The 'Smart'phone Saga: A Distracted Journey of Spells and Signals

On a field of finished war, from the wreckage of a dozen men, matter whispered together like a moist dream of Victor Von Frankenstein’s. A boy, soon to be a man, joined like a castle of sand, filled with blood and bile.

Clothes wove themselves from the fallen soldier's uniforms and the oozing bits of monsters, all to make a t-shirt and blue jeans. In the boy’s pocket a phone formed, resurrected from the materials around him. Gold and silicon, steel and lithium, crystals of magic to add spice. Then, with one last divine touch, Kami pushed a software update.

****

Jasson dreamed of dreams. Not his dreams, but the aspirations of all those people who, on his little 6.2-inch screen, managed to post confidence in minute-long videos. Jasson dreamed that, in his own shaky attempts, he had been able to capture a dream. His dream. But when Jasson went to watch the videos there wasn’t anything there.

Jasson Boar awoke to attempted theft, possibly assault if he could record it.

Someone rolled him over roughly and started pulling at his shoes. Jasson swatted idly at them, grumbling. Were his brothers pranking him again?

“Oi!” A stranger’s voice called, “This one’s alive!”

Alive?! Jasson thought.

“Bandage him up and put him on the sick wagon then,” another voice said from further away, “and don’t take his boots.”

“He ain’t got boots!” The first voice said.

“Notty I know he’s got boots,” the second voice said, “else how would he get out here? Now put them back on and get him in the sick wagon.”

What?! Jasson thought.

“I din’t say he has not’in’,” the first voice said, hurt, “Just that he ain’t got boots. Some kinda cloth with laces.”

“The poor bugger,” the second voice said, “marching to war with cloth wrapped feet. Well, at least he came out alive.”

It was at this point that Jasson decided that he was, in fact, not dreaming. He sat up and looked around, blinking. Well that couldn’t be right.

I was reincarnated wasn’t I? Jasson thought as he craned his neck. This isn’t Hell?

Around him was a flat field of grasses which probably held scenic wildlife at one point. Now all it held was scenic wild death, in a far more graphic form than Jasson had been prepared for. The twisted corpses of men and monsters littered the ground. A few feet away, providing afternoon shade for Jasson, the enormous corpse of a dragon lay in beheaded glory.

“Oi,” An ugly spotty little man leered over him, “Yo’r moovin’!”

What a meme-able face. Jasson thought. And not helping with my Hell theory.

“Ah,” Jasson said, standing and looking around, “where am I?”

The carnage began to feel less real, as if the details were from some campy horror movie. If anything, the monster corpses helped Jasson distance himself from reality. Yet Jasson knew that his stomach would rebel soon, and he had to do something before the shock wore off.

“The battlefield, boy.” the ugly man said, kicking a dismembered goblin, “and- what are you doing?”

When a modern teenager sees anything interesting (or powerfully horrifying) there’s only one option he can choose. Jasson pulled out his phone and opened the camera, switched it over to the good lense. He started recording.

“Hey,” Jasson said to the camera as he rotated, “Day one of my new life and I’m on a battlefield. This is the first person I’ve met so far, doesn’t he have a wonderful personality? What did you say your name was again?”

“Uh,” the ugly man said, “Notty. Notty Thing.”

“Naughty?” Jasson smiled desperately as his stomach started to buck, “Or knotty, as in knots. How do you spell that?”

“Er,” Notty said, “I know this one. It’s like tying knots. Let’s see, N-O-T-T-Y. Yeah, that’s it.”

“Well Notty,” Jasson smiled, “Let’s hope your day goes as well as mine has been. I’ll be checking in again later. Bye ya’ll.”

Jasson sighed and stopped recording. Suddenly Jasson felt his stomach roil like that time he’d eaten the fish fingers. Impatience is a bad habit when cooking fish.

Jasson turned to Notty saying “Thanks for the help Notty. I’m going to throw up now.”

Jasson promptly staggered away to a spot free of corpses and blood. Then it all came out, which was nothing but bile (quite unlike the fish fingers). Apparently, there was no in-flight meal for reincarnation.

Why was he on a battlefield? Why did people come apart like in the Leego games? But fleshy instead of plasticy. Taking that video was a terrible idea but, since Jasson was busy at the moment, he decided to delete the video at another time.

“Ah,” Notty’s voice said as he patted Jasson on the back, “that’s more like it son. Is this your first scrap? Has the stench got to yer?”

