œHow does it feel?” the wizard asked.
    â€œI have no words,” the warrior replied.
    â€œThat,” the wizard said, “would be a nice change.”
    â€œCan we go now?” Fandy pled. “Please?”
    â€œYes,” Neoloth said, and gathered his coat’s collar more tightly around his throat. “I think it may be time.”
    *   *   *
    They had set out their camp, eaten, and bedded down. Aros had barely closed his eyes when he detected Neoloth rolling out of his blanket and creeping away from them. The barbarian rose and followed silently.
    Aros found the wizard around the bend of a rock. He had a small square of blanket spread on the ground. A small cylindrical object lay in the middle of the square. It was surrounded by something like a heat shimmer. The wizard gestured and chanted.
    Aros watched until curiosity overwhelmed him. “What are you doing?”
    Neoloth’s head whipped around, and he snarled. “Go back! This is not for your eyes, Aztec.”
    â€œTo hell with that,” Aros growled. “Save your orders for Fandy. What are you doing? What is that?”
    Neoloth looked as if he wanted to chew rocks and spit arrowheads. “I’m going to tell you a secret,” he said. “The magic really is dwindling.”
    What kind of game was this? “I’ve seen magic.”
    â€œThink of gold in the ground, everywhere,” Neoloth said. “As long as people only use a little of it, it lasts forever, or seems to. But build a huge city with artisans on every corner making gold jewelry and gold statues and gold ornaments and you deplete it rapidly.”
    â€œThat’s what magic is?” Aros asked. This was unexpected and fascinating. Oddly, he had never really wondered what magic was … only how it might help or harm him.
    â€œClose enough,” Neoloth said. “But out here”—he gestured at the desert plain—“where people have not plundered, magic remains.”
    â€œAnd because the great chief’s people don’t use as much of it as the cities…”
    â€œI can borrow some, yes.”
    Aros considered. “And this device enables you to do this?”
    â€œIf I understand it properly, yes.” Neoloth turned back to his work, while Aros watched.
    After a time, the barbarian spoke again. “You know, when people say ‘borrow’ they generally mean something that they intend to return. Otherwise it is called ‘stealing.’”
    â€œThe sort of distinction I’d expect you to be familiar with.”
    â€œAre you?”
    â€œVery,” Neoloth said.
    Aros grunted. He sat for a while and watched, then finally realized he was yawning restlessly and returned