erikcompetition1

The winning stories

Lara Bland (age 7), Bradford.

Erik was angry because he got thrown out of York. He and his wife, along with his warriors, marched northwards, hoping to find a new kingdom. He got a message from Earl Oswulf to meet him at Stainmore Pass. Erik thought this was because Earl Oswulf wanted to call a truce. When Erik got to Stainmore Pass it was very bleak, and Erik and his warriors could hardly see. Suddenly many men emerged from the fog. Erik realised he had been tricked and this made him mad. After all, he was a great warrior. He didn't have time to think before Earl Oswulf's men set upon him. As Erik was fighting, suddenly everything seemed to go in slow motion; Erik saw his life pass before him. He saw all of the battles he had faced and the faces of the people he had killed. In this moment he felt a great sadness. A mist developed around him. When the mist cleared, Odin stood before him. Erik knew it was time to die. He followed Odin to a place called Valhalla. Earl Oswulf and all of the warriors stopped and watched Erik walk to the edge of a cliff and fall to his death. There is no grave, because his body was not found. His warriors all cheered, as they knew Erik had entered Valhalla. Earl Oswulf and his men ran away, amazed at what they had seen.

First prize in the 8-11 category was awarded jointly to Lucy Bradley and Anna Scott
Lucy Bradley (age 10), Sheffield.

It was the year 959, and Erik had been sailing the seas for five years since York had kicked him out. The last Viking king. He had been trying to gather an army to fight the people of York, and had been quite successful. As the ship drifted on, more followed, red and white sails whipping the air. Erik's ship thumped onto the beach, but he had already leapt off, and was sprinting up the sand, cracked leather boots scattering shells and rocks. The others joined him, and Erik smiled his broken-toothed smile. His army. A village was in sight, pointed wooden roofs reaching for the sky. Erik let out a cry, whirling the axe around his head. 'We'll stay here tonight!' decided Erik, shuffling into the nearest house. They had taken over the village, and would be marching west the next day.
As that day dawned, the uneven, thudding footsteps of the army were already ringing through the land. Erik stayed in front, gripping tightly to his axe. Another village. More fun. The similar roofs, and the mud walls. A couple of fires burning weakly, sending small wisps of smoke into the air. Yet something was wrong. Erik could sense it. As the wave of enemies charged towards him, he knew instantly what it was. The village was prepared. Hatred burning like fire in his eyes, Erik stared at the villagers, who were lining up opposite them. Shields and weapons were drawn on each side. They glared across at each other, until Erik could bear the tension no longer. With a shrill cry, he led his army, battering into the enemy. Half an hour later, it was growing dark. Stars emerged in the velvet folds of the sky, illuminating the battle. Erik's fur cloak was spattered with blood, and his belt had been slashed, lying in the dirt a few feet from where he furiously battled with a young man. A sword lunged at him from the left. Erik dodged it, though narrowly. The sword flew out of nowhere, slicing through the air like a diving bird. With a yell of shock, Erik thrust up his axe, protecting his face. The axe shattered, and Erik backed away, dropping the small stump of his axe handle. He hit the door of a house, and kicked hard. The door gave way, splashing down into the wet mud. All the while he kept his eyes on the advancing man. Then he noticed the strong smell of burning wood. Erik looked around, but the man with the sword was nowhere to be seen. That was when the burning roof fell in.
Erik's army retreated, confused at the whereabouts of their leader. There was a loud, triumphant cry from their enemies, who turned to repair the damage of the single, burnt hut. No record was kept of where that village was. Some say it was a few miles in from the east coast of Britain. There is a record, however, that Erik was cremated on a hill near the village, and his ashes thrown into a river. But now, Erik Bloodaxe, the last Viking king, has been lost in time, destroyed by his desire to seek revenge.

Anna Scott (age 10), County Down.

