Chapter 151: 149 Montaug

"I shall begin Montaug's story by making a comparison to Holifel. Holifel and Montaug were, by and large, polar opposites. One was a magnificent warrior and man of knowledge, one was little more than a child struggling to stay alive. One found enlightenment in desperation, one found desperation in enlightenment. If one is to be considered the First Martyr, then the other must be called the Final Martyr.

Montaug, unlike Holifel, grew up without a family. His father died in a war, his mother in child birth, and his adoptive father at the hands of a wound suffered in the same war that claimed his father. As a child barely twelve years old, his only option was to enlist to survive. Not even the orphanages could afford another mouth to feed at that time. He was, for the next five years, little more than a slave to a failing state. He would wake up every weekday at five, fall asleep at midnight, toiling away at meaningless and trivial tasks during the day.

That, it would seem, was not an uncommon practice at the time. With an economy in shambles, the only job available was to dig holes in one place to fill holes in another. They could not afford the ammunition for training, the rations for marches, the fuel for field exercises. The governments of the day were in serious trouble, and for a long period of time they experienced constant turmoil.

That much was irrelevant for Montaug. He did not care for a grander life. He, someone orphaned twice by the same war, did not believe there was another path for him. Montaug was determined to either become a successful soldier or die, they were his only real options. That did not mean that he was only a man of the military, he learned of Holifel by way of preachers and pastors. Montaug learned to read through them, and through reading the Compendiums he found a passage most interesting. A passage records say was largely ignored by scholars for a significant length of time."

"What was the passage?"

"I shall come to it later.

Anyway, I mentioned that he was in the military, did I not? Well, he was stationed on an island called Tiran, some hundred kilometers off of the mainland. It was a naval base, an airfield, a key component in defending his nation's seas. I am told that Tiran was an interesting place back then, having a harbor opening protected by two towering peaks of stone, while the rest of the island was covered in a thick jungle, the only solace being the sandy beach opposite the peaks.

Well war came, it always does, and Montaug found himself on an island under constant assault. The navy, the pride of Tiran's defensive strength, sallied forth, never to return. So began a campaign of bombing and shelling by the enemy forces, three months of such probing culminating in a series of landings. The first failed due to bad weather, the second due to insufficient forces, but the third invasion managed to establish a beach head, albeit at great cost of life. For three long months they fought on Tiran, desperately holding out for some form of relief. 

Montaug is believed to be the last survivor of that garrison, stationed at a radio station near the cliffs of the island that had managed to avoid detection.

Excuse me, but I would like to have the record of his last moments playing while I speak of it."

The Montaug stood up and pulled over what appeared to be a record player, then moving to his desk and gingerly taking removing the battleship from the drawer.

"I will translate for you as they speak, but first some information. This is a recording of the Montaug's final moments. He was communicating with this battleship," he gestured to the model ship on the table, "the HFS Scripture. It was only because of this battleship's captain that we have these records."

With that, the Montaug started the recording, the record making scratchy noises on an otherwise silent background for a few seconds before anybody spoke. She couldn't speak the language, but Diana understood there to be desperation and pain in his voice, a tone not properly conveyed by the Montaug.

"My name is Ranger Montint Roguess, nickname 'Monty', birthdate one, one, eighty-two, serial number 0949200, combat promotion second private. I hold station on the Island of Tiran. I am putting out a distress signal to relay the information I have been entrusted. As far as I know, I am the only remaining resistance on the island. I have no food. I have no water. I am injured. I have sustained multiple injuries. I have only a handgun and seven bullets left. I have no hope for survival. After I give the signal please bombard my position. Sensitive information, must be destroyed. I am located on the Eastern-most summit of Pleasant Point. I repeat, when I give the signal or stop transmitting, bombard my position. I repeat, hope is lost."

The Montaug did not bother to translate the next fifteen minutes. "They are grid coordinates, key enemy positions that needed to be destroyed."

- - - - -

"That is all I have for you. How long until you get here?"

"Ten minutes until we are in range. Are you sure you can't swim out for a rescue? Our map shows you close to shore."

"To tell you the truth sir I'd love nothing more than to swim to wherever you can pick me up, but between me and that shore is a 350 foot sheer drop onto jagged rocks. Even if there wasn't, I wouldn't be able to reach it anyway. The bones in my left foot are shattered and the tendons in my left knee were cut by shrapnel. My CO propped me here before he left to hold the line 3 days ago and I haven't heard from anyone since. I cannot use it and I am positive that it is infected, but I can't be sure. The only place I know there aren't any enemies is right here. The last gunshot I heard was 4 hours ago. This is it. I have no retreat and I cannot surrender. I have no hope left to live. I have resolved myself to die on the same ground as my brothers."

A silence, eerily loud, assaulted Diana's ears. These were the last words of a man who knew he was going to die.

"Do you think you could play me some music? I would like to talk with a pastor as well. There is something I want to hear one last time before I die."

"Sure, do you have a preference for music?"

". . . not really. Though if you have it, could you play 'The Waltz of the Dandelion'? It was my adopted father's favorite. If I could be so bold to ask you leave a few by his grave for me as a parting gift I'd appreciate it."

A beautifully sad orchestral arrangement began to play in the background alone for a few minutes before a new voice entered.

"My name is Father Andrew. What is it you wish for my son?"

"Funeral rights obviously. But not for me. For the men who died to protect me. I will be satisfied with hearing my favorite passage. Can you please recite to me the Scripture of Vengeance?"

There was a moment of silence, followed by some scrambling. Were they looking for something?

"Very well my child."

The flipping of pages in a book could very faintly be heard.

"The workings of the spirit are a strange one. We are in control of our bodies but not of our emotions. Not really in any case.

