Thetis Reborn, by Isabelle Knops

Despite the sweltering heat and sun beating down on Hyde Park, tanning the grass a soft brown,  the patch of grass Thetis had chosen to sit on had quickly turned into a soggy mess. An already half empty bottle of wine was resting next to her mud covered feet. Her sea-foam coloured eyes, hidden  behind designer sunglasses swiped from an oblivious mortal, were taking in the statue meant to resemble her son. She studied the hunk of metal with a critical gaze. 

They had given her son both sword and shield.  

Yes, they had made sure he looked like the hero he had been, but his nose wasn't right. She pursed her lips in disapproval. 

But her disapproval was short-lived when a figure momentarily obscured her view. Who, without asking for permission first, sat down next to her, unbothered by the wet patch of ground in an otherwise dry to the point of dying grass surrounded area. Without sparing her a single glance, the person, a girl, got out a sketchbook. Once upon a time, mortals would have stopped what they were doing to stare at her and marvel. But ever since the untimely death of her son, she had slowly slipped from memory, only remembered as a mother who had tried and failed to protect her child, if they remembered her at all …She had made peace with her standing as a footnote and reached for the bottle  of wine. 

The girl was sitting awfully close, their knees inches from touching. The sound of pencil  scratching on paper filled the silence between them, wrapping around them like the blanket she had  once held Achilles in. It was soothing, Thetis closed her eyes, savouring the moment. 'It's a bit early for wine, isn't it?' The girl's raspy voice shattered the moment. 

'It's never too early.' Time was a useless concept when one was immortal. 

'Well, are you going to offer me some?' Thetis was taken aback by the girl's bluntness. 'This is my spot – have been sketching him,' her chin jerked in the direction of Achilles, 'for days now.'

'He's good-looking,' Thetis said nonchalantly, and a hint of pride. 'Apart from the nose – it's too  narrow. They never get it right,' she added, hoping the girl would. 

The girl laughed, it was an honest and brutal sound, almost condescending. 'Honestly, I find him  overrated. And that ghastly nose suits him. He's too perfect otherwise,' the girl finished with a shudder. 'Overrated … ghastly,' Thetis repeated, perplexed. 'Too perfect?' She wondered aloud. 'He was  perfect – always meant to be.' 

'Meant to be, perhaps. Yes. But have you not read The Iliad? He's just a spoiled brat. Now, about  that wine? It might actually be the missing ingredient to get this finished.' 

'A spoiled brat …' The girl's words were insults that deserved to be punished – any other deity  would have. But Thetis couldn't bring herself to drown the girl – the words stirred something deep  within her. It wasn't anger, it was something she couldn't quite explain. She offered the girl the bottle –  a fine vintage from antiquity, given to Poseidon by Dionysus at some sort of celebration Thetis couldn't  quite recall, but nicked by her that same night. Thetis had plenty of bottles like it in her possession,  amongst other things, taken from the gods who had condemned her son. 

The girl let out a satisfied hum before continuing her lecture. 'He had everything handed to him.  Had it not been for his mother, he probably wouldn't have made it through his early childhood.' Thetis smiled, memories of baby Achilles, chubby cheeked and wide-eyed, flooded her. His  squeals as he was dipped in the river Styx echoed in her mind. 

'His mother, now she was a true hero. But no one really talks about her.' 

Thetis kept quiet. She was no hero. Had it not been for her holding Achilles by his heel as a  baby, he would have survived Troy. She might as well have shot the arrow herself. 'She's the reason I'm sketching him. I may dislike him, but he is part of her legacy.' Thetis wanted to disagree. Achilles was – is her legacy. 'She will be my final piece – my masterpiece.' 'Masterpiece,' Thesis repeated a lot slower this time. 

'Yes, there isn't much art dedicated to her. She's always referred to as Achilles mother. And I get  it – she was his mum, she had to care about him. But there was no need for Homer to make Achilles her  only meaning in life. She was a Goddess of the sea, for crying out loud. She had power – she could  change form, she had influence, but all she's remembered for is giving birth to a boy, after having been  forced to lay with the father because of a stupid prophecy.' 