The door creaked open. A hairy face could be seen. 'Oh, heavens to Odin! It's Erik and his brood! I haven't seen you in years! What the Thor's hammer are you doing here?' (Well, I'd better stop for a minute. I'm Gunnhild, the wife of Erik Bloodaxe. We have three children, Bushwick, Gvienia and Aikuvia. We were thrown out of our kingdom of York, and that's why we're here at the fort of Unvikiu the Unshaven).
'You know that favour I did you?' mumbled Erik. 'I was hoping that you might give us shelter. I'd work. Anything, please.'
'All right. You can stay if you build me a longboat,' said Unvikiu.
'It's a deal,' said Erik.
Day by day the work progressed until there was a magnificent longboat on the beach. One evening my little daughter Aikuvia came running in shouting 'Daddy! Daddy! I've got some news!'
Erik stopped slurping his soup and said 'What is it, my wee chicken?'
'I overheard Unvikiu the Unshaven talking about treasure. He said it was on the shore of Jarkling Fjord.'
'Now it's time to put my plan into action,' said Erik mysteriously. That night, Erik woke us all up. 'Hurry,' he kept repeating. 'To the boat.' On our way towards the boat, little Bushwick fell on the ground and screamed so loudly that Odin probably heard him. People rushed out of their longhouses to see what was happening.
When we reached the longboat a crowd of brutish men tried to climb up after us to kill us. Erik fought back. He fought a little too harshly. Erik was fighting so fiercely, he didn't see our little darling son Gvienia until it was too late, and Gvienia was pierced by the sword. I was heart-broken. My world was crashing down, but I did not get much time to mourn.
After two solid hours of rowing, we got to Jarkling Fjord, on the Isle of Noraly. We knew Unvikiu the Unshaven would be after us, as fast as Odin's ravens could fly. We knew we must be close to the treasure. Then Unvikiu caught up with us. Ten men jumped on board. We fought well, but not well enough. They tied me and the children to the mast of the longboat. Erik was the last one left fighting. The man called Borinvky the Broadbummed was as sly as Loki. He came up behind Erik, got him in a headlock, and said 'You thought you could get away with it, didn't you? Well believe me, Bloodaxe, you are about to come to a gruesome end.' And with that, he cut Erik's head off.
After the battle Borinvky the Broadbummed untied us and brought us back to be his servants. I often miss Erik, but I get on with life. I have never told anybody the story before. I often feel as if he was misunderstood, but even though people thought he was evil, he cared for his family, and that's what counts to me.

Matthew Rawlins (age 15), Cannock.

It was a damp and cold morning as Erik arrived at Stainmore Pass, and he wished he was back at home because he was sick of damp boots. Every time he took a step he heard his socks squelch, so there must have been more holes in Erik's boot.
The weather changed suddenly. It got darker, wetter and colder. The rain turned into sleet, and Erik's mood blackened. So he walked faster over the icy rocks. Clumsy, Erik slipped over the edge of an icy rock and fell head-first into a blackberry bush, banging his head on the ground. Everything went dark.
Erik opened his eyes slowly, and he could hear music and mumbling voices in the distance. 'That must be the search party,' he mumbled to himself. Erik crawled to the dusty, steep stairs, towards the voices. He reached the top and opened the old, heavy door. It suddenly went quiet. The crowd of people stared in shock. The big, huge bar owner shouted over the bar of the Oak pub 'It's not fancy dress, mate!' Erik just snarled, walked out of the large old door that leads to the damp cellar, and sat on an old, rickety stool.
'Excuse me, mate. Do you know where you are?' a small, concerned man asked. 'You're in the Oak pub! Fancy a drink?'
'Yaaa!' said Erik.
'Can I have a pint of Fosters, Doug?' the small man asked the huge, fat bar owner.
'Nooo! That one!' said Erik.
'What? a pint of Boddingtons? Just give him Fosters, Doug.'
'Nooo! Boddingtons!' Erik growled, stamping his huge, holey boots. And all the mushy, dirty water splashed the small man in the face.
"OK, OK. Whatever you want. There you go.'
Erik was drinking and drinking, the clock was ticking faster and faster, and the room was spinning. It was 11:55, and Erik's drink was slowing him down. Five minutes later, Erik's huge, fat sweaty body slammed to the oak wooden floor, and he rolled unnoticed back down the cellar stairs...
Two years later, Channel Four were filming a new, live archaeology dig from the Stainmore Pass. Jack the digger pulled a berry bush to one side, and spotted a glint of white bones. 'Bones! Bones!' he shouted. The camera spun round and faced the bush, and what should it see but a set of bones, clutching a half-finished pint of Boddingtons...

