Arcanum Unbounded: The Cosmere Collection

by Brandon Sanderson

I have often said that I don’t want a reader to feel that they need to have my entire body of work memorized in order to enjoy a story.

Sel is notable for being dishardic, one of few planets in the cosmere to attract two separate Shards of Adonalsium: Dominion and Devotion.

Shai had never met an emperor before, let alone poked one in the face.

In her business, there were many who laughed at honest men, calling them easy pickings. That was a fallacy. Being honest did not make one naive. A dishonest fool and an honest fool were equally easy to scam; you just went about it in different ways.

EACH person was a puzzle. That was how Tao, her first trainer in Forgery, had explained it. A Forger wasn’t a simple scam artist or trickster. A Forger was an artist who painted with human perception.

There was rarely an obvious branching point in a person’s life. People changed slowly, over time. You didn’t take one step, then find yourself in a completely new location. You first took a little step off a path to avoid some rocks. For a while, you walked alongside the path, but then you wandered out a little way to step on softer soil. Then you stopped paying attention as you drifted farther and farther away. Finally, you found yourself in the wrong city, wondering why the signs on the roadway hadn’t led you better.

“If you were the wall, what would you rather be? Dreary and dull, or alive with paint?” “Walls can’t think!” “That doesn’t stop them from caring.”

These were the tears of a man who saw before himself a masterpiece. True art was more than beauty; it was more than technique. It was not just imitation. It was boldness, it was contrast, it was subtlety. In this book, Gaotona found a rare work to rival that of the greatest painters, sculptors, and poets of any era. It was the greatest work of art he had ever witnessed.

As morning broke, Gaotona slowly—excruciatingly—stood up beside his hearth. He clutched the book, that matchless work of art, and held it out. Then he dropped it into the flames.

You can’t always write what you know—not exactly what you know. You can, however, write what you see.

she made me promise to relay a message if you complained. ‘Tell him,’ she said, ‘that I’m pregnant and it’s his fault, so that means he has to do what I want.’”

He could be a stubborn one at times. Well, most times, actually.

Scadrial, another dishardic planet, is characterized by a host of unique features. It is one of only two places in the cosmere where humankind does not predate the arrival of Shards. Indeed, I am convinced from my studies that the planet itself did not exist before its Shards, Ruin and Preservation, arrived in the system.

I have written much about the magics of this planet. Indeed, I could fill entire volumes with my thoughts on Allomancy, Feruchemy, and Hemalurgy. I maintain, however, that the one of these with the largest potential impact on the cosmere is Hemalurgy. Usable by anyone with the right knowledge, this dangerous creation has proven able to warp souls regardless of planet or Investiture, creating false Connections that no Shard designed or intended.

Gemmel walked forward, undoubtedly the source of the coins. He attacked Kelsier sometimes; their first night together, Gemmel had thrown him off a cliff. Kelsier still couldn’t completely decide if the attacks were tests, or if the lunatic was actually trying to murder him.

The mists seemed … afraid of Gemmel, somehow. They didn’t spin about him as they did other Allomancers.

“Wait, that actually sounds reasonable,” Kelsier said. “You must have hit your head on something.”

Some Roughs Allomancers do store their metals in such solutions, but I have always abstained from the process. The mind of a gentleman adventurer needs to retain clarity at all times.*

Almost invisible, I discovered it only by touch.*

I knelt down and began to lick the wall. I would not ever wish to look foolish before you, dear readers.* But in order to survive in the Roughs, a man must be willing to seize opportunity. I did so. With my tongue.

It was her. Lyndip, my spirit guide, sent by the Survivor to me during my most difficult times of trial.* I have long suspected her to be one of the Faceless Immortals,* as the legends speak of them being able to change forms and take the bodies of animals.

The gun is the most elegant of weapons, the weapon of a gentleman.

I did leap from my cavern prison into the rising waters of the river. I must severely advise my readers against this kind of activity unless presented with the most dire of circumstances.

Koloss are not born. Koloss are made. Their barbarity exists inside of all of us.

As an aside, writing Handerwym’s annotations was one of the most amusing things I’ve ever done as a writer.

It did seem there was an afterlife, which was a pleasant discovery. Did this mean … did this mean Mare was still out there somewhere? He’d always offered platitudes, talking to the others about being with her again someday. But deep down he’d never believed, never really thought … The end was not the end.

