The inside of the monastery was a completely different space than I had imagined.
No, it was quite literally a different space. The heights I saw on the inside were definitely much larger than the outside. Except my eyes were deceiving me.
We greeted a couple of priests on our way in. Some being as polite as ever, and some throwing us judgemental stares. But all in all, the atmosphere was relatively jovial. It eased my heart for the brief moment that they walked past me. Silently. Peacefully. Elegantly.
And now, we stood in a large, dark hall.
The walls were too difficult to observe as the darkness laid over everything in the distance. If not for the light peeking through the partially open window at the very top of the structure, it would have been impossible to see anything.
I could spot unique images and depictions of Christ carved unto the tinted, circular window that rested above us, casting a humanoid shadow on our figures. Both me, Father Azrael, and 'them'.
We called them 'The 21 Seats'.
Right before us, were 3 large rows seemingly built into the distant walls. There were stony structures—which although appeared ancient, were strangely sturdy. At least that's how it looked to me.
Elevations—curved outwards and towards us stood—one above the other, in numbers of three, easily covering the entire width of the space. They stretched from the left side of the room to the right, looking like bridges between two walls of darkness.
As I observed, I realised that there were actually people sitting behind them. However they were all in the official, standardised monk apparel, easily moulding their appearances into the obscurity beyond us. Therefore, I could only make out faces. I saw heads, with something seated atop their scalps.
It was black—just like their robes, therefore only the white cross emblem on their head wearings were visible to me.
I think Father Azrael was doing much worse.
He was standing next to me, but I could see him squinting with every fiber of his being. He had a scrunched-up expression as he stared. He looked—and looked comical.
It took willpower plus the weight of the situation to digest the laugh in me. I wish I could take a picture. A photo to capture this glamorous moment. Perhaps I could show him the old man he had become in only a few minutes.
A few minutes.
That was as long as it took for my assessment to begin.
"Oi…" Father Azrael whispered. "I've gotten the number."
Huh?
"What number?" I asked, whispering back. However, I was half sure that he was referring to the people that sat beyond us. Like statues they sat—seemingly fixed to their positions.
Maybe it was due to the stillness of the air. Or the darkness of the halls. But either it was my paranoia growing out of hand, or these people were actually observing us. Detail by detail.
Feeling watched, I tried ignoring Father Azrael, worried that his 'childish' behaviour would reduce my marks. However, he had no intent to stop talking.
"Yup.." he answered. "There are 21 of them. Everyone is present this time."
Unfortunately his words only fell on deaf ears, as I was already swallowed up in thoughts.
Maybe this would count as gossiping?
Who knows? Maybe they can hear what we say?
My paranoia continued to grow and grow as the judges would do nothing but stay silent. They were observing me—I was sure of it. Despite the fact that it had only been a few minutes, my heart refused to stay silent, threatening to wrap me up in the illogical fear of failure.
I began counting my fingers whilst my head swayed from side to side. It was a coping mechanism that I had quickly developed to bear the stress. I had never felt so worried. Not in a long time.
My eyes were drawn to every white cross I saw—oddly visible in the blackness surrounding us, and my mind numbered as my head swayed. The crosses on the kamilavkas were like stars. Little, warming stars that strived to stand out. And yes, they did.
"10…14…16…19…" my mouth moved subconsciously, and words as quiet as raindrops escaped my lips. The sighting of the crosses alone had soothed me. And paranoia was gone.
"...20.."
It was replaced by curiosity.
I leaned closer to Father Azrael, dragging my feet as silently as I could. "Didn't you say 21?"
Or did I miss-count?
Father Azrael, who seemed to be in a daze, suddenly jerked a bit, as if startled by my voice. Then when he had calmed his heart, he did something which although insignificant in everyday life, was definitely a lot more in this….specific context.
In his unexplainable confidence, he boldly raised his arm and pointed towards the judges. Or rather, one of the judges.
But in my eyes, he was only pointing into thin darkness. Only when I looked closely enough did I notice a humanoid figure, barely outlined with a painfully low contrast to the surroundings. He was seated at the far-right of the first and lowest table—which held ten people. No surprise, the ends of the tables were too distant—and too unclear to observe.
Even worse, he wasn't wearing a kamilavka.
"That right there…" Father Azrael muttered. "...is skinny old John."
I didn't know where to start from, or what to say. The very act of pointing at someone was already considered rude in everyday life, talkless of doing that to a person in power. Also, what could I say about the disrespectful title he used to address a person of such calibre?
Skinny old John?
Father Azrael patted my shoulder lightly, with a barely noticeable smile on his face. "Don't worry. That's what everyone calls him."
Did he read my mind? No, that was too obvious.
I nodded in understanding.
Anyways, was this assessment ever going to start?
The moment that thought occurred to me, one of the judges spoke.
"I believe you've had enough time for prayer, yes?" He asked.
He spoke from the fifth seat of the second row. I could tell because he was the most 'active' person present. His enquiring gesture with his hand also gave him away as the speaker.
"Yes." I replied immediately, and subconsciously.
Wait…we were supposed to pray?
My eyes rolled slowly towards Father Azrael who started scratching his hair, whilst avoiding my glance on purpose. Suddenly, the window was interesting to him.
Ah…my ever incompetent teacher…
The speaker then raised his right hand. And then, suddenly, every other judge did the same. Only when they did, did I remember a certain something.
Father Azrael did tell me about them before. Although because he's rarely ever serious about anything, it was hard to sort the lessons learned from the huge piles of jokes that he forcefully engraved into my memory.
Cardinals. That was what they were called individually. Together, they were the 21 Seats.
The speaker began a prayer, with the multitudes of hands still raised.
"In honour of our Lord God. In reverence of the remarkable sacrifice of the Son, and in communion of the Holy Spirit. This day, We, humble Cardinals of the 21 Seats, thereby vow to assess Joshua, an aspiring Crusader, with utmost justness, diligence, and righteousness of Christ. We vow to make no judgments influenced by partiality, self-interests, or personal wishes. On this very day, we lay our minds and hearts down, for you O God, to speak into. And we lay our bodies down, for you O God, to use freely."
And with the mention of the Name, every other Cardinal responded 'Amen'.
Every hand dropped back down. The assessment had begun.