It is with this in mind my children I write to you. I write to you on the condition of our selves.

In order to get closer to Heaven it is imperative that you control your emotions as much as you can. Emotions will tear you from the path of life. Think of war my children. Think of the endless war that has wrecked our world for the past thousand years. Think of the death and destruction that are the result of our whims. Why do we let it continue? Why don't we stop it? Why do we have to bring destruction to all that we touch?

The answer to this is that we are weak. We are weak beyond words. We are a slave to those emotions that bind us. Lust, envy, greed, pride, sloth, gluttony, and wrath worst of all. We are controlled by something foreign to ourselves, yet completely our own.

So how, then, can we fix ourselves? How do we fix this world of ours?

First we must reject the very concept of our selves. We are not what we are. We are monsters, murderers, and demons. We are the furthest from what we consider to be human, yet the closest at the same time."

There was a pause as he flipped the page. the silence coinciding with a silence in the song.

"What separates the holy from the unholy? The dead from the living?

There really is nothing much at all that separates them in the end. What makes good and evil? There are obvious evils. Senseless killing and torture for humor are easy examples, but what of two nations fighting over food and water, two people? Which is good and which is evil? Surely two forces that come into conflict cannot both be good? So are they therefore both evil? Is the will to live inherently evil?

I cannot answer these questions. I fear no single person has the answer. Perhaps not even the sum of humanity can come up with an answer. What is good and what is evil? I cannot tell you, even with my status as prophet, I am powerless to give you an answer."

Once more an uncomfortable silence as the music picked back up.

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"Powerless though I may be I can still give you advice.

First you should love your neighbor as you would your brother. This will control your pride.

Second you should love your wife and not covet other women. This will control your lust.

Third you should do work every day. This is to control your sloth

Fourth you should remain stress free. This will control your envy.

Fifth you should give to the poor what you need not. This will control your greed.

Sixth you should limit your consumption of food. This will control your gluttony.

I have said all of this before and I am sure you have noticed that wrath is not among those controlled. This is because there is genuinely nothing you can do. You can throw away strength but there MUST ALWAYS be something to arouse your anger. If ever you throw away the anger at things that wrong you unjustly you have fallen to a level of something inhuman.

You may forgive. You may forget. But it must elicit some sort of anger from you lest justice fall out of order.

I was angry when I was imprisoned in my own shell, and I am angry that I am set to be executed by the march of time. But I ask that you do not rescue me. My end will serve as the condensation of this determination. It will serve to establish the restriction of justice, and bring with it freedom and liberty and sanctity of the soul. Give unto me your wrath and sadness. Destroy those who wrong you beyond the point of forgiveness, as it is the only thing that can restore justice.

What I mean to say my child is that justice is absolute. Justice is the only path we have on our way to heaven, even if you must tear the heavens down for being unjust.

In other words, fiat justitia, ruat caelum . . ."

Latin? Perhaps split's way of conveying an archaic or dead language.

""Justice will be done, though the Heavens may fall.""

There was silence once more, as both Father Andrew and Montaug recited the final line in the passage. The song had finished before that final line, leaving it oddly emphasized in comparison to the rest.

"You know, I think I finally found the answer to the problem our prophet couldn't."

There was a pause as a truly magnificent boom was heard in the background, the sound of guns firing.

"He was too focused on good and evil to look at the crux of the issue.

It doesn't matter what is good and what is evil. All that matters is if it is human and if it is just.

If it is just, then it deserves to exist. If it is unjust, then it must not deserve to exist.

That which is human in nature will be made. That which is not human in nature will be destroyed.

War is unjust, so it naturally does not deserve to exist, but it is human in nature so it will be created anyway.

Peace is just, but not human, so it will naturally be destroyed.

In order to achieve peace, we must stop being human, or we must tear down the heavens, that which defines what is just.

. . . 

The only way I can achieve peace now is death. I leave it to you to tear down the heavens."

Montaug, the one in the recording at least, was silent for a few seconds, waiting for death to come to him.

"My only regret is that I never got to kiss a girl . . . haha!"

- - - - -

Montaug stopped the recording as he sank further into his seat.

"Ranger Montint Roguess was not his real name. In truth, he was only officially registered under the last name of his father, 'Montaug', the names he had taken were undoubtedly thanks to his foster father, who shared the Roguess name. That is beside the point

What he showed us is it is only through the salvation of others that you may find salvation of self. That was something we understood well from the teachings of Holifel. Montaug taught us that by sacrificing your self, you may slaughter others. The slaughter of others may bring salvation of others. The salvation of others brings salvation of self. Therefore, by sacrificing self to slaughter others, one may Sanctify their self.

It is a concept, we believe, that Holifel understood. In fact we have testimony from the Arboreal Maiden that Holifel did kill after his revelation, he simply never got around to writing it. The Scripture of Vengeance is one of the final passages in the twentieth compendium, passages that would slowly meld into the topic of the next compendium. He used violence to save others on many occasions, even died fending off some number of bandits as a man well past a century of age.

We can only assume that what he would have wrote had something to do with Montaug's words. My people do not have anything with which to Sanctify their souls. There are no crises, no wars, nothing to save, nothing besides those living outside our borders, that is."

"So they wish to fight a war to save those oppressed by the rulers that surround?"

"Some of them, which is an ideal I have no issue with." Montaug picked up the model of the 'Scripture'. "However the conundrum I face is not determining which people will have salvation brought unto them, but which planet I am sending my people to die."

Diana sunk into thought, not entirely sure how to proceed here. Religion was a touchy subject, anything that dealt with a person's core values was, and she really didn't want to foul the mood after learning about the origins of their religion. She didn't believe the Montaug would take particular offense, but it was always safe to be careful.

"What if there was some group of people they could save without going to war?"

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