The moment she pushed open the bakery door, setting the bell tinkling, Fran knew something was wrong. The ruby-red orb that hovered above Mr Cracknell's head was murky and dull.

She ducked under the counter and tiptoed into the back, holding her breath.

'Martha Robinson's baby's been kidnapped.'  Mr Cracknell didn't look up from his dough. Fran's stomach constricted.

'Doloran Baby-Thieves?' Her voice came out thin and high-pitched.

He nodded, jowls wobbling. 'That baby'll be halfway to Dolora by now. They'll sell it to a rich childless couple and poor Martha'll never see it again.' He swiped his floury hand across his sweaty forehead. 'I never thought they'd target the city. Must be the border towns are wise to them now. Parents are keeping a closer watch on their babies. So they've had to look further afield.' He blew out a dejected breath. 'Stack those chestnut buns on the counter, will you?'

Fran arranged the soft fragrant buns on the counter with a heavy heart. Outside the window, the market traders set up their stalls in the dawn light. 

Jack Webster heaved a crate of onions out of his cart. His orb, usually a vibrant emerald green had faded to a drab ditchwater colour. Emily Johnson smoothed out the bolts of cloth on her wooden table, her sunshine yellow orb a sickly shade of pus. A shiver shook Fran's shoulders.

News travels fast.

It was then that she noticed them.

Two dark figures, climbing down the hill from the forbidden temple, making their way towards the city.

Sisters of Akna. Someone somewhere must be in labour.

'Fran, can you take the spelt loaves out? They'll be done by now.'

The oven's heat hit her in the face, the nutty fragrance of freshly baked bread.

She set the loaves aside to cool and committed the next batch to the fiery furnace.

'Here,' Without meeting her eye, Mr Cracknell thrust a tray of chubby sugar-coated vanilla rings into her hands.

'Stack these next to the chestnut buns.'

Fran set to work stacking them into a neat pyramid. She swatted a stray lock of hair out of her face with her forearm and her eyes fell on the scene outside.

Her eyebrows twitched.

It was clear that something had changed.

Jack, Emily and all the other traders had stopped what they were doing. They stared open-mouthed at something just out of Fran's sight.

She dusted her hands on her apron, ducked under the counter and peered through the window.

Two blue cloaked and veiled figures processed down the marketplace's central aisle, the orbs above each of their heads shining a brilliant sapphire. Fran's breath caught in her throat.

Sisters of Akna? Here? But they never come to the market.

She had seen Sisters up close only once before, on the day her brother was born. She'd only been three but she remembered it like it was yesterday. Kneeling on the hearthrug, her arms wrapped round her sheepdog's neck, the awful sound of her mother's screams, her grandmother opening the back door to two blue-shrouded shapes, their orbs shining sapphire blue.

Just like her own.

She'd hugged her pet tighter and buried her head in his fur.

*****

Fran's forehead was cool against the bakery window. Her breath fogged the glass.

Why is my heart beating so fast?

She ducked back under the counter and laid the next row in her vanilla ring tower.

Her fingers trembled. Her breath came in quick pants.

Oh Graces, what's wrong with me?

The bell tinkled as the door opened. Fran jumped, knocking over the ring tower, goose pimples erupting on her skin.

The two blue clad women stood on the mat. Their hands were their only visible body part — small, delicate hands. She saw now that one was about an inch smaller than the other.

She gulped and pulled her face into a rictus smile.

Are they smiling back behind those veils?

'Hello,' she wiped her sweaty palms on her apron. 'Can I help you?'

Silence.

'W- would you like a chestnut bun? A vanilla ring? She grabbed a vanilla ring from the heap on the counter and held it out.

Do they eat? Do they even have mouths behind those veils?

'We need your help, Fran.' The voice was unexpectedly young.

A shudder crept along her spine. Which one of them is speaking?

'How- how do you know my name?' The sugar coating dissolved stickily in her hand.

'You're an Orb-Seer.'

Fran gasped, her eyes widening. 'I'm not. I mean, I-  I've never told anyone. How did you know?'

