The Black North by Nigel McDowell

Then he began to stalk down the slope, into the hollow, towards Innislone.
    â€˜Now follow,’ said Merrigutt. A twitch and small hop and again she was a jackdaw, again onto Oona’s shoulder. ‘Now run!’
    Oona had to swerve to avoid the place where the bog-soldier had lain before being summoned: a deep pit in his image, new scar on the South. She stayed close in his shadow though, hoping to remain unseen. But as the bog-man walked he lost pieces of himself, great clumps of sog and clay and damp dark falling to the ground.
    â€˜He won’t hold together long,’ said Merrigutt. ‘Hurry!’ It was a command for Oona and the bog-soldier both –
    In only two or three strides he reached the lough and the army of Invaders were sent scattering. Oona reached the shore less than a minute later and saw a single currach bobbing, abandoned, a single oar resting across. She ran to the boat and leapt in. Oona had never rowed a boat but didn’t dwell – she’d have to give it a go – what else could she do? She pushed off from the shore and began to beat her way towards Innislone.
    Merrigutt told her, ‘I’ll fly ahead and warn the Lough-Master that you’re crossing, otherwise they might shoot. Don’t have long of our soldier left by the looks of him.’
    The jackdaw left, and Oona half-turned, looking up – true enough, their bog-man was returning to the earth, one vast limb at a time. His arms were easing away from his body, falling and sending more Invaders scampering. And still Oona smashed at the water, trying to move herself on. Then Merrigutt was back, perching on the rim of the boat and saying, ‘All right, they say they’re gonna open a bridge for you. Row faster!’
    Oona had no breath to spare for speech. She worked hard towards the wooden platform she saw being lowered, a section of the wooden wall that enclosed the town being opened in one of the few parts of Innislone not crawling with flame. Then a shout from behind her –
    â€˜There! Look! Someone’s crossing!’
    Oona swore as the surface around her was broken by gunfire.
    â€˜Look out, my girl!’ called Merrigutt.
    Oona turned to watch: body sinking, the final piece of the bog-soldier was falling, the massive dark of its head tumbling and –
    â€˜Damn,’ said Merrigutt. ‘Hold on.’
    Oona dropped the oar and clamped hands around the rim of the currach as the bog-man’s head hit water and a wave sprang high. No more rowing was needed – the boat was rushed towards the wall of Innislone, was flipped and Merrigutt was lost to the air as Oona fell into the water. The lough was so cold it stole her breath. A fast runner, quick climber, but not a strong swimmer – Oona surfaced and straight away shouted for help.
    â€˜Here, girl!’
    A man of Innislone was at the wooden platform. He swung and flung a line to her. It landed beside her hand and she took it as gunfire cracked wood and water and the Innislone man reeled Oona in as fast as you would a limp fish. At the platform he took her under the arms and lifted, shouting, ‘Close it up now!’, Oona’s feet and hands just avoiding being taken off as the bridge snapped shut behind.

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    The man who’d removed Oona from the lough dropped her on her feet and threw orders to others: ‘Barricade that bridge up, best you can do! Don’t let anything get in!’
    Oona watched boards stacked and held, nailed like it might do some good against the siege, all men and all hands working to try to keep Innislone secure. Everything around was wood – flat-roofed houses, encircling wall, boards underfoot. And everywhere too was the keenness of encroaching fire. One thing not seen though – Merrigutt.
    The man who’d saved Oona continued with his orders: ‘You lot – keep watch to the North for more Invaders! You three – keep water going to the houses at the