Commended

Special mention must also be made of When the Wind Blows by Amy Parkin, age 14, of Llandrindod Wells, a veritable epic and a small masterpiece in its own right!

When the wind blows, howling down a steep-sided pass high in the mountains of Norway, a sound can be heard. A voice. An echoed and faint shout that drifts on the wind, making old villagers shiver and young ones look up from their toys. A voice from the past, lost in the mists of time, long ago in a distant land. And this faint call belonged to a once-king. A warrior of the Norsemen, reaching out his hand to conquer enemy lands, to make the name of the Viking stand clear above the rest. And this man was Erik Bloodaxe, whose father, Harald Finehair, did once unite the lands of Norway, creating thus the Viking kingdom for many generations of kings to follow...


Thank you to everyone who took part in our 'What Happened to Erik?' story-writing competition. We received lots of entries, so it was really tough for the panel of judges to select the winners and runners-up in each category. Your solutions to the mystery of Erik Bloodaxe were truly ingenious. In the more gruesome entries, Erik was drowned, beheaded, stabbed, dismembered and cremated. He was even exterminated by Daleks! In some stories he was eaten alive, by sharks, by aliens and by the Midgard Serpent. In other stories Erik survived, and went on to become King of England. Or a pizza chef. Congratulations on your brilliant stories! Please do not be disheartened if you were not chosen for a prize on this occasion; the results are based only on the opinion of the judges. Remember, above all, to keep on writing! With thanks to Pat Borthwick for all her help and advice. Click here for the winning stories Extracts from entries by runners-up: Katherine Keeton Graddol (age 5), Milton Keynes. Erik was turned into a ghost. Freya did that. She moved her hands. She said 'Turn into a ghost.' Erik went to Niflheim, the world of ice and fire. He slays dragons there. He still wants to kill things. Zara Luisa Coull (age 7), Bedford. One day Erik was walking out across his lush green fields, when all of a sudden he mysteriously vanished underground, to where he saw a dragon. It was scarlet red, fiery orange and bright yellow. With one breath of fire, it killed Erik Bloodaxe of York. Rosalyn O'Connor (age 7), Manchester. When it went dark, Erik and his men went out to look for one of the treasure houses while everyone was asleep. They found it, fought the guards, and broke in. Erik and his men took all the treasure of gold, silver and beautiful jewels. Two years after leaving Norway they returned home with great treasures. The king was very happy with Erik and made him a real chief with lots of land for him to keep. Erik lived to be a very old man and had many stories to tell his grandchildren. Tom Emms (runner-up in 8-11 category), Doncaster. Roderic drew one of his guards' swords, evaded Erik's axe, and plunged it into his heart. Erik fell to his death, and Roderic led the battle against King Eadred, which he successfully won. Roderic married Erik's wife and became king, claiming to have trained the troops that had led him to victory. And Erik went to Valhalla, as he wished. Judith Crow (runner-up in 12-16 category), Barrow-upon-Humber The following morning, Alfred led Erik to a wood. He pointed to a hole in the earth. 'Here is your grave,' he said. 'Throw your axe into it.' 'What?' Erik shouted, astonished. 'I shall say I killed you in a fight. Then I buried you here. You must go and start a new life.' 'Why must I throw away my axe?' 'Your path no longer follows the ways of violence,' Alfred said. Erik tossed his axe into the grave and walked away. Erik never regretted anything he had done, and never stopped believing in the heroes of the Norse legends, but he accepted the Christian God, was baptised and ended his life in a monastery.
The winning stories Lara Bland (age 7), Bradford. Erik was angry because he got thrown out of York. He and his wife, along with his warriors, marched northwards, hoping to find a new kingdom. He got a message from Earl Oswulf to meet him at Stainmore Pass. Erik thought this was because Earl Oswulf wanted to call a truce. When Erik got to Stainmore Pass it was very bleak, and Erik and his warriors could hardly see. Suddenly many men emerged from the fog. Erik realised he had been tricked and this made him mad. After all, he was a great warrior. He didn't have time to think before Earl Oswulf's men set upon him. As Erik was fighting, suddenly everything seemed to go in slow motion; Erik saw his life pass before him. He saw all of the battles he had faced and