“Who are you?” Kelsier demanded. “Oh, I think you know.” The man met Kelsier’s eyes, and in them Kelsier saw eternity. A cool, calm eternity—the eternity of stones that saw generations pass, or of careless depths that didn’t notice the changing of days, for light never reached them anyway. “Oh, hell,” Kelsier said. “There’s actually a God?” “Yes.” Kelsier decked him.

“What did you call me?” “Fuzz. I’ve got to call you something.” “You could try ‘My Lord,’” Fuzz said with a huff. “That’s a terrible nickname for a crewmember.”

Very well. Be Preserved, Kelsier. Survivor.

“I killed you,” the Lord Ruler said. “Twice. Yet you live.” “Yes. We’re all aware of how strikingly incompetent you are. I’m glad you’re beginning to see it for yourself. That’s the first step toward change.”

Everything passes, nothing is eternal. That is what Ati always claimed.…”

He had met God. But for every Push, there was a Pull. What was the opposite of God?

He contained the outburst, recovered himself, but the fragility of his own sanity unnerved him. He hadn’t been completely sane in the Pits either. In a moment of stillness—staring at the shifting mists that made up the walls of the cavernous room—he admitted a deeper secret to himself. He hadn’t been completely sane since the Pits.

“Who are you?” Kelsier said. “I?” the man said. “I am a drifter. A miscreant. The flame’s last breath, made of smoke at its passing.” “That’s … needlessly obtuse.” “Well, I’m that too.” The man cocked his head. “That mostly, if I’m honest.”

“That’s horrible.” “Says the man who built a revolution upon the backs of the dead. At least I only need one corpse.”

It’s the world of the mind. Men—all things, truly—are like a ray of light. The floor is the Physical Realm, where that light pools. The sun is the Spiritual Realm, where it begins. This Realm, the Cognitive Realm, is the space between where that beam stretches.”

What was the Drifter—whom Kelsier spotted in very rare pulses—doing up in the Terris Dominance?

“You let the Lord Ruler do it.” “He tried to save the world.” “As did I.” “You tried to rescue a boatful of people from a fire by sinking the boat, then claiming, ‘At least they didn’t burn to death.’” God hesitated.

He failed. He failed horribly. He couldn’t make himself heard, couldn’t touch Vin. Couldn’t do anything. Even his impromptu plan of stabbing Elend proved foolish, for she released the power. Weeping, flayed, ripped open, she did the most selfless thing he had ever seen. And in so doing, she doomed them.

Fortunately, before I died, I put a plan into motion. I can’t remember it, but I’m certain that it was brilliant.” “You know, I’ve said something similar myself on occasion, after a night of drinking.”

“A team. Yes. A crew.” “To do the impossible.” “Defy reality,” Preservation whispered. “Everyone always said you were insane.” “And I always acknowledged that they had a point,” Kelsier said.

He’d already killed one god. The second murder was always easier than the first.

Preservation had promised him help, but he wasn’t sure how much he trusted what Preservation said. Odd, that living through his own death should make him more hesitant to trust in God’s word.

“I have a very delicate constitution, you see,” Kelsier said. “And death seemed like it would be rather bad for the digestion. So I decided not to participate.”

“The Shards,” Khriss said, drawing Kelsier’s attention, “are not God, but they are pieces of God. Ruin, Preservation, Autonomy, Cultivation, Devotion … There are sixteen of them.” “Sixteen,” Kelsier breathed. “There are fourteen more of these things running around?” “The rest are on other planets.” “Other…” Kelsier blinked. “Other planets.” “Ah, see,” Nazh said. “You’ve broken him already, Khriss.”

“Anyway, there was a God. Adonalsium. I don’t know if it was a force or a being, though I suspect the latter. Sixteen people, together, killed Adonalsium, ripping it apart and dividing its essence between them, becoming the first who Ascended.”

“Yes, the I-ree,” Preservation said, pronouncing it in a slightly different way. “Three letters. I R E. It means something in their language, these people from another land. The ones who died, but did not.

“The Ire built a city,” Preservation said, softly. “In a place between worlds…”

Fortunately, without a body he did not seem to tire unless he stopped to think about the fact that he should be tiring. That was no problem. If there was one thing Kelsier was good at, it was lying to himself.

Cold wood that somehow remembered warmth. This fire was dead in the real world, but it wished it could burn again. It was a strange sensation, realizing that logs could have wishes.