“Yup,” Jasson said, reflexively turning his attention to the smell. Bile burned Jasson’s throat as once again he chucked and checked the contents of his stomach.

“Either way ya seem to have gotten through alrigh’,” Notty said, “Probs fainted at the sight of the first monster. I know I did, that’s why they got me on sweep-up.”

Jason considered this to be an easier story than ‘reincarnated from another world’ and decided to run with it.

“It was when my commander died,” Jasson said, trying to be dramatic but making the mistake of looking up into a corpse’s face, “Squished like a-”

Jasson heaved again, seeing an example to his right, then gave up and said “I don’t really remember anything. Yup. Not a thing.”

“About the battle?” Notty said.

“About everything,” Jasson said, “Blank slate. Where am I? What war was I fighting? What are these monsters?”

“Oi,” Notty said, looking cornered, “come now. I don’t know nuffink about them things. I’m just the sweep-up. Best I can tell yer is that them there are demon-monster things what try ta eat us. It’s ‘The War’, innit? An we’re in some field somewhere, wiv’ camp a bit away. Don' know more than that.”

Jasson nodded, this made sense to him. This spotty scrawny man didn’t seem like the kind of person to hold onto answers. Notty was visibly relieved that the advanced questioning was over.

“You said something about a sick wagon?” Jasson said, “You’re collecting the injured?”

“Yup,” Notty said, “An’ later more of us will be out to pick up the dead. Gotta bury ‘em right proper. An’ I don’t reckon you need the sick wagon. Yer doin’ alright as I can see. You’ll be needing to hike back to camp then. Grab some water from the wagon and be out of here.”

Jason couldn’t help but agree. Aside from the rapid nausea Jasson felt from seeing so many colors of human, he felt perfectly fine. Stronger in fact.

Three hours later, Jasson found that his reincarnated fitness didn’t last long.

The beaming radiant misery of the sun drained Jasson’s new-found strength, which flagged and failed pathetically. His shirt became a swamp, complete with determined flies following him from the war zone. Why did they have to make camp so far away?

Notty and his commander Sergeant Semi had invited him to stay. At least until they filled up the sick wagon. But Jasson decided that he’d be better off by himself than retching at dead wretches. So Jasson walked alone on a road made by thousands of marching feet.

“Gods,” Jasson said, trying to scroll through his phone as he shielded the screen from the sun, “There’s no signal anywhere...”

The data was terrible, with a ‘No Service’ in place of the signal bars of life. So Jasson swiped through his apps, looking for something that worked offline. He noticed a Strange new app store called DISS. DISS wouldn’t open without the internet though, so Jasson kept scrolling.

Jasson landed on doing his daily Do-A-Lingo. ALthough Jasson was far from fluent Spanish, it provided him a happy thrill as the days ticked up. He opened the app and a cheery green Bat welcomed him. Jasson waited patiently for the app to finish loading, then he froze in disbelief. It couldn’t be.

“No!” Jasson said, falling to his knees and screaming to the sky, “NOO!!”

Somehow in the resurrection process, with all that went on, Jasson had lost his 243 day streak.

****

Hopeless in his horizon toil, Jasson crested another indistinguishable hill. Sensing a change, Jasson looked up from his tear-crusted phone and spotted fires in the valley below. He had found the army. A surprisingly ordered camp spread in lines and by ranks, and some of the tents had vibrant colors and designs. The fancy tents were clustered at a reasonable distance from those of the unwashed lowers, notably proving that even at war some people liked to have a sense of smell.

An hour later Jasson sat squished between hygiene hulks of the bad variety. Jasson had never had gruel before, and he did his best to appreciate it as he picked the rocks out. Apparently, a lifetime without food makes one a bit peckish. Jasson's stomach roared so that ignoring pebbles of the non-fruity variety was an easy chore. (This belayed all expectations of modern teenagers and was a shock to the multiverse.)

This miraculous gratitude was, in part, due to the cook. Jasson felt obliging after the cook described, in detail, that Jasson would be gutted from cheek to cheek if he wasted a drop of it. It hit home when the cook threw a knife to comically impale a man about to dump food out onto the fire. Waste was a sin in the army, after all there were starving children in...well not Africa. The next town over probably had some.

Once Jasson had finished eating he wandered around camp looking for the best service. He actually had signal here, although it bounced around like a FourthKnight gamer. Unfortunately, Jasson lost signal as soon as he left camp, save for small flickers. He finally found a solid signal around a campfire packed with relaxing soldiers.