the faces of the people he had killed. In this moment he felt a great sadness. A mist developed around him. When the mist cleared, Odin stood before him. Erik knew it was time to die. He followed Odin to a place called Valhalla. Earl Oswulf and all of the warriors stopped and watched Erik walk to the edge of a cliff and fall to his death. There is no grave, because his body was not found. His warriors all cheered, as they knew Erik had entered Valhalla. Earl Oswulf and his men ran away, amazed at what they had seen. First prize in the 8-11 category was awarded jointly to Lucy Bradley and Anna Scott Lucy Bradley (age 10), Sheffield. It was the year 959, and Erik had been sailing the seas for five years since York had kicked him out. The last Viking king. He had been trying to gather an army to fight the people of York, and had been quite successful. As the ship drifted on, more followed, red and white sails whipping the air. Erik's ship thumped onto the beach, but he had already leapt off, and was sprinting up the sand, cracked leather boots scattering shells and rocks. The others joined him, and Erik smiled his broken-toothed smile. His army. A village was in sight, pointed wooden roofs reaching for the sky. Erik let out a cry, whirling the axe around his head. 'We'll stay here tonight!' decided Erik, shuffling into the nearest house. They had taken over the village, and would be marching west the next day. As that day dawned, the uneven, thudding footsteps of the army were already ringing through the land. Erik stayed in front, gripping tightly to his axe. Another village. More fun. The similar roofs, and the mud walls. A couple of fires burning weakly, sending small wisps of smoke into the air. Yet something was wrong. Erik could sense it. As the wave of enemies charged towards him, he knew instantly what it was. The village was prepared. Hatred burning like fire in his eyes, Erik stared at the villagers, who were lining up opposite them. Shields and weapons were drawn on each side. They glared across at each other, until Erik could bear the tension no longer. With a shrill cry, he led his army, battering into the enemy. Half an hour later, it was growing dark. Stars emerged in the velvet folds of the sky, illuminating the battle. Erik's fur cloak was spattered with blood, and his belt had been slashed, lying in the dirt a few feet from where he furiously battled with a young man. A sword lunged at him from the left. Erik dodged it, though narrowly. The sword flew out of nowhere, slicing through the air like a diving bird. With a yell of shock, Erik thrust up his axe, protecting his face. The axe shattered, and Erik backed away, dropping the small stump of his axe handle. He hit the door of a house, and kicked hard. The door gave way, splashing down into the wet mud. All the while he kept his eyes on the advancing man. Then he noticed the strong smell of burning wood. Erik looked around, but the man with the sword was nowhere to be seen. That was when the burning roof fell in. Erik's army retreated, confused at the whereabouts of their leader. There was a loud, triumphant cry from their enemies, who turned to repair the damage of the single, burnt hut. No record was kept of where that village was. Some say it was a few miles in from the east coast of Britain. There is a record, however, that Erik was cremated on a hill near the village, and his ashes thrown into a river. But now, Erik Bloodaxe, the last Viking king, has been lost in time, destroyed by his desire to seek revenge. Anna Scott (age 10), County Down. The door creaked open. A hairy face could be seen. 'Oh, heavens to Odin! It's Erik and his brood! I haven't seen you in years! What the Thor's hammer are you doing here?' (Well, I'd better stop for a minute. I'm Gunnhild, the wife of Erik Bloodaxe. We have three children, Bushwick, Gvienia and Aikuvia. We were thrown out of our kingdom of York, and that's why we're here at the fort of Unvikiu the Unshaven). 'You know that favour I did you?' mumbled Erik. 'I was hoping that you might give us shelter. I'd work. Anything, please.' 'All right. You can stay if you build me a longboat,' said Unvikiu. 'It's a deal,' said Erik. Day by day the work progressed until there was a magnificent longboat on the beach. One evening my little daughter Aikuvia came running in shouting 'Daddy! Daddy! I've got some news!' Erik stopped slurping his soup and said 'What is it, my wee chicken?' 'I overheard Unvikiu the Unshaven talking about treasure. He said it was on the shore of Jarkling Fjord.' 'Now it's time to put my plan into action,' said Erik mysteriously. That night, Erik woke us all up. 'Hurry,' he kept repeating. 