Arcanum Unbounded: The Cosmere Collection

by Brandon Sanderson

At least I’ve gained something, Kelsier thought. A campfire in his pocket. When he got out of this, and he would get out of it, he’d certainly have stories to tell.

I must speak with the rest of the Ire.” As she said the word, this time Kelsier got a sense of its meaning in the language of the green plants. It meant “age,” and he had a sudden impression of a strange symbol made from four dots and some lines that curved, like ripples in a river.

Curiously, the light from the walls was dimmer in the room. The effect was particularly noticeable near where one of the creatures was sitting or standing. It was like … they themselves were drawing in the light.

These were writing, though most of the pages were filled with terms he couldn’t begin to comprehend, even once he began to be able to read the symbols themselves. Terms like “Adonalsium,” “Connection,” “Realmatic Theory.”

THIEVERY was the most authentic form of flattery. What could be more satisfying than knowing the things you possessed were intriguing, captivating, or valuable enough to provoke another man to risk everything to obtain them? This was Kelsier’s purpose in life, to remind people of the value of the things they loved. By taking them away.

Ever since the Pits of Hathsin, he hadn’t been interested in stealing common possessions. No, these days he stole something far greater. Kelsier stole dreams.

KELSIER was nowhere in particular when God finally died.

Do better, Kelsier, Preservation commanded, his voice fading. If the end comes, get them below ground. It might help. And remember … remember what I told you, so long ago.… Do what I cannot, Kelsier.… SURVIVE.

And Kelsier, the Survivor of Death, Ascended.

It didn’t notice Kelsier as he drew back from the power, exposing his own soul and drawing it close to Spook. Those lines were there, the lines of familiarity, family, and Connection. Strangely, they were even stronger for Spook than they’d been for Marsh and Vin. Why would that be?

This young man was special. At the very least, their relationship was special. Spook believed in him as no other had.

Then Kelsier did the most difficult thing he’d ever done. “Giving you power!” he roared to Vin, letting go of Preservation’s essence so she could take it up. Vin drew in the mists. And Ruin’s full fury came against Kelsier, slamming him down, ripping into his soul. Tearing him apart.

Elend blinked. “Wow. I hate you already.” “Give it time,” Kelsier said, slapping him on the back. “For most that eventually fades to a sense of mild exasperation.”

“Ruin is more than death and destruction. It is peace with these things.”

She embraced him, and he found himself weeping. The daughter he’d never had, the little child of the streets. Though she was still small, she’d outgrown him. And she loved him anyway. He held his daughter close against his own broken soul.

We’re going to unravel the mysteries of the universe. The cosmere, as it is called.”

“And you?” Spook asked. “What do you get from this?” “Nothing big,” Kelsier said. “Just a little thing. Someone once explained my problem. My string has been cut, the thing holding me to the physical world.” His smile broadened. “Well, we’re just going to have to find me a new string.”

For years we assumed that our Shard, Autonomy, had Invested only Dayside, through the sunlight itself. We know now it is not as simple as this, though the mechanism is best explained under those assumptions.

Giving water to the tiny plant causes a chain reaction of sudden growth, energy, and Realmic transition. Certain people can control this reaction, using the water from their own bodies to forge a brief Cognitive bond. They can draw Investiture (in very small amounts) directly from the Spiritual Realm, and use that to control the sand.

The flora and fauna of both sides are remarkable, though currently prospective visitors are—unfortunately—unable to experience them directly. Autonomy’s policy of isolationism in recent times (in direct contrast to her interference with other planets, I might add) has prevented travel to and from Taldain for many, many years. A fact of which I am all too aware.

“You can’t be a mastrell,” Praxton reiterated. “You don’t have the power.” “I don’t believe in power, Father. I believe in ability. I can do anything a mastrell can; I just have different methods.”

THE Threnodite system is a site warped by an ancient conflict. Long ago, soon after the Shattering, Odium clashed with (and mortally wounded) the Shard Ambition here. Ambition would later be Splintered, though that final act took place in a different location.

People on Threnody are afflicted with a particular ailment that—upon death—sometimes turns them into what we call a Cognitive Shadow.

A spirit infused with extra Investiture will often imprint upon that very power. Much as the spren of Roshar become self-aware over time because of people’s focus on the Surges as being alive, this excess Investiture can attain the ability to remain sapient after being separated from its Physical form.

A Forescout knew that the surveyors were wrong. There was a predator out there. The Forest itself was one.

Don’t kindle flame, don’t shed the blood of another, don’t run at night. These things draw shades. The Simple Rules, by which every homesteader lived.

We are Forescouts. We survive. We will be the ones to defeat the Evil, someday.”

In general, perpendicularities are created by the presence of a Shard on the planet. The concentration of so much Investiture on the Cognitive and Physical Realms creates points of … friction, where a kind of tunneling exists. At these points, Physical matter, Cognitive thought, and Spiritual essence become one—and a being can slide between Realms. The existence of a perpendicularity (which often take the form of pools of concentrated power on the Physical Realm) on a planet is a hallmark of a Shard’s presence.

Splinters. (The local parlance would call them spren.)

Roshar is home to a diverse and unique ecology containing dramatic megafauna and fascinating symbiotic relationships between creatures (both humanoid and not) and Splinters of Investiture. The most dramatic of these is the relationship between humans and self-aware spren, which is the basis for the magic of Surgebinding.

Life on Roshar has been shaped over millennia by massive, Invested storms, which pose a danger that cannot be overstated. These storms, by my best guess, predate the arrival of the Shards Honor and Cultivation—as do many of the spren.

Odium. Be aware that this system is the current habitation of the Shard of Odium on the Physical and Cognitive Realms. This Shard undoubtedly caused the Splintering of Devotion, Dominion, Honor, and perhaps others throughout the cosmere.

Wyndle stammered. He wasn’t so frightening, for a Voidbringer. He must have been like … the Voidbringer all the other ones made fun of for wearing silly hats. The one that would correct all the others, and explain which fork they had to use when they sat down to consume human souls.

I will remember those who have been forgotten.

Tell me, or I’ll bite you.” “What?” “I’ll bite you,” she said. “I’ll gnaw on you, Voidbringer. You’re a vine, right? I eat plants. Sometimes.” “Even assuming my crystals wouldn’t break your teeth,” Wyndle said, “my mass would give you no sustenance. It would break down into dust.” “It’s not about sustenance. It’s about torture.”

“Then why are we here?” “They got these pancakes here,” she said, “with things cooked into them. Supposed to be super tasty, and they eat them during the Weeping. Ten varieties. I’m gonna steal one of each.” “You came all this way, leaving behind luxury, to eat some pancakes.” “Really awesome pancakes.”

We normal folk, we have to get by some other way.” “So now you’re normal.” “Course I am,” she said. “It’s everyone else that’s weird.”

“What will you make for this city, child?” the man asked. “That is part of my question. Do you choose, or are you simply molded by the greater good? And are you, as a city, a district of grand palaces? Or are you a slum, unto yourself?”

It was good to remember that life wasn’t only about scratchy things. Sometimes it was about soft pillows, fluffy cake. Nice words. Mothers. The world couldn’t be completely bad when it had soft clothes.

“Voidbringer,” Lift said, “can you find whatever number she just said?” “Yes.” “Good. ’Cuz I don’t got that many toes.”

If you ever encounter another of the Sleepless, tell them you’ve spoken with Arclo. I’m certain it will gain you sympathy.”

“I will listen,” Lift shouted, “to those who have been ignored!”