Jasson sighed, finding a seat with a bit of elbow room. He sat, shifting and trying to hear the TikTiks as he ignored the smell. Pine and Pit of the Arm, a match made in scout camp. Eventually, Jasson gave up and downloaded some longer cat videos and funny compilations from WeTube. It would have to do, and his favorite creators hadn't po-

“Hey kid,” a heavy pungent arm dropped over Jasson’s shoulders as a soldier slid into Jasson's elbow room. Jasson looked up and, upon seeing the grizzled face, decided upon agreeability.

The man grinned and said, “I heard you passed out in battle. You gonna join us again? Or are you gonna head back to the farm.”

“I don’t know,” Jasson said, panic-scrolling on his phone, “The 'farm' isn’t close and I was hoping to make money before I went home. ”

Jasson took a miasma laced breath. Was adventuring really an occupation? It was the only one he knew of from the clips he’d seen. Jasson didn’t have any money and the free soldier’s gruel left much to be desired. What did people do to survive in medieval times anyway?

"I was hoping to take some quests," Jasson said, "Maybe start adventuring. I don't know."

The silence stretched as the soldier took a swig of something foul. Jasson found himself holding his breath for a number of reasons.

“Adventuring takes a lot of grit,” the soldier said, “you get plenty of gore as your friends die. Of course, you could stick to the low-level quests. Gods know how many healing herbs we will need to get through the next month. I say go for it, and don't tell your parents that you decided to become an entrepreneur.”

Jasson nodded after the surprising display of vocabulary. So there were adventurers and even fetch quests in this world. That sounded like a good, familiar starting point.

Herb gathering. He could get his hands dirty, right? Yeah, Jasson had never played outside but he’d gathered plenty of Herbs in games. It couldn't be that hard. Jasson wondered if he’d be able to craft any blue shield potions like in FourthKnight.

“Seems ya like that idea,” the soldier spat then said, “Go ask to be Discharged. We can’t have people fainting in battle so they should agree if you can pin down a testimony. They’ll remove your records and give you a less-honorable Discharge. You won’t get paid and will have to turn in your gear but the Discharge papers will let you get past the guards.”

“Ah,” Jasson said, “But what if, hypothetically, I never actually entered myself into the records.”

The man didn’t look surprised.

“Then you’d be a fool,” the man sighed, “Although not an uncommon one. If you’re not in the records then you can desert without getting followed up on later. You just need to make it past the guards on your way out of here.”

“Right,” Jasson said, standing, “Thanks.”

“Good luck kid,” the man waved, “If you had it in you I’d say enter your records first, but then you’d need to fight in another battle. Best take your chances. Just hike through the woods to the north and you should get past the guards.”

Jasson went out into the night with a reasonably full stomach and regrettably full mind. How would he sneak past guards? Jasson couldn’t physically crouch for long, nevermind enough for a stealth mission. Why couldn’t he have appeared in a townside forest or something? It had been miles just to arrive in camp, never mind Stalt. Jasson could have sworn that people didn’t live that far away from each other.

Jasson tried to open Guugle Maps up, but it wouldn’t load anything. Sighing he swiped off, then opened the BlUbber App. If the map there worked then he could at least-

One BlUbber is available in your area.

“What?” Jasson tapped, watching BlUbber reveal a heart racingly steep rate for the ride, “Paid in Drachma or VenGo? What’s Drachma?”

Jasson typed in his destination of Stalt, which came to an astronomical 1,052 bucks. This provided a brief cardiac arrest before he tapped on the ‘closest village’ option and it came up to 83 bucks.

Bringing up his VenGo Jasson checked the amount. He’d gotten some good tips and his birthday was pretty recent so…

“Yes!” Jasson said, “With five dollars to spare.”

Then, without thinking, he purchased the ride.

“Wait a second,” Jasson said, “What kind of BlUbber services a fantasy world?”

The estimated time of arrival appeared. It read ‘Now’. The driver name showed as a skull and a boat.

What?

The heaviest metal music screamed through the air and shook Jasson to his shoes. Then he got a text.

im here

Jasson looked around and texted back ‘where?’.

on the street einstein

Jasson looked around. Where was the street? The road? Jasson jogged around the camp, watching as some of the soldiers stood up and looked around. It looked like some of them could hear the noise while others didn’t notice it at all. Then Jasson saw his ride.