The women stepped forward. Fran took an involuntary step back.

'We're travelling to Dorola to find the kidnapped baby.' This was the smaller one, Fran could tell now. She had a faint, indistinguishable accent.

'Newborn babies are hard to tell apart even for us, but this baby has a distinctive orb. It's indigo.'

Fran knew that. When Martha had brought the baby to the bakery, she'd not been able to stop staring. Not only was it a rare colour, even rarer than her own sapphire, it shimmered with a rainbow sheen like the mother of pearl necklace her grandmother wore.

'You- you can see orbs too?'

'No,' the taller one spoke now. 'One of the two Sisters who delivered Martha's baby sees orbs. She told us.'

'She can go with you then. You don't need me.' Fran let out a shrill, nervous laugh.

'She's one hundred and seven.'

'And she's dying,' the smaller one added, her voice devoid of emotion.

'Come with us, sister. Help us find the child.'

Snakes slithered in Fran's stomach. The bakery walls were closing in on her.

'Come with us, Fran. Join us.' The women both raised their right hands towards her.

Fran's heart hammered hard, as if it wanted to burst out of her chest. The blood rushed in her ears.

With them is where I belong.

No! She leaned backwards, all her muscles tensing. Her fist clenched around the doughy ring. It crumbled into pieces on the counter.

'No, I - I can't.' She shook her head. 'I can't. No.'

'Fran, the loaves are ready to come out.'

'Sorry,' she whispered, her throat tight. She spun on her heel and vanished into the back.

*****

The oven's heat hit her in the face, the nutty fragrance of freshly baked bread.

She set the loaves aside to cool and committed the next batch to the fiery furnace.

'Here,' Without meeting her eye, Mr Cracknell thrust a tray of golden-brown apple pies into her hands.

'Stack these next to the vanilla rings.'

The bell rang to signal the women had left.

Fran piled the pies on top of each other, waiting for relief to flood her.

But instead, sadness welled up from deep within her heart, filling her chest, leaking out of her eyes in hot tears. When they threatened to drip onto the pies, she jerked her head upwards.

It was then that she spotted them.

The Sisters of Akna hadn't gone far. They stood stock still in front of Jack's stall, at the edge of the marketplace. He was rearranging his cauliflowers, pretending not to notice them.

It was the smallest of movements, but Fran saw it clearly.

Keeping their arms by their sides, the women turned their palms to face forwards and spread their fingers wide.

In that instant their orbs brightened.

Their sapphire light turned white — blazing, dazzling white.  Brighter and brighter they burned until they shone like two midday suns. Fran blinked and shaded her eyes with her hand.

And then their orbs burst.

Filaments like lightning bolts exploded outwards, shooting out to touch the orbs of each marketeer.

Fran's mouth dropped open as a streak of white light touched Jack's orb lighting it up in shining emerald green. Another filament lit Emily's orb in rich yellow. All around the marketplace, orbs lit up, shining, glowing, dazzling — a rainbow of jewel colours: ruby, citrine, cornelian, amethyst.

Jack closed his eyes, his lips curled in a faint smile, Emily took a deep breath and stood up straighter. Her features unscrunched, her eyes twinkled.

All around the marketplace faces lightened, heads lifted, shoulders relaxed.

One burst into a peal of giggles. Another made eye contact with her stall neighbour, flashing a toothy grin.

Humming drifted through the bakery door, discordant singing, belly laughter. Emily spun around, arms outstretched.

The Sisters let their arms hang loose again. Their orbs resolved into their original form, sapphire once again. As one, they turned to walk back up the hill.

Fran untied her apron, hooked the strap over her head and let it drop to the bakery floor.

She ducked under the counter, pulled the door open and took off after the Sisters, the bell tinkling behind her.

Thank so much for reading ❤️

I didn't intend for the stories in this collection to be linked in any way but clearly my subconscious thought otherwise 😉

These are all story ideas I've had which I haven't managed to coalesce into a novel yet. But it feels like I'm getting somewhere now.

I'd really appreciate your comments and a vote if you think this story worth it 💬 ⭐️