'To the boat.' On our way towards the boat, little Bushwick fell on the ground and screamed so loudly that Odin probably heard him. People rushed out of their longhouses to see what was happening. When we reached the longboat a crowd of brutish men tried to climb up after us to kill us. Erik fought back. He fought a little too harshly. Erik was fighting so fiercely, he didn't see our little darling son Gvienia until it was too late, and Gvienia was pierced by the sword. I was heart-broken. My world was crashing down, but I did not get much time to mourn. After two solid hours of rowing, we got to Jarkling Fjord, on the Isle of Noraly. We knew Unvikiu the Unshaven would be after us, as fast as Odin's ravens could fly. We knew we must be close to the treasure. Then Unvikiu caught up with us. Ten men jumped on board. We fought well, but not well enough. They tied me and the children to the mast of the longboat. Erik was the last one left fighting. The man called Borinvky the Broadbummed was as sly as Loki. He came up behind Erik, got him in a headlock, and said 'You thought you could get away with it, didn't you? Well believe me, Bloodaxe, you are about to come to a gruesome end.' And with that, he cut Erik's head off. After the battle Borinvky the Broadbummed untied us and brought us back to be his servants. I often miss Erik, but I get on with life. I have never told anybody the story before. I often feel as if he was misunderstood, but even though people thought he was evil, he cared for his family, and that's what counts to me. Matthew Rawlins (age 15), Cannock. It was a damp and cold morning as Erik arrived at Stainmore Pass, and he wished he was back at home because he was sick of damp boots. Every time he took a step he heard his socks squelch, so there must have been more holes in Erik's boot. The weather changed suddenly. It got darker, wetter and colder. The rain turned into sleet, and Erik's mood blackened. So he walked faster over the icy rocks. Clumsy, Erik slipped over the edge of an icy rock and fell head-first into a blackberry bush, banging his head on the ground. Everything went dark. Erik opened his eyes slowly, and he could hear music and mumbling voices in the distance. 'That must be the search party,' he mumbled to himself. Erik crawled to the dusty, steep stairs, towards the voices. He reached the top and opened the old, heavy door. It suddenly went quiet. The crowd of people stared in shock. The big, huge bar owner shouted over the bar of the Oak pub 'It's not fancy dress, mate!' Erik just snarled, walked out of the large old door that leads to the damp cellar, and sat on an old, rickety stool. 'Excuse me, mate. Do you know where you are?' a small, concerned man asked. 'You're in the Oak pub! Fancy a drink?' 'Yaaa!' said Erik. 'Can I have a pint of Fosters, Doug?' the small man asked the huge, fat bar owner. 'Nooo! That one!' said Erik. 'What? a pint of Boddingtons? Just give him Fosters, Doug.' 'Nooo! Boddingtons!' Erik growled, stamping his huge, holey boots. And all the mushy, dirty water splashed the small man in the face. "OK, OK. Whatever you want. There you go.' Erik was drinking and drinking, the clock was ticking faster and faster, and the room was spinning. It was 11:55, and Erik's drink was slowing him down. Five minutes later, Erik's huge, fat sweaty body slammed to the oak wooden floor, and he rolled unnoticed back down the cellar stairs... Two years later, Channel Four were filming a new, live archaeology dig from the Stainmore Pass. Jack the digger pulled a berry bush to one side, and spotted a glint of white bones. 'Bones! Bones!' he shouted. The camera spun round and faced the bush, and what should it see but a set of bones, clutching a half-finished pint of Boddingtons... Commended Special mention must also be made of When the Wind Blows by Amy Parkin, age 14, of Llandrindod Wells, a veritable epic and a small masterpiece in its own right! When the wind blows, howling down a steep-sided pass high in the mountains of Norway, a sound can be heard. A voice. An echoed and faint shout that drifts on the wind, making old villagers shiver and young ones look up from their toys. A voice from the past, lost in the mists of time, long ago in a distant land. And this faint call belonged to a once-king. A warrior of the Norsemen, reaching out his hand to conquer enemy lands, to make the name of the Viking stand clear above the rest. And this man was Erik Bloodaxe, whose father, Harald Finehair, did once unite the lands of Norway, creating thus the Viking kingdom for many generations of kings to follow...
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