It was a beat-up Conda Hivic with the windows rolled down. Someone had spray-painted crude flames, contrasting the real flames bursting from the tailpipe. The figure in the driving seat wore a flowing black robe with one arm hanging out the window and the other holding the steering wheel. A heavy hood obscured their face as they waved their hand at Jasson, motioning with a fleshy thumb that Jasson was to sit in the back.

“Sorry,” Jasson shouted over the music, jogging up, “Sorry about that. You’re my BlUbber, right?”

“Do you see any other cars?” The driver said, turning the music down, “Hop in. I don’t usually get requests from this world so it’s costing you extra to be standing like a wuss at death’s door.”

“Umm,” Jasson said, tentatively looking at the door handle, “It didn’t say your name on the app.”

The figure sighed and said “What? Are you gonna ‘share your location’ with your nonexistent friends? Hop in! I have other places to be that will tip more than you.”

“Oi,” Jasson said, hauling on the handle, “Why don’t you think I’ll tip well? The door’s locked by the way.”

“The door doesn’t open from the outside,” the driver said, “reach through the freaking open window. And I know you won’t tip because you’re going to the closest town Einstein. Unless you have business in-"

The driver glanced down and said "River town? Another one? Anyway, you’re almost out of money if you're headed there. Although I’m surprised you managed to summon me at all. And don’t forget to buckle up, I have a dash cam and the footage goes to the insurance company.”

Jasson did so, settling into the cigarette-burned seat as he said “Why are you surprised?”

“Usually I have people throwing golden drachmas out for service,” the driver said, “And I don’t smell any gold on you. Only 'modern' copper and nickel crap. And the paper. By the gods I will swerve to hit you if you ever try to throw paper ‘money’ to summon me.”

Jasson gulped and held up his phone, “I was just using this.”

The driver looked at it with the mirror and Jasson caught a glimpse of a shockingly green eye. Then the driver held up his own phone, surprising Jasson as they sent a text. Another smartphone in this world? Jasson’s phone dinged and he checked the message.

k

“Well I’ll be condemned,” the driver said, “A freshly reincarnated with a phone. Looks like it’s smooth sailing for you. Who did the reincarnation?”

“Uh…” Jasson said, “Kami. Kami Sama.”

The driver snorted, then put their phone down as they started to drive and said “That whelp Kami-sama? Eastern wimp. Good luck with that phone then. He doesn’t have the best grasp of technology, although he tends to enjoy overpowering people.”

Jasson nodded. The driver pulled his other hand in…which was wearing a rather convincing glove with a bone design. Jasson stared, he could see straight through the hand. Too convincing.

Who drives BlUbber in a fantasy world?

“Who are you?” Jasson said as the car jolted forward, “Kami looked ancient but you called him a whelp? That means young right? You're older?”

The driver sighed and said “Kami looks older doesn’t he? He just forgets to moisturize. Since we’re moving, and you can’t jump out of the car, I might as well introduce myself.”

The driver lowered his hood, exposing a handsome human head and an eternal grin. Except portions of the head were bone white skull. No rotting, merely healthy pink flesh on one part and thousand-year-old bleached bone on the other.

“My name’s Charon,” the driver said, “I’m the Ferryman of the Dead, the one who bridges life and death, the one to whom you pay the Toll."

Fire blazed in the empty eye socket as Charon's eyes met Jasson's.

Then Charon said, "I will be your ride for tonight and all the days you have upon this world.”

Chills ran down Jasson's spine and inspired gluteal terror. In a situation that merited silence (or perhaps bitter wails), Jasson felt that he had to say something. It is an unfortunate fact of man that dramatic silence never lasts.

Since there was little else Jasson could say he asked “Why?”

Charon grinned wider, an expression he was well suited for, and said “Why what? Why am I you’re only ride? It’s not because you’re dying soon, I’m the only one that services this world. Or is it why am I doing this at all?”

“At all,” Jasson said, sweating, “And why in a Hivic?”

“Well,” Charon said, “two pennies on the eyes of the dead doesn’t pay like the old pharaohs used to. I’m saving up for a better car though. Of course, in this market, I have a lot longer to go. I'm going for a Baguti Vayron. Or maybe a rare Farerri.”

The Ferryman of the Dead laughed, a sound that made Jasson deeply uncomfortable.

Then Charon said "Un-Life goals, right? Those cars are over a million dollars each. But I charge what I want so it's only a matter of time. Oddly enough, I’ve never had someone try to skip on the bill."