Portal of Destiny: An Adventure in Astral Projection

By Jim Inglis

Darren possesses an extraordinary gift: the ability to travel through the astral plane. But when a journey during one astral projection takes an unexpected turn, Darren finds himself thrust into an adventurous journey through time. 

Darren stumbles upon Julie-Anna, a young servant from the sixteenth century. As their bond

• Language: English
• Publisher: Book Brilliance Publishing
• Release date: Nov 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9781913770792

Jim Inglis

Jim Inglis is an author, speaker, musician and hypnotist, and lives in the Scottish Borders. Since writing his autobiography some years ago, he became interested in writing a novel which would take the reader's imagination on a journey of adventure and discovery in a world where magic exists and anything is possible.

Book preview

Beep, beep, beep.

This annoying noise was not a sound that belonged in this dream. Darren reached across and pressed the button on top of the radio. The alarm clock read 7.30 a.m. Turning over, he closed his eyes. Five more minutes, and then I’ll get up, he thought.

He drifted off into what he hoped was the same dream before being rudely awakened. In the distance, he could hear stomping up the stairs and his mum shouting, Your cereal and toast are on the table!

Five more minutes, please, he begged, as he hid beneath the bedclothes.

If you don’t get up, you’ll be late for your class trip! she replied, raising her voice. It’s up to you.

Darren sprang up and out of bed, his feet landing on the soft brown carpet pile.

OK! I’m up, he said, riffling through the drawers in his wardrobe. Where’s my blue jumper? I can’t find it.

Well, wear something else, advised Mum.

No! insisted Darren. It’s my favourite, and I bet it’s in the washing basket.

Well, you are not wearing dirty clothes, his mother replied, so you had better decide on another one.

After finishing breakfast and cleaning his teeth, Darren stuffed his schoolwork into his bag, then he waved his mum goodbye. He wheeled his bicycle out of the shed and cycled down the road to meet up with his best friend, Billy Jenkins. They had known each other since the first year of primary school and when Darren’s father had left the family home, he and Billy had become great pals.

A few minutes later, Darren knocked on the door of number 10, Shepherd’s Park. Billy’s mum opened the door, still in her nightie and dressing gown.

Morning! Is Billy ready yet? asked Darren.

He’ll be there in a minute, said his mum.

The upstairs bedroom window hurtled open at that moment, and Billy’s mop of dark curly hair appeared. He looked down at Darren and shouted, I’ll be there just now!

Moments later, Billy appeared with his school bag firmly swung over his shoulder, and fetched his bike from the garage. Both lads then cycled the mile or so across town to school, but not before stopping for sweets at Mr Patterson’s newsagents. This was something both boys liked to do each day.

Hilltop High School had a maze of corridors, classrooms, libraries, games halls, and a science lab. It was a brand- new building which, to the onlooker, was every inch an airport terminal from the outside, only with buses instead of aeroplanes on the concourse.

As the name suggested, it stood at the hill’s highest point.

It was Darren Brodie’s first year in secondary school. With shoulder-length dark hair and an average build, Darren looked like any other kid his age. Today, his class were going to visit an early-sixteenth-century castle as part of their lesson with Miss Finlayson, their History teacher. She was a stout lady who always dressed immaculately, wearing a tweed jacket with a matching skirt, brown stockings and plain black shoes; her silver grey hair seemed to glisten in the daylight finishing off her no-nonsense look. She believed in the old ways of education, demanding but also receiving respect from her pupils.

The bus pulled into the designated spot outside the school’s main entrance, and the doors hissed open as the air escaped.

Everyone stand in a straight line, ordered Miss Finlayson, and do not move until I say.

After two lines formed, the next instruction was to board the bus. They took their seats and put their seatbelts on, and Miss Finlayson made sure everyone was safely on board. A plume of dusty dirt trailed behind as the bus accelerated along the track into the green countryside on to its destination.

High on top of a rocky cliff face, the battlements of Splitaf Castle loomed out of the morning mist like a ghostly grey silhouette against a white cloud of smoke. Occasional rays of sunlight filtered through the dense atmosphere to kiss the grass-covered ground.

The bus drove into the parking area a short distance from the winding path, which snaked towards the castle. When the driver had brought it to a complete standstill and switched off the engine, Miss Finlayson stood up to address the class.

Now then, everyone, we will take all our belongings with us, so make sure you don’t leave anything behind on the bus. We will make our way up to meet the guide escorting us on our tour.

Walking quickly up the path, they headed across to the smartly dressed gentleman in dark-coloured trousers, a white shirt and a black blazer, who they assumed was the guide, as he gave off an air of grace and knowledge.

Ah, good morning, Miss Finlayson, and good morning, children. Welcome to Splitaf Castle. Please follow me, he said in a soft yet firm voice as he stepped through the enormous heavy wooden door and into the castle. Everyone gazed in awe as they marched in almost military fashion, led by their commander-in-chief, Miss Finlayson.

Inside, the vast rooms housed antiquities from a bygone age, and the guide described each item of interest in detail. He felt that everyone would be as enthusiastic about historical relics as he was.

They continued through the great banqueting hall, with high stone walls supporting an arched wooden ceiling. Its majestic stature dwarfed the school party below as they walked across the dark oak floor, weaving their way through the long tables topped with silver candlesticks where once royalty, lords and ladies would have dined.

Moving into the next room, Darren realised that his shoelace had come undone. He stopped to tie the knot, but as he finished, he noticed that his other lace had come undone. Once again, he knelt to re-tie it and, once again, as if by magic, the other lace untied itself.

Darren was beginning to get both scared and annoyed. He couldn’t understand why or how this was happening, but as he ran to catch up with the rest of the class, he heard a clanking metal sound. He turned to see one of the suits of armour, which stood to the side of the double doors, suddenly start to move and walk around.

Where’s my horse? a voice said.

There was no answer.

Again, the disembodied voice said, Where’s my horse?

Suddenly, the suit of armour moved over to Darren, who was very confused.

You! Young sire, have you seen my horse?

Err… no, sir, said Darren, unsure whether this was someone’s idea of a joke.

The suit of armour raised its hand and moved the face guard of the metal helmet up, to reveal … absolutely nothing. Darren stared in disbelief, and a tingling shiver ran down his spine.

Are y… y... you a ghost? he stammered.

Well, said the suit, I have been called many things, but never a ghost!

Almost immediately, the head of a young man materialised in the helmet. He looked about thirty years old, with long, fair hair and a smooth complexion.

Ah, that’s better, said the head. Are you sure you haven’t seen my horse?

Positive, replied Darren. What’s your horse’s name?

She’s called Beauty. She is a giant of a beast, so you can’t miss her!

Just then, Darren heard the sound of cantering hooves in the distance, getting louder and louder by the second. All at once, a giant black horse appeared out of thin air and stood panting in the centre of the room.

There you are, my Beauty! Where have you been?

Beauty neighed and pawed the floor with her hoof. The suit of armour mounted his trusty steed, then looked down at Darren.

Have I seen you somewhere before? Yes, I’m sure of it. Maybe I know you from the past. The pupils of his eyes moved to the left as he tried to remember.

Or perhaps it was in the future. Oh, I don’t know, never mind. I am sure I will meet you somewhere again, at some other time and—

He stopped mid-sentence.

"Yes, we have met before. You’re