Thetis marvelled at the words. They stung – and yet they rang true. Had she forgotten herself? 'You know.' The girl was finally looking at her. 'You would make the perfect model for my  Thetis.' 

Thetis flattered, agreed. She liked how this girl made her feel; made her remember a time when  she had been admired for herself. 

The crisp morning air was a stark contrast to the warm day before, still Thetis waited, modestly  dressed, unbothered by the chill at a remote area of the Serpentine. 'Did you go for a swim?' She heard  the girl call out before she saw her. 'You're soaked, I mean, it works. But I don't want you to catch your  death for this.' 

Thetis smiled, it was a genuine smile, it had been a long time since anyone had shown her such  care. 'I'm good and ready to pose for your masterpiece.' 

'Alright – as long as you're sure.' 

'I'm sure, besides it will get warm quickly.'

'Yeah, we're in that horrible in between weather at the moment. Cold mornings, and hot  afternoons.' 

'Yes – all because Helios is having a fling just now,' Thetis muttered softly. 

'What was that?' 

'Nothing, where do you want me?' 

The sun was beating down on them by noon, and the girl paused. 'Time for sunscreen,' she muttered while squinting down at her slowly reddening skin. Thetis allowed her to apply it to her skin  when offered, not that she needed it. The girl faltered when her fingers brushed across Thetis'  shoulders. 'Your skin, it's so …' 

'Moisturised?' Thetis finished for her. Her skin was always covered in a thin layer of water, it  wasn't always obvious to the naked eye, especially after spending time in the dry. 'I suppose … I won't be able to apply the sunscreen, though. Did you bring a towel?' 'A towel?' 

'Yeah, since you went for a swim and all? You'll burn unless I can apply this to dry skin …' Thetis wasn't sure how to respond – there was no way for her skin to dry. It was why Peleus had  never laid with her after conceiving Achilles – thank the gods. He had once even compared her skin to  that of a fish, and that sleeping next to her was like sleeping in a pond. 'I will be okay – I never burn.' 'Are you sure?' 

'Yes, it was very considerate of you to offer, but it will be okay. Let's just focus on your work.'

'You came!' The girl moved towards her through the crowd, hair loose and dressed up in a black  dress. 

Thetis greeted her with a smile. 'I couldn't miss this, could I now?' 

'Come, there are so many people who want to meet you.' 

'Meet me?' 

'Yes – they want to meet the muse, the woman who made it all possible!' 

Thetis allowed herself to be dragged around, leaving a trail of wet footprints in her wake. And  then finally she caught a glimpse of the painting. It was unlike anything she could have imagined.  There she stood, on a pile of bodies. Poseidon, Zeus, Hades, Peleus and others, but it was one face that  truly made her heart stop. Her left foot was balanced on the side of Achilles' face, pushing his poorly proportioned nose into his father's back.  

It was vile. 

Her son slandered, reduced to the same level as those who had failed him. 

She felt used. 

Thetis' eyes glanced at the name plate under the painting – Andrea Tyler – the girl's name. She  had never asked for it, and it had never been offered. Andrea had been right, Thetis had power. It had  been subdued by grief, but slowly it flickered alive. 

'What do you think?' Andrea Tyler's eager voice piped up from behind her. 'Look at her, putting  those who wronged her in their place.' 

Olympus was abuzz, the news of the flooding of the Royal College of Art, taking hundreds of lives by Thetis' hand, had everyone enthralled. 

'The bodies – they were just floating, bloated – it was marvellous! True art!' Eris shared with  Apollo. 

'Who knew that woman still had it in her?' Apollo responded with a sly smile.

About the author:

Isabelle is a trilingual author based in Edinburgh, Scotland. She is the author of Icarus and Asterion and Displacement, both featured in Ekklesia; The making of the Dioscuri Twins published in Agora; and Harpies, published in Glyph. While Isabelle is of the opinion that a pen is the most powerful weapon a human can wield, she can regularly be